My wife, Cornelia, with the Midevil-style longbow I made for her.

By Francois Squirra

“Why?” This is the question I am often asked when archers see me with my traditional longbow. That’s before they ask, “How do you aim?” and my personal favourite: “Where does the stabiliser fit?”

To the last question I don’t have an answer, I just smile. As for the other two questions, I have often asked them myself, especially when things don’t go as they are supposed to.
Just before Christmas a year ago I was driving to Bloemfontein, concentrating on the guinea fowl foraging on the shoulders of the road, when I thought of these same two questions. I was on my way to pick up my first bow ever, a 50-pound longbow. At the time I did not have a clear answer to either question. Hitting a paper plate at ten metres seemed impossible and to think that an aspirin flying through the air could be hit was mind boggling, to say the least. The only thing that kept me driving was my determination to take up the challenge of the traditional bow. Now, after a year of shooting with one, I think I have some of the answers.

The first reason I took up traditional archery is the bow itself. There is something about wood that has always fascinated me. It is beautiful and unique. No two pieces are the same. There is also the form of the traditional bow – whether longbow or recurve, it is plain and simple, yet very effective.
The third reason is difficult to explain. When I’m in the veld, stump shooting with my longbow and a quiver full of arrows strapped to my back, my mind takes flights of fantasy, which make me feel like a kid again. I dream of big hunting expeditions or scouting for the king’s army in dense forest.
It’s better and much cheaper than therapy, with the quietness of the bush and God’s creation surrounding me. It gives a sense of belonging. You look at nature differently when walking with a bow in hand (or rifle, for that matter). You listen, walk slowly and experience nature as a hunter, becoming something more than an observer, becoming part of nature.

The fourth reason that attracts me to traditional archery is the sound of an arrow being released. That distinctive, soft whisper of a longbow or the quiet thump of a recurve is like the smell of fresh coffee.
The other day my brother phoned me about a broadhead-arrow problem and after a long discussion, which involved trying to fix the problem over the cell speaker phone, he released two arrows while I held on. On hearing his longbow, I just smiled. I’m addicted to that sound.

It seems that I have run out of reasons why I shoot a traditional bow, so now I have to get to the how. It is in the journey towards answering this question that I obtain the most reward and the main reason for shooting a traditional bow. It is like throwing a cricket ball at the stumps. You don’t have an aiming device other than your hand-eye coordination. I started by hanging a tennis ball from a string in front of a backstop. Walking to ten metres, drawing my bow and concentrating hard on the swinging tennis ball, I released. At first I spent more time looking for arrows, but soon I began to get closer to my target and eventually I hit it. The tennis ball was impaled. Since then I have increased my shooting distance to 30 metres and have had to replace quite a few tennis balls. (For hunting purposes, I keep my distance at 20 metres and under. In this range I can hit a six-inch circle at least eight out of ten times.)

Shooting instinctively by using the snap-shooting method or holding for a while at your anchor point without taking your eyes off the target can be a very fulfilling experience. For me it goes much deeper than practised hand-eye coordination. It is a spiritual journey towards controlling my mind and accepting my shortcomings.

Let me explain: The human body is perfect, created by God to function like no other machine on earth will ever be able to do. Not even the cleverest scientist can reproduce the human body, or anything in creation, for that matter. Just imagine all the lines of computer code necessary for a mechanical hand to move only a finger on its own. Compare this with how easily we move our limbs, without even thinking about it.

Now, imagine a machine picking up a bow, aiming at a target and firing an arrow. Possible? Not likely. We have not even considered that this machine must balance itself and make adjustments as to where and how far away the target is, should it move.

I hope you see where I’m going with this. If not, next time you skin an animal, cut open the skull, but be careful, because inside is the most advanced computer you’ll ever see. It is an organic compound controlling every body function and fluent movement of an animal. No microchips or machined parts.
So, we have a perfect body. Why, then, is it so difficult to shoot accurately? Easy, a perfect body is regulated by an imperfect – let’s call it this – mind (not the actual brain). Shooting with a bow fitted with sights or using a gap method is just to aid the human mind in performing constantly. Shooting a traditional bow instinctively, you only have the complex human body to aim with. With a lot of dedication and practice, you can control this aiming system so that when you pick up that bare bow, nock an arrow, concentrate on your target, draw and release, you can hit a very small target, even a moving one.
I recently received a catalogue from Johnny Snyman of Heartwood Bows, in which he makes the following comment on traditional bows: “The pursuit of creating ‘the perfect bow’ is a fallacy, for the perfect bow does not exist. But perfect moments where archer and bow become one do exist.”
It is the rarity of these moments and the hard work put into achieving them that make traditional archery so appealing to me. The point I’m trying to make is that shooting a traditional bow instinctively in a modern world brings you back to yourself, making jou realise your shortcomings in a perfect creation and your dependence on the grace of God.

All this, just from shooting with a traditional bow? Yes, as Robert Frost said: “I took the one (road) less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”

We all have to make journeys and I hope that on yours you’ll find something substantial.