Post by dreamrider on Apr 1, 2020 17:08:19 GMT -5
MY FIRST BOW HUNT by Ray Scott (Dream Rider)
It was 1961 and I was about to set off on a two day Goat hunt up north, armed to the teeth with a 65lb Lemonwood longbow and a quiver full of recently created arrows. My friend Andy and I must have raised a few eyebrows as we cruised along the open highway on our motor bikes with full shoulder quivers loaded up with colorful arrows with broad heads attached, and six foot longbows strapped alongside the bikes. The only thing missing from the picture was some war paint and a few feathers stuck in a head band. (Not sure if we would get away with that now days in this pc world that we live in).
Andy and I had only recently been inspired into bow hunting after reading Howard Hills “Hunting the Hard Way” We read all about his exploits several times over and were so enthralled by them, we decided to try and emulate him.
We had the bows; all we needed were the hunting arrows. With Howard Hills instructions memorized, we started the building process. Andy was in an Engineering apprenticeship so it was up to him to create the broad heads. He cut out the bh blade profile from industrial hacksaw blades then brazed on a 3/8” parallel length of tube for a feral. These things were a work of art but as heavy as lead.
I created the arrows as I was reputed to be the wood worker, (I was doing my apprenticeship in boat building at the time) . I found a flitch of very fine grain Oregon, and sent it off to a dowel maker who returned fifty very nice 3/8 dowels 30” long. These were cut to 28inches as per Howard Hills recommendation. After raiding a turkey farm for feathers, we, through a process of trial and error managed to assemble 50 of the most pathetic excuse for arrows you would ever like to see.
Weight was not an issue as in those days we had no concept of such things, arrow length, spine ratings, nocks etc were beyond our comprehension (I had simply cut a groove in the end of the shaft for a nock). We then set about testing these wonderful creations, eliminating those that hissed and wobbled their way to the target. Ending up with 36 arrows that flew reasonably straight although trajectory wasn’t much to boast about. Feeling suitably proud of ourselves we then set about making shoulder quivers out of light leather that could hold up to a dozen arrows, once again as per Howard Hills instructions.
It was mid-afternoon when we finally arrived at Andy’s mother’s farm, where the wild goats were reputed to be plentiful. “Come on Ray let’s check out the horses and saddles ready for an early morning start” Andy said. “WHOA, Saddle’s! Horses! Who said anything about horses”? I said desperately. “Well” Andy said “it’s either horses or walk the five miles each way and I’m sure not walking” he said. “But I have never been on a horse and you sure never told me that I would be” I said desperately.” Don’t be a girl” he said with obvious relish. “Come on I will show you how “.
An hour later I was holding on for dear life while slowly walking the unfortunate horse around the house paddock. God I thought breaking out in a cold sweat it’s a long way down to the ground, I was sure his legs were ten feet long. Strangely I would think nothing of working on a violently pitching boat deck, climbing masts etc but horses terrified me. “OK you have got the hang of it” Andy said getting bored, “we are ready for an early start tomorrow”. Speak for yourself I thought as I hastened to get off that huge brute.
Day break found us slowly walking our horses towards the back hills. We had our longbows and quivers across our backs freeing up our hands. “Come on let’s do a nice slow trot “Andy said and before I could scream “NO” we were off. Oh sh-t we were going at a hell of a pace, but worse was to come, my horse inexplicably took off on a mad gallop passing a very startled Andy. Unbeknown to me the more I bounced up and down on the brute my bow also bounced slapping the horse on the rump. The more I bounced the more the horse got slapped the faster we went. Within a few seconds we were at full gallop. Andy was gleefully tearing alongside yelling that I had it sussed and was exhorting me to greater speed.” HEEEELLLP where are the bloody brakes”, I screamed. Of course it couldn’t go on, it was bound to come to a sticky end and it did, when the horse refused to jump a small stream that no one had seen fit to tell me about. The horse suddenly stopped but I didn’t.
Andy fell about laughing hysterically as I hauled my sorry, wet, but fortunately undamaged body out of four feet of water. He told me later that the whole spectacle of me bouncing around on the horse, with arms and legs going in all directions like a rag doll, then completing a spectacular nose dive into the stream was something he will remember for a long time. Fortunately there was no damage to my long bow (which is more than I can say for my pride). But all my arrows had come out of the quiver and were now matchwood, Howard Hill had mentioned nothing about the possibility of that happening.
We divvied up the remainder of Andy’s arrows and were soon off again. Half an hour later, “There’s one” Andy said pointing to a large Billy peacefully asleep on an old tree stump. Hastily dismounting we tethered the horse and were soon stalking in close. As he stood up we both fired together. Andy’s went over the top, but mine hit the unfortunate Billy in his oversize testicles’ and traveled up into his belly. With a Bleat he was off. “Quick” Andy said “we will have to run him down before he gets away” and was off, with me hot on his heels. The Billy hampered by the arrow, ploughed his way through every thorn bush and blackberry clump he could find with us quickly gaining on him. Finally we both dived on him and quickly dispatched him. As we lay there gasping for air, covered in blood some belonged to the Billy, but most of it was our own from the countless cuts and scratches we had received from our reckless headlong rush, through some of the most brutal undergrowth it was possible to find. We were ecstatic, we had done it. We were as good as the great Howard Hill and we had done it all with our own hand made gear.
