The trap of trapshooting by bird hunters

Five years ago, the clubhouse at the Snowshoe Gun Club in Kenai was nothing more than a rusted Conex storage container with peeling paint. Inside, a stove the size of an old box television sat in the middle of the narrow room.

It was a Sunday in mid-January when I first walked into the building. The warmth of the single room came from the crowd inside as much as the stove. As one group warmed their hands over the stove, another grabbed their shotguns from the rack and headed out.

I had just shot my first round of trap and was realizing I was not a natural. Instead of teasing me, one of the club members told me my first round was free because I'd spend plenty on the sport the rest of my life.

25 clays straight?

I came to trapshooting as a bird hunter who wanted practice shooting in game fields. My trap scores did improve as I gained strength and better form. But then, something predictable happened — I bought a different gun specifically for trap (first, a BT-99 and later, a Browning Citori, both 12 gauge). I attired myself in a proper shooting vest, gloves, and glasses and used trap loads instead of game loads.

My initial goal to become a better bird shooter morphed into a goal of breaking 25 clays straight. I read books on the subject and sought advice from the "Old Trap Boys," as one member affectionately called both the female and male trap shooters who never missed a Sunday.

"Trapshooting isn't at all like hunting," one of the better shooters told me. "Trap and skeet are a game, and wing shooting is an art." He went on to say that a bird hunter who shoots well in the field often shoots well at trap while a trapshooter seldom does as well shooting live birds.

Just before fall and the beginning of hunting season that year, I shot my first 25 straight and, as is tradition afterward, my hat. Accomplishing this small goal gave me false confidence going into hunting season. It didn't occur to me until I shot my 28-gauge field gun that I hadn't shot it once since the previous fall.

My partner and I followed Winchester, our English setter, into a mountain valley and across a shale slide. Winchester pointed a large flock of white-tailed ptarmigan, and when the birds flushed, I shot. I watched the birds fly away unharmed and picked up my two spent shells. I had clean missed (seeing no feathers to suggest I might have hit the bird) on both shots.

It dawned on me what had gone wrong. My shooting focus all winter and most of the summer had been on a perfect trap score, so much so that I'd failed to transition those skills from the range to the field.

Can’t replicate field-speed

On the trap line, shooting occurs from the mounted position. When you set yourself up for a shot on the trap or skeet range, you set up your whole musculature for that shot and recoil before calling for the target.

In hunting situations, you don't have the luxury of getting into a perfect shooting stance. Whatever position you shoot from, your body tightens to make the shot. One foot might be in a hole or on a hill.

No practice set up can replicate field-speed, whether it is the actual speed of the bird or the way it can fool you into thinking it's fast by flushing wild, or in every direction. Hunting had given me an instinct for how live birds behaved that I'd lost while spending too much practice time shooting clays.

In clay shooting, you don't allow outside influences to enter your mind during a shoot. Safety considerations determine the design of the course, and the rules of the game provide the shooter with the ability to focus on the singular act of shooting.

On the range, you don't have to worry about bird identification or the dog. While hunting, the outside influences matter most.

While shooting clays, I had worn a heavy shooting jacket in winter or a t-shirt and shooting vest in summer. Neither is worn hunting in the fall, when I usually dress in layers and carry my shotgun for miles before shooting.

The biggest difference between clay-bird shooting and bird hunting is what goes on in my head. In wing shooting, a bad shot could mean a wounded bird. Even a good shooter has put pellets in a bird without being able to recover it. That's a real dilemma. It's something that you think about for a long time afterward.

What I think about before the season starts are moments. The moment when a once-invisible bird comes into view and how I react to that wild bird. Add a bird dog fulfilling his purpose in life and birds living abundantly, and it's easy to see why practice is necessary.

This winter, I look forward to practicing shooting as a bird hunter rather than an amateur trapshooter. This new focus requires shooting the shotgun I will use hunting in the clothes I wear hunting as well as shooting on uneven ground, with distractions, and at targets closer to what I will experience hunting (sporting clay courses, for instance, offer less static shooting scenarios).

None of this is to say clay shooting is not good practice for bird hunting if done right — or fun in its own right. I'm still likely to continue spending time and money trap and skeet shooting for the rest of my life.

Christine Cunningham of Soldotna is a lifelong Alaskan and avid hunter. On alternate weeks, she writes about Alaska hunting. Contact Christine at cunningham@yogaforduckhunters.com