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How do you answer when a shooting friend asks, “What are you doing this weekend?” Is it that long-awaited (okay, fantasy) invitation to take his place in the butts for a double gun day on the grouse? Or a chance to sit next to his mother-in-law for Sunday lunch? In this case, it was a chance to stand in for crack shot and all-around bon viveur Hugh at a charity clay shoot while he supported his wife’s racehorse habit. I joined Farmer David whose ground we’ve shot over for some years and the ringer John Pool, British team clay shot in the Mendips armed to the teeth in the name of charity.
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The layout consisted of four 75 bird flushes (high pheasant, vermin, flighted duck, and pigeon that more closely resembled partridge) spread up a narrow valley. I learnt quickly to ignore the hail of greetings followed by jovial derision that follow John like a cape: everyone had clearly set their sights on beating us. Including the trappers. With Dave completing his ensemble with a red rucksack in lieu of a cartridge bag, we were definitely eye-catching.
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I’d love to boast that we won, and we did kill more vermin than any other team, but we beat a fashionable retreat pleading lunch at David’s. All I can say is when we left, we were in second place…
