May 1939 by National Field Archery Association

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May,

1939

Corvallis, Oregon Vol. 11

■ No. I

Sylvan Archer No. 1

May, 1939

Vol. 11

Published the fifteenth of each month for archers by archers 505 North 11th Street, Corvallis, Oregon Editor

J. E. DAVIS " RUSSELL JONES

Business Manager

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TABLE OF CONTENTS Page

TREEING STUMPS WITH BLOOD HOUNDS By Erie Stanley Gardner

CHAMPIONS WILL ATTEND NA TIONAL By Earle G. Lee “EL SENOR ROBIN HOOT” By Lieut V. A. Sisler Jr

5 C

HEART TO HEART NOTE TO J. PLUVIUS By Jim M>urphy EDITORIAL

„.............................................. 10

NEW CLUB FOR NORTHERN CALI FORNIA By James F. Culley DON DAUGHERTY By J. M. Howard

.'...................... 12

THE LIGHTER SIDE OF ARCHERY Edited by George Brommers

ARCHERY WIDOWS By John Willard MISSOURI VALLEY TOURNAMENT By Mrs. Frances Martin

15 18

May, 1939

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Treeing Stumps with Bloodhounds By Erie Stanley Gardner

I’ve been hunting, by and large, with bow and arrow for fifteen years. During that time there’s been more by than large. I’ve hunted the small deer on Cedros Island in Mexican. waters, the “tigre” of the coast jun gles, mountain lion in the Sierras, deer in Oregon and else where, boars on Santa Cruz, jack rabbits in Texas, goats in the Hawai ian Islands, moose and elk in Canada. I’ve never actually actually killed any deer, titres, mountain lion, elk, or what have you. I’ve killed stumps. I love stump hunting. You start in by following an Indian guide up into the tippy-tops of the toppy-tips where the cold wind cuts you like a knife and you labor for breath in the rarified atmosphere of the peaks. You are hunting elk, and, believe me, this is where the elk are. Your eighty pound bow is strung and ready. A big broadhead, is on the string ... The day wears ' on, and you wear out. The Indian guide wants to cross the next ridge, climb that far range, work along the crest, drop over the divide, and circle through that pass back to camp. You want to stay put. You compromise by walking along twenty or thirty paces behind the guide. He slows up to let you catch up. You slow down another mile an hour. He stops to wait for you to come up. You nod, sink in your tracks, and pretend he was stopping to rest. He comes over to whisper indignantly. You are too blissfully tired to give a damn. You nod—and doze. He gives a snort of contempt. Your companions feel and act the same way you do. The guide sits aloof, disapproving • and then, out of a clear sky, comes adventure! _ A big elk, not hearing any more crashing in the brush, comes directly toward you . . . There are moments of breath-taking

tension. The elk beds down a hun dred yards below. You hold a whis pered conference. You start “stalk ing.” The elk isn’t there when you arrive. The guide looks at you with contempt. You look at him reproach fully. You start for camp. To hell with hunting. You. are plodding along, sore at the guide, rehearsing in your mind how you are going to pan him in the bunkhouse that night: “If the damn fool had just gone some place and sat down early in the morn ing, when the elk were moving around! But no, he had to take us crashing through the brush . . .” And then someone says: “There’s a stump down there at about eighty yards. Let’s see who can hit it first.” Oh, brother, ain’t it a grand and glorious feeling? You stump-hunt your way back to camp. By the time you arrive, you’re beaming at the world. You aren’t particularly tired—just hungry. You give the guide your favorite hunting knife, a ten dollar tip, and pat him on the back. You violate the law by pouring a couple of drinks of whiskey down his gullet, and try to get him to shoot your favorite bow. That’s what stump hunting does for a man. I admired the photograph of B. G. Thompson’s study with its moose head, its mountain lion, bearskin rugs, mounted coyotes and whatnot. Hell’s bells. Some day I’m going to fix up a study. It’ll have wall decorations of stumps, pulled out by the roots, mounted on shields of polished wood, each stump with a broadhead embedded in it. Personally, I merely tolerate this “stalking” of big: game. The moment I’m waiting for is when someone sees a stump. Now there are different methods of stump hunting. Take Oregon, for in stance. There they tree stumps with bloodhounds. Of course it didn’t start out to be a stump hunt. That’s the hypocrisy of civilization. You never really drive two thousand miles, hire a guide, and pack three

YE SYLVAN ARCHER

days into the mountains, with the avowed intention of hunting stumps. You always claim you’re hunting elk or deer. You always wind up hunting stumps and liking it. This Oregon trip started with the usual legend. Dr. George Cathey was the baritone. The overture was set according to the usual music. The words vary slightly. This time they were as fol lows: “Had a patient, railroad engi neer, tumor of the brain, ruptured appendix on the wife, scarlet fever with double mastoid on the oldest child . . . (anyhow they’d been sick and he’d cured ’em). Now he’s work ing on a logging train. Goes into the wildest country in the world, up a canyon where there are no roads, virgin forest, completely inaccessible . . . Every day he sees a big lioness with five cubs, playing around in front of the engine. Yesterday he had to stop for her. There every day . . . Private property, but he can fix

May, 1939

it up . . . will smuggle us aboard the flats and stop to pick us up when -he comes back with the logs . . . Know a lawyer who’s nuts on hunting, has the two best bloodhounds in the state . . . tomorrow morning . . . three fortyfive on the dot . . . that restaurant . . . get Noyes Tyrrell and meet you . . . the bloodhounds . . . Lawyer’s taking his wife ... if the secretaries would like to go ... but must keep back of us when the lioness starts charging . . .cubs, you know . . . bad business . . -. at 1least __ x eighty pound bows ...” The answer, of course, is yes. it always is. Darker than pitch, alarm clock, whispered comments, gray figures stealing around in the dark, flash lights, bows, arrows, boots that won’t lace, leather coats, cold air of darkest before dawn, etc. . . . the restaurant . . . waiting. Ham and eggs, more wait, more ham, more eggs, more coffee, more wait.

All aboard . . . Clang, Clang . . . Whoo, Whoo”

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Cathey and Tyrrell. Cathey’s son, Ralph. God, how they bustle! Hello, Erie. Hello, Jean! Waiting long? Sorry I couldn’t make it. Up all night. Emergency calls until one and then too much excitement. Dropped off just about three, then another emer gency. Just out of the hospital . . . hope you don’t mind the smell of ether . . . clings to me.” More coffee. This time ether smell seeps into it. You watch ’em bolting their food . . . Noyes Tyrrell, around the middle .fifties, had a leg all ground up to powder in an automobile accident. They were going to cut it off when Cathey arrived . . . “Gentle men, this man is an archer. I know him. I know his constitution . . . ordinary patient, I’d say not one chance in ten thousand; but this man is an archer . . . let’s take a chance

