We are back with the latest edition of TIFAM, packed with shoot pictorials, historical stories, tips, trivia, event recaps, photos, articles, archery wisdom, fiction, and plenty more from across our archery community. It is hard to believe we have reached…
The Irish Foundation for Archery and Mentorship has announced the formation of a new traditional field archery club at The Derries Woodlands near Ballybrittas, inviting members of the public to discover and take part in the sport of archery. Operating…
Our May 2026 edition is absolutely packed with Irish field archery news, stories, reports, interviews, history, tips, photos, and community spirit. Inside this issue: coverage from UKIFAC 2026 in Wales, Jack Pinson’s bow-making course at Carrowmore, shoot reports from Loch…
What did William Neade truly try to save in 1624: the longbow itself, or the commonwealth of trained bodies that had gathered around bowstave and shaft, across parish field and statute, through drill, prayer, and pay? Within the small quarto…
What changed the longbow from dread into wood on the hill of Aríñez? A bodkin point rests in my palm like a small iron tooth, cold at first contact, then oddly private once the skin lends it heat. Such iron…
Why does an arrow that leaves the bow with a clean report begin to plane left or right before it meets the mark? I set that question beside a scarred ash shaft on my kitchen table; the pile had cut…
What does a long outdoor shoot truly test once the arrow leaves the fingers: aim alone, or a whole body kept in pact with weather, food, ground, recovery, patience? A wet scorecard asks that question better than any lecture hall.…
What should an archer do with the arrow that has already gone wrong, while the next one lies cold against the fingers? A cedar shaft sits high in the grass beyond the boss, its fletching tilted like a wounded bird.…
What happens to an archer in the last walk to the peg, when the shot has already entered the pulse before the bow rises? The peg looks small enough to vanish beneath a boot heel, yet it governs a whole…
What must the archer guard after the first three shafts land clean: the score already pencilled onto the card, or the form that bore those arrows through air? Rain-soft paper curls beside the bow case, pencil marks gleaming like fish…
What does a scorecard do to friendship when one archer’s arrow cuts closer to the centre than mine? The card looks slight enough, a crease in rain-soft paper, thumb grease along one edge, pencil dust in the boxes where names…
Mastering the “Parasite”: The Art of Action Meditation You’re on the shooting line. Your heart is hammering against your chest, and your bow arm is vibrating so hard the arrow is nearly jumping off the rest. You aren’t in any…
Welcome to a new season of archery challenges! At Lough Cuan Bowmen, archers are engaging in a series of unconventional shooting challenges for prizes of myth. Each week – more or less – archers can endeavour to win an arrow…
The Mane, The Unclaimed Waters between Fohalin and Nauberta – Typhon Resurgence, Day 17 Of all the myths within the great ocean between The Mane and The Sigel, tales of the Daemon Flamingo refused to age or even convolute themselves…
A limestone abdomen tightens beneath a carved rib cage; the navel sinks into a hard cup, the chest turns off its axis, the left knee bites the pedimental floor. What form of self comes forward when a hero folds around…
What kind of theology tightens itself across the small arc between a child’s throat and a god’s relaxed wrist? Along the outer wall of the Louvre krater named from the Niobids, a white rise of ground cuts through black glaze…
What does an arrow know of the polis that a spear leaves in shadow? I begin with a broken Attic plate from Vulci^1, a shard whose red surface carries a youth turning through the vessel’s curve, one palm resting at…
Well, dear archers, I thought I might prepare this little travel guide for you and your May visit to our great town of Portlaoise. Portlaoise carries its past with quiet assurance. The town began in the mid-sixteenth century as a…
Roger Ascham arrived on my kitchen table bound within a worn volume, carrying the smell of chalky dust alongside old paste. A block of beeswax sat beside my longbow, waiting near a coiled linen string. Holding those threads evoked an…
For those Unfamiliar with 3D Archery, or those who just like a bit of Lego: