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…
