Wood bender by John C. Street

About all I can remember of it is that it was made entirely out of wood, had a leather grip and could transport me from the hills of Pennsylvania to the Rocky Mountains in the blink of an eye.  It came into my possession at a time in life when my imagination could make an adventure out of a soiree to the brushy woodlot that was only a block from home and, for a couple of long-ago summers, it accompanied me everywhere I went short of to bed and into the bathtub. 

While some might say – in fact, Good Wife does quit often – I’m going through a second childhood, I bought myself another one of those wooden things a couple months ago and discovered it still has magical time-machine qualities only now, instead of transporting me from the hills of my home state to the Rocky Mountains in the blink of an eye, it makes an hour disappear whenever I pick it up.   

Realizing this admission is going to raise a few eyebrows …I bought a bow.  No, not one of those bells and whistles laden things with mechanical pulleys on either end, an honest-to-gosh, made out of wood, long bow listed as having a 45 pound draw at a 28” length of pull.  I chose this draw weight because I wanted something with a little authority but not enough authority to tempt me into trying to take a deer with it.   

Several times over the last eight or ten years, I’ve been given “starter” bows by people who had them laying around in their basements but, after playing with them for a month or two, have returned them.  All of these loaners were recurves, anemic things that would barely stick an arrow in a bale of hay.   

But then, back in November of last year, my (second) childhood imagination kicked in and, after several weeks of research, I plunked down a sizable pile of hard earned cash and bought my bow out of a catalog.  And within a very short period of time, I went out and purchased a finger-guard as well.  Forty-five pounds isn’t much until it starts ripping across your fingers when an arrow is released.  After four or five arrows, it felt like it was taking skin.  After a dozen, it actually was.  

Anyone who owns and uses a long bow will probably appreciate and empathize with what I’m about to relate. First and foremost, it is one of the neatest things I’ve ever owned and, like two of my other favorite pastimes, fly fishing and grouse hunting, shooting arrows with this long, skinny piece of wood is relaxing.  The discipline (more on this just directly) of shooting completely focuses my thinking process and squeezes out worries and woes. 

Shortly after I made the purchase, I was talking to a friend who actually hunts with one of these simple pieces of wood and I lamented the long distance between our homes because I was sure I could learn a great deal from his coaching.  His response could have come from a Zen master for all the more it meant to me at the time.  “Your arrow,” he advised, “will teach you all you need to know.”  I wanted to give him a flippant response, like “May the force be with you too” but thought better of it.  I’m glad I held my tongue because, as I am discovering in incremental steps, he was right. 

The only real advice he gave me – and, after just a few sessions, it made perfect sense - was to only take one arrow with me when I went out to practice.  The time spent walking to and from the target gives the brain time to digest whatever was good or bad about the shot that was just taken and, as my friend predicted, the arrow began teaching me, once I started to pay attention.   

Finally, little by little, the arrow taught me how to stand (with my left side facing the target), how to hold the bow (loosely but exactly the same way every time), the proper cant for the bow (definitely not straight up and down because, invariably, the arrow fell off the rest) and what to do once the arrow was released (neither the hand holding the bow nor the hand releasing the arrow should move until the arrow strikes the target).  Instructive little fellow, that arrow. 

Then, after losing a few of my original batch of arrows and destroying a few more, I decided to purchase a dozen more.  As luck would have it, on my next trip to the sporting goods store the man who waited on me just happened to know about such things as proper draw length, arrow weight and composition and the proper weight (in grains) for the screw-in head of the arrow.   

And so, I now have an even dozen teachers and the lessons are coming a little easier.  Currently, they’re trying to teach me about the difference in their flight path when the range increases and this lesson, despite my rapt attention, is proving a little more difficult.  Sometimes I can get it just right for eight or ten arrows in a row and then I’ll drop one in the dirt in front of the target or, just as often, stick it in the shed that’s being used as a backstop.   

Every once in awhile, Good Wife joins me in the evening with her fully tricked-out compound and illustrates the difference between our bows.  At twenty yards – my maximum distance to date – she systematically sticks her arrows in the heart of a five inch circle while I am often lucky to keep mine on the three foot square target.   

Who knows, maybe someday I’ll buy another one of these time machines, one that has enough authority to take a deer cleanly out to twenty yards.  Right now, though, using a piece of bent wood for hunting is the last thing on my mind.  But I suspect the arrow will have something to say about that as well.