I can’t quite remember the year but the memory is crystal clear. For those of you who might not know the name, it’s Lefty Kreh. He’s a legend and deservedly so, an author, teacher and all around nice guy.
Smitten by the lure of fly-fishing, I walked into the Boiling Springs Fly Shop, just outside Carlisle Pennsylvania. Pennsylvania has some incredible trout streams and I was re-stocking my supply of artificial terrestrials, also known as ants, beetles, crickets and such.
This Spring morning was busy hosting a fly-casting school. Lo and behold, there sat Mr. Kreh at a table having a sandwich. By reputation and pictures, I knew who he was so I walked up and humbly introduced myself. Ever the gentleman, he shook my hand and asked me to sit down, which I did.
Just as in golf and shooting, fly fisherman choose their equipment passionately. For the seasoned fly fisherman, the differences in fly rods can be subtle but are real and do matter. Aspiring to become more knowledgeable of this elegant pastime, I had a question for Mr. Kreh. At that time, my one and only rod was an Orvis Far and Fine 5 weight which I still own today. It was not the Kolar or Perazzi of fly rods but its faults were more mine than the rods. So I asked Mr. Kreh to share with me, beyond the obvious, the difference between my rod and the very expensive, handmade bamboo fly rods.
Long the master of this fine art form, Mr. Kreh smiled at me like you would the eager young pup. He asked me to fetch my rod and bring it in. Out the door and back in a flash, I found myself following Mr. Kreh, bamboo rod in his hand, out behind the shop to the pond edge. He asked me to strip some line and cast my Far and Fine, paying close attention to whatever sensations the rod offered. I did. He then handed me the bamboo rod and invited me to again, feel the cast. I did. Can you feel the difference, he asked? In his presence, I was sincere about wanting to learn something, so I told him the truth. I said, no sir. He smiled benevolently, placed his hand on my shoulder and said kindly, “If you fly fish long enough Dan, you will. The art is in the rod and the cast.”
If you’re an art student, the teacher will likely be talking about colors, brushes, strokes, balance, and composition. As will the photography teacher addressing light, exposure, and composition. There’s that word again, composition.
When it’s time to stand in front of a blank canvas, your brush and oils can only do so much. The strokes will be up to you. Similarly, I can show you a camera that costs upward of $35,000. In the right hands, the photographs from this camera are breathtaking. While I’d dearly love—and yes I mean dearly love to believe—that this camera would take similar photographs for me, I’m afraid it just ain’t gonna happen. It’s not the camera, it’s the operator. There it sits on a tripod, waiting impatiently for me to compose a truly astonishing photograph. It’s probably a good idea to have that epiphany before buying this camera. The camera is only the tool.
Going to Ace Hardware and buying the very best carpentry tools, does not make us a carpenter. And maybe why I got a C in my High School shop class?
Ever watched someone working on a potter’s wheel? You start with nothing, the wheel goes round and you add a little clay, a little water. As the wheel spins something beautiful emerges—well, not for everybody. Kind of reminded me of shop class. The wheel and clay are the science. The beautifully shaped vase is the art. But not without the potter.
So it is with us when we stand in the shooting box. Because the target’s speed, distance, and line are changing, might suggest different breakpoints? Different shooting methods? A different choke and shell? Another lens color to help with the target background and sharpen the sight picture? This is the science of the shot. The swing, timing of the trigger pull and the score, the art.
I think we’re on firm ground saying that advancement up the skill ladder is a process. And good equipment can be helpful in that process. No doubt. Some. Because ultimately, someone has to guide the rod, brush, camera, bow, rifle, shotgun. That would be us.
Equipment alone can’t deliver the end result. It takes our input. Am I suggesting there’s no benefit to buying good equipment? Most definitely not. I am saying the magic is in the magician, not the rabbit or the hat. I have no doubt Mr. Kreh could cast the artificial ant into a punch bowl at 60 feet with my Far and Fine, while I could not with a custom bamboo rod or any rod for that matter.
Back then, for Mr. Kreh, fly-fishing was an art. No doubt, it still is. For me, it was a science. Hold the rod and line like this, then cast like this. The cast has a very sensitive timing, a rhythmic cadence, not unlike our swing in sporting clays. A cadence I had to learn if I was to become more proficient with my equipment, whether it had a reel or a trigger.
