title  by Bill Marsh

I imagine that there are very few PA readers who can claim to have been loyal subscribers since the magazine’s premier issue; I have all but devoured every issue since the beginning and PA has filled a void in my archery passion. Over the years I have had the good fortune to meet many of the icons of our sport, people such as Paul Comstock, Tim Baker, and Gary Davis—they have all been fantastic teachers.

Inspired by the articles in PA, the books written by Comstock, and The Traditional Bowyer’s Bible series, I was determined to create my own Osage bow, starting with finding the tree. As luck would have it, my neighbor was clearing a field to build a house and just happened to have some of those nuisance “hedge apple” trees. Since Jerry was going to burn the trees anyway, I persuaded him to allow me to trade some logging labor for a couple of good logs; as if this was a real strain for him to accept my help. I truly began to wonder about my sanity as we spent the better part of the weekends in July, in the wonderful Ohio heat, clearing his field. The bugs, more specifically the ticks, were extremely prolific that summer. Then one day, Jerry’s wife brought us a couple of nice cold beers, which were sincerely appreciated. Did I mention that Jerry’s neighbor had a horse that sort of ran free around the countryside? Well “Joker” came to visit us that day and had been pretty much of a pest; as soon as we started sippin’ the fine brew, Joker wanted to help us. I shooed him off and put down my beer on a stump to make another cut. Joker came up on my blind side (don’t ask my wife which one that is ‘cause she will tell you it is both sides) and stepped solidly on my steel-toed boot, locking me in position. He then proceeded to pick up my beer in his teeth and drain the can. Everyone was laughing so hard they could not get him to move off my foot for about five minutes. The final result was that Joker had a beer and a laugh on me, but I finally got my Osage.

TOP Ugly stick tillered BOTTOM Ugly stick handle

I was able to secure four good-sized Osage logs as a trade for my effort that summer; I put them up in my barn to cure for a while, and a year later I figured they were about ripe for splitting. I’d left the bark on and could see several points where the drying process had left some openings to begin the splitting process. I was well prepared with three old steel wedges and a ten-pound sledgehammer. All the books and articles I read had mentioned that this method is not an easy or exact process. I discovered that “not easy” was a lot like saying the Grand Canyon is “only a ditch.” Splitting one log about drove me bananas! Needless to say, I only succeeded in splitting one of those logs and ended up applying a circular saw to “enhance” one of the checking splits.

Armed with hatchet and drawknife, I attacked the most likely looking “stave.” Removing the bark and white sapwood took the better part of a weekend, as I did not want to get in a hurry and damage my hard-earned stave. Once through the sapwood, I carefully worked the back down to one growth ring for the entire 72-inch length. There was a particular knot that I worked around to make sure it stood out as to demonstrate the character of the bow; I was very proud of it. This entire effort ONLY took the rest of that summer. Did I mention I live in an 1830 vintage farmhouse that epitomizes the term “money pit” and that it was a family adventure to repair and restore it? So, you can see that this bow project had to fit in to the overall schedule—a situation I am sure many PA readers are all too familiar with.

With my personally designed carbide scraper, I was very successful in bringing the back down to a single growth ring from end to end and I was even able to leave a significant character knot proud on the backside. The tillering process was very interesting. I was able to count the growth rings on either side of the limbs to work out how far I needed to go in order to trim the belly with a band saw. This worked really well, or so I thought, until I realized I trimmed off the area I had set aside for the handle. So, my strategy changed to creating a nice D-shaped bow, kind of in the Mare Heath style. Realizing I was approaching a critical stage in the creation process, I held off further tillering until I was able to get some serious guidance at the next Great Lakes Long Bow Invitational (GLLI) shoot. They always have a bow-making tent with the bowyer greats in attendance. I figured it was better to get advice that than create more kindling for the six fireplaces I had to feed.

knotThat year, with the help of Tim Baker and Paul Comstock, I was successful in creating a stout fifty-five pound bow. The cast was a little disappointing, but it would launch an arrow. As I worked to improve the cast, it quickly turned into a forty-pound bow with only slightly better cast. My solution was, of course, to shorten it by two inches on either end. This brought the pull to sixty-five pounds but it still had poor cast. Long story short, at the next GLLI I secured additional guidance and finally my fifty-pound bow has a decent cast.

I managed to build up the handle with scrap leather and even created a small arrow rest. I really enjoyed making the baseball-stitch handle with my daughter providing the necessary instruction. The yellow and Black beads are a trademark I put on every bow I make. I could make it better . . . but maybe later. In the meantime, I have gone on to other projects using the VAST experience I obtained from what I now call “Ugly Stick.”

I still have Ugly Stick and I take it down periodically to remind myself of the things to be careful of. I also remind myself that one of the things I like about self bow making is that the adventure never has an end.

I have learned several things from Ugly Stick; first, regardless of the level of difficulty an Osage stave presents, it is far more desirable than any of the white woods I attempted to work with. Several maple bows almost literally exploded in my hands; the hickory seemed to absorb even the slightest humidity and attempting to dry them out took much effort. Second, I learned that I can still turn this 68-inch D-bow into an even shorter plains bow, if my creativity gets active again. Third, I learned that patience is a critical aspect to the creation of a beautiful bow. It served me well for another stave that my son gave me . . . but that is another story (or adventure?).