While Cupid was busy elsewhere firing little arrows at unsuspecting hostages to romance, eager archers were busy in the woods near New Ross. The Dunbrody Archers, who have been in existence since 2004, gather every Sunday morning in the great outdoors to practise their skills.
All around the muddy little car park, members of the club are lacing up boots, assembling bows and filling their quivers with sufficient arrows to last the course.
The members split into groups and Maureen Walsh will lead David Gaughan and his sixteen-year-old daughter, Anita off first.
“My eleven-year-old and my eight-year-old and my husband are also members,” says Maureen, “but they decided to stay in bed this morning,” she adds laughing. “Every second week, there is a shoot somewhere in the country and, if it’s near enough, the whole family goes.”
There are about 13 clubs in Ireland at the moment, all sporting imaginative names such as the Black Dog Club in Cork, the Three Counties in Clonmel and the Blue Arrows in Waterford.
“I started about 5 months ago,” says Anita, “and this is my second trip to the woods. You start in the Youth Centre in New Ross where we train every Tuesday night and when you are ready, you come out to the woods.”
“Anyone can come along to the Youth Centre on a Tuesday night and we would always encourage new members,” says the club’s PRO, Andrew Wayland. “Safety is paramount; we all follow a strict code of practice to make sure that no one is injured and no one comes out to the woods until they’re ready.”
As the archers gather, it becomes clear that no two bows are alike.
“They are measured in pounds and the women’s bows are lighter than the men’s,” says Maureen. “The poundage refers to the amount of pressure it takes to draw the bow back. Women’s would usually be up to 30lbs and the men’s go up to about 46lbs.”
As soon as Maureen and her group have cleared the first target, Fintan Blake Kelly from Bennettsbridge, John Shiel from Bunclody and Andrew Wayland make their way down the track.
“We have the course laid out amongst the trees,” says Fintan, as he leads the way to boss or butt number one. The boss is a structure made from aeroboard and fronted with a picture of a woodland creature. On close inspection, one can see the many holes left in its surface by the arrows which have pierced it on Sundays past.
“This is field archery which is very different from the archery you see in the Olympics,” says Fintan. “We shoot without sights; it’s more instinctive, we don’t aim specifically. It’s based on American archery which comes from a hunting tradition.”
Fintan stops at a blue and yellow wooden marker and, placing his foot against it, draws the string back to his chin quickly before letting the arrow fly. A short silence is broken by a thud and the graphic representation of a rabbit is pierced again.
“That was my first arrow,” says Fintan, “and now I move down to the second marker and fire my second arrow.”
The scoring system in field archery dictates that each archer fire three arrows. An arrow which lands inside the white line drawn around the middle of the animal in the picture is considered a kill. Outside the white line but inside an outer line is a wound and outside that constitutes a miss. The score varies according to which of the three arrows hits the target.
“You get closer for each shot,” says Andrew, “so the points for each arrow go down. It sounds complex but it’s easy when you get the hang of it. The best score you can get is twenty points for a kill with your first arrow.”
Next to shoot is John and after placing his arrow, he quickly lifts his wooden bow and fires. This time the sound of the arrow leaving the bow is very different and more pleasing to the ear.
“My bow is made from bamboo,” says John, who has been shooting for many years. “It’s a flat bow influenced by the North American plains Indians. I did a course in bow making while I was visiting British Columbia a few years ago and I made a bow from the wood of a Ewe tree,” he says, before going on to reveal that he is a woodturner.
Down the track, we turn and start making our way uphill through the trees. The group stops at another blue and yellow marker but the target is nowhere to be seen.
“There,” says Fintan, pointing up the hill through the trees.
In the distance a boss, bearing the image of what later turns out to be a wolf, is just about visible.
“This is probably the longest target in Ireland,” says Fintan, as he pulls an arrow from its quiver.
He places it and lifts his matte black bow towards the sky. The arrow flies through the silent woods. Finally there is a barely audible thud.
“Good shot,” says John.
“Nice one,” agrees Andrew and Fintan allows himself a smile.
Each target brings new challenges for the archers. The ones which look as if they may result in easy points are deceptive and the awkwardly positioned-bosses yield exclamations of delight from the men as they go to collect their arrows and discover they have done better than they thought.
“You can never trust what you see from back here,” says Andrew smiling. “People say things like, ‘That was a bit low; you need to go higher’ and then when you get down to the boss, you discover that you weren’t low at all and your last two arrows are lost in the trees behind. We lose arrows all the time but someone on a subsequent shoot will find them and keep them for you. That’s why we put our initials on them. We also carry knives for when arrows get stuck in the boss or in a tree.”
Later on, Andrew gets an opportunity to use his knife as his arrow is embedded deep into the boss. Unfortunately he does not get an opportunity to use his arrow rake.
“Yes, I was hoping I would get to demonstrate that,” he says laughing. “But no one has lost an arrow in the undergrowth today.”
Silence falls for each archer as he takes his shots but the ever-useful mobile ‘phone makes its presence known. A call from Maureen and her group warns Andrew that cattle have strayed out of their field onto the track below the woods. Everything stops until the cattle have cleared and then it’s up and on to the next target.
“People from all backgrounds are in this club,” says Fintan, as we clamber up wooden ladders and ropes positioned at the steepest parts of the climb. “I was here for months before anyone asked me what I did for a living.”
As the morning passes, the woods become the world and everything else is shut out.
“It’s peaceful,” says Fintan. “There’s a touch of Zen about it,” he adds smiling.
At the final target, the muddy car park is in sight and the others are disassembling their bows.
Therese, who has been a member for a year and a half, kindly reassembles her bow and finally I get to take a shot. The black crow depicted on the boss ahead of me waits as I load the arrow, pull back the string and, after helpful hints on aiming, let the arrow fly. Modesty prevents me from revealing my score.
“It’s fun isn’t it?” says Terese. “There’s no better way to spend a Sunday morning. You’re out in the woods, you’re getting a bit of exercise doing something you enjoy. What could be better?”
