Written by Neil Harmse

Chapter 18. Silver Shooters

To quote George Bernard Shaw: ‘Youth is a wonderful thing. What a crime it is to waste it on children.’ We never consider that we are getting older, and things change… As I myself get older, I have been doing more wingshooting than game hunting. I find it more relaxing, more sociable and more sedentary than tracking miles and miles through bushveld after game animals.

It was after my 60th birthday that I first realised that my shooting was a bit worse than it used to be, but I just thought I needed more practice. Then I went to renew my driver’s licence and was told I needed glasses. This came as a bit of a shock. Hell, I could still see the road signs, couldn’t I!?

With the new glasses, I realised I could see better, but my shooting was still not as good as it used to be. My friendly optometrist, who is also a shooter, suggested I have my bifocal close-up lenses cut a little lower, so that they were not in my line of vision when looking along the barrels of my shotgun. He also suggested I keep away from multi-focal lenses, as they tend to distort images and distance.

So again, off to the range for a bit of practice and coaching. At least I could now see what I was shooting at, but I found I was still having frustrating misses when I thought I should be connecting. The problem was that my movement and swing were leaving a lot to be desired.

If we think about it, as we age, instead of maturing like fine wine, our advancing years bring their own set of problems, such as stiff and aching joints, which reduce our mobility. This can also be exacerbated by injuries from our youth and possibly by surgical procedures. My particular problem stemmed from a pinched nerve which resulted in a surgical procedure on my neck, causing loss of mobility to swing or turn to my left. Other problems were occasional sore shoulders and loss of dexterity in my arms. In addition, our body shape can and does change over time – sometimes monthly, never mind years! Because of all this, my shooting had gone to hell. So, without giving up the sport I was passionate about, I had to find solutions.

My first thought was that it was a good excuse to buy a new shotgun. Perhaps a light 20-gauge, which would help with faster handling and swing. So after a bit of searching, I found a 20-gauge that suited my pocket and my idea of a good handling gun. I soon found that the gun had completely different handling characteristics from the 12-gauge guns I was used to. With reduced weight and slim lines, I was swinging wildly and, of course, off target. Back to the range and a bit more coaching. I was soon handling the lighter gun better and with more controlled swing, and was now connecting targets more consistently. Also, I did not find that the 20-gauge was any less efficient than my 12-gauge guns. There was a marked improvement in my shooting and I was confident that I was on the right path.

However, I still missed using my old 12s that had become part of my shooting scene over many years and my thoughts were about how to use them and become efficient with those same old guns again. But the problem remained movement and stiffness, which restricted my gun-mounting. I found that when mounting the gun for a fast shot, the stock was catching under my arm. I was simply not getting my arms to lift and move the gun sufficiently to clear my armpit.

A simple solution was to get my friend Hennie Mulder, an experienced stock-maker and gunsmith, to shorten the stock and reduce the length of pull by about 12,7mm (half an inch). Fortunately, this worked for me and my gun-mounting improved considerably. Of course, some shooters may still have difficulty and may have to look at further alterations to get the gun barrels in line. This could include raising the comb height to bring the eyes level with the rib and barrels. It may also be necessary to change the cast of the stock. If the vision in the master eye is weakened, a cross-eye stock may have to be considered.

This might be better than learning to shoot off the left shoulder, after decades of righthand shooting (or vice versa). A difficult choice. Your old, comfortable, favourite gun could possibly be further lightened by shortening the barrels and fitting multi-chokes, as well as removing some weight from the stock by having a stock-maker drill and remove wood from inside, behind the recoil pad or butt plate. (Please do not do this to your Holland Royal, Purdey or Boss!)

Speaking of recoil: do not consider fitting a mercury or spring/inertia recoil reducer. These tend to add weight where it should not be and could affect the balance of your favourite gun. A decent recoil pad such as a Pachmayer decelerator or similar will make recoil acceptable and help with gun-handling. Avoid cheap, hard rubber pads at all costs.

