Growing up on a sheep farm in rural New Zealand, hunting was intrinsic to the fabric of country life, so all manner of firearms hung from coat hooks in the hall and we learned to master them from a young age.
I started, age six, with Dad’s old Webley ‘slug gun’ (air pistol), roaming the swamps and stalking the willows along the river for game; thrushes, blackbirds, frogs, rats and the occasional stoat. Then I graduated to an old BSA five-shot .22 after pestering Dad that I needed an upgrade so I could shoot rabbits and hares.