Episode #6: Paradox & Pheasants

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Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:00

Welcome to the Code of Traditional Archery, brought to you by Primitive Stone Archery and the founder Grant Richardson. Welcome to the Code of Traditional Archery. This is episode six in our Lessons Learned series entitled The Archer's Paradox and Pheasants. Enter the Live String Instinctive Draw. I'm Grant Richardson, the owner and founder of Primitive Stone Archery and the Archers Trinity Instinctive Shooting Method. We want to welcome all the new folks following us who are just getting into this challenging art and process that is traditional archery and hunting with the stick and string. Welcome. On my journey, effort and shooting ultimately had become a method of training as I began to see comparisons in shooting instinctive with the bow and arrow and close quarter combat shooting, applications and training methods, and thus a fusion between the two was created developmentally. Look at target, whatever that target is, post on target and shoot for center mass. But wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. How the heck does one do that or how can that apply to shooting a bow instinctively? Part of the problem lies in some folks' definition of what instinctive shooting actually is, like some ethereal magical process of manifesting that arrow to the target, which it is not. Quite the opposite, and frankly, it takes time, effort, and development to hit the nail or arrow on the head. Much like the attributes of casting a fly rod to a rising fish from a distance, or tossing a football to a receiver under pressure, or shouldering and pointing a shotgun at a fast flying bird, each has a process and training method of building a skill set surrounding hand-eye coordination and focus, consistency, and key components, and as with anything, all people possess these qualities to one degree or another. But getting back to my original statement, in addition to this, it is critical to note that under these comparisons, evolutions and flight time had been formed applied actual hunting conditions under pressure, not sanitized, comfortable target shooting. Enter the live string. I'd been walking down the dirt road now accompanied by our wine for close to twenty minutes. It was past noon at that point, and the sun had come out from behind a bank of clouds that had left a flower dusting of snow on the autumn ground. And as I came around a bend that turned left to where we were headed, the dog stopped and locked up on point, only to break, flash point again, and run forward and lock up like a piece of furry granite on something beyond the cedar fence bordering the road. As I stepped forward, a coyote leapt from its hiding place and bolted across the opposite field to our left, putting up a cloud of cold snow in its wake. The dog turned back to look at me unimpressed. I too was not pleased as the ground entering that field where the dog had ran, the wild dog, that is, was littered with footprints of pheasants, which we were after that day. Concerned it had just run into the area we were going to be hunting, I strained to see through the sun now, direct in our eyes for the opening to the field. The landowner had given directions to enter his property. It was quite a bit farther up to than he had implied, but we found it nonetheless. I shouldered my recurve as I unhitched the gate latch to open, and let the dog through into the large acreage. The gate creaked back into place like some ancient drawbridge, and I latched it tight again, as per the instructions from the farmer. The area was open with silver piles of brush and three ditches for irrigation running across in front of us, now historic, and a large patch of cattails lying the back end where a stream and swamp lay at the end of the cornfield. There were signs of birds, but the track seemed to look older than I had expected. Almost all of them headed into the half cut corn stalks left standing at the end of the first field. Normally I would have had my over and under with me and a load of number six in the barrels, but the township had a no firearms discharge order close to the town limits, even as far out as we were, and the only weapon allowed was the bow. I had picked at asking the owner now for almost three years, and I knew him through a friend from trout fishing the upper reaches of the stream where it exited a golf course several miles. The pheasants ran rampant through the old agricultural area. There, feathered remnant princes existed, wild strains of birds left over from early 1900 stockings in the province. Pheasant had always been a creature of mystique as a kid. My grandfather had spoken about them in reverence, and the few I did happen to run to always held my gaze with a sense of old school nostalgia, envisioning a rising pheasant in a barn in the backdrop of the scene in my mind. I had hunted birds on the wing with a bow prior to this, as well as ducks and geese in my youth. I'd also lost plenty of arrows to go along with those attempts, and had been successful in taking a couple of mallars and Canada geese, decoying to flock setups in large fields. I had several flu flues with me in my quiver, and all the elves were kept with older broadheads, now too worn for deer, but necessary to bring a pheasant down. Yes, that's right, down. As due to the pup with me I could not risk attempting ground shots. The snow made no noise as I watched the dog's tail wagging short bricks, twitches of excitement as she worked the first drainage. We walked up skimming this way and that in zigzags as she tried to catch the scent of birds. And soon after the dog locked up, and I hastily knocked an arrow. Oh girl, I advised, as she was pointing in the direction of a small blowdown that had several waste grain stalks, bent over like tents in a perfect row. I stepped forward slowly, trying to figure out not