You may be lucky enough to find a lightweight 12-gauge with stock dimensions and barrel length to suit your requirements. By using lighter loads, you may find that your shooting improves considerably. I find that 26-30g loads have much less recoil and are adequate for all the shooting I do. Avoid using heavy loads such as 32–42g in a lightweight gun, as the recoil will be considerable.

My shooting style has also had to change to cope with my loss of mobility. In the past, I could raise my gun and swing with the bird or target, get my lead and fire. Now, because my body is not as flexible as it once was, I hold my gun at hip or waist height, barrels up, and follow the bird by moving my hips, with the barrels pointing where I anticipate shooting, then flick the gun to my shoulder slightly ahead of the bird and fire. This is a ‘modified’ Churchill method which I find works for me. Whatever problems you encounter with your shotgun shooting, it always helps to get onto the range under the eye of a good and experienced coach who can offer advice. It could save hours of frustration, as well as a lot of burnt powder and wasted shot.

So my advice to all you ‘silver shooters’ out there is: don’t decide to give up your favourite sport just because the old body ain’t what it used to be. There are solutions to keep you burning powder. Keep shooting!

Written by Neil Harmse

Chapter 17. Why Wingshooting

I think there are as many reasons hunters pursue game as there are hunters – and those who hunt feathered game are no exception. When I decided to sell off my rifles and, instead, take up my sport of ‘shooting flying’, I had to seriously consider this change in my hunting options.

I have always enjoyed and thrilled in the challenge of tracking and following game animals in their natural habitat, studying their habits and their ways of eluding a hunter. The kill was simply an end to the challenge.

I have also always enjoyed the challenge of wingshooting, especially with a well-made and well-balanced shotgun. My shotguns are mostly of a vintage variety and I feel there is nothing as satisfying as stepping out into the veld in pursuit of either terrestrial game birds or waterfowl with a gun made over 100 years ago, knowing that it will do the work it was designed for the day it left the maker’s bench. The beauty and balance of these old English guns are a joy to behold.

Another reason I decided to take up wingshooting, as opposed to game hunting, was that because I was advancing in years, this sport was less strenuous and could be shared with a good companion or two for an enjoyable day’s outing, whereas game hunting was a more solitary pursuit. My good friend and hunting ‘buddy’ of about 45 years, Terry Murfin, was always ready to join in a shoot and many a day or weekend was spent walking behind a well-trained pointer, letting the dog work out where the birds were and holding them in position for a point while Terry and I strolled along, chatting about mutual interests and past experiences. Once the dogs were showing the point, we would take turns having the first shot, the way gentlemen hunters and friends should. This made for a really great day’s outing and a thoroughly enjoyable shoot. We would never worry about shooting a lot of birds and were quite satisfied with a brace or two for the pot, taken in an ethical and sporting way.

Unfortunately, Terry has now passed away and is sorely missed when I am in the veld on a shoot. I am fortunate that my son, Craig, and grandson, Kyle, also enjoy the sport and – having been brought up to respect the idea of ethical hunting – will hopefully also be my companions in the years ahead.

I have mentioned how good it is to hunt with a well-trained dog and would like to add a few thoughts on this topic. Whatever breed of dog you decide will suit your type of shooting, you will experience a lot of pride and pleasure in having one that helps to find the birds and add to the bag. My choice has always been for the pointing breeds, with the German short-haired pointer being a favourite. For more than 12 years, my trusted four-legged companion has been my GSP, ‘Storm’. When I first saw her, I was sitting on the veranda of my friend Dave Fowler’s clubhouse. Dave was a breeder and trainer of hunting dogs. I noticed a scrawny, young pup trying to scramble and climb over a mesh wire fence to reach us. After a few attempts, she managed to get over the fence and, with a proud wave of her stumpy tail, came to join us. I said to Dave that this dog showed guts and determination and would make a great hunting dog. He asked whether I would like to have her and I agreed with pleasure. Storm became one of my best four-legged companions and together we shared many enjoyable hunts. She passed away about two years ago and now rests in the veld on one of our favourite shooting farms near Koster in North West Province.

