The greatest Archery story EVER!!!!
AntlersOutWest
5/21/09 3:17pm
I recieved this in a email and cant quit laughing lol
The greatest Archery story EVER!!!!
Around age ten, my Dad got me one of those little bad ass longbow
beginner kits. Of course, the first month I went around our land
sticking arrows in anything that could get stuck by an arrow. Did you
know that a 1955 40-horse Farmall tractor will take six arrows before it
goes down? Tough SOB.
That got boring, so being the ten-year-old Dukes of Hazard fan that I
was, I quickly advanced to taking strips of cut up T-shirt doused in
chainsaw gas tied around the end and was sending flaming arrows all over
the place. Keep in mind this was 99.999% humidity swampland so there
really wasn't any fire danger. I'll put it this way: a set of post hole
diggers and a three-foot hole and you had yourself a well.
One summer afternoon, I was shooting flaming arrows into a large rotten
oak stump in our backyard. I looked over under the carport and saw a
shiny brand new can of starting fluid (ether). The light bulb went off.
I grabbed the can and set it on the stump. I thought that it would
probably just spray out in a disappointing manner. Let's face it: to a
ten-year-old old mouth-breather like myself, ether really doesn't
"sound" flammable. So, I went back into the house and got a one-pound
can of Dad's muzzleloader Pyrodex.
At this point, I set the can of ether on the stump and opened up the can
of black powder. My intentions were to sprinkle a little bit around the
ether can but it all sorta dumped out on me. No biggie...one pound of
Pyrodex and sixteen ounces of ether should make a loud pop, kinda like a
firecracker you know? You know what? Heck with that. I'm going back in
the house for the other can. Yes, I got a second can of Pyrodex and
dumped it too.
Now we're cookin'! I stepped back about fifteen feet and lit the two-
stroke arrow. I drew the nock to my cheek and let fly. As I released, I
heard a swish as the arrow launched from my bow. In a slow motion time
frame, I turned to see my Dad getting out of the truck. OH CRAP! He just
got home from work. So help me God it took ten minutes for that arrow to
go from my bow to the can. My dad was walking towards me in slow motion
with a WTF look in his eyes.
I turned back towards my target just in time to see the arrow pierce the
starting fluid can right at the bottom. Right through the main pile of
pyrodex and into the can. Oh Hell.
When the shock wave hit it knocked me off my feet. I don't know if it
was the actual compression wave that threw me back or just reflex jerk
back from 235 MF'n decibels of sound. I caught a half a millisecond
glimpse of the violence during the initial explosion and I will tell you
there was dust, grass, and bugs all hovering one foot above the ground
as far as I could see. It was like a little low-to-the-ground layer of
dust/fog full of grasshoppers, spiders, and a crawfish or two. The
daylight turned purple. Let me repeat this... THE DAMN DAYLIGHT TURNED
PURPLE!
There was a big sweet gum tree out by the gate going into the pasture.
Notice I said "was". That mother got up and ran off. So here I am, on
the ground, blown completely out of my shoes, with my Thundercats T-
shirt shredded, my Dad is on the other side of the carport having what I
can only assume is a Vietnam flashback: "ECHO BRAVO CHARLIE YOU'RE
BRINGIN' EM IN TOO CLOSE!! CEASE FIRE GOLL DAMMIT- CEASE FIRE!!!!!"
His hat has blown off and is thirty feet behind him in the driveway. All
windows on the north side of the house are blown out and there is a
slow-rolling mushroom cloud about two hundred feet over our backyard.
There is a Honda 185s three-wheeler parked on the other side of the yard
and the fenders are drooped down and are now touching the tires.
I wish I knew what I said to my Dad at this moment. I don't know. I know
I said something. I couldn't hear. I couldn't hear inside my own head. I
don't think he heard me either... not that it would really matter. I
don't remember much from this point on. I said something, felt a sharp
pain, and then woke up later. I felt a sharp pain, blacked out, woke
later.... Repeat this process for an hour or so and you get the idea. I
remember at one point my Mom had to give me CPR so Dad could beat me
some more.
Bring him back to life so Dad can kill him again. Thanks Mom.
One thing is for sure... I never had to mow around that stump again. Mom
had been bitching about that thing for years, and Dad never did anything
about it. I stepped up to the plate and handled business. Dad sold his
muzzle loaders a week or so later. And I still have some sort of bone
growth abnormality either from the blast or the beating. Or both.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, get your kids into archery. Its good
discipline and will teach them skills they can use later on in life.
The greatest Archery story EVER!!!!