Now Tyrrell is walking a little stiff legged. I am concerned about how he’ll run and jump over down timber following the dogs. “Exactly what I want,” he says between mouthfuls of ham and eggs that taste and smell like ether. “Can’t limber this leg un enough . . . too painful when I try . . . get a couple of good falls and it’ll break those ligaments into motion.” You can’t do anything with a man like that. No wonder Cathey said to take a chance on his constitution. Hurried departure. Driving like the devil, through the cold of early dawn. Tires screaming at turns. Cathey’s rigid back always in front of your eyes as the steering wheel swings the big car into skidding curves. The rendezvous . . . the logging train all ready . . .hounds straining at the leash . . . steam up . . . engi-' neer anxious ... all aboard . . .Clang, clang . . . whooo-o-o-o . . . whooo-o-o-o . . . whoo . . . whoo . . . chug, clang chug clang, chug clang, hiss, sputter clank, clank, chug chug chug chug!.. Bucking broncos, earthquakes. For God’s sake hold me I Too damned fast. Thought Cathey was bad enough, but this . . . hold on . . . roadbed . . . rails . . . swaying . . . huh? You’re crazy! . . .Chug, chug, chug, clank, clank, rumble............... whiooooooo . . . whooo-o~o . . . dirt,

smoke, cinders, water splashing, back bone threatens to buckle . . . can’t sit down, legs going to sleep . . . those damn dogs! “Here’s the place, boys. Thought she’d be out this morning, sure. Why yesterday she was right there near that rock. The five cubs ...” The dogs again. The train yanks itself into clanging motion and dis appears around the curve. We are frightened at the isolation, not a sound save the distant roar of the train. When that fades into the distance, we can hear the sound of water in the canyon, wind in the trees. We string our bows, cautiously venture forth, like small boys in vading a “pirate’s cave.” We are scared. Our eighty pound bows feel altogether too light. The dogs out in front, wihoofwhoofing up the ties. Sun gilding the tree tops. Dense, moist shadow in the chill canyon. This is the life. Onward . . . half an hour . . . back . . . half an hour . . . wonder where . . . she was here all right yesterday . . . has been every day . . . funny the dogs can’t . . . The dogs are turned loose. They circle through the brush. A bark, a long drawn, weird howl. They’re off! Straight up the lull. Into the thickest brush. Through the toughest thorns. Up, up, ever up. I’ve lost the rest. They’re looking for easy trails. I’m following the hounds. I climb with perspiration soaking me, my lungs straining for air. In the dim distance the sound of the hounds. The top . . . God knows it had to be about here . . . highest peak in the United States is under fifteen thousand, must be up fourteen odd now . . . Hot! I’ll say it’s hot! This leather coat . . . brambles, down tim ber, flies, mosquitoes, logs, thickets, . . . unstring the bow—take off the quiver . . . keep losing the hat . . . face all scratched . . . what’s this? Good lord, a road! There it is — and a road sign, “PORTLAND 37M. SALEM . . .” I plod down the road. An occas ional auto whizzes past, Sunday tour ists lean out to look at my sweatstreaked face, my bow, my bedraggled arrows.

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I come to a farmhouse, If they only have cool water . . . There they all are. Cathey, Tyr rell, the lawyer, the girls, the blood hounds, and an old guy who’s having the time of his life. “Yep, wife went to church. Thought I’d stay home. Wasn’t feeling so spry . . . sure feel ing fine now. What’d you girls say your names was.” I learned about him afterwards. The gang had descended on the house. The bloodhounds were already there, lounging lazily in the shade of an apple tree. They gave a few lazy tail wags of greeting, then went back to sleep. The man had a two-inch growth of gray whiskers and wasn’t “feeling so pert.” He took one look at the feminine pulchritude, went to get them a pitcher of water, was gone two minutes and ten seconds and returned all shaved and in his Sunday suit. Wec U1 drank, cl 11IX , we »X L. talked, IdllXCll, we • * V xlxz^'L.Ll. dozed. We jgrabbed the dogs and started

May, 1939

back. So long. Road all the way, uuck. “oo until you come to the logging road, about a mile of that . . . you came up the side of the canyon? Didn’t think a man. could climb through that brush . . . You girls don’t want to stay until they get the car and come back? Well . . .” Down the road. Autos, dust, heat . . . the logging road, cool shadows, thick, springy pine needles . . . “See that stump down by the turn, boys? Wfell, that’s about the size of a lion cub, and . . .” A great feeling of peace fills my soul. This is what I really came out jft>r. Wham! Ttyunh'I Twang! whack! It takes two hours to go that three quarters of a mile to where we meet the train. We have lunch. We lie in the shade and wait. Our fingers are sore . . . but, gosh it’s been fun . . . Even if those bloodhounds . . . One of them perks his ears. The other looks up. They spring to their feet, (Continued on page 8)

£3

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“Will smuggle us aboard the flats”

May, 1939

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Champions Will Attend National By Earle G. Lee, President N.A.A.

Minnesota will be host to all the crack archery shots of the country next July, when the Annual Tourna ment of the National Archery As sociation comes to the Midwest. These tournaments are arranged on a threeyear rotation between the eastern, and western seaboards and the Midwest. For over half a century these National Tournaments have been held annually in America, interrupted only by war. This year will be the 59th and it will be held at the Minnesota State Fair Grounds July 17th to 22nd inclusive. The Tournament will not be limited to the crack shots, however. Hun dreds of archers of all degrees of skill from novices to champions will participate. No one need stay away because of low scores. There are always plenty of archers in the low score brackets to keep each other company. The official program of the 1939 Tournament will be issued about June 1st, and be mailed out to over 3000 archers and archery clubs all over the United States. Several hun dred copies will be reserved for use on the Tournament grounds. In addition to the regulation target events, such as the York rounds, the American rounds, the Columbia rounds, the Flight and Clout shoots, and the Pope-Young, or skeet shoot, the Tournament committee, with the active assistance of members of the Twin City Archery club, the Green wood club, the Duluth Archery club, and individual archers from other Minnesota points, will set a new pace by introducing a number of special events. The Tournament will open with the Flight and Clout shoots. Last year Gene Warnick of Portland, Oregon, shot regular style a distance of 462 yards; while Curtis Hill, shooting “free style” sent his farthest arrow 610 yards. These flight shoots are very pretty things to watch and spec tators always get a thrill out of them. The clout shoot covers a dis tance of 180 yards for men and 140 yards for women.

The shooting will continue all week, and the exhibition will be free to spectators. On one evening, moving pictures of archery scenes will en tertain the visiting archers. Another evening will be devoted to a reception at the equipment exhibit, where the principal dealers and manufacturers of the country will display the re sults of their handicraft—the per fection of archery tackle which makes high scores possible. This will be a social occasion, and music will be furnished by a 40 piece band. Then there is the business meeting of the Association and the annual banquet, where the prizes, over 200 in num ber will be distributed. The equipment exhibition, held in the Exhibition hall under the Grand Stand at the State Fair Grounds is one of the new things which the Tournament committee this year is introducing. It will be likely to prove of great interest and educational value. Another innovation will be the use of arrow testing machines. Bows are placed in these machines, and the arrows shot by the machine, the same as shooting a rifle from a vise. In this way the grouping-accuracy of arrows can be tested. If archers cannot get bullseyes with such tested arrows, they know whose 'fault it is. There will also be a display of small arrow-feathering machines, which a novice can use, and other interesting equipment devices. Among the new things which will delight those archers who favor what is called “Field Archery,” that is, shooting of the hunting type, several events have been provided. There will be a mechanical deer, which can travel under its own power. It will be used as a moving target. There will also be a disc throwing machine, similar to what gun clubs use for throwing clay pigeons. Ar chers will thus be able to try their skill at wing shooting. Not the least interesting of the new events will be the Roving shoot, held in a game preserve adjacent (Continued on page 14)

