I would like to think that I get smarter as I get older, but I'm thinking that's no so much true. You see, I still buy, sell and trade bows in an endless search for that special, one of a lifetime that's probably waiting just around the next bend. Perhaps it's that bamboo limbed beauty over there. No, I tried that one already. Well, you know how it goes.
Then, this morning, I go to my backyard with an old lemonwood bow that is only half dressed (leather wrap is about gone), and has no arrow shelf at all. The result is a first shot hit on a plastic soda bottle at thirty paces.
Well, okay...I says to myself; lucky shot. Then I proceed to take that poor looking rascal and hit just about everything I shoot at for the next half-hour. It just makes you wonder.
I think I need to spend some more time with my ugly ducklings. I'm going to spend the evening putting a new lace wrap on the bow; actually I use rawhide boot strings and wrap them into a handle cover. They are durable as can be and give a good feel to the bow when carrying or shooting.
I'll put a piece of leather on for arrow side contact, and make sure the feathers on my arrows are sealed on the tips with glue, because the arrow rest is my knuckle. It's not fun to have a feather tip imbedded in one's arrow rest about a half inch.
I just went back outside and shot about a dozen more arrows, to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Sure enough, the soda bottle was getting pummeled from as far as thirty paces. Dang that lemon flavor is beginning to soak in.
Sometimes it seems we just have to search for that better mousetrap, when we already have one that works well. I think that there is magic in those bows. How else can you explain it? It has no shiney fiberglass; no cocobola riser; no ebony fades; no snakeskin backing; no thumb rest, and relatively little to even make it noticable there in the corner.
It has string follow that you could nearly walk under, and it looks like it should break if you attempt to pull the string, yet it sends an arrow a hundred and eighty yards down range into Wilkin's field. Just don't make any sense at all. Sure has to be magic.
Well, if you'll excuse me now, I'll go have that cup of tea, with my lemonwood.