only where the bird may be, but what trajectory it would take. Nothing. Another step this time right into the corn stalks. Nothing moved. I turned to my right to the dog, and she had that adamant look on it is in there on her grey muzzle. I turned back and began to slowly circle, which led me facing the sun, and I stomped the ground as I trudged into the small thicket. A large jack rabbit burst from the patch and ran with lightning speed across the berms into the cut corn, and into another thicket some distance away, enticing me to shoot, but the sounds of a nervous rooster coming from the tangles, and for the pup's sake I refrained from sending a pointy stick his way, lest the dog break point. A rabbit, I said to the dog, now looking at her directly. She moved forward, quickly, head low, like a large silver panther and locked up again on point. Whoa, girl, I turned, almost out of sheer knowing at what was occurring beyond my control now, the large rooster rocketing up directly behind me only feet away into the sky, like a feathered fireball shooting for the sun. I tugged back the string on the stout recurve and let the arrow fly. It chased the high flying sky high bird still only a mere fifteen feet away, flying harmlessly over its back, the escaping bird cackling at my misfortune. The dog bolted forward several feet, until we both stopped to watch the bird land and run for cover across the cattails at the end of the irrigation ditch, like a soldier running for a trench line across no man's land. She, the dog that is, looked at me disapprovingly as only a bird dog can, and anyone that is hunted behind a bird dog will know exactly what that look is and how easily they can communicate it to you. I shook my head. There's still more time, girl. This was not my first time trying to arrow a pheasant. Only prior they'd been incidental as I had ground sluiced a couple that had come across in my youth while hunting for cottontails on my grandparents' place. I had as a kid watched American sportsmen with my grandfather, and had been awestruck by Fred Bear, arguably one of the icons and fathers of traditional archery, snatching pheasants from the air with his recurve. I was living a childhood dream in a way, but this was another level. Wild birds and cold weather were a far cry from a cozy living room and my late grandfather's armchair. I had practiced, I'd be mused, aerial shooting for a couple of weeks when I had time, and it even broke several hand thrown clay birds tossed up for me as well. I stopped to assess the situation, concerned that this is the only bird we would get onto that day, and thinking hard how to tactically cover the remainder of the field. I walked up to recover the arrow, a red barred fletched flu flu tipped with a well worn Zwicky Delta broadhead. Touching up the broadhead, I knelt down to pet the dog and thanked her for her efforts. She sniffed the arrow fletched the recurve, looked at me again, almost as if to say, Dude, where's the shotgun? We picked up where we'd left off, working across the opposite drainage. This resulted in a couple of more points. One hand that sat and looked at us before walking off indignantly, seemingly fully aware that she was off limits from us, on a wild flush of two roosters that kept on running, as the dog tried to pin them down to no avail. We ended up watching them fly across the field to safety on the other side of the beaver cut over to another field we did not have permission to access. I turned to face the sun and watched the dog suddenly lock up on a small cluster of grapevines, adjoining a brush pile of buckthorn that had been cut out of the field edge. Walking quickly and checking my string, I stepped around a large branch which had fallen. I bent around it and tightening my grip on the bowstring, the rooster launched skyward straight up at fifteen feet or so, and arcing slightly to the right as my bow came up. I swung through the bird, and the arrow was loosed. I clearly recall seeing only the bird coming to full draw, and in slow motion the arrow catch him at the wing pinion and neck in a cloudburst of golden and painted feathers, tumbling to the ground at the arrow had passed through him, and out of the bird he fell. I stood motionless, looking at the arrow almost fifty yards beyond the bird's final flight sticking into the ground like a red waving flag of victory. The dog was beckoned to back and retrieved the bird and returned with the jeweled rooster wagging her feelings out for me to see all her happiness at doing exactly what she had been bred for. I was excited. I hastily tucked the bird into my vest and stooped to water the dog. The shot had happened all by itself, and the impact of the event began to trickle down and struck me with a realization that I had just arrowed a flying pheasant at almost 20 yards. We rounded the field and we got shooting at two more birds, connecting cleanly with one more. This was another turning point for shooting in my instinctive shooting evolution and connection to a kinetic process of using a bow and arrow within the development of the Archer's Trinity method. I had a snapshot, as some would say, after hitting my anchor pocket that day. After coming to full draw, but really what hit home to me was the shot prep for the birds. I'm not speaking of aerial practice nor the angle of approach I'd used after the dog had gone on point, no. I was speaking to the connection with the bow being held in my draw hand. And I came to the religion that day when I drew, I had shot naturally without so much form, but without robotic preparation, and I had become deadly accurate. The point and draw process, drawing that is, was critical combined with focus on center mass of that bird. This hit home to me and resulted in a series of drills I developed in order to focus on arrow placement with shooting at game and not just picking a spot. I now understood that I was already in the shot process as soon as I