A cock pheasant lingered casually in the grass as if to show me what was in store. I was on Tony Brown’s farm in Essex, and he told me, "There hasn't been anybody out shooting yet this year. There are some birds around."

I was accustomed to tales of woe and that the shooting was good last year, or it’s good in the next county, but it is rare to be told that it is good here and now, and that one was welcome to have a go. In the meantime that pheasant got up and flew away, but as I walked along an unlikely-looking draw with little cover another suddenly exploded from almost under my gun.

I fumbled with the safety, as if it were really something difficult. In my excitement, with the sound of wings flapping in my ears, I fired too quickly – and missed. Oh, well, beginning of the season and all that, I consoled myself.

Continuing along, I waited for another chance. It came and I missed again. Then a covey of partridge got up so I picked one out and fired. It was no good; maybe I was shooting too quickly.

There were more missed and I didn’t seem to be able to hit anything. The day wore on and I couldn’t do anything right and was ready to give up amidst some of the best shooting I’d ever known. I was defeated – by an abundance of game.

Toward the end of the day, moving tiredly along a draw, two partridge flushed. I got a bead on one, fired, and it dropped. I felt immense relief and satisfaction. Ducking under the fence and making my way to the other side of the draw, I had to take my eyes from the spot where the bird had fallen. I was no longer certain as to the exact place, but only the general area. Although only the stubble of cut corn remained, I couldn’t seem to find the bird, merely some feathers. I had to find it; in my state it was particularly important. Making a row-by-row search, it hopped out when I was within inches of it, and I was able to grab it.

A total of 18 cartridges fired -- and one partridge. I was embarrassed when I told Tony. With all that shooting he’d been hearing, he probably thought I should have a lorry full of game, but he admired my one partridge and didn't refer to my bad shooting. I almost didn't feel like going out the next day. The pheasants would probably be in hiding, and I might very well repeat my failure, which would only me feel worse. I didn't know how I could explain this lack of enthusiasm to my wife Nedra; she'd probably think there was something wrong with me. Rather than try to explain, I went. Besides, there was always a chance that I might get something, even if only a slim chance.

As I feared, the birds were in hiding. I kicked the brush; I moved slowly and carefully along the ditches. Nothing. They were as scarce as if they didn't exist. I went into the wood I'd by-passed the day before. It was thick with trees and blackberry bushes whose thorns clawed at me viciously. I had good reason to stay out of there.

A cock pheasant catapulted from the thick underbrush straight upwards towards the tops of the trees. There were only seconds in which to shoot. The safety was pushed off, the gun thrown to my shoulder, I fired quickly just as he reached the tree-tops. He folded up and dropped heavily 30 feet away. As I ran toward him the ground exploded again and my cock pheasant was making skyward. I’m going to lose him, I thought, as I fired. Nothing happened because I’d forgotten to take the safety off, but up ahead I heard movement, and then I saw my bird flapping about. I felt immense relief, and a bit of pride as I slipped the bird into the game pocket of my shooting jacket. I’d missed a lot easier shots.

Moving on to the orchard around the back of the farm-house, it looked as if there would be a pheasant about. There was heavy brush and what remained of last summer’s garden. In a little while I heard movement just up ahead of me. I waited. I froze. A hen pheasant came flapping out and I aimed and fired, but I didn’t aim well enough. She kept going, but with the second barrel I took my time, and she dropped.

On the third day, my confidence largely restored, I didn’t feel the complete failure any more. Then a lone partridge got up in the corn and I missed an easy shot with both barrels. It shook me up a bit; too much confidence.

Later, a pheasant flushed and it was a fairly easy shot, but I fired too quickly. He dropped, with more pellets in him than would have been necessary, if I had waited a bit.

Minutes later a hare got up. I’d shot at several of them but never connected, but this was an easy shot as he was moving from right to left. I fired and didn’t connect this time, either. I felt surprised and disappointed, but in a little while I ran into him again. This time he was going almost straight away from me, but I was ready and calm enough to let him get sufficiently far before I pulled the trigger. I got a bead on him and fired. He rolled over several times. My first hare.

To end the day I missed two more partridge and a pheasant; all of them fairly easy shots, but I knew I could hit sometimes… and I was happy with my partridge, three pheasants and a hare.