As a rather passionate book collector, especially when the material has something to do with shotguns, I can honestly say that if there's a theory about wingshooting, I'm sure I've read it. Further, in order to learn--and with the seemingly vain hope of self-improvement--I've spent some time at the Purdey Shooting Grounds and a few such places and have plans to attend others. I have been coached at both skeet and trap by some outstanding champions and have been lucky to have been in the hunting field with a few of these legends. First of all, I can gladly assure you that they can miss just like the rest of us, though not always for the same reason, nor as often.

For most of us, field shooting is not, nor should it be, a competitive situation. We all like to do well, but not much more than a funny dinnertime story or two is really at stake. Most of us can't bring to bear the fine edge of concentration needed to perform at a near-perfect level. And we don't shoot enough, practice enough, or even dry-fire enough to attain a high level of familiarity with our guns, or even decent muscle memory. We're weekend gunners at best, and not nearly enough of that.

Now, since I am for these moments acting as the small end of the funnel, what have I learned that I can pass on which might be of some help? I have to assume that your gun fits pretty well--and I can assure you that it doesn't have to be perfect as long as it doesn't throw the charge a foot or so off from where it should. I further assume that you can see fairly well and that your reflexes are good enough so that you aren't continually slamming the car door on your fingers.

If we're still together at this point, I will use the advice of Lord Ripon, who was, without question, about the greatest game shot that ever lived. His Honorable Self tells us: "Aim high, keep the gun moving, and never check." That's all there is to it.

Ripon assumes, correctly, that we have instantly calculated range, speed of flight, and whatever angles are functional. These little niceties come with experience, but given a little of that--at least enough to keep us from raw panic at the flush of a bird or the passing of a flock of downwind teal--we ought to be able to keep the gun moving and not check. Right? Maybe...

Ripon assumes, as was his privilege and habit, that we concentrate on the task at hand. And most of us will do better on the unexpected or quite difficult shot than we will on the routine. The beginner at skeet always does better on his doubles than he does on his singles because he doesn't have time to carefully measure and just goes ahead and swings without checking.

Ripon also assumes that we don't make the basic mistakes of looking down the barrel and focusing on the sights or having a too-heavy or too-light trigger pull or shooting a gun and shell combination that hurts us and makes us flinch, or any of a number of other things that are ancient history to the very skillful shooter. Shooters who check their swing, that is, pause or stop, do so out of uncertainty--mechanical or mental--that interrupts the decision just made.

The Ripons of the shooting world have very few uncertainties. They know that every shot, every swing, isn't necessarily perfect, and that it needn't be--it just has to be good enough so that the ordinary pattern, which is almost 15 feet long and about 30 inches wide, will have intercepted the target. They know that being too precise--or at least trying to be--is one of the great faults of the ordinary gunner: he thinks too much and then questions his judgment--and checks!

On one of my shelves of shooting books, there is a bit or two about Lord Ripon you might find interesting: "The legend of Lord Ripon rests simply on the fact that he could kill more birds than anybody else. He himself liked to pretend that his skill was achieved effortlessly and he once wrote, 'Practice makes perfect, in the case of shooting, is true only to a certain extent, for a man must be born with a certain inherent aptitude to become a really first-rate shot.' In whatever way he achieved it, success certainly came to him; there was nobody his equal. He once killed twenty-eight pheasants in a minute. On another occasion he shot so quickly and accurately that he had seven dead birds in the air at once."

Of course, Ripon was shooting with a pair of guns--sometimes a trio--and using a loader, as was the custom. I believe his favorite guns were outside-hammer Purdeys. They are also a favorite of mine, but there I'm afraid the comparison ends.

Much that has been written about the art of shooting, including my own efforts, can be confusing. Too often, we say one thing and do another, and at the bottom it has always been my contention that the best teacher is a case of shells, maybe two.

In reality, Ripon was a tireless practicer. At a weekend of shooting, he was careful to avoid too much food and wine and did his best to get a decent amount of rest--not an easy formula to follow in the heyday of the lavish shooting parties that often included masquerade balls or other entertainments. I am a great believer in gun handling and keep one or two handy before and during the shooting season and spend a couple of minutes dry-pointing several times a day. My dreams of being a legend are long-since forgotten, but I am an advocate of "every bit helps."

One of the results of practice (or even thinking about wingshooting) is it helps remove doubt or indecision--that is, checking. And developing familiarity with your gun is a good way to start. Take an empty gun along when you walk the dog--whatever, but get into the habit of handling it often before opening day.

I'm sure when the story got out about Ripon lying on his back in the summer shooting at dragonflies with a .410, he was in for some strange looks. But here was a man who had no off-season, and the looks were different when he left his stand in the field. He was truly the envy of kings.

I am delighted to say that nowhere in his discourses on shooting does Lord Ripon indulge in the common absurdity of "a pheasant flying at 40 miles per hour at 30 yards should be led by six feet," or some other such nonsense. I firmly believe that such arithmetic has retarded the shooting ability of most of us as much or more than anything that claims to be scientific advice.

Numbers--such as 38-24-36--are interesting, but not in shooting lessons. It is the speed of your reactions and your swing that determines your leads--not mine.

Here I remind you of another great line about shooting: "Don't think--shoot!" I seriously doubt if Ripon ever read anything about shooting on the wing. It doesn't seem to have affected his ability, and I have a feeling that the little he himself wrote about it was done with some reluctance in the firm belief that it was a very poor substitute for a gun in the hands and a couple of pockets full of cartridges--and an inquiring mind.

By now, I feel like the scholar who has done a 40-page thesis on a 14-line sonnet; it's been fun and educational for me, and perhaps you might find something to take home, as the old saying goes.

In Lord Ripon's time (1867-1923), it was a common custom to keep a personal shooting diary. In it, he listed both the number and species of game. For the year 1889, the total, including a few hares, rabbits, and one or two deer, came to 18,239. When he finally tired of records in 1923, his grand total came to 556,813. Think about that for a minute, then remember: "Aim high, keep the gun moving, and never check."