From Side-By-Side to Semi-Auto: My Blackthorn Baptism in Goose Country

Words by Digby Taylor, Managing Director of GunsOnPegs

I’ve always been a side-by-side man. Whether it’s game days in the line, rough shooting, or knocking about on the farm after crows and squirrels, I’ve never had much time for anything else. There’s something about the simplicity and balance of a side-by-side that just feels right. It’s familiar, it’s traditional, and in a way, it feels honest.

So when it came to goose shooting, I stuck with what I knew—and just made do. Over the years, I’ve shot the odd goose, but only really by chance—on a stubble field after pigeons or an evening flight pond if I was lucky.

Those were fleeting encounters, and I never went out of my way to kit up properly. I used whatever game cartridges I had to hand, and the birds I brought down felt more like bonuses than targets.

But last year changed all that. I spent a week on a Hebridean island for some snipe shooting, and a few mornings of proper goose flighting were added into the mix. This wasn’t just luck-of-the-draw stuff—this was the real deal. Geese coming in hard with the wind behind them, or working against it in that strange, slow-winged, fast-moving way that defies belief.

These weren’t birds dropping into decoys—they were cutting across the sky like fighter jets, giving you one chance, maybe two, and then they were gone. I took the biggest cartridges I dared put through my side-by-side, but they still weren’t enough. I won’t pretend that a different tool would’ve made all the difference—I still missed plenty—but I found myself wondering all the same.

Answering the Call

When another opportunity arose at the end of the season—a week of goose shooting, this time in the form of a proper cull—I jumped at it. I went up with a few friends, and this time, I made a decision: I’d invest in a semi-automatic.

After a bit of digging around, I landed on the Blackthorn. Matte finish, 3-inch chamber, solid build from Edgar Brothers. A proper working gun. I told myself I’d use that third shot only to finish wounded birds, out of respect. That promise, I’ll admit now, didn’t last very long.

The cull itself was essential. The greylag population on these islands is exploding—thousands upon thousands of them breeding unchecked, with no natural predators. Just open grassland, mild conditions, and time. They thrive. The figures are eye-opening: five geese eat roughly the same as a ewe. So if you’ve got 3,000 breeding birds, that’s potentially 15,000 goslings the following spring—equivalent to the grazing impact of another 3,000 sheep.

On land that’s already under pressure, that’s not sustainable. The farmers were desperate for help, and we were there to do a job.

Wild and Wily

But if anyone thinks this is easy work, they’re mistaken. These geese are wild—properly wild. They don’t come drifting in like mallards to a pond. They fly in small groups, maybe ten at a time, making clever little manoeuvres, pushing over each other, trading altitude, cutting across the skyline at speed. You might get one chance all morning. Maybe two, if you're lucky.

We spent our days creeping behind dry-stone walls and crawling into position through bog and rock, just to be in the right place at the right moment. And when the moment came, the Blackthorn made all the difference. That third shot turned out to be invaluable—whether it was for finishing a bird that had been clipped with the first two, or snapping off a bonus shot when another group came out of nowhere and banked overhead.

I haven’t managed three for three yet, but I’ve had enough moments where that last cartridge mattered. It’s matte finish proved a wise choice too. These birds are sharp—they’ll pick up the glint of a polished barrel or the shine off a stock long before they hear you. Even the crackle of a radio was enough to make them shift course. In the end, I took to turning mine off as the birds approached, just to avoid a whispered “they’re coming” from one of the others giving the whole thing away.

Kit That Earns Its Keep

We were in full camo, face masks and all, but even so, it was a struggle to stay hidden. These birds see everything. But where the Blackthorn really earned its keep was in its robustness. Lying in a ditch, scrambling through wet heather and coastal rock, I wasn’t worrying about scratching a stock or dunking it in water. It was made for this.

Easy to break down and clean right to the guts, it shrugged off damp and sand like it was nothing. That island air is brutal—salt and sand in everything. Cars rust out in five years, not fifteen. The thought of taking a fine old English gun into that environment makes me wince. The Blackthorn, on the other hand, took it all in stride.

And while my shooting still wasn’t what you’d call top-drawer, I came away from the trip feeling like I’d genuinely made the most of it. The semi-auto didn’t just help—it changed the whole experience. I’ve come back a convert.

Beyond the Geese

Now it’s my go-to rabbiting gun. When February rolls around and we’re poking dreys, it’s what I’ll carry—big cartridges and a bit of reach to break the nest apart. And on those days at my father’s farm, when I’m after squirrels or a few crows and don’t want to risk dinging up my side-by-side, I’ll be reaching for the Blackthorn. It’s dependable, it takes a knock, and it gets the job done without complaint.

Ultimately, it’s all about using the right tools for the job. Don’t worry, though—I won’t be standing in the game line with it anytime soon. Not yet, anyway…