To start your week…
An Oklahoma Kid’s first Bow and Arrow set!!
Don’t know who wrote this, but he has a way with words that makes one visualize being right there beside him.
Life as a child growing up on a farm in Oklahoma!!
Around age 10 my dad got me one of those little bad^*&*% compound bow 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 tire will take 6 rounds before it goes down? Tough “critter”.
That got boring, so being the 10 yr. 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.
One summer afternoon, I was shooting flaming arrows into a large rotten oak stump in our backyard. I looked over under the carport and see a shiny brand new can of starting fluid (Ether).
A light bulb went off in my head.
I grabbed the can and set it on the stump. I thought that it would probably just spray out in a disappointing manner. Lets face it, to a 10 yr old like myself, (Ether), really doesn’t “sound” flammable.
So, I went back into the house and got a 1 pound can of pyrodex (black powder for muzzle loader rifles).
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, a 1 lb. Pyrodex and 16 oz (Ether) should make a loud pop, kinda like a firecracker you know?
You know what? The heck with that – I’m going back in the house for the other can, so I got a second can of pyrodex and dumped it too. Now we’re cookin’.
I stepped back about 15 ft and lit the arrow. I drew the nock to my cheek and took aim. As I released I heard a clunk 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 SHOOT! He just got home from work.
So help me – it took 10 minutes for that arrow to go from my bow to the can. My dad was walking towards me in slow motion with a “what the heck” 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 shoot!!!!
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 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 1 ft 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 worm or two.
The daylight turned purple. Let me repeat this… THE COTTON PICKING DAYLIGHT TURNED PURPLE!!
There was a big sweet gum tree out by the gate going into the pasture. Notice I said “was”. That sucker got up and ran off.
So here I am, on the ground blown completely out of my shoes with my 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. DARN – IT CEASE FIRE!!!!!
His hat has blown off and is 30 ft 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 2000 ft over our backyard.
There is a Honda 185 3 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 up 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, and Dad screaming “Bring him back to life so I can kill him again”. Thanks Mom.
One thing is for sure… I never had to mow around that stump again.
Mom had been complaining 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 loader a week or so later. 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. It’s good discipline and will teach them skills they can use later on in life.
Laughing out loud, tears running down my face. Thanks, I really needed something like this this morning.
+1
I can’t imagine what that arrow induced boom sounded like…. But the deafness, oh yeah…
The powder in my old horn was suspect. I put a small pile on a rock and thought I’d light it off to see if was still usable for the old Mountain Rifle I had. I looked like Al Jolson and was deaf as a post in a quick second. BP doesn’t need compression to burn at it’s best. It’ll do it uncontained. Lesson learned….
“Bring him back to life so I can kill him again”. That would have been my father’s reaction as well.
X2
Dad kept some of his old paper-hulled shotgun shells in the cabinet in the garage. I dissected “a few” of them, put the powder and shot in separate dishes, and then proceeded to de-cap the primers out of the hulls with a properly sized nail and a ball peen hammer (!!!). I then put the primers on the driveway and hit them with the hammer and got a satisfying ‘bang’ each time I hit one. I thought I had moved the dish with the powder in it far enough away to avoid any issues with errant sparks, but evidently not … I decided I would have to be more careful or at least move the powder dish further away the next time.
How did we survive our childhoods intact??
I was a very patient kid. I collected matches–lots and lots of matches–for a “special project.” I filled a (pint?) mason jar with match heads, with a hole in the lid and a length of fuze hanging out. I then wrapped the whole thing in an entire roll of strapping tape. My intention was to prevent glass fragments from flying out.
We placed it in a shallow hole in a dry creek bed, lit it, and ran. We were a few hundred yards away, and no boom! The fuze must’ve gone out! We stopped and were discussing whether our “project” had failed, when it went off. I’m sure a lot of things in this world are louder, but at that point in my life, nothing came close to the apocalyptic BOOOOOOOOM!!! that echoed through that part of town.
It didn’t change my life or anything, and no one was hurt. It wasn’t as impressive as two pounds of Pyrodex and a can of ether would be, but it definitely taught me some respect for what even “harmless” things like match heads can do when set off in a confined space!
–Bob G
The old formula pool cleaner + petroleum jelly = dent and scorch marks on chem teacher’s desk. Spent next period sanding it out before anyone else caught us.
Worth it!
All- LOL, I ‘see’ some of us had similar if not quite as impressive ‘detonations’…
Tom in NC: “primers, nail, hammer” are not words that should be in the same sentence or maybe even paragraph. Did you place the nail head on the primer inside the hull and hit the nail’s point?
Bob G: “The fuze must’ve gone out!” Cook-off time is a thing. Y’all were lucky.
TxRed: Interesting. Tell me more of this “pool cleaner + petroleum jelly”.
“bow and arrow” = kids. Kinetic Incendiary Delivery System.
For some reason, dad had a few cans of black powder despite not shooting muzzleloaders. One day my folks were gone and I got bored. The smoke but not the smell had mostly dissipated by the time they got home. I shoulda gone outside first. That funny spot on the ceiling never did go away.
Want to fail your next few hearing tests with no muss and no fuss? Get a railroad torpedo, place it on top of the heavy bench vise in the garage, and whack it hard, really hard, with a heavy ball peen hammer. Yep. That’ll do it. Oh, the stories my grandchildren will never hear.
Robert- Oh yeah!!! Snort…at least you still HAD a ceiling!
Bob- LOL, yep!
Remember the Black Snakes from fireworks stands? Little black tablets that, when lit, formed long black strands of ash hence “Black Snake”.
Well, grind them up in Mom’s mortar and pestle (yeah, not a good choice), place resulting powder in a metal film can (remember those?) that has holes punched in top (wet tissue molded inside and dried keeps powder from falling out). Two strike anywhere match heads serve as fuse/igniter. Results? Thick gray/black smoke. How thick? Four tossed off REDACTED Bridge resulted in closing down a (then) 6-lane interstate.
Living through our childhood was one thing. Staying out of jail was another.
Well, I’m a little old to be getting into archery, at 74, but after reading your story, it seems obvious, I have some catching up to do, to develop those skills I’ll need later in life. Better get my ass in gear.
Thanks for the heads up.
Lifted stumps with common farm materials when i was young. I operated the post hole diggers. A loud but not deafening CRUMP, Chain up to tractor, pulled out stump. Respect for explosives ingrained.
Fast-forward to last year. Getting ready for the Quigley shoot I decided to load black powder. Read a lot of pros and cons on the Internet, enough to become very cautious, so I asked my shooting partner, a Vietnam Marine Veteran. He said it wasn’t classified as explosive, but it burns fast enough to be classified as an explosive.” I’ll call you right back.” 15 minutes later after talking to a guy in our group my partner said. “ I talked to our Bomb Guy. He said stand on wooden floors, wear cotton clothes, don’t spark anything, store the powder somewhere else. I focused on the important words.
“We got a Bomb Guy?”
Loaded 500+ rounds for Shiloh Sharps 45 70. Not as loud as you would suspect.