Bowhunters in the North

Once a year, Ballyvally Archers hosts a singular type of competition that exemplifies the enjoyment found in the sport: the Mulligan Hunting Trail.

Whilst hunting Frank Mulligan is not the aim of the competition – and just as well as, despite his seniority shall we say, we all suspect it would be like going after Rambo – the goal goes beyond simply getting the highest score on the target before you. Rather, the basis of this Hunting Trail, is to spot the most targets.

If you have not experienced this style of competition, well, it gives the archer a nerve tickling sensation not found in other conventional shoots. Standing before the starting point of a trail, you are awash with anticipation, as the eagerness to begin searching conflicts with a more wary sense of patience.

To miss a target, that is, to not see one, is do more harm than score an M on your scorecard. Imagine a 3D deer, set at around 10m. For some reading this, that is a glorious shot, an easy 10, or perhaps 11 – at the very least an 8. Now imagine you are further along the trail, and from behind you comes the soft click of an arrow being nocked. This sound is suddenly intrusive, because it’s an alarm, informing you that you have indeed missed something. And when you glance back, there is Frank or Annabel drawing on something you overlooked. Then comes the thud, all too familiar, of an arrow thumping into the hard foam of a 3D. You’re out between 5 and 11 points.

Oh, it does burn.

The rules are many, however, the fundamental aspects of the competition are:

Each trail is defined by the yellow string wrapped around trees, which the archers follow.

Archers cannot stray beyond an arm’s length of the string.

Archers can more only forward, not back.

Archers must do their best to keep moving as they search. (This is surprisingly difficult to do.)

All of the targets are of course animals, 3D and 2D.

Where 2Ds are concerned, don’t think that a boss would be so easy to spot either. In past years there have been some crafty nooks and bushes that can envelope a boss with shadow enough to protect it from the more complacent archer.

In fact, last year, the club’s standing bear was so well hidden in the shade, against the trunk of one tree, many an archer walked right past it – and it was only 7m or so away from us. Even if you were fortunate enough to spot it, the silhouette of the target was barely visible enough to distinguish upper and lower body parts. Certainly, you were making an educated guess on where the target rings were.

Yes, Frank Mulligan has had a long time to refine his deviousness, and the club’s Loughbrickland venue has unlimited variations with which to build trails in.

Even being experienced with the competition format, and knowing Frank, does not help. If anything, it may be a hindrance because you know each trail looms with dirty tricks and a craftiness beyond your ken. Each step forward feels like you are walking away from a target, giving up points on something so painfully obvious when revealed, hidden in plain sight perhaps. You know that every shadowy spot is an ideal place for a black bear, or a panther, or badger, and suddenly the trail ahead is filled with dark little pockets all vying for your attention and focus and overwhelming you. Then you recall how twigs, leaves, brush, and such are no obstacle, or at least not considered a valid obstacle to the archer. Within the tangles of ferns, thorns, and beds of leaves there could be the rough texture of a rabbit 3D, or a splash or orange from a pheasant 3D that does not match that of the decaying leaves around it. The confines of each trail suddenly collapse and within the tight path there is unlimited space for something to be hidden or tucked away.

It could be agreed by everyone present that, the worst feeling is when you come to the end of a trail. The rope is knotted up, and a dense feeling of discomfort sits in your belly to match it. As soon as you put the bow down, that is it. Hesitation becomes common, and you count the thuds behind you to make sure no one caught something you didn’t. Surety has no place on the Hunting Trails, and it comes down to your own confidence – something that is not nearly as sturdy as you had thought.

But I assure you, it is the most fun you will have with a bow in your hand.

The day began in sun and warmth, which for a phoenix haired fellow like me is a hindrance. There was the common exchanging of arrows, found at previous field and 3D rounds, returned to their owners. I returned one to Kathryn Morton, who in turn provided me with two more belonging to two members of my club.

There were plenty of us from Lough Cuan Bowmen present, including Peter Gilmore who I believe has an article in this month’s magazine. As usual, it was me and the Hendersons, with Paul Moore of Ballyvally.

Much like deciding who scores in a shooting group, when approaching the first trail, there is a certain silence. Nobody wants to do anything that may draw attention to themselves in such a way as to push them in front.