Around age ten, my Dad got me one of those little bad ass longbow
beginner kits. Of course, the first month I went around our land
sticking arrows in anything that could get stuck by an arrow. Did you
know that a 1955 40-horse Farmall tractor will take six arrows before it
goes down? Tough SOB.
That got boring, so being the ten-year-old Dukes of Hazard fan that I
was, I quickly advanced to taking strips of cut up T-shirt doused in
chainsaw gas tied around the end and was sending flaming arrows all over
the place. Keep in mind this was 99.999% humidity swampland so there
really wasn't any fire danger. I'll put it this way: a set of post hole
diggers and a three-foot hole and you had yourself a well.
One summer afternoon, I was shooting flaming arrows into a large rotten
oak stump in our backyard. I looked over under the carport and saw a
shiny brand new can of starting fluid (ether). The light bulb went off.
I grabbed the can and set it on the stump. I thought that it would
probably just spray out in a disappointing manner. Let's face it: to a
ten-year-old old mouth-breather like myself, ether really doesn't
"sound" flammable. So, I went back into the house and got a one-pound
can of Dad's muzzleloader Pyrodex.
At this point, I set the can of ether on the stump and opened up the can
of black powder. My intentions were to sprinkle a little bit around the
ether can but it all sorta dumped out on me. No biggie...one pound of
Pyrodex and sixteen ounces of ether should make a loud pop, kinda like a
firecracker you know? You know what? Heck with that. I'm going back in
the house for the other can. Yes, I got a second can of Pyrodex and
dumped it too.
Now we're cookin'! I stepped back about fifteen feet and lit the two-
stroke arrow. I drew the nock to my cheek and let fly. As I released, I
heard a swish as the arrow launched from my bow. In a slow motion time
frame, I turned to see my Dad getting out of the truck. OH CRAP! He just
got home from work. So help me God it took ten minutes for that arrow to
go from my bow to the can. My dad was walking towards me in slow motion
with a WTF look in his eyes.
I turned back towards my target just in time to see the arrow pierce the
starting fluid can right at the bottom. Right through the main pile of
pyrodex and into the can. Oh Hell.
When the shock wave hit it knocked me off my feet. I don't know if it
was the actual compression wave that threw me back or just reflex jerk
back from 235 MF'n decibels of sound. I caught a half a millisecond
glimpse of the violence during the initial explosion and I will tell you
there was dust, grass, and bugs all hovering one foot above the ground
as far as I could see. It was like a little low-to-the-ground layer of
dust/fog full of grasshoppers, spiders, and a crawfish or two. The
daylight turned purple. Let me repeat this... THE DAMN DAYLIGHT TURNED
PURPLE!
There was a big sweet gum tree out by the gate going into the pasture.
Notice I said "was". That mother got up and ran off. So here I am, on
the ground, blown completely out of my shoes, with my Thundercats T-
shirt shredded, my Dad is on the other side of the carport having what I
can only assume is a Vietnam flashback: "ECHO BRAVO CHARLIE YOU'RE
BRINGIN' EM IN TOO CLOSE!! CEASE FIRE GOLL DAMMIT- CEASE FIRE!!!!!"
His hat has blown off and is thirty feet behind him in the driveway. All
windows on the north side of the house are blown out and there is a
slow-rolling mushroom cloud about two hundred feet over our backyard.
There is a Honda 185s three-wheeler parked on the other side of the yard
and the fenders are drooped down and are now touching the tires.
I wish I knew what I said to my Dad at this moment. I don't know. I know
I said something. I couldn't hear. I couldn't hear inside my own head. I
don't think he heard me either... not that it would really matter. I
don't remember much from this point on. I said something, felt a sharp
pain, and then woke up later. I felt a sharp pain, blacked out, woke
later.... Repeat this process for an hour or so and you get the idea. I
remember at one point my Mom had to give me CPR so Dad could beat me
some more.
Bring him back to life so Dad can kill him again. Thanks Mom.
One thing is for sure... I never had to mow around that stump again. Mom
had been bitching about that thing for years, and Dad never did anything
about it. I stepped up to the plate and handled business. Dad sold his
muzzle loaders a week or so later. And I still have some sort of bone
growth abnormality either from the blast or the beating. Or both.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, get your kids into archery. Its good
discipline and will teach them skills they can use later on in life.
3,592
That would be quite the site to behold now wouldn't it.
not that I would have ever done something even remotely close to what the young lad had done...
in pursuit of the great outdoors...
or out of pure boredom lol
lol