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May, 1939

“El Senor Robin Hoot” By Lieut. V. A. Sister Jr., U. S. N. My first opportunity to try out my beloved weapon, the bow, came at a time when Manila was having one of its hottest days. For the six short months I have been in the Philippines I had been awaiting, not too patiently, just such an opportunity. My time out here has been closely allotted so that my hours ashore have been negligible—gunnery and maneuvers, mainly, have taken care of that. It has become so confining that during the few fleeting moments I was home I found that I could scarcely address my wife by her first name without feeling slightly bold. As one can imagine, this bothered me a great deal but upon realizing that my ship mates were in the same boat I re signed myself to my fate and to the fact that the Navy was asking a trifle too much. Evidently, the pow ers that be arrived at the same con clusion because a halt was called to above mentioned activities and we were blessed with a few weeks in port. Archery has been uppermost in my mind ever since arriving in the Orient. Every short time I have had ashore my eye has been wandering for a suitable place to shoot and for proper material with which to make a target. The straw here is of very poor quality and a target constructed of it would soon mildew in this humid climate. As a final resort I made a regulation target of cel-o-tex by tacking three sheets of it together and merely penciling in the circles. Not a pretty thing at best, yet a fair ly acceptable target. Our home on Calle General Luna is just inside the ancient walled city, a section of Manila called Intramuros. Centuries ago the Spanish conquer ors built the city and around it erected massive stone walls for pro tection. These huge barriers are as strong and imposing looking as ever. The old moat which surrounded the wall at one time, serving as an ad ditional protection, is now filled in and verdant with a carpet of green grass. Just outside a section of this wall, in the old moat, I decided to

set up my rachery range. To the best of my knowledge it was the first of its kind in the Philippines, (and, judging from results, any place else for that matter). Two things worried me as I rolled the target toward the range; one was the intense humid heat, its effect on the bow, and the other, in what strange manner the Filipinos might take it upon themselves to behave upon witnessing my actions. Know ing their curiosity might carry them to great lengths I was slightly wor ried about their safety, the safety of my tackle, and lastly, the state of my nerves. By the time the target was set up and I had stepped off sixty and a hundred yards my fears were be ginning to be realized. People had commenced to gather around me. By the time the arm /guard, shooting glove and arrows were arranged, the crowd was getting ridiculously large. I had come to practice, not to give an exhibition, but unfortunately, things along such lines are bound to take the form of a public demon stration out here where curiosity knows no bounds. At any rate, I managed to steady down and shoot as if it were just another practice— that is for a short time. After a few ends I saw the folly of my ways and selection of a range. The people were crowding around closer and closer—not only around me but the target was perilously near to being completely cut off. In view of the fact that I was shooting almost as well as Fred Bergstrom, (or so I thought), I felt that those surround ing the target were in no immediate danger, but at the rate they were closing in I couldn’t vouch for their future safety—even a Larry Hughes would have encountered some diffi culty and I am far from his state of perfection. By this time the top of the wall directly above me was lined with curious spectators. And down be low they swarmed around cutting off what little breeze was blowing. I looked out over the mob (there’s no

May, 1939

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prayer. After a few minutes, how other name for it) and as far as I could see brown faces were peering ever, the crowd, now bolder, surged in again and I was forced to move at me intently, wide-eyed, openmouthed. It wasn’t difficult to im up once more to the 60 yard mark. agine what they were thinking about But by this time I had lost my poise the crazy American with his strange and as the mob cheered I could feel the red creeping up into my face toy. Some were becon^ing more courageous now and every time the from heat and embarassment and I arrow hit the gold (which wasn’t was altogether uncomfortable. Loud often) a cheer accompanied by hand cheers were coming from the top clapping would burst forth. With of the wall and one of the more en every cheer more and more would thusiastic sections repeatedly shouted gather ’round until finally I was “hurrah for El Senor Robin Hood.” shooting through a very narrow open Though I appreciated the psuedo-coming toward the target. The mass of pliment I resented the manner in seething humanity tapered away which it was given especially when from me funnel-shaped about half the Tagalog accent made the Robin Hood sound like “Robin Hoot.” way to the target and then curved in again leaving about ten yards clear Flight was my sole thought. on either side of the target. When the police arrived upon the scene the crowd became quite wellAfter the tenth end it was im behaved and a few1. of them entreated possible to shoot. The hundred yard me to shoot some more. Upon slight mark looked a mile away, bait I thought that bv moving back I might urging I loosed several more ends of arrows for their benefit. They seem slightly discourage some of the crowd ed to be keen on the subject and and I would have a chance to work two or three of the bravest wanted on my primary objective which was to try their hand at shooting. They to determine what effect the heat did and were greatly impressed by was having on my new “Styles” bow. The crowd seemed to sense that it the strength of the bow and the skill might be somewhat dangerous shoot required to handle it. After each shot, which usually missed the tar ing at the 100 yard mark and pressed back leaving me some room. Every get by a mile, they would turn to me and very seriously inquire what movement I made was observed with they had done wrong. the closest scrutiny and I imagined After the shooting (and shouting) for a moment I saw a glimmering of interest beginning to dawn on some was over and I was packing to go home, I was struck by the fact that of their faces. Actually, some en most of the people who had wit thusiasm was being shov^n. on all sides. The tops of the walls were nessed the shooting were really quite fascinated by the long bow. Earlier thickly lined with spectators and the in the afternoon I had been too disfield looked as if a carnival were in progress. Boys were weaving in . turbed to notice much concerning its and out through the crowd hawking effect on them and had wrongly taken ice-cream, peanuts and candy. People most of their stares for dumb cur iosity. The Filipinos have no her-, were shouting and jostling and cran itage of the long bow—they were ing their necks to obtain a better view of the show. Their first awe {not blessel as we were. For that reason it didn’t occur to me that stricken shock at my strange diver sion seemed to have passed and all they would be anything but childishly amused. But to my surprise many were settling down to enjoy, in their, people came to me and asked how way, what they seemed to consider “right good entertainment.” The much it would cost to buy tackle, how long it takes to become an ex strain was lifted and I forgot my pert and all the usual questions stage fright enough to enjoy the asked by the eager beginner. sensation of shooting the Styles’ bow which was doing beautifully. She Thus, even though I didn’t accom was smooth and sweet, the point of plish much in the way of shooting, aim hadn’t dropped and still rested, other than to test my bow, I felt glad because I was convinced that it is on the top of the target, and all-in (Continued on page 8) all she was the answer to an archer’s

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Tackle at the National When I gave the report on the equipment used by the men at the last national I promised a similar report for the ladies soon. The re port for the ladies is not so accurate as was that of the men; but it is still very interesting. All the bows used were yew. Nearly all had straight ends. Nearly all were spliced in the handle. One third of the bows were five feet six inches long. The weights seemed to be either twenty-six or twenty-eight pounds. Eighty per ecent used a point of aim. Fifty per cent used a glove. Forty per cent used a tab. Forty per cent drew to the center of the face. Sixty per cent to the side of the face. While the average man has shot something like four years the average lady has shot near eight years. Two-thirds of the bows were semi flat. The arrows were of all lengths. They seem to vary by the quarter inch. The standard length of arrow such as, 23, 24, 25, 26, etc., so far as women are concerned, seem to be out. Twenty per cent of the arrows were twenty-five inches long. This is the only length showing any number of archers using it. The arrows ranged in weight from two hundred to three hundred twenty grains. Seventy-five per cent were between 270 and 320 grains in weight. Seventy per cent used cedar shafts. Ntinety-tfive per ceint used beef wood footings. Fifty per cent used a two point spliced footing. Forty per cent used a four point spliced footing. It must be remembered that only those ladies who shot in the team round are included in the report. —K. E. Palmatier.

Treeing Stumps (Continued from page 4) charge valiantly at a pile of stacked cordwood, start scratching. Cathey yells, “Pitch in boys! It’s a hot scent. Get your bows ready!” We hold the strung bows in one hand, upset cordwood with the free

May, 1939

hand. The pile topples. A form scurries out just ahead of the dogs’ noses. A frenzy of haste getting up the ibows. -----... gets __x3 ^e first shot, (Cathey Arrows are whizzing through the Cathey’s air in every’ <direction. arrow connects, Cathey dashes forward, holds a speared mouse triumphantly aloft. The bloodhounds go back to the shade, contented in having done their duty, lie down so hard the ground quivers. We wait. The faint sound of a locomotive whistle is wafted down the canyon. The train clanks into view. The engineer searches our faces with anxious eyes. His own expression softens. “I can see by your happy expres sions you got her all right!” He shouts. “Hurray for the bow and ar row hunters. This’ll be news!” Didja get the cubs?” Cathey holds up the mouse. Brothers, that’s hunting! I’ve been on lots of big game hunting expedi tions. The outdoor life, the com panionship, the campfire cooking is all a lot of fun. But the things you really remember are the stumps . . . unless you take those Indian guides or those bloodhounds too seriously. Next fall I’m going out on a stump hunting trip into the wildest country I can find. I’ll get a packer off to one side and say __ confidentially, ___________ “Is :u country? ____ x__ o» this a really — wild ” He’ll say, “Is it! And - " ’ ’How! * Why only last year a . . .” and I’ll interrupt to ask, “Can you take me to some burn where there isn’t any brush, and a whole flock of charred stumps? If If vnn you ran can, vnii you’’ro re hired hired.”’