In Storm’s later years, I bought a young GSP to work with her and be trained by her. His name is Rocky and although he shows great promise, I am not sure whether he will be able to live up to Storm’s reputation. Only time will tell.

It is the companionship of a good friend and a good dog that make wingshooting the enjoyable sport it is reputed to be.

Written by Neil Harmse

Chapter 16. A Storm to Remember

Living in the bush has its memorable moments, as well as its problems and dangers, but the dangers are not always from wild animals. One of the most frightening moments during my time living in the bush was caused by the elements generating a storm of frightening proportions. In February of 1984, the tropical cyclone Domoina had developed from Madagascar and crossed over Mozambique, through Swaziland, (then) Zululand and parts of the eastern Lowveld, leaving a trail of devastating destruction across the region. Fortunately, the storm just brushed along the southern Kruger Park, which did not suffer the full effects of the might of the cyclone.

About 18 months after this cyclone, having recovered and repaired the damage caused, and with worries about these storm systems all but forgotten, we carried on with life as normal. I happened to be at home with my family for a few days and not in the bush on control work or patrol. The day was very hot and humid, and the children were cooling off in the pool when my wife, Sue, pointed westwards and said the sky was unusually dark, with black clouds rolling in. We felt there was a heavy thunderstorm and possibly rain and hail on the way. Sue asked Janet to collect the cushions from the garden chairs, which were being blown around and on her way back to the house, the wind actually blew her off her feet. We called the children inside, brought the dogs into the house as well, and decided to get a pot of coffee on the boil and wait it out.

Not long after settling in the house, the wind started gusting with a force that rattled windows and doors. The sky became very dark, almost night-time black, and soon large drops of rain splattered against the windows and roof. Then the hail started, small at first, but then the stones increased to the size of golf balls. In the dark and rain, there was no way of getting outside to start the generator so that we could switch the lights on, so we simply lit a few Dietz lanterns and, with coffee and biscuits, decided to simply sit out the storm, as there was nothing else to do. The hail sounded like gunshots hammering and banging against the windows and on the corrugated iron roof of the house. With all the noise, conversation was impossible. I must admit that I was very worried and frightened, as this was the worst storm I had ever experienced, but I was trying to keep calm to show the children that there was nothing to be scared of. Sue and I, both very concerned, tried to make light of the situation to prevent them from panicking.

Janet, who was about six years old at the time, wanted to get one of her dolls from her room. She had barely reached the passage when a terrible screeching and tearing sound seemed to come from all around. I ran through the house to the bedrooms and was shocked to see the sky above. The roof was ripping loose and peeling off overhead. It was really a frightening experience! Hail and rain were simply pouring into the house from overhead. The children were now in total panic and I must admit that I was not far off myself. In a situation such as this, where you have no control, it is truly terrifying. Sue and I grabbed the children, ran to the dining room and climbed onto the dining table. Water was flooding like a river down the passage through the house and out of the veranda and kitchen doors.

After what seemed like hours, but in reality could not have been more than 30 minutes or so, the storm appeared to decline in force and the rain and hail seemed to be stopping. The house inside was in a total shambles. Furniture, bedding and everything inside was drenched, carpets, mats, lion and leopard skins on the floors had been washed into heaps against the walls and doors, and ankle-deep water was still flowing through the house.

Once we could venture outside, the damage was quite a shock. One section of the house roof had ripped and peeled off and the ceiling covers inside were gone. The carport was blown away and the dog kennel had been lifted by the wind and dumped onto the bonnet of my Range Rover. A large acacia tree had broken off and wound up in the swimming pool. Our veggie garden and flowerbeds were virtually gone. Everything was in chaos. When we could eventually drive to the other side of the farm, we saw that other houses had suffered the same fate as ours and the farm school for staff children was totally missing its roof, which had been completely ripped off the structure.

Once you have experienced the power that nature can unleash, you realise how very vulnerable and powerless we mere humans are against the elements. Only by God’s grace and mercy are we protected from harm in a situation such as this. I admit that I was really scared facing this force: I would rather face a charging elephant, buffalo or lion than ever have to go through anything like that again.

The roof blown off living quarters.