Traditional
Rush By Mark Smeltzer
W
hen I was about 15 years old I remember my dad telling me stories of giant elk in northern Idaho that he harvested with a recurve bow. He also told stories of the black bear he paddled quietly upon in his canoe and harvested with the same old recurve. When I found his box of old arrows out in the garage I marveled at their sharpness. They were made from wood – not aluminum, not carbon – but wood! Those were “the real woodsmen” back 66
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then. Ten years later my co-worker looked at me and said something I will never forget, “I wonder if a guy could build his own bow?” I didn’t know it at the time, but that is when my lifelong journey in traditional and primitive archery began. After a year of shooting traditional archery, I decided it was time for me to start building my own bow. I decided on an Osage Selfbow. By the time I got that first Osage stave in my hand I had a fair idea of what to do. However, with every bright yellow curl
of wood that I pulled off that stave with my draw knife I was sure I had ruined the bow. I took my time and eventually had a bow worthy of hunting. I made a few more Osage Selfbows. After some practice, my arrows flew like darts and I was very confident of my shooting, out to about 20-yards. I was prepared to go bear hunting with everything from my 55-pound Osage Selfbow to razor sharp broadheads and strings, all hand made in my shop. I hunted the Klamath River area of Northern California where the bear population is dense enough to spot and stalk or to set up a ground blind and let one come to you. It was difficult but not discouraging figuring out the bear’s patterns season after season. I was having the time of my life with some pretty close calls and great stories. I had been within 5-yards of an almost 400-pound black bear. As I heard him inhale a giant breath through his nose, my heart was pounding so loud I was sure he was going to hear me. He caught wind of me, let out a giant WOOOF and exploded from the spot where he stood. In a split second the only thing left was me shaking like a leaf and his big paw prints in the soft sandy dirt. The next season, right before the hunt started, I had to work a graveyard shift. So, I brought all my gear to work that night and with my truck already loaded up I took off on the six hour drive right after work. I figured I would make it there by noon, set up my tent and take a nap to be ready to hunt that evening. Things went according to plan and soon after setting up, being completely exhausted from working and driving, I was