“There’s no such thing as an easy snipe,” my father used to say to me when I was a child. As a young teenager, I was introduced to the world of snipe shooting around Pembrokeshire. Most of the time I couldn’t hit a thing. I would become increasingly miserable — sometimes even teary — as I followed my father around some godforsaken bog, missing snipe after snipe, cheeks burning with shame every time I stuffed another empty cartridge into my bulging pocket. My cartridge ratio has improved somewhat since those early teenage days but, even at the age of 22, I still have to repeat my father’s words to myself occasionally. This was one of those times.
The plan was to work out which shooting method yielded more snipe, walked-up or driven. Dad and I have employed both tactics with varying degrees of success over the past 10 years, so we thought
