In search of perfect

As I sat low in the hide, the midwinter light began to fade and the thick evening mist settled. I was waiting for teal. The trees surrounding the flightpond were silhouetted against a forbidding sky. Gloomy, yet with the light of the full moon I could see about 100 yards. Soon in the darkness I saw a pair circle the pond. As they set their wings, I rose and fired twice. Too quickly, too far behind. They made off, disappearing above me.

For 40 minutes, nothing came, so I sat and reflected on my first season in what I believe might be the perfect syndicate.

The modern syndicate is the foundation and nucleus of the sport today. During the post-war period there was a boom in the uptake of group organisation of shooting, which opened up opportunities to far