El Senor Robin Hoot (Continued from page 7) possible to spread archery and the love of the long bow to almost any corner of the world. I fell to whistl ing on the way home and even begrudingly admitted that I didn’t mind being called “El Senor Robin Hood.” With Tagalog sound effects, “Robin Hoot.” Ned Myers and B. G. Thompson have each purchased a beagle pup. It is expected that shortly, archers visiting Corvallis will be treated to some good rabbit hunting.

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Heart to Heart Note to J. Pluvius By Jim Murphy, Bakersfield, California Dear Jupe, Between you and me and the gate post, can’t you ease up a little on us stick-shooters. Haven’t we proved to you beyond the shadow of a doubt, that we archers are a hardy bunch and can take it? We ourselves don’t mind a little wetting once in a while or even now and then, but it’s sure hard on good feathers. Besides, some of us have begun to develop webs be tween our toes attending these super damp shoots. Remember Jupe, away back in October ’36, a few of us Bakersfield boys attended our first State Tourna ment, and boy, did you kick the bottom out of the water tank on that occa sion! Both days it was shoot an end; retrieve arrows and run for cover. At the state shoot in ’37, same thing; only more so. Then we organized the San Joaquin Bowmen, a six county organization, and set the date in October, 1937, for our first big shoot to be held in Bak ersfield. Came the day, came Geo. Brommers and came the rain and did she pour down! We held the third meet here last fall and you soaked us again (Yes, I know Geo. was here again, so wfhat?) In January of this year we got the gang together and headed for the S.C.F. Archers at Yermo. Rain, sez you? Yes, sez I! I’ll bet that old desert hasn’t been so wet since old Noah sailed over it with that old mud-scow he called the Ark. And so cold that one of the boys who slept in the Wilhelm’s garage (Saturday night, (I won’t mention his name) took Walt’s wild pig to bed with him. Said he was afraid the pig would get the flu or something. Thanks, Jupe, for easing off that Sunday A. M. so that we had a fine shoot after all. Now, Mr. Pluvius, here is the one that just about got you on our rat list for life. We rolled down to Pas adena last Sunday, March 26th, me with high hopes of getting even with my friendly enemy Earl Grubbs for some of the trimmings he has been lucky enough to dish out to me at

other meets. There we were—one of the finest rover ranges in the state to shoot on, a fine bunch of archers— and if you didn’t uncorck the water wagon on us again. Arroyo Seco (dry creek) became Arroyo Mojado (wet creek). About the only foursome that beat you were those with Ted Carpenter, he brought them all in high and dry under that big ten gallon hat. One of the boys rustled a big beach um brella for the ladies, and received a whacking big kiss from a pretty gal as a reward. (Can you blame me, Jupe, for scouting all over Arroyo Seco looking for another bumbershoot? No luck, dang it.) I was just wondering, Jupiter, old boy, if we made some sort of sacri fice or maybe a burnt offering to you, (such as burning some of Hank Bittzenberger’s degamme logs, some of Earl Grubbs’ soggy Yew and a baker’s dozen of Bill Joy’s cork-screw cedar shafts thrown in for good mea sure) that you would lay off of the archers for awhile and soak the pingpongers for a change. What! you say you did it to soak Geo. Brommers? Geo. has been gone to the tall and uncut for nigh on to two months. Through some kind of skull-duggery he boondoggled himself into the pres ident of the Lower-Bracket Boys and skipped the country (he also took the keys of the dog-house along). Well, adios, Jupe, hope you will give us a break now that George has vamoosed. Thanks for giving our wild flowers a chance to do their stuff, and when the S.C.F. Archers come to Bakersfield in April, our plains and foot-hills should be a glorious riot of color. Yours rovingly, Osage Jim.

“I shot an arrow into the air; For all I know it is still there. Wihen the wife makes a wise crack I wish I had my arrow back.” —H. B. R. L.

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May, 1939

Editorial Our New Cover Our new cover design represents a scene from Sherwood Forest. The drawing was made from a picture in Roberts’ “Archery,” a book nearly one hundred years old. It shows Robin Hood, Maid Marian, Friar Tuck and Little John during a period of relax ation from their usual labors of re lieving the burdens of fat purses from travellers through the forest trails. The cover is the work of Dan Bonnel of Oregon State College. Mr. Bonnell also made the cover which we have been using for the past twelve issues. New Editor of Bowman Succeeding the late Mr. C. C. Hall, Mrs. Erma Haberle has taken oven the editorial post of the American, Bowman-Review, published in Al bany, Oregon, by Frank Taylor & Son. Strong archery magazines are the very best guarantee for the future of the sport. The American Bow man-Review 'has been vigorously man-

aged and ably edited. We extend our best wishes to Mrs. Haberle, and hope that she will enjoy her new Work.

Lost at F.A.S.C. Shoot Volus Jones lost or mislaid a brown leather jacket at the Southern Calif ornia Field Archers tournament which was held in Bakersfield on. April 23, Mr. Jones values the coat highly, as it was a present from a close friend, and would gladly pay a reward for its return. If you have any information regarding the coat write Valus Jones, Care of Walt Dis ney Studio, 2719 Hyperion Ave., Los Angeles, Calif. L. G. Rose is president of an ar chery club recently orgonized in Klamath Falls, Oregon. The club has gotten away to a good start with twenty members already shooting.

The New York Archers will hold a Pope-Young shoot on October 29th.

Now will you be good?

—Cartoon by Cosner

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With Our Advertisers By Russell Jones, Business Manager Both as a service to our readers and to our advertisers, we are plan ning to devote this page to news items and other interesting facts concern ing our advertisers. We appreciate the fact that our success in develop ing this magazine both in size and interest depends a great deal upon the response and co-operation given our advertisers. Every one of our readers is interested in reading the advertisements because of the many new developments in this great sport and to become acquainted with the sources of the materials that go to make up their tackle. And so we feel it behooves the tackle maker or the raw material man to picture his product as completely as possible. Copy should be changed with each issue for the same reason, that our readers want to read something dif ferent each time that will give them a better picture of your products. The advertisment that carries the same copy from month to month is quite often passed over because we become accustomed to reading the same message again and again and what we want as readers is more information. We believe that our readers would enjoy reading more about the many interesting developments of their favorite hobby that are being carried on by the many tackle makers rep resented on these pages; and so we will attempt to print as many as possible of these items if our adver tisers or anyone else interested, will send them in to us. Let’s have a story obout that new machine you have just installed, the new addition to your shop, the new gadget you have developed, that different string, etc. May we have some opinions and suggestions concerning this page from our readers as well as our ad vertisers. Claude Lampert, of Portland, Ore gon report that he has been receiving a great many requests for informa tion about his newly improved ar rowmaker. He reports a very satis factory sale of his machine which

he attributes to its simplicity, and the fact that it may be operated with out previous experience to produce nicely finished dowels in any size, parallelled, barrelled or tapered.

According to Mr. W. I. King of Eugene, Oregon, archers in the east ern part of the United States are be coming more interested in yew wood as a bow material as indicated by the many orders he has received recently from that section both for staves and finished bows. He re ports that he has been forced to add onto his shop and enlist the services of another bowmaker, although he assures us every bow receives his personal attention. Prouty, Ken Wilhelm, Curtis, “Flight” Daily, Robertson, Pierson and others should have a pair of Ben ner’s binoculars for the next deer season. “Nick” and Jim who have recently formed a partnership in the archery tackle business are also new comers to our advertising pages. They are announcing the “Silver Streak” metal arrows.

