In a quiet corner of Lancashire, a grassroots initiative is using airgun shooting to reach young people many have already written off. Behind the project is Tim Harrison, a passionate shooter who loves the countryside. Working from his venue, The Chuckery, Tim has created a unique programme that offers structure, trust and respect to some of the most vulnerable individuals in the youth justice system.

The idea began as an extension of Tim’s volunteering work with Lancashire County Council’s Social Services. Helping with community sentencing projects for young people involved in antisocial behaviour, he opened his home workshop and donated time and equipment to support initiatives like a pet food bank. Young offenders would help build items such as bird boxes to raise funds for pet supplies, a small gesture, but one that sparked something more.

“As I started spending time with these young people,” says Tim, “it became apparent they had little knowledge of the countryside or the sports that many of us take for granted. Shooting had always helped me relax and taught me respect for the environment, so I thought, why not offer them the same chance?”

And so began a small, structured shooting group of young people, many of whom were under 21 and already involved in drugs, violence, theft, or weapons offences. The goal wasn’t just to teach safe shooting, it was to offer an alternative. “Trust is something these young people don’t often experience,” Tim explains. “We show them that shooting can be enjoyable, but it also requires discipline and mutual respect. It becomes a way to talk about responsibility and the consequences of your actions.”

The setting itself, a safe, rural environment, has proven therapeutic. One young man, a gang member from

London who had never seen a cow, had lost his hand in a drug-related dispute. Another was living in such neglect that he would rummage through bins for food because his father was too drunk to cook. “When you hear stories like that,” Tim says, “you realise change is urgent, and it often starts by simply listening and getting them out of town for a few hours.”

The changes, while sometimes subtle, are deeply meaningful. Young people who once refused to leave their homes now attend every session without fail. Some have reduced their alcohol intake. Others, like one young man who had previously self-harmed, have gained enough confidence to take their motorbike test. “Pride is the first thing I notice,” says Tim. “They drop the ‘gangster’ talk and begin speaking calmly. Shooting becomes their benchmark for what’s acceptable.”

Importantly, the sport is also a vehicle for education. With school attendance often low, Tim weaves basic maths and reading into the sessions, from calculating scope adjustments to reading instruction manuals. Even small things, like taking home a paper target with a neat shot group, become milestones of achievement. “They’re proud of their progress,” he says. “And that pride is something they rarely get to feel.”

Tim runs the initiative entirely from his own pocket, despite managing a chronic illness, Lyme disease, that limits his energy and resources. The turning point came when he reached out to several gun manufacturers asking for support. Only one responded: Daystate.

“Tony Belas has been behind us from the very beginning,” says Tim. “He came to visit, donated an air rifle and two scopes, and has since helped with banners, technical support, and even show tickets. Without him, we simply wouldn’t have started.”

Daystate’s involvement has had a lasting impact.

Young participants, many of whom are deeply brand-conscious, are motivated by the chance to use premium gear. “Every session starts with someone asking, ‘Can I use that Daystate rifle?’” Tim says with a smile. “It means the world to them.”

The support has gone both ways. Tim’s team crafts bird boxes and delivers fresh eggs to Tony and his crew at the shooting shows, a small gesture of thanks for the belief that helped the project take off.

But Tim also sees a bigger picture: the future of airgun shooting in the UK. He believes its sustainability depends not just on public perception, but on how well the industry engages with the next generation, especially those most at risk of misusing it.

“We’ve all read stories about people shooting wildlife along a canal or doing something stupid with an airgun,” he says. “Those stories damage the sport. If we can get to the kids most likely to do that and show them another way, we can secure the future of shooting, and change lives at the same time.”

His message to the trade is clear: don’t overlook the young people on the margins. “They’re not the usual customers,” he admits. “But they’re the ones who need this most. And if we help them now, we can prevent the kind of behaviour that leads to more restrictions and more negative press.”

Tim hopes that, in time, more companies will follow Daystate’s lead and support projects like his. “Shooting has given me so much,” he says. “I want to give that back, and show these young people that someone believes in them.”