QP shoot

Every year, my cousins have a "shoot" in the morning and then a bonfire in the evening around Halloween (which happens to be my cousin's birthday, and a few days shy of Guy Fawkes Day, which is the UK's excuse to light fireworks). I've heard about this for years, but this was my first chance to be a part of it... sort of.


Last night was a small dinner gathering (99 people, all catered by cousin Harriet) to celebrate Carol's 60th birthday. It was a lovely event, filled with excellent speeches (including Zuky talking about the family's 'cruise ship'-- a one way passage from Africa to the West Indies-- they used to have a few hundred years ago before someone got morals). Before one knew it, it was one in the morning, and there wasn't even any dancing! So many of the shooters were a bit bleary-eyed when they gathered at 9 am, but off they went down the hill nontheless. I would have joined them, except that clearly I wasn't in dress code. The best part was that they all looked so natural in their ridiculous woolen tweed knickers.

After they had been out for an hour (and I was bored of clearing the tent of the previous night's debris), I wandered down to see what it was all about. Zuky and Harriet were hanging out in a field, staring at the woods, so I wandered over to them, saying I wanted to see something shot out of the sky and chased down by a dog (ducks and pheasants were the goal of the day, although one goose and one rather small bird that shouldn't have been shot also got done in). I said to the two of them that this was my first hunt. "Shoot," they both promptly and firmly corrected me. A hunt is where people in red jackets ride around on horses chasing dogs who are actually doing all of the work in chasing down the fox. A shoot involves men in wellies and tweeds standing in a line stalking birds which are (hopefully) being flushed out of the underbrush by the beaters (aka wives and girlfriends of the "guns"). No one is wearing camoflage, and no one is wearing orange. I guess they assume they won't shoot each other.

At one point the beaters and guns were coming towards us, and a pheasant was pursuaded to fly up, pretty much directly between us and the nearest gun. When he raised his gun, I naturally dove behind Zuky's ATV. Zuky, somewhat surprisingly to me, leapt in front of the ATV and started waving his arms in the air, as if to say "Aim here!" (I think he was trying to suggest to the pheasant not to come our way, but to fly sideways so the guy would have a better shot.) The man did shoot the pheasant... pretty much obliterated it actually, as it was a close shot. The faithful labrador retrieved the remains.

I stuck with it for a little longer, and the gun came up to where I was and we watched the woods together. At one point there were a couple of shots from the woods, and I asked how often people got shot (again, no bright orange anywhere in sight). He said "Quite often." Then it sounded like light rain was falling for a moment, even though the sky was clear, and he added, "We almost just did. Did you hear it? It actually hurts quite a bit when you get hit with falling shot." No kidding.

And that is when I decided my shooting career was over, and I retired to the kitchen, where I was only in danger of gorging myself on pudding (which I proceeded to attempt, of course).