We congratulate Mr. Vives on the interesting and .cleverly illustrated first issue of “The American Archer.” Further particulars regarding this new publication will be found in our advertising columns. The C & C Archers of Peoria, Ill inois are announcing a special price on a serving tool. See their ad.

If you need a take-down bow handle or a nocking tool be sure to read C. M. Huntley’s ad.

It was our intention to run twentyfour pages not including the cover pages this month, but unavoidable circumstances, some cuts came in too late for one thing, have cut the issue down to twenty-four pages, includin o- cover.

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New Club for Northern California We recently organized here in Sis kiyou County. At present we have sixteen paid members and about twice that number who are “interested.” Rest assured, we’re really working on those “ interested” fellows. Our club range is the old Yreka golf course, located one mile south, of that city. Although the course is studded with patches of scrub oak and sage, there is still ample room for target, flight and field archery. Live targets make this range both interesting and unique, small game is plentiful the year around and when the snows come to the high ranges the deer winter here. Gold is being dredged in many of the adjoining flats and we have high hopes that some day soon one of our stray ar rows will unearth a fine trophy for the club. George Wacker is president; R. C. Goodman, secretary, both live in Yreka. Stop and shoot with us on your next trip through the ShastaCascade Wonderland. James F. Culley.

Don Daugherty By J. M. Howard On April 27th Don Daugherty of Gary, Indiana lost a long and bitter fight with death. Few archers will recognize in the name one of their staunchest brothers, a man whose later days were a fine tribute to the sport. Yet Mr. Daugherty was a

May, 1939

great archer—not in prowess, but in courage and devotion. He was by profession a writer, and his subject matter was his pilgrimagt of a dozen years from doctor to doctor in quest of health never to be re gained. As a result of injuries re ceived in playing basketball for the University of Michigan he contracted osteomyelitis, bone decay. Several times during the last several years he had been given a few days, or even a few hours, to live. His in domitable spirit sustained him. Then, unbelievably, he discovered archery—not only discovered it, but pursued it with all the enthusiasm of a well-bodied young man. He became a fine bowyer and an excellent shot. At this time one of his hip joints was useless, he was constantly short of breath from anemia, and often in great pain. Don Daugherty was one of those quiet heros who wouldn’t become an invalid so long as he could climb out of bed. And archery gave him a real incentive to stay out of bed. With in a day or two of his death he was still on his feet—and still an archer.

Hillsboro Meet A district archery tournament will be held on Sunday, June 4, 1939 at the B. W. Barnes Junior High School Playground on N. Third Avenue and Jefferson Streets, Hillsboro, Oregon. The shoot will begin at 10:00 A.M. Bring your picnic lunch and spend the day.

“jy/zat’s your hurry? Cartoon illustrating boar hunting story in March is sue. Cut used by courtesy of Ohio Conservation Commission.

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The Lighter Side of Archery By the Doghouse Philosophers

Ted Carpenter is a promising young artist from Santa Barbara, in ad dition to which he has recently sold two stories to “For Men”. Aside from that we think that the following tale of his is punk and exaggerated—not to mention that it is a damn lie, but here it goes. It is in the form of a letter to Ray Hodgson. Dear Ray: I think it is high time that the archers find out whv George Brom mers talks out of the side of his mouth—and how he got that way. Three years ago, when I was up in Northern British Columbia, I was hunting during what I thought was a thunder-storm when I happened to meet one of the real big shots of the country just around a mountain. He was really a big shot, too, and he was holding on to his stomach and rocking back and forth groaning. That groaning was what made the thunder. He looked as if somebody had given him a pretty good shellack ing, but I didn’t want to be impolite, so I just asked him what was the matter. He let out a roar that would have made a hurricane sound like a whistle through your false teeth. “That damned Swede,” he groaned, “I tracked ihim down, forty-seven years ago and told him to lay off writing stories. Hell, he was telling such whoppers that nobody would believe anything 1 said or did. ‘Brommers can shoot a bigger bow than yours,’ they would tell me, or ‘what do you mean, you and the blue ox dug the Mississippi? I read how a guy named Brommers did it.’ ” “Now a man can’t let things like that go on, so I called the old scoun drel on it. First thing I knew he had kicked me in the stomach and given me both these shiners. We fought for 83 days before I could get the old devil down. I shoved his face in the musked and told him that if he would holler ‘Uncle’ I’d let him up. Well, I sat on his head for three weeks, but the only sounds that came from the mud was cussing during the day and snores at night. Then I realized that that stinking old log-

ger was more comfortable than I was, because he had managed to twist the lower half of his face around enough to keep it out of the muskeg. So I let him up, turned him around, and gave him a boot that sent him south so fast that he never stopped until he reached Southern California. Now, sure as my name is Paul Bun yan, he can stay down there and tell lies for the next four hundred years for all I care, just so he doesn’t come too far north, for he is the orneriest, cussingest, snoriest, stubbornest, booze - lappinest, lunch - stealinist, bull slinginest Swede I ever knew. Outside of that he is o. k., and I kind of like the damned old cuss.” This is the truth, Ray, so help me. I am counting on you to use this to George Brommers’ best disadvan tage, for if ever there was one who liked his going rough, it is the old logger. Ted Carpenter. Another letter, also addressed to Ray Hodgson, reads as follows: Dear Ray: It seenis to me that since you are all giving “Old Gawge” a big sendoff, the least that I could do, since I can not attend, would be to give you a few of the highlights of the character of this great man. Only a few hours ago, I got a letter from him in which he pointed out what a help he had been to me and modestly insinuated that had it not been for him I would have somewhat less mentality than an angleworm. He went on to say that his constant help and guidance should be a pat tern for me in my own behavior to ward others and that from this great source I might draw inspiration for a life rich with blessings and happi ness. He also pointed out the mater ial as well as the spiritual and mental benefits that I had received. He listed them all, and although he failed to send a bill, the implication was clear. It has been ever thus. Whenever I felt the need of inspiration or ad vice I could go to George with it and he would start talking about some*

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thing else. If I needed encourage ment, all I had to do was to write to George and he would write me a long letter telling me what a damn fool I was to ever let myself get into such a fix at that. If someone had „ deliberately wronged me, George would point out to me that the other fellow was right in the first place since I always acted like a silly idiot anyhow. If I wanted to pull off a big coup on some other fellow, George would invariably hunt him up and go into cohoots with him and I would wind up behind the eight ball. If there was some article that I needed badly, he was always there with the exact page in Sears Roebuck’s catalouge that I would find it on. Later I would find that he had directed me to the ladies foundation garments or maybe well pumps. Whenever I visited him, he would carefully put my dog in the best bed and then, make me take a bath and sleep out in the garage. He maintained that he was too tender hearted to treat a dog badly after I had brought it all that way to see him. Sometimes I wonder if, after all, I really understand George. There must be some hidden virtue in the man that I have overlooked. When a bunch of people see fit to actually feed him at a banquet, he should have some claim to fame at least. In that connection you had better watch out. He is a walking appetite that has never been divided up among the stockholders. I do maintain, however, that in the business of cutting yew wood, he was supreme in his field. He is the only man ever in the business who climbed the trees to cut bow wood. He insisted that a stave should have character and in dividuality just like a person, so he would leave branches on them for arms, legs, etc, and knots for the eyes, while an assorted collection of pin knots would represent freckles or chicken pox or whatever people have when they look like that. How ever, he never left anything on them that would suggest brains. Whether he didn’t know how to, or whether he merely overlooked it, I couldn’t say. With all this however, I say again that there must be something about George that I have overlooked. In

May, 1939

trying to uplift me he has pointed out enough sterling traits in himself to have made four angels and a cherub in with enough stuff left over for a Southern Methodist preacher. I al ways left it to him to do this pointing out, as he seemed to enjoy it and besides, if I did it there would be bound to be mistakes and oversights and that would make him mad. Please don’t take my word about anything concerning George Brom mers because as I say and repeat; he is too obscure for me to evaluate. I can only await this occasion where all of you can get a good look at him and size him up. You might check up on my estimates, however, and at that time if you can find any signs of greatness in addition to his feet and his appetite, I would be grate ful to hear of it. If you fail to note that appetite, send him to a hospital or put mustard plasters on the bot toms of his feet. You can’t do any thing about his feet other than that however. My deepest regrets at not being able to be there. I will be there in a sense, however. This enclosed work of art will fill my chair and tell my story. I hope that all of you enjoy yourselves to the limit and that nobody forgets anything. Yours skeptically, Cosner.

