Let’s be clear about something from the outset. I never have been a fan of guns. I’m not your average hippy either, I’m just filled with a certain amount of trepidation when contemplating an object that has the capability to kill and injure. I’ve never been keen to fire them, I am clumsy and don’t trust myself with a weapon. They also make loud noises. I don’t like loud noises.
The above paragraph, whilst slightly exaggerated in portraying me as a big girl’s blouse (my detractors will say it is entirely accurate), was an attempt to portray my ambivalence toward trying Clay Pigeon Shooting for this edition’s Spotlight. Of course, I knew that I was only shooting a small round clay disk in a controlled environment. In fact, I had done it before, about 7 or 8 years ago at a birthday party, yet I remember nothing except the car journey to the range. Maybe I had blanked out the entire experience. So I hoped my memory would serve me slightly better as I scuttled across campus from my lecture to the sports centre where I assumed (naively, in hindsight) we would be shooting somewhere nearby, perhaps on 22 Acres or behind the tent. Instead, Vision photographer and general smartarse Ollie and I were informed that 3 cars would be transporting all of us to a range near Goole, a place not blessed with the prettiest of names, but of which I had little actual experience.
Next thing I know, I’m sat cramped in the back of a Mini, leading the convoy on the way to the range. Driving is Michael, who explains to me about the club, that it is relatively new and very small by YUSU standards, with about 25 paid-up members and 12 or so regular shooters. Reasons for the tiny number can be explained by the distance away from campus, the fact that it is not particularly well known, but, from what I can detect, mainly the price. It is undeniably an expensive pastime if you shoot seriously, with brand new rifles selling from £1,000 upwards. You also have to factor in the cost of ammunition, an instructor (if need be) and petrol, which according to Michael normally totals around £40 per person. Luckily, the club have struck up a deal with Park Lodge at £18 per week, worth it for Michael, given the session we attending was the final practice before Roses, where there were 6 points on offer; more than any other individual event.
Once we arrive at the lodge, otherwise known as a field in the middle of Yorkshire, I asked club president Jack about funding. He said YUSU haven’t really provided too much in the past, but that for Roses, they have provided somewhere in the region of £1,000, meaning players will only have to pay £10 for the entire event. Without further ado, I go off with Jack and another beginner to try some Skeet (the Olympic discipline), where the clays fly past you from either a high tower or a low tower. He shows me how to hold the heavy rifle, resting high up in the shoulder against your cheek as you stare along the top of the barrel. He instructs me to follow the clay with the end of the gun and pull the trigger while moving the barrel slightly further forward, or back, depending on the target the angle. I expect the gun to knock of back slightly with its force, but the open and solid position Jack told me to get my feet into softens the impact.
Safe to say, I am no Al Capone. I’m not sure even the Imperial Stormtroopers would have taken me on, famed though they are for their ineptitude. For the first four or five goes, I cannot hit the clay. Jack makes it look easy; even the other beginner hits one. Our esteemed photographer’s mirth cannot be contained. We try different positions on the range, but all to no avail. My apathetic stance towards ‘gunsports’ (a word I have unashamedly made up) is being severely tested as I am getting more and more exasperated at failing to hit at least one measly clay. However, as we go to the last position on the Skeet range, with the clay coming from directly behind us, my luck changes. Not one, not two, but 3 in a row are shot to smithereens by yours truly. . Jack looks relieved. My self esteem increases (ever so slightly) as we have a few rounds with “pheasant” and “partridge” clays, namely ones being shot a good 60 feet in the air, forcing you to shoot leaning back directly above your head, the gun pointing completely upright at the blue sky above. Jack tells me this is an advanced competition discipline, and yes, you guessed it, I was hopeless at it. But I didn’t care, I’d managed to hit something, and for me that was all that mattered.
The journey back got me thinking about the status of these smaller sports clubs at York. It’s a testament to the University that Clay Pigeon, with their need to travel away from campus, the expenditure involved and the small number of participants are able to exist and indeed, as we reflect on Roses, thrive on competition. The shooting team were very hospitable to me, and despite me being utter rubbish at it, I would highly recommend taking a look at what they have to offer.