“He helps to shape more than just a stick, there on Pappy’s workbench.” – Chad K. Slagle

I’m fresh home from the Tennessee Classic and, as usual, more was built than just bows. Do I refer to memories, friendships, and the like? Of course I do, but there is something bigger, more personal, and even timeless. The bows will soon enough return to the earth. So will the bowyers. But we are all changed in the process.

A father-son set completed by the author at the 2008 Classic

To quote Chad again, “I’ve seen what it can do to men’s souls.” We all came to archery for different reasons and at different stages of life. For some it may be nothing more than a hobby. For others of us, the people we meet and experiences we have affect our very souls. I was first attracted to traditional archery by the romance, simplicity, and feeling of a time gone by. But that turned out to be only a path to a much larger experience, an experience of community, continuity, and a lesson in selflessness. It naturally followed that I begin thinking more about what I could give to bowhunting than what I could get from it, and how traditional archery could remind mankind of something it has lost. Consider the trust fostered within this community. Where else in this day and age can a man hang his bow on a rack in the middle of a bunch of strangers, return hours later and find it still there? If you have ever made any deals on one of “our” websites, you know that it is not only safe, but you generally end up with a new friend. This brings me to generosity. How many times have you had a package arrive only to find extra goodies in there that weren’t even part of the deal? When surrounded by friends and community like this, individuals are bound to pick up and pass along these all-to-rare values and personality traits.

One stick bends while another burns at the 2007 Classic.

For many people, primitive archery is the next logical step in a progression that starts with traditional archery. When this step is taken, the challenges, commitment, and investment of time and skill go to a whole other level, as do the lessons learned about ourselves and the world around us. Many people are beginning to see the value of organic and ecological processes and the error of our media-driven consumerist mentality. Primitive archery fits well with this change—materials used obviously, but also the mindset of self-reliance and sustainable resources. Values held by the likes of Ishi or Leopold might have saved our civilization some growing pains if we had embraced them sooner (or at all, as time may sadly tell).

If we are honest, most us of would admit to wanting and/or having some fancy bow, tree stand, truck, or some other treasured possession. But treasuring possessions is neither primitive nor organic. Have you ever stared at some hunting toy in a magazine and found yourself thinking that you just couldn’t do without it? Primitive tools just don’t ignite the same, dare I say, covetousness. I’ve never found myself drooling over another man’s self bow. I simply appreciate it for the graceful tool it is and know it could never be as beautiful to me as it is to its creator.

Osage shavings from a knotty stave that would become the authors first selfbow.

Another illustration: when leaving home for a recent weekend trip, I went through the usual door-and-window-lock routine. Passing by the “man room” it occurred to me that if a thief or fire claimed my custom recurve, computer, or rifles, I would be crushed. But if my self bows were lost, I would just have to start scraping again. Oh, darn the luck!

Most of us name our bows. But should a bow be named? After all it isn’t a child or a pet. It’s a tool. Its purpose is to provide calories in the form of meat during its useful life. And when it breaks, its final caloric offering will be released in the form of flame when it is placed on the campfire. I’ll thank God for the meat and memories as the wood warms my body once more, this time by releasing its own calories. Ashes to ashes…now where’s my drawknife.

Some people (myself included) have questioned the primitive bow’s durability and dependability. To wit: “Are you gonna stake your big elk hunt on a self bow? What if it rains the entire time and you end up seven miles in the backcountry with a soggy bow?” Compared to the hunting archers who preceded us, our need for a guarantee is nothing short of childish. The fact is we are guaranteed nothing, not even our next breath, much less perfect weather at the climactic moment of our perfect hunt. If hunting with a bow that is as organic and fallible as its shooter keeps me mindful of this precious fact, so be it.

The authors first primitive bow, Patience, completed at the 2005 Classic

There’s a concept in certain primitive Polynesian cultures of mana. In modern times you are most likely to hear the word in Hawaiian surfing circles, particularly among surfboard builders. Simply put, it is the belief that the builder imparts spirit to the work. Perhaps a bit of his own spirit, perhaps the spirit of what it will be used for, where it will be used, or the user for whom it is being built. Anyone who has shot a self-made arrow from a bow he whittled knows that there was something of his own heart and soul flying down range. Reversing this, could it be that a knotty piece of wood might impart something to the bowyer? Patience? Discipline? There’s a concept in certain primitive bowhunting circles: “Good wood makes better bows, bad wood makes better bowyers.”

It is nothing short of a paradigm shift, being no longer focused on faster, fancier bows, or bigger antlers but simply to make more yellow shavings and walk another ridge. It’s like the squirrel that spends half his life burying nuts toward the supposed end of having more food for himself, only to realize that in fact his purpose was to plant oak trees that will feed generations of myriad life forms his bushy-tailed brain could never comprehend. If there is personal gain to be hoped for, it’s that the journey tillers one’s own soul so that it can bend without breaking and still project with speed and authority when needed.

As steel meets wood and sings its trance-producing song, it becomes easy to scrape for the sake of scraping. It’s not unlike hunting for the sake of hunting, or shooting for the sake of shooting. Trophies be damned, process over product, as in the scraping trance we enter as little yellow ribbons float to the floor; the bowyer is shaped more profoundly than the bow.

Beyond the bows, the bowyer’s archery itself is being shaped. Under the shed at Twin Oaks, ancient skills and traditions that have changed little since pre-history were being built upon and passed along. Where points were being napped by twelve-year-old boys and growth rings were being chased by grey haired men, and libations were shared around an annual campfire while last fall’s hunting stories were exchanged—looking at it this way, the millennia have changed nothing but the clothes we wear. (And I’d rather see my buddies in Liberties than loincloths!)

Under the shed at Twin Oaks