I am at the end of being 58; and I got into bows as a child; my brother got the expensive Roy Rogers pistols and holsters; and I got the bow with butcher string and rubber suction tipped arrows and an Indian headdress.
I became feared in my neighborhood for turning ornamental plants into arrow shafts and bows.
I actually got good with a slingshot before I could buy a Ben Pearson recurve in the late 60's.
I hunted small game with a bow; squirrels and woodchucks; and such... and hunted deer with a gun; as my only hunting mentor - my uncle- did.
I remember after opening morning of gun season; and seeing the huge bucks hanging up in the middle of town - where everyone came to look at them.
The 'best hunters' bragged of getting a buck the first day of the season; in the first hour.
I remember thinking 'an expert spends one hour in the woods each year hunting?'.
Then on a grouse hunt; I walked by a bush that asked me to keep moving. It was a bowhunter!
I did keep moving and another bush asked me to keep moving.... man - they were deer hunting and I was waiting for gun season to open!
I remember the moment I became a bowhunter. It was after many woodchucks and bag limits of squirrels.
I was watching 'The American Sportsman' with Fred Bear. He shot with purpose a thimble-berry leaf; and then he shot a grizzly bear.
I remember that arrow arching of his bow; and connecting with that bear... and killing it.
But I saw something that effected me to this day in that shot. It was the arch of that arrow like the brushstroke of a great artist; connecting man to everything around him.
And I had seen my arrow go where I wanted it to before... and I realized I could do the same thing.
I am no artist. But my arrow can be a great brushstroke of a great artist.
I can dream and I can see the dream come true. I can fail; and practice and practice and try again; and try again; and then there is that wonderful few moments when my arrow leaves the bow and hits the target.
It connects me with nature; I am not an observer; I am a participant.
I feel my muscles strain to pull back the arrow;the string on my fingers; and that magical flight of the arrow.
It never gets cheaper. It never fails to totally envelope me in the moment. There is no guarantee of tomorrow; but if tomorrow happens; I am going to be there with my bow.
But then again I have only been doing this for 55 years; so it might wear off