Especially at the first skill level, shooting is, understandably, very much a science. Skill development underway, this is the apprenticeship, learning to use the tools. I believe, and have said many times before, sporting clays is not a complicated game. There are but a few, basic, indispensable fundamentals. Learn them and load. Here’s where most any tool can get the job done.
Take an incoming teal presentation, say, 20 yards off the muzzle. I doubt gun selection will make much difference. So, day to day, generally speaking, any good gun will suffice. Before you think me presumptuous, I’ve never held a shotgun that wasn’t more capable than the shooter—no matter who owned it. The gun is capable of perfect scores. And, as time passes and more number 8’s go down the barrel, not only do the various target presentations become more familiar to us, our body is quietly recording and storing muscle memory. That’s why our gun feels so much better in our hands than our best friend’s gun.
This helps us. A lot. Why? Well, because the physics, the math of the shot, are non-negotiable. Here’s what I mean by that. When the shot-string leaves the muzzle—for the bird to break—the shot string must be on a flight path that will intercept the target. Any deviation from that and the target will be missed. Improved performances and higher scores require better swing precision and timing. And right here, the gun that best responds to our physical input—not too little or too much—can deliver that precision and timing.
Our targets are moving. Speeds vary from very quickly to very slowly. We are moving. So is the muzzle. That’s a lot of movement. Gun control? Good point. Here’s where the importance of gun selection, and gun fit, just went up considerably. When it’s time to pull the trigger, our swing has to deliver the sight picture we want, no ifs, ands or buts. Our gun either helps us do that—or not.
Not forgetting that the shooter will always be the most important factor in every shot, certain guns can actually help a shooter break more targets. Gun weight and balance can be assets or liabilities. Balanced properly and with enough heft in the gun to add critical stability, we definitely need the gun to support a controlled swing, regardless of how fast or slow the target, and the corresponding muzzle speed. The gun has to help us meet those demands, where we want it, when we want it, and do it without compromising swing precision.
At the 2011 South Carolina Iron Man challenge—a shoot I highly recommend—I found myself on a short deck, looking down at a very fast, crossing rabbit. We could wait on this rabbit to let some of the speed burn off, making it more manageable, but it was angling out, turning into a departing, edge-on rabbit. Trade offs. At the earlier breakpoint, the risk was the high launch speed, right off the trap. A later break point was tempting but added distance and a reduced target profile. I watched this rabbit carefully. At launch, it consistently went 10 feet, then went just slightly airborne—about 6 inches—for another 10 feet, landed and took off. All of this in less than a second. I decided to take it early while it was in the air, then take the 2nd bird over on my left. As planned, XX. So far so good. XX. Both times the rabbit stayed consistent. The third pair, XX.
Last pair coming. I had the timing of the shot down and was intently focused. Had to be. I had less than 1 second. I saw the flash and moved the gun. The rabbit never left the ground. Already committed, I was slightly over the rabbit, knew it, and was on the trigger. X. Vaporized. No visible pieces. What? How did that happen? Those were my thoughts as I moved to the 2nd target. Not good, I know, but there it is. In a millisecond, seemingly with no time left, the gun found the rabbit. Credit? Gun or me? Well, me. Mostly I guess. Because, truth is, under those exact same circumstances, had I slapped at it with another gun and lost the precision, 0X. I looked down at my gun appreciatively and stepped out, XX, long run intact.
Somehow, I think Mr. Kreh would have been proud of me. The art of shooting? I’m still not sure how the gun got there in time, but it did. No doubt, a million rounds down range over the last 30 years helped. Would another gun have done as well? Maybe, right up until the demanding target forced a swing error with no time left. 0X. But it was XX. That’s the difference. My competition gun has some serious juju. I know what it’s capable of, making the only variable in the box me. The way it should be. And, to be brutally honest, the way it is.
What Mr. Kreh calls a cast, I call a swing. And we’re both hitting our target with a graceful, well-timed stroke. A competition gun should enhance that stroke by putting us on target—consistently—giving us an aggressive, uncompromising confidence. Thank you Mr. Kreh, there is a difference and the advantages are there for those who pursue the intangibles, beyond the science of shooting.