Although it wasn't perfect, I feel that I must share my first clay busting experience with others. I confess to not 'busting' as many clays as I would have liked, but that was not strictly all my fault. You see, things went wrong right from the word go! I hadn't heard about topshotsecrets at that time, so I didn't know any different.
Let me take you back:
It all started when I was invited to go clay pigeon shooting with my workmate Dave, on a very cold Sunday morning last winter, and was totally ill-prepared to have my bones well and truly frozen. Thinking ahead, I thought that wearing my wellies would be an extremely clever move, but on reflection, how could a slither of rubber, and a pair of Pringle golf socks, possibly keep my feet warm, standing in frozen grass?
I somehow managed to squeeze myself inside of my scarf, wearing it much like a boob tube, with holes cut out for my arms, and covered by my trusty Crombie overcoat, which at least gave me a modicum of style.
Personal comfort, aside, I was as keen as mustard to 'bust-up' some clays, so after a mug of steaming hot coffee, and a bacon buttie, we were ready to rock! Dave put several kilos of shells into my pockets, or 'squibs' as he called them, and off we went. At the first shooting stand, I was given a couple of what looked like lime chewits and told to force them in my ears, I was then thrust into the shooting cage and handed a huge shotgun, which seemed to weigh somewhat more than my ample Mrs.
Dave showed me how to open it, then told me to 'stuff' a couple of squibs in it, and shoved into in my shoulder. "Watch over there" Dave snorts. A tiny wasp like thing went flashing by about ½ mile away, "Right" says Dave, "get on it, then give it some lead" "What!" "Shoot in front of it" "What!" "And lean forward" says Dave. Now at this stage, something was telling me, that leaning forward, with a hundred weight of shotgun in my hands, might be just too much for my skinny little arms to bear. Someone shouted "Pull" and I pulled the trigger, I don't exactly know what happened next, but it somehow reminded me of mis-catching a medicine ball, and I didn't even hit the damn clay.
Stand after stand, tiny black discs flashed across the skies, no way was I going to hit many of those, by this time, the weight of the 'squibs' had ripped through the lining of my pockets, and were all now in the bottom hem of my coat, making it extremely difficult to walk.
My body was starting to warm up now, well, one side of my face was, in fact it was red raw to be precise, "you're lifting your head" says Dave, "and you're over the top" Now I know that most Sports have peculiar phrases, but it seemed as if Dave had been speaking another language from the moment we arrived at the club. I reckon it must be something similar to rhyming slang or Nokia speak, so that an outsider has no idea what they are on about. By this time, judging by the sheer volume of squibs I had fired, I must have hit something, other than the trees, and Dave confirmed that I had!
"You done well" I was told, when we had finished. "8 out of 50 is pretty good going for a first timer" At least I understood that bit!
I somehow managed to drag myself back to the warmth of a hut full of jubilant, seasoned shooters, swapping stories of how some of the clays had minds of their own, and dodged out of their aim at the very last second. One whiskered old fellow was moaning about missing 8, which was a bit of a blow to me, as I only hit 8.
After chatting to the old buzzard for a while, I realised that my first crack at clay busting had not been ideal. Before I knew it, a really tall bloke called Nobby was summoned over, and after a few minutes I was ushered outside for a 'proper lesson'. Nobby showed me how to stand and hold the gun, (at least Dave got the 'lean forward' bit right), and that felt much better straight away. Nobby then explained a few things about clay shooting which Dave had mysteriously omitted, and things started to make a little more sense. Although I was physically drained by now, I agreed to have a few more shots with Nobby. I busted the next 4 out of 6 clays and immediately had a crush on Nobby, and almost asked him out on a date.
I was invited to come back again when the weather was little better.
Goodbye's and thankyou's were exchanged, and as I headed home, I suddenly realised, that although I was battered and bruised, had a swollen face, and was frozen half to death, I had actually enjoyed myself!
Since last winter, thanks to you guys at TSS, I have found a great shooting instructor called Lou, and I have been out shooting clays on several occasions, each time better than the time before, and am now awaiting my certificate.
If I could leave a footnote to anyone wishing to have a go at clay shooting, it would be: although I probably had the worst possible start, it doesn't have to be like that!