Page 75 of Hook, Line and Single

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‘OK, this is probably the best place to start,’ Cameron tells me as he leads me towards a stand. I’d imagined clay pigeon shooting would involve standing in a muddy field with lots of other people, but this seems positively high tech. There are neat paths between the stands, some of which are occupied by people dressed similarly to us. At Cameron’s suggestion, I’ve swapped my gilet for the one he brought which, as well as the padding he mentioned, seems to have a ludicrous number of pockets.

‘I’m going to release a clay and I want you to watch what it does,’ he continues as he inserts the device he was given at reception to activate the trap. ‘It’s going to fly more or less straight up, pausing briefly before it falls to the ground. When it pauses, I want you to imagine it’s got two little legs hanging off the bottom, and I want you to shoot those legs off.’ He presses a button and a clay disc shoots up, doing exactly what he described.

‘Don’t I just point the gun at the clay and fire?’ I ask.

‘You could do that, but you’ll never hit it. Because it’s moving, you need to shoot where it’s going to be when the pellets reach it rather than where it is when you pull the trigger. Trust me.’

He hands me a pair of ear defenders and carefully loads one of the guns.

‘Keep it pointing at the ground and away from your feet until you’re ready,’ he explains. ‘Then, if it goes off accidentally, you’ll make a hole in the ground but nobody will get hurt.’ He flicks a button on the side of the gun. ‘Now press it firmly into your shoulder and look along the barrel. When you’re ready, say, “Pull,” and I’ll release the clay, OK?’

I’m definitely not ready, but I do as he says and try to remember everything he told me. The first clay catches me by surprise, but not as much as the kick of the shotgun as I pull the trigger. Unsurprisingly, I don’t hit it.

‘That was your practice,’ Cameron tells me with a smile as he reloads the gun. ‘This time, you should be prepared. Remember, wait for it to pause and then shoot its imaginary legs off.’

He hands back the gun and I repeat the process. This time, I know what to expect and I focus on keeping the clay in sight down the barrel. As soon as it pauses, I shoot just below it and it shatters into tiny pieces.

‘Well done! Now do it again.’

Somehow, I manage to hit eight out of the next ten clays and I have to admit that it’s supremely satisfying. The recoil of the gun when I pull the trigger is still a bit of a surprise, but it’s not putting me off any more.

‘Right. Time to move on to something a little more challenging,’ Cameron suggests when I’ve demolished another ten clays. ‘Let’s go and try one that goes from side to side. You’ll need to put your gun a decent distance in front of the clay and keep swinging as you pull the trigger.’

If the first stand was fairly straightforward, this one seems impossible, to begin with at least. I just can’t work out how far in front of the clay I need to be, and I only hit one of the first ten. Cameron is endlessly patient, suggesting different ways of looking at it.

‘It’s impossible!’ I complain as another clay pigeon escapes my gun unharmed.

‘It’s just a different technique.’

‘You do it then.’

He shows me how to operate the trap and loads the gun he brought for himself.

‘Pull!’ he calls, and I press the button. Irritatingly, he hits it square on, as he does with the following nine I give him.

‘Show off,’ I grumble as he loads my gun for me to have another go.

‘It’s just practice,’ he tells me encouragingly.

‘Can we go back to the other stand? I was good at that.’

‘You’ll be good at this one too. You just need your brain to have its Eureka moment. I tell you what. We’ll do another ten here and, if you still don’t get it, we’ll move on and try something else. OK?’

Incredibly, something does seem to have clicked while I was watching Cameron, and I hit just over half of the next batch. By the time we pack up to head off for lunch, I’ve tried five different stands with varying degrees of success.

‘I think I get why people enjoy this,’ I say to Cameron as he slides the guns into their cases and loads them into the boot of the car. ‘Although I’m going to have a bruise tomorrow.’

‘You might be a little tender, but hopefully you won’t bruise. You did really well. Would you come again?’

‘Absolutely, if I’m invited.’

‘Oh, you’re invited.’

I’m in a good mood as he pilots the car into a nearby village and pulls into a pub car park. To my surprise, he pulls the cased guns out of the boot and hands one to me.

‘Are you planning to hold up the pub?’ I ask, slightly bemused. ‘Most people find it easier to simply pay for their lunch. It involves less jail time on the whole.’

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