CRACKING THE CLAYS

The referee calls for us to line up. I walk to the middle lane, slipping the gun off my shoulder. There are two men either side of me, plugging their ears and counting their bullets. A test target soars from the trap house, smacking into the field of broken clays. I push one hand into my bulging pocket, remove a shell and slide it into the barrel. On lane 1, the man lifts his gun, nods to the referee and calls “Pull!”. Two women are competing today: my mum and myself. It’s just another day on the shooting range.

Shooting is a man’s game, and clay target shooting is no exception. At the 2018 Trap Nationals, across all 6 events, the highest number of women was 120 out of 709 competitors. I began attending the nationals in 2009, and the numbers have marginally increased.

For women, it’s an intimidating sport; men surround us at practice and competition, frowning at our stance or the way we rest our heads. Advice is welcome, but without condescension, please. As a female participant, I feel I need to earn my place.

The sport has not been kind to women. One variation, skeet, earned Olympic status in 1968 and was open to both sexes until 1992. Women were then excluded until 2000, when a female event was introduced. In a 2018 interview, Olympian Kim Rhode alleges women were removed because the Olympic committee didn’t want to publicise the scores of women who outshot men. The 1992 Olympic Champion was, coincidentally, a woman; Zhang Shan of China. For an inclusive institution, this is disheartening, and leads me to question my own Olympic ambition.

The requirements for clay target aren’t prejudiced. It’s about hand–eye coordination, peripheral vision and patience – abilities all women possess, but are overshadowed by male superiority. In the hunter-gatherer days, it was essential for men to focus solely on their prey. Women had to gather food, watch their children, and survey for danger simultaneously. This fact eludes men.

There are initiatives to encourage female participation – trial days for women, ladies’ events – however the animosity in clay target isn’t only between men and women. Like any sport, it’s susceptible to perversion. Over time it has become a quest for notoriety, popularity, and even a beauty contest – mostly for women. The competition is limited; you have one victory, you’re expected to continue and shine. It’s easy to spot women who’ve let their ego inflate. Their lashes are painted, their hair is snatched into a bun, and they strut between layouts in sleek leggings. When they miss a target, the shell flies faster into the bin than when the bullet was released. When they shoot a round clean (hit every target), they smile and say it was effortless. These women drive participants away with their arrogance. I’ve often observed elite male shooters encouraging this behaviour. I implore clubs to squad more women of different grades together. Place an A with a C grader and inspire conversation!

In 2016, clay target communities across Australia were rattled when Catherine Skinner won gold at the Rio Olympics, over favourite Laetisha Scanlan. People considered Scanlan a ‘better representative’ of the sport. Her lashes are painted, her hair is snatched into a bun and she sports sleek leggings. Skinner doesn’t conform to this image or arrogance inherited with it; she shoots and chats, laughs and smiles. I was devastated when she didn’t receive the recognition she deserved from our community. Scanlan and Skinner are champions of women, but I must applaud Skinner’s humility.

For a decade, my skills and looks have been slandered, I’ve been compared to others, and endured contempt from fellow competitors. At the 2013 Nations, my teammates on the ladies squad exiled me from their company. I never relinquished clay target because it’s liberating. I’m astounded I can hit a target 4 inches in diameter, flying at 65.9 km/h, and I relish in sharing my experience with others. Olympians like Catherine Skinner and Suzy Balogh inspire women to step into male territory.

Clay target – aside from empowering women – has its perks. In response to my pastime, a high school friend said, “When there’s a zombie apocalypse, I’m coming to you.” Every time I hold my gun, I’m not only breaking stereotypes, I’m being held responsible for the safety of humanity.

I'm Raphaella Saroukos, and I'm in my fourth year of a Bachelor of Creative Arts and Industries (Communications) at CDU. I impulsively took up long-distance running, and have run too far, and for too long, to stop.