Champions Will Attend (Continued from page 5) to the Twin Cities. 28 life size re productions of game animals will be distributed at unknown distances along a woodland trail, and archers in groups will follow this trail and shoot at the animal targets as they encounter them. On the concluding Saturday morn ing, the English York round will be shot. Some of the crack archers of England are expected to partici pate in this event and show Amer icans how they do it in the land of the grey goose feather. Altogether a very interesting program has been provided, and the archers of Minn esota extend a cordial welcome to all who are in any way interested in shooting with the bow. Separate events are provided for men, women and juniors.

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Archery Widows (Continued from last issue) By John Willard I got into Winthrop late that night. I knew it was Winthrop because Ko re had written me it was a small town, with a Hotel at one end and a Post Office the size of a kidney bean. He was right. The town was dark—no i lights anywhere. The citizens evij dently went to bed ! early to get warm. ' It was cold. My -« blood thinned by a stay in the semitropical climate couldn’t adjust it self to the Washington chill. I found the hotel — a comfortable rambling place with a hitching rail in front. It too was dark. I got out with my grip, tied up the jalopy to the hitch ing rail and entered. Not a light showed but the faint glow from a dying fire. I warmed my hands—gave a couple of coughs to let them know there was a cash cus tomer in search of bed and board. Nothing happened. Seeing a bell on the desk I struck it. A door opened in the dark behind the desk and a good natured voice called. “Hello?” “Hello.” I answered. “Are you the lord of the manor?” “I’m the guy.” “Could I have a room for the night?” “ You bet you can,” he said heart ily. “Well- ■r—just how’ll I get this room?” “Just go upstairs and find one that isn’t occupied,” he replied cheer fully. “I don’t think we’re all filled up. Good luck and good night!” The door closed. The second story was a long dark hall. Some of the doors were part ly open. There were plenty of guests judging by the different snores. Down toward the end of the hall was a quartette in full blast and strangely enough all in the same key. The tenors were in one room

the baritone and bass in another. The bass especially had power. He had a snort like a Wagnerian tuba. In another room was some guy who imagined himseljf to be '<a piccolo player. He filled in the soprano parts. I stopped at a room that was silent. The door was open. I put down my grip and entered quietly. As I was feeling around for the light switch a gruff voice suddenly roared out from a corner of the room. “What in Hell’s going on here?” I murmured an apology, backed out of the room and fell over my grip. As my two hundred pounds hit the floor it jarred me—and jarred the hotel. Immediately the snoring stop ped and everyone started talking at once. “What’s the matter?” “Ain’t time to get up, is it?” “Bull moose loose in the hall.” “Someone fall out of bed?” “ IIey—J i m—wake up—what’s the trouble?” The piccolo player still in. the throes of a dream started to wail. “Oh—no— Oh, say it isn’t true— don’t—don’t!” Then he gave a yell like a steam calliope. Some of the fellows called to him. “What’s the matter, Skinny? Fall outa bed?” “Who called that guy a piccolo player?” The piccolo player, now awake, started to explain. “Listen, fellows—I dreamed a bear was chas ing me over a cliff—and I didn’t have my gun! Oh, what a nightmare I must have had!” Then a bellowing voice roared. “That’s cause he snored himself —horse!” A yell of laughter greeted this crack—then things began to quiet down as the strong gun hunters re sumed their concert. At the end of the hall was a room with a closed door. 1 entered cau tiously turned on the light. It was empty. Off went my clothes and in. a few moments I was snoring with the rest of them. I awakened early and went down stairs. The landlord suggested break-

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fast and showed me to a table. I made a frugal meal of stewed fruit —oatmeal—bacon and eggs and chops —wheat cakes—toast and a couple of pints of coffee. Feeling vaguely refreshed I paid my bill and asked could I get a telegram through to

Hollywood.

“Sorry,” said the landlord. “The wires are down all along the road. Can’t tell when they’ll be fixed.” “I’ve got to get a wire through to the war department.” “Tell you what, General,” he said, “suppose you write out your wire and leave it with me. I’ll get it through soon as possible.” As I was writing it I asked. “How much will it be?” “Haven’t any idea. Not very much. Suppose you leave me a dollar. If it’s more you can give it to me some other time—if it’s less I’ll send you the change.” I gave him a' dollar and a half and as I was going out he asked me to register explaining he had to keep a record of all his Quests. Several days later I met a ranger on the trail who gave me an envelope con taining thirty-four cents change and a reply from my wife. That landlord is some swell guy! I was the first to arrive at Honey moon Camp in the Eight Mile Re serve. A beautiful spot and worth the trip alone. At the entrance was a big sign telling the public it was a reserve for archers only, and any one bringing in fire arms would be presecuted. The best policed archers’ hunting ground I’ve ever seen. We could hunt in safety. We could crawl through the brush without the danger of stopping a slug from some gun hunter two hundred yards away. As I drank from the creek I noticed some dark forms slipping around in a deep pool. I wasted no time. I got out my rod and in a short time yanked out a mess of trout—firm and hard as marble. Then the bowmen started coming in. Kore, Stamps and a Mr. Rastoll from San Francisco who rejoiced under the nickname of Rastus made up one party. There must have been at least thirty—among them I saw Alexander, an artist from Tacoma— Mr. Johns—Bill Nichols. Tents, shel ters, fires sprang into life. Tackle was unpacked—bows were strung—

May, 1939

broadheads sharpened—strings tested. —and over all was the nervous ten sion, the thrill of anticipation for the morrow! A party of rangers headed by Mr. MacCauley dropped in and wished us all luck. Late in the afternoon a truck pulled in and disgorged a half dozen more archers. These fellows were up for the opening only. Each man, had a strong bow, broadheads and a blanket roll. They made their fire near my tent, cooked their din ner and then made a lean-to in the bushes away from the fire. One chap who was eating a sandwich as he sat on a big log near the fire looked scornful at his mates as they were cutting down the evergreen branches for their beds. He grinned at me as he nodded toward them. “Lot of softies, eh?” “Why?” I asked. “Look at them,” he said. “Making beds. Wonder they didn’t bring a bathtub. I’m different. I’m hard— tough! When 1 go out in the woods I rough it.” He threw down the re mains of his sandwich. “The good old Mother Earth is good enough for me.” He then unrolled his blankets. “Right here, by the fire—with the log at my back for a wind break.” He then rolled himself up in his blankets until he resembled a cocoon. “My name’s Tom. What’s yours?” “Jack,” I told him. “Good night, Jack. See you in the morning.” He turned over on his side and was asleep instantly. I went back to my tent wishing I could sleep. I built up my fire and sat looking in the flames—there’s some thing magical about the open fire in the woods . Even the cigarettes taste better. So does a pannikin of black coffee well laced with rum. I wondered if it would be a six or a four point buck in the morning—I finally compromised on anything that had branched antlers—when a wild yell slashed through the night. I looked over and saw Tom who had just gone to sleep—dancing a sara band around the fire—shedding his clothes like a strip tease dancer. “What’s the matter?” I called rush ing to him. “Matter!” he howled. “I’m covered with these—blank—blank—blank—

