I can’t remember a time when I didn’t fish. It’s in my blood; it’s what I know. My entire life revolves around it, from work to weekends spent on the water as a fly-fishing instructor and even the decor throughout my house. It was my dad who introduced me to…
My earliest memory of the shooting field is bumping along on my mother’s back as a toddler out beating. It didn’t go swimmingly. She stopped for a pee and we got completely lost in the depths of the Scottish countryside. I remember being absolutely freezing, and there was a lot…
My shooting career started not with a gun, but with a beating stick. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of a family shoot in Hampshire. the day was run by my great uncle Bill and you could always tell where he was, especially behind a hedge, with the train-like…
DRESSED in bright neon-orange wellies, light-blue jeans and an oversized tweed coat that my parents were convinced I would eventually grow into, I shot my first pheasant with a single barrel .410 at just 12 years old. With the sound of my loved ones cheering fanatically, to this day, I…