The euphoria was short lived however, as when we took stock we discovered we had broken every arrow in our quivers , they had all snapped in half during our crazy headlong rush through the undergrowth , we were disappointed Howard Hill had failed to mentioned this possibility in his book . We Made our way back to the horses only to find they had scarpered back home. In our excitement of seeing the Billy we had failed to tether them correctly. I have a sneaky suspicion my horse may have been the instigator of the mutiny not wanting to be subjected to my riding skills again. If this was correct the feeling was mutual, and I happily set off walking back to the homestead with Andy following behind grumbling the whole way.
Fortunately we still had a hand full of spare arrows we had bought with us and it was with those we set off the next morning. This time straddling the motorbikes, there was no way Andy was going to get me on another one of those four legged brutes. As we puttered back out to the foot hills and soon spotted a good mob of goats. The hunt was on again. Taking a leaf out of Howard Hills book about stalking methods we were soon within 15 yards of them. Quickly choosing a goat each we both drew and released together. Andy nailed a medium sized nanny and I was standing there with fragments of arrow and bowstring draped all over me with a bewildered look on my face. What the hell just happened I thought?
In my naivety when making the arrows I had cut a notch in the end of the shafts to act as a nock, fortunately most of the notches were cut across the grain and managed to withstand the acceleration of the bowstring, but this one I had cut with the grain and on release the string had split the arrow which in turn had cut the bowstring. In hind sight all I needed to have done was glue in a small strip of modelling plywood then cut the notch at right angles to it, or simply tied and glued some twine around the shaft, something Howard Hill had failed to tell us in his book. I like to tell myself, that goat never knew how lucky he was.
As I think of those early experiences (Although not strictly PC) it is with a great deal of pride that we had achieved so much with absolutely zero knowledge or help. In that far off land called New Zealand we felt like pioneers, and in the process learnt an enormous amount about the wonderful sport of bow hunting.
Andy found other interests and moved on. But I can still be found wandering the game trails with a bow in my hand. And the only horses that feature in my life are the ones that run on petrol.
Foot note,
Unbeknown to us at the time, there were numerous clubs and very knowledgeable archers dotted around the country. Anyone of them would have been only too happy to have helped us had we but known. However we did feel like pioneers at the time and enjoyed the immense satisfaction of “Hunting the Hard Way”.
Dream Rider.
.
It was 1961 and I was about to set off on a two day Goat hunt up north, armed to the teeth with a 65lb Lemonwood longbow and a quiver full of recently created arrows. My friend Andy and I must have raised a few eyebrows as we cruised along the open highway on our motor bikes with full shoulder quivers loaded up with colorful arrows with broad heads attached, and six foot longbows strapped alongside the bikes. The only thing missing from the picture was some war paint and a few feathers stuck in a head band. (Not sure if we would get away with that now days in this pc world that we live in).
Andy and I had only recently been inspired into bow hunting after reading Howard Hills “Hunting the Hard Way” We read all about his exploits several times over and were so enthralled by them, we decided to try and emulate him.
We had the bows; all we needed were the hunting arrows. With Howard Hills instructions memorized, we started the building process. Andy was in an Engineering apprenticeship so it was up to him to create the broad heads. He cut out the bh blade profile from industrial hacksaw blades then brazed on a 3/8” parallel length of tube for a feral. These things were a work of art but as heavy as lead.
I created the arrows as I was reputed to be the wood worker, (I was doing my apprenticeship in boat building at the time) . I found a flitch of very fine grain Oregon, and sent it off to a dowel maker who returned fifty very nice 3/8 dowels 30” long. These were cut to 28inches as per Howard Hills recommendation. After raiding a turkey farm for feathers, we, through a process of trial and error managed to assemble 50 of the most pathetic excuse for arrows you would ever like to see.
Weight was not an issue as in those days we had no concept of such things, arrow length, spine ratings, nocks etc were beyond our comprehension (I had simply cut a groove in the end of the shaft for a nock). We then set about testing these wonderful creations, eliminating those that hissed and wobbled their way to the target. Ending up with 36 arrows that flew reasonably straight although trajectory wasn’t much to boast about. Feeling suitably proud of ourselves we then set about making shoulder quivers out of light leather that could hold up to a dozen arrows, once again as per Howard Hills instructions.
It was mid-afternoon when we finally arrived at Andy’s mother’s farm, where the wild goats were reputed to be plentiful. “Come on Ray let’s check out the horses and saddles ready for an early morning start” Andy said. “WHOA, Saddle’s! Horses! Who said anything about horses”? I said desperately. “Well” Andy said “it’s either horses or walk the five miles each way and I’m sure not walking” he said. “But I have never been on a horse and you sure never told me that I would be” I said desperately.” Don’t be a girl” he said with obvious relish. “Come on I will show you how “.