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mice from top to bottom! A man can't even sleep in this—dashed— dashed—blank—blank—country with out getting lousy with these—blank— blank—blank—rats! Look!” He shook his pants and a couple of field mice ran out. “Here’s more!” He yelled as he pulled one from his shirt. Then he started to shake them from his blankets swearing all the time. I once listened to a mule skinner in Arizona cuss for six minutes with out repeating himself once. For a pure lyrical outflow — an eloquent smooth sustained gush of forbidden words I’ve never heard Tom’s equal. He had bedded down in a nest of the furry little creatures and they, attracted by the food on the ground, had gone on a foraging party—and then getting cold they naturally crept into Tom’s manly bosom for warmth. I suggested he finish the night in my tent. “Thanks,” he answered. “But I’ll bunk over there with those guys.” “Oh, yeah.?” growled a voice from the lean-to. “Well, don’t you bring no mice in my bed—you rat!” Morning finally came. A nice damp sticky morning. As I was dressing, Dave, one of the younger archers came over and asked me to breakfast with him and his pal. He told me the coffee was ready and the cakes on the fire. I joined him glad ly and met his pal Louis Dewey, a tall wide shouldered young athlete who resembled both Clark Gable and Bob Taylor. They gave me the largest flan jacks I’ve ever seen— about the size of a drum head, half an inch thick, light as aluminum and tender as raw hide. They asked me to hunt with them. I begged off —I’d decided to let my buck live an other day, besides I was sleepy. I asked for a couple more flapjacks, which they made for me. I thanked them and as I started for my tent Dewey asked. “What are you going to do with those cakes?” “Going to eat them in bed?” grin ned Dave. “No,” I replied. “I’m going to use them as a couple of extra blankets and get thawed out.” In a short time the camp was de serted. The valley of silent bowmen. Some thirty archers each armed with

a strong bent bow and shafts tipped with steel were gliding through the hills like shadows. As I stood in my tent wondering what to do a big dark doe stepped out of the under brush and looked the camp over. At one time she was not fifteen yards from Kore’s tent. Oh, if she’d only had horns! I moved toward her and she trotted off. That started me going. I grabbed my Osage and quiver and crashed up the slope with the mad abandon of a bull elephant. Does—fawns sprang out like rabbits. I never saw so many does in my life. But there were no bucks. I fooled around on the north slope all day and got into camp fagged out. I questioned the other fellows and got the same answer. Plenty of does but no one had even seen a buck. Next morn ing I went out with Bill Nichols, an expert hunter who knows the game. We tried all day without success. At dinner Bill cooked a pan of sour dough biscuits which I ate with relish and digested with regret. No luck! The camp started to thin out. I was sorry to see them go because friendships are easily made with ar chers and easily — remembered. Finally only four of us were left. Duryee, Stamps, Rastus and I. We hunted for ten days. It wasn’t in the cards. The weather was too mild. The lordly bucks wouldn’t come from the high peaks. We packed up and left. I spent a day in Seattle with Kore, then dropped in to see Homer Prouty and his wife at Portland, to thank him for a superb flight bow he had sent me. As I slid south I started to figure about a trip to Africa. But that could wait—the first thing was to cinch the Alaskan trip. Might have better luck with the ‘brownies’—also wondered if there were plenty of trees in Alaska. Then the name Polus —my wife called me as I left. It had something to do with astrology I was sure. I was born under Sagittarius, the sign of the half archer and half horse. Then suddenly it came—Polus was a fixed star somewhere I be lieve in the constallation Sagittarius. The star ancient astrologers called “Polus, the fool — or the Archer’s Bow!”

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Missouri Valley Tournament The 1939 meeting to determine the champions of the Missouri Valley Archery Association will be held June third and fourth in Indiana. The lo cation is Brown County State Park near Nashville which is about 40 miles south of Indianapolis. This beautiful recreation area offers visit ing archers many scenic attractions in addition to a tournament that will provide some real competition and many worth while trophies. The Missouri Valley Archery As sociation embraces all of the Valley states including Missouri, Iowa, Ill inois, Indiana, Oklahoma, Kansas, Nebraska, Wisconsin and North and South Dakota. All archers residing in these states are eligible for mem bership and participation in awards. Only members are eligible to receive awards, however. Those who plan to attend the tour nament will materially assist the committees by registering with the secretary by mail before the date of the meet. Archers are also requested to tell their friends of this meet as there are many archers in the Missouri Valley states who do not have their names on our mailing lists. Any names club secretaries may send us to bring our lists up to date will be appreciated. Mrs. Frances Martin, Sec. 437 Lincoln Park Drive Evansville, Indiana. The field archers of the central Willamette Valley met on May 14 for a roving shoot on the sand dunes near Waldport. The dunes are a fine place to rove with broad heads. Seldom is a point broken. The archers were accompanied by the better halves and families.

George Brommers has been on the job helping get out this issue,, es-

May, 1939

pecially acting as proof reader. In the next issue George is going to expose all the secrets of magazine publication. If his article is highly scientific it will get preferred po sition; if it is as we expect, it will be found under the heading, “The Lighter Side of Archery.”

CLASSIFIED ADVERTISING RATES for Classified Advertising 5 cents per word per issue. Count initials and numbers as words. Mini mum charge is 50 cents.

SELECT FEATHERS— $1.75 per gross, 1-3 dyed, 2-3 barred, post paid. Stafford, 4333 Cole, Dallas, Texas. TO OPEN SOON in New York, a new archery tackle shop. Dealers please send prices on raw materials, finished tackle and equipment. Miller Bros., 102 Arlington Road, Cranford, N. J.

YEW BILLETS —$2.50 and $3.50. Staves $3.50 and $5.00 postpaid. High altitude Yew, well seasoned. Fine dark 10 yr. seasoned Billets, $5.00 Staves, $8.00. Postpaid.—Leon Chapin, Box 139, Albany, Oregon.

BOWS, ARROWS, raw materials, Lowest prices. Lloyd Morrison, Waldport, Oregon. MATCHED ARROWS—Not merely sanded to weight, but matched spine, weight and dimension. Built only as Hobson can build them. Self arrows $2.50 a set. Footed $4.40. Sample arrow 25c. Pair Yew billets, $2.50.—Harry D. Flobson, Salem, Oregon. RELICS AND CURIOS INDIAN RELICS, Beadwork, Coins, Curios, Books, Minerals, Weapons. Old West Photos. Catalog, 5c. Genuine African Bow, $3.75. Ancient flint arrowheads, perfect, 6c each— ------ Indian Museum, Northbranch, Kansas.

BOOKS AND MAGAZINES The Flat Bow—70 pages of Archery information for 50 cents, well illus trated. Ye Sylvan Archer, 505 N. 11th St., Corvallis, Oregon.

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YOU NEED C & C ARCHERS “Qiiality Archery Tackle at Reasonable Prices” Pyroxylin Nocks—Arrow Savers 35c per dozen -- $2.00 per 100 JUNE SPECIAL Serving Tool .... 50c Price list on request—discounts to dealers and manufacturers.

