I live with three bowhunters. For bowhunters, the quality of their bow and arrows and associated supplies is paramount. Consequently, there is an archery store favored by the hunters in my house.
I kid you not – there is more than one place to purchase archery supplies.
One day over the winter, Don invited me to accompany him to this archery store, a good hour and a half drive from our home. He lured me with the promise of lunch at a brewery local to the shop.
Hmmm…Archery store. Lunch. Microbrew. Put together, that’s a hard date to turn down. Especially when I considered Don had recently accompanied me to my comic book store. I could – probably should – do him a solid and go to the archery store.
I tucked my copy of Star Trek: Picard Countdown, the comic I had purchased on the aforementioned trip to my comic book store, into my purse. I was expecting to be bored at the archery shop. We set out on our journey.
Adventure, I should say. I’d never been to an archery store. I didn’t even know dedicated archery stores existed until Don revealed himself to be a bowhunter. Even then I didn’t really much care that dedicated archery stores existed.
That could all change with this little trip.
My curiosity was piqued when Don was required to sign in upon our arrival. He needed assistance, he explained, a request that built up quickly. It was why we had reached the archery shop exactly at the store’s daily opening time.
Let me paint this picture for you. There are so many bowhunters in need of daily expert assistance that at ten o’clock in the morning, mid-week, we potentially faced a line so competitive a sign-in was required.
That doesn’t even happen at Target. Target the store, I mean. Not target as in the endpoint of all archery.
Stunned by this development, I dashed off to the bathroom, rushing to make it back in time for Don’s name to be called because, no, we were not first on the sign-in and yes, I was becoming very interested in the archery store.
The doors to the bathroom were labeled “Buck” and “Doe”. I was uncharacteristically grateful for the hunting vocabulary I’ve picked up from the outdoorsmen in my world.
That bathroom. I expected – well, I don’t know. Not what I found, that’s for sure. The bathroom was beautiful. Glass mosaic tile smoothly bisected walls that displayed stone tile beneath, soft-hued paint above. A Corian sink and counter sat atop a dark cherry base, rich hardware accenting the drawers and cabinets. An oil-rubbed bronze faucet added to the bathroom’s luxury. A heavy basket, stocked with thick disposable hand towels, beckoned me with their decadence.
If there had been a chair in that bathroom I would have read Picard right there.
I emerged to find Don had been called by a salesman. The store is huge, much bigger than I had anticipated. Think both levels of H&M laid end-to-end. Camouflage and the browns and greens of nature make up the bulk of the color palette within the store. These two features made Don – in his fatigue green shirt – difficult to find.
I eventually located him because if you can’t find a 6’2” guy in a nearly empty store – or most crowds – I can’t help you. I quickly grew bored with the archery chat in which he was engaged. It’s not as stimulating as one may think.
I have no experience to relate to archery hunting any more than Don has experiences to relate to at the Clinique counter. I wandered off, intent on seeing just what an archery store has to offer.
The first thing I noticed was the fletching. Fletching is the material that looks like feathers at the opposite end of the arrow from the point, which I know from being forced into taking archery in junior high and not from my archers. The aisles displayed over one hundred types of fletching. One hundred! Is archery so nuanced as to require this many choices? Is it like lipstick – you choose two or three shades from dozens because those are the ones that look good on you?
Next came the aisle of string leech. I had no idea what string leech could be, so I pulled a package from the shelf. String leeches diminish the noise made by the string of the bow when the arrow is released. As soon as I was able, I questioned Don. Is the string really so noisy as to require such a device?
Of course it is. Apparently, bowhunters care not about the falling tree making noise in an empty forest. A bowstring making noise in a space occupied by a hunter and the target is far more important. I wondered if I could use a string leech to quiet other noises caused by vibration. Snoring, for example.
Next I located a vending machine. It dispensed non-alcoholic Arnold Palmers. My favorite drink. I pondered buying one to drink in the bathroom while I read Picard. I was not worried about occupying the lady’s – sorry, doe’s room. There was just one other female in the store, and she worked there.
That’s one more female than was in the comic book store.
Continuing my loop I was stopped dead in my tracks by a dressing room. A dressing room? What purpose could a dressing room serve in an archery store? More importantly, was it as nice as the bathroom? If so, Captain Picard, Arnold Palmer, and I would hang there instead.
An indoor archery range completed my loop. So it is like buying lipstick – clearly, you have to try it out before you purchase.
Bow shopping is not a quick activity. Knowing we were dangerously close to a J.Crew running a 50% off special right next to a Starbucks was beginning to eat at me. Just as I was about to slip out for some plaid and, well, an Arnold Palmer, Don was ready to pay.
And here was my next lesson. Bowhunting is incredibly expensive. Not that I care. Not only had Don been saving forever for this purchase but daily Starbucks’ Arnold Palmers are expensive too. Even Steven, baby. I was ready for lunch and a beer.
You know, over 12 million people practice archery. Twelve million! That’s nearly equivalent to the entire population of Pennsylvania! No wonder that archery store had a sign-in sheet! More importantly, how many of that 12 million consider a trip to the archery store with their spouse a date?
I know one archer who considered that trip a date. Much like every other date I’ve ever had with him, it was not dull. Early in our relationship he took me to see The Cider House Rules. Ether abuse was the least of the objectionable material in that movie.
I know why he chose that movie for our date. What I don’t know is why I found The Cider House Rules acceptable. It never occurred to me that I should find that movie disquieting.
That’s probably how I wound up at an archery store.