had my draw hand engaging the string with dynamic tension. And this is where live string was born. That kinesthetic connection to my bow arm draw hand sink together out of the pressure of the hunt, not the target range when I had time or even roving. Those had helped certainly, but this was a fundamental aspect that produced a natural result, and this method had allowed me to swing through birds much like pointing and swinging a shotgun. That land in the area it stood on now is a housing development, and sadly, as with all things great in life, the pup is gone as well, leaving only beautiful, sweet, grey, furry memories for me. However, far behind those memories stand a day that still resonates with me soundly, I became not only a better archer that day, but more importantly, a much more lethal bow hunter as I entered the live string process. I have to say over the years I've heard many definitions by folks of what instinctive archery is. Suffice to say I tend to go by my own experiences as others do, influences and practical approaches. I do not, however, preach that my way is the only way and that all other ways are deficient. And this attitude is to some degree infecting, I dare say, both traditional bow hunting and other forms of hunting these days, much the same way fly fishing became elitist in many ways. Instinctive archery, and more importantly, in the context of bow hunting, is for us a primitive stone archery about developing a method of shooting a traditional bow, what people call traditional bows, long bows, recurves, self bows, flat bows. With good basic structure and consistency in doing so, we teach the individual how to intuitively shoot accurately without gadgets or aids, to a process which at times can drive folks deep into the weeds of paralysis by analysis. Is how we do things unique? Absolutely. We train folks to shoot using the natural abilities of their own kinesthetic perception, coupled with our principle of luck point shoot, and one arrow at a time, developing the individual's own personal method of shooting a traditional bull that suits their unique attributes, weapon, and who they are as a person. The live string draw or live string tension, a crucial step and component of the Arches Trinity, initiates the entire draw cycle and engages the kinesthetic perception of the draw process, engaging back tension naturally and mentally prepares you for the shot process. Eventually, this becomes natural. And once you connect with your bow kinesthetically, it'll be easier to focus on your sight picture, whatever that may be. This basic principle will help you develop your own rhythm and structure in time, and with repetition and flow, you will develop consistency with flight time and be able to shoot instinctive. It'll be a natural process, in doing so, eliminating the mystery some folks seem to have surrounded instinctive shooting that cannot be found on Googling videos on YouTube. It was my father's teachings forty-five years ago that set me on my own path, and consistent shooting under pressure that allowed me to develop my process. Even after dabbling in field archery in my youth, it led me to research and create flight time, and thereby the Ernsters, Trinity instinctive shooting method, was ultimately born. Learning how to hunt and become effective with what people call a traditional bow. Of course, others such as Paul Bruner, Don Thomas, and Fred Aspell have along a way influenced this approach as well, acting almost as confirmations of a good foundation, key to shooting well and finding the way that best suits you, the individual, which is more important than any style or system. I've had folks coming out for coaching sessions wondering why they're unable to shoot with any regularity, who've been taught to hold a mid to high risk grip bowl like a low risk compound in grip and have zero control upon release. And of course, the good idea fairy strikes again. My influence comes from none of the current shot experts and gurus, many of whom claim loudly that if you don't shoot their way, then you're taking chances. But nothing could be further from the truth. Instinctive shooting takes time and training. There's no magic to it, just correct practice. Be teachable. Open yourself up to time and patience. It won't happen overnight. And if you're not having fun, well there's something wrong. Learn to shoe the the bow the way that suits you to shoot. We are all individuals in a system of shooting that teaches a foundation for if the individual can grow from and into their own way of shooting, frees one from the dogma of elitism, which is causing all methods of hunting, not just with trad bows, to become an us against them mentality in which we all as hunters lose. Thank you for joining us. Um we were very excited to announce the launch of our Primitive Stone Archery Hunt Ready membership platform, as well as our new site. Um hit the URL link in the podcast section and comments. Uh right now, our membership includes the Rapid Entry in Traditional Archery course, which covers off the basis of getting started in traditional archery from the ground up, right to picking your first bow. This is a fantastic course for beginners and any hunting buddies you might know who want to get into this challenging traditional process. Look for an in-person challenge for becoming hunt ready coming with traditional gear, as well as our hunt ready for accuracy course, which is a uh a great follow-up to our Arches Trinity Shooting Method platform course we have as well already online. If you haven't already, check out Compton Traditional Bow Hunters, a great organization promoting this great sport for us and for future generations to come. Thanks for listening and thanks for the positive feedback we hope to see on our membership platform. Follow us on Instagram at Primitive Stone Archery and Facebook on the Edge of Instinctive Traditional Archery. And until next time, thank you and walk with us.