LEISURE

C. & C. Archers J. E. Clifford 416 Dechman Ave. Peoria, Ill.

Arcadian Life Magazine Tells the Story of the Ozarks Nature, Health, Folklore, pre sented in a charming way. Published monthly in the backhills where the highway meets the by-ways. $1.00 pays for three years’ subscription. Sin gle copy, 15c. Try a classified ad in our Market Place. $1.00 pays for three insertions of your thirty word advertisement. Short Pastoral Poems Wanted O. E. RAYBURN, Editor Caddo Gap, Arkansas

8-MILE RANGE High Grade

The Magazine of a Thousand Diversions The only magazine catering to the leisure tastes of every member of the family. Educational without being scientific. You will find, new intro ductions to Games, Sports, Hobbies, Collections. Books, Photography, Creative Arts, Puzzles, Dramatics, Travel, Music, Hand Crafts, Nature Study and many other pleasurable activities. INSTRUCTIVE, ENTERTAINING, STIMULATING Read what outstanding Educators, and Civic Leaders say about Leisure: "A magazine like yours can do much to save our young people from find ing unwholesome outlets for their surplus energies by putting before them in attractive and authoritative form, the many fields of activities which will satisfy their cravings for adventure, for creation, for copera tion. and for leadership.” Ernest Her mann. Dean, Sargent School of Physi cal Education. "A copy of ‘Leisure’ in every home would be a Godsend to folks who have never before had the time for creation, nor the education for its use.” R. A. Hoyer. Director, Dep’t of Boy Guidance, Graduate School Notre Dame University.

BINOCULARS 10 Days’ Free Trial Prepaid or C.O.D. $4-75 |

Case and Straps included. Se lected High Power carefully ground Lenses give wide, clear field of vision. Powerful, ac curate, latest 1939 features. Pupillary adjustments. Center focusing. Ideal for hunting, etc. Guar, perfect. Reg. $15 val. If dissatisfied after 10 days trial, money refunded. Order Today! Benner & Co.. B-22. Trenton, N. J.

Special offer to Readers of

YE SYLVAN ARCHER

NOW 15 MONTHS ONLY—$1.00 Fill in your name and address, send bill, check stamps or M. O. (Canadian or Foreign Post.—50c extra): LEISURE, 683 Atlantic Ave., Boston, Mass. Please send your special 15 months’ offer—$1.00 enclosed. Please print. Name ...........................................................

Address City

State.

May, 1939

YE SYLVAN ARCHER

SUBSCRIBERS PLEASE NOTICE A cross appearing in this space means that your sub scription has expired and we would appreciate your prompt renewal so that your name may be kept on our mailing list.

“Jim Crayford — SILVER STREAK Metal Arrows (Quarter Inch Diameter) Announcing the Most Satisfac tory Arrow Service yet offered. “LIFETIME” TRADE-IN ON THE WORLD’S FINEST AND MOST ACCURATE ARROWS MADE ....

Archery Raw Materials

You pay only 90c per arrow for the first set—then, split a nock or tube, wear out the feathers, bend one out of shape, or for any reason whatsoever, you want a new arrow (or a whole) set we guarantee to re place them, when returned, at 45c each.

WM. A. JOY 9708 So. Hoover Street LOS ANGELES, CALIF. =7

The high scores of Streaks tell the story.

Silver

NIK & JIM (G. L. Nichols) (Jim Crayford)

POTTER & MacQUARRIE

ARCHERY WORKSHOP 6 West Huron St.

1939 Catalogue Ready for

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Chicago, Ill. --

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Distribution

Write for your copy 3400 Fruitvale Ave.

Oakland .... California

Make Your Arrows with a Lampert Arrowmaker parallel — tapered — barreled 3-8 to 1-4 $30.00—two models—$20.00 For Information Write Claude Lampert 3527 N. Haight Ave. Portland Oregon

Cassius Hayward Styles BOWYER AND FLETCHER

—Tackle that has stood the test— 28 Vicente Place BERKELEY, CALIFORNIA

For sale, takedown bow han dles. $1.50 apiece. Nocking tools to fit nocks and points, $1.50 apiece, two sizes for $2.50. Give sizes wanted or samples. All articles sent postpaid. Dealers, write for wholesale prices. C. M. Huntley 6555 19th Ave. N. E. Seattle Washington. ---------------------------------------------

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VV. A. COCHRAN Archery Equipment High Elevation Yew Wood Port Orford Cedar Osage Orange Air Seasoned 10,000 Billets and Staves in Stock Route 2 Eugene, Ore.

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E. BUD PIERSON Bowyer — Fletcher Tournament Tackle, Sinew, Glue, Raw Materials. 245 University Ave CINCINNATI, OHIO Custom Made Tackle

ARCHERY

“THE MARK OF DISTINCTION IN ARCHERY TACKLE Fine Yew Target and Hunting Bows, Plain or Backed with Rawhide. Lemonwood Bows with Rawhide Baeks. College and School Equipment Target, Hunting and Roving Arrows Price List on Request Wholesale — Retail EARL GRUBBS 5518 W. Adams Los Angeles, : California

Special

BOWS

from the Heart of the Yew Country

GENUINE LEATHER BOW CASE

VV. I. KING Woodworking Shop 1958'A Onyx St. Eugene, Ore. --------- - -----------------------------

With Zipper Fastener RED — BLUE — GREEN BLACK — BROWN

L. L. “Flight” DAILY

— Postpaid — "Specify Length of Bow"

$1.95 each offers you

BEAR PRODUCTS CO.

“Tackle That Talks”

4700 Burlingame

Dry Cedar and Yew Catalogue Free 245 Pearl, Eugene, Oregon

Detroit, Mich.

GET on the LADDER Send in your scores—see back covei- for details. Prices and awards given. Compete with your fellow archers in—

Itaal SpottX^ <

“The American Archer”

WRITE FOR FREE CATALOG

WOLVERINE ARCHERY TACKLE

COLDWATEra. MICHIGAN_______

HAHDIOOK-Ho- ,o MaLa A.d Uc. Bowl and Arrowi-90 P»o«t wall Uluttralad (with catalog) 35c

& BACK NUMBERS YE SYLVAN ARCHER Volumes I to V Inclusive $1.00 Per Volume B. G. THOMPSON R. F. D. 1, Corvallis, Oregon

pictur«»—color tpraod—Imtruction Folder. 10c.

catalog—100

CATALOG okmo 5c. Stunp> or Coin

Wiil^^EZTEMMLER- ftUEDi/VHUGEN y

Please mention Ye Sylvan Archer when writing advertisers.

Issued THE AMERICAN ARCHER Quarterly nOO 521 5th Avenue Per Year New York, N. Y. Send in your witnessed Double American score and compete for national awards. Your score published—register it now—Advertisers i please note that adv. rates have been changed as of May 1, 1939—write ! for new rates. J. C. VIVES, Publisher.

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WIN WITH BEN PEARSON ARROWS Beautiful and accurate to the Nth degree but win their real laurels on the range. Arrows made as arrows should be—and at prices you can afford to pay. Send for catalogue.

BEN PEARSON, INC. — PINE BLUFF, ARK. x;

— ULLRICH WOOD — The Choice of Champions Why handicap yourself at the coming meets? Use the best materials available in making up your tackle. Folder and Price List.on Request E. L. ULLRICH — Roseburg, Orc.

Beacon Hill Craftsmen Beacon, N. Y. Paul H. Gordon, Director The Works The McCoy No Swanky Showrooms We Put It Into the Product Write for Complete Catalog

.< HARRIS M. STAFFORD

Willis H. Barnes

Master Fletcher

4333 Cole Ave.

DALLAS, TEXAS

Sturgis

601 N. 4th Street : Michigan

Bozvyer and Fletcher Tackle Built to Please

than your arrows

It won’t be long now. With the season just a few weeks ahead of us, we will soon be all pepped up ready to try that new bow on the targets with arrows to match. Or get out in the field and try for “what have you”. Well, folks, if you are not equipped with the prop er tackle, drop a line to Barnes stating what you are in need of and just how you want it made. Barnes Tackle is built to please. (My customers already know this)

Let us know your requirements

Barnes Bows and Arrows are known the world over for Quality

Now located in Dallas, Texas and equipped to supply fine ar rows and arrow materials for all purposes at a most reason able price. Write for Price List.

You can shoot no belter '