Anew shoot is an exciting yet daunting experience; home advantage seems lost and although the pheasants are still pheasants, it feels like a completely different game. Late this season I found myself on new ground, on an exposed peg under the scrutinising gaze of beaters and Guns alike, with bird after bird flying over unscathed.
The second drive ended like the first, but while feeling utterly defeated, I found myself being guided to drive three by a familiar face, who I knew from a shoot I used to frequent every season. The mood felt lighter, my shoulders unburdened by the pressure of oncoming game and everything came together. I seemingly could not miss and the polite shouts of, “Hard luck, Hartley,” changed to, “You lucky bugger.”
Grinning from ear to ear and feeling drunk with excitement, I went back to my familiar shooting guide. She