Thankfully, Paul Moore decided that we should go based on the order our names were listed in the groups. A delightful convenance as my name came last.

When in last place you feel you have far more time to search through brambles, and tangles of thrones, ferns, and leaves, the kind of foliage that is not traversable in the slightest. You can double check things or take a quick breather as everyone ahead of you stops to shoot.

Our first trail went very well, all small targets, but we were feeling confident that we had managed to search out all of the targets.

Of course, when we go back over the trail to score, there is a certain tension, an abrasive feeling that makes you want to look over things again. Do you? Take the risk and find a target you missed? Or shut your senses off, narrow your vision, and move on in blissful ignorance?

That’s what I prefer to do.

Of course, as we counted off how many targets we had seen, four, I thought it would be funny to say, “Haul on, I have five scored here.”

Despite the responses of those in my group, I still think it was funny.

Come the second trail, however, our disconnect with reality was put in check. With Paul at the back now we worked our way along the rope, and in a cold, bitter moment, I caught Paul nocking an arrow – by a place along the rope the rest of us had walked on past.

The feeling a had, I can now say, looking back over it, was dread.

Thankfully I managed to discern the target – just about – now that I knew there was something there. What I thought was a large snail, with mottled browns and blacks, had been tucked into the roots of a holly bush, with plenty of shade to blanket it.

Where Paul was shooting from, it was a simple shot. I was shooting back, somewhat, though Paul was in no danger given the angle of the trail we were on. Even if I had missed it, I would have had the comfort of knowing that I did know it was there. Unfortunately, the others were too far ahead to take a shot at it.

When it came to scoring, I noticed it was in fact a tortoise, not large snail.

On one 2D, I foolishly took a shot through some slim branches instead of moving along a little further, like Taylor ahead of me had done. With the crack of whip, and the hiss of something tearing through a bed of leaves, my arrow was gone, wide of the target. One of the little branches I had thought so insignificant, had deflected my arrow substantially, and I cost myself some easy points.

To add insult to injury, when I recovered the arrow, it was broken. This was not the only casualty. A bedded roe deer, tucked comfortably into the brush and looking a tad nervous, proved more of a challenge than I thought. When I drew on the target, I had a solid feeling I was getting at least an 8. Rather, it was a miss, and a messy one at that, as the arrow glanced off the back of the target and into oblivion. (Whilst the arrow was missing at the time this article went into the magazine, recently the arrow was found and returned to me.)

However, let’s take a moment to speak of the prowess of my compatriots. Namely, Travis Henderson.

I have shot with Travis in field rounds before, and his focus on each target, regardless of the distance, is like a falcon swooping down to strike at a mouse. His hit ratio on the trails was impressive, and despite the heat, and physical tiredness, nothing could erode his focus.

His sister, Taylor, pushed through each time she was on point with a striking boldness. If she was worried or insecure about missing anything, it did not show. Whilst she did have lapses, as tiredness began to leech into her muscles, causing her to blank consecutive targets, Taylor would always bring it back again for another defiant hot streak.

Overall, we spotted 44/45 targets. And call it a lack of ambition perhaps, but I was happy with that. From Frank we learned that the one target we missed, was the armadillo. I was aghast, as I believed it to have been me on point that time. However, Taylor corrected me and pointed out that she was the one leading that time.

So, I felt much better.

Still, an armadillo. Small, blends in with the ground. It’s not as if we missed a great big green crocodile, or the black bear stood out in the open…

Whilst the panther, black bear, and various deer targets were present, there was a greater challenge in shooting what you did spot because it was simply small. I know this cost me points, and cost my compatriots points too.

Compared to last year, this was a harder course. One way to quantify this, was in comparing our scores to the previous years. Frank had made sure to list them for us, with the optimistic notion that we should be aiming to beat them. Always a great incentive for any archer in any competition format, and fundamentally, a goal we all strive for, however, this year, for the Hunting Trail it was an important feature because, under Archery GB this was now a record status event.

Everyone who claimed first place in their category has set the bar for next year.

This could be a vain undertaking, as I don’t believe anybody actually managed to beat their previous score. I was thirteen points off. And everyone agreed that this year was more difficult than last year.

This does mean, hopefully, that our records are safe, should this pattern continue… Which it will. Ballyvally finds their ideas for these trails within Pandora’s Box.