An hour later I was holding on for dear life while slowly walking the unfortunate horse around the house paddock. God I thought breaking out in a cold sweat it’s a long way down to the ground, I was sure his legs were ten feet long. Strangely I would think nothing of working on a violently pitching boat deck, climbing masts etc but horses terrified me. “OK you have got the hang of it” Andy said getting bored, “we are ready for an early start tomorrow”. Speak for yourself I thought as I hastened to get off that huge brute.
Day break found us slowly walking our horses towards the back hills. We had our longbows and quivers across our backs freeing up our hands. “Come on let’s do a nice slow trot “Andy said and before I could scream “NO” we were off. Oh sh-t we were going at a hell of a pace, but worse was to come, my horse inexplicably took off on a mad gallop passing a very startled Andy. Unbeknown to me the more I bounced up and down on the brute my bow also bounced slapping the horse on the rump. The more I bounced the more the horse got slapped the faster we went. Within a few seconds we were at full gallop. Andy was gleefully tearing alongside yelling that I had it sussed and was exhorting me to greater speed.” HEEEELLLP where are the bloody brakes”, I screamed. Of course it couldn’t go on, it was bound to come to a sticky end and it did, when the horse refused to jump a small stream that no one had seen fit to tell me about. The horse suddenly stopped but I didn’t.
Andy fell about laughing hysterically as I hauled my sorry, wet, but fortunately undamaged body out of four feet of water. He told me later that the whole spectacle of me bouncing around on the horse, with arms and legs going in all directions like a rag doll, then completing a spectacular nose dive into the stream was something he will remember for a long time. Fortunately there was no damage to my long bow (which is more than I can say for my pride). But all my arrows had come out of the quiver and were now matchwood, Howard Hill had mentioned nothing about the possibility of that happening.
We divvied up the remainder of Andy’s arrows and were soon off again. Half an hour later, “There’s one” Andy said pointing to a large Billy peacefully asleep on an old tree stump. Hastily dismounting we tethered the horse and were soon stalking in close. As he stood up we both fired together. Andy’s went over the top, but mine hit the unfortunate Billy in his oversize testicles’ and traveled up into his belly. With a Bleat he was off. “Quick” Andy said “we will have to run him down before he gets away” and was off, with me hot on his heels. The Billy hampered by the arrow, ploughed his way through every thorn bush and blackberry clump he could find with us quickly gaining on him. Finally we both dived on him and quickly dispatched him. As we lay there gasping for air, covered in blood some belonged to the Billy, but most of it was our own from the countless cuts and scratches we had received from our reckless headlong rush, through some of the most brutal undergrowth it was possible to find. We were ecstatic, we had done it. We were as good as the great Howard Hill and we had done it all with our own hand made gear.
The euphoria was short lived however, as when we took stock we discovered we had broken every arrow in our quivers , they had all snapped in half during our crazy headlong rush through the undergrowth , we were disappointed Howard Hill had failed to mentioned this possibility in his book . We Made our way back to the horses only to find they had scarpered back home. In our excitement of seeing the Billy we had failed to tether them correctly. I have a sneaky suspicion my horse may have been the instigator of the mutiny not wanting to be subjected to my riding skills again. If this was correct the feeling was mutual, and I happily set off walking back to the homestead with Andy following behind grumbling the whole way.
Fortunately we still had a hand full of spare arrows we had bought with us and it was with those we set off the next morning. This time straddling the motorbikes, there was no way Andy was going to get me on another one of those four legged brutes. As we puttered back out to the foot hills and soon spotted a good mob of goats. The hunt was on again. Taking a leaf out of Howard Hills book about stalking methods we were soon within 15 yards of them. Quickly choosing a goat each we both drew and released together. Andy nailed a medium sized nanny and I was standing there with fragments of arrow and bowstring draped all over me with a bewildered look on my face. What the hell just happened I thought?
In my naivety when making the arrows I had cut a notch in the end of the shafts to act as a nock, fortunately most of the notches were cut across the grain and managed to withstand the acceleration of the bowstring, but this one I had cut with the grain and on release the string had split the arrow which in turn had cut the bowstring. In hind sight all I needed to have done was glue in a small strip of modelling plywood then cut the notch at right angles to it, or simply tied and glued some twine around the shaft, something Howard Hill had failed to tell us in his book. I like to tell myself, that goat never knew how lucky he was.
As I think of those early experiences (Although not strictly PC) it is with a great deal of pride that we had achieved so much with absolutely zero knowledge or help. In that far off land called New Zealand we felt like pioneers, and in the process learnt an enormous amount about the wonderful sport of bow hunting.
Andy found other interests and moved on. But I can still be found wandering the game trails with a bow in my hand. And the only horses that feature in my life are the ones that run on petrol.
Foot note,
Unbeknown to us at the time, there were numerous clubs and very knowledgeable archers dotted around the country. Anyone of them would have been only too happy to have helped us had we but known. However we did feel like pioneers at the time and enjoyed the immense satisfaction of “Hunting the Hard Way”.
Dream Rider.
.
