Arrows are For Hunting

[Music] small game arrow or blunt ducks and quails etc. Then when you go to shooting fish, this is a small game fisher. It's a small fish arrow. Shoot four or five lb fish. Notice the little gaffs on it there that holds it. And this is another type of fish arrow that's very popular nowadays and they use it up to about 25 or 30 lb fish. Some real big fellas, you know, the kind that won't ever bite. Or shark or barracuda or swordfish. Use this lily type. See these open up when you shoot it in and start to pull the air out. They open up. This is my baby here. This is the one I like. This is a standard broadhead. I've been using this type broadhead for about 25 or 30 years. It has all the qualities that makes a good broadhead. Penetration, won't wind plane. It's really a terrific era. You folks might like to see some of the bows we use. For instance, here's a bent take down about 45 lbs for shooting small game. And this is the same type bow except it's a little more recurved on the ends. And this is the type we used when we made the picture. Should shoot straight, very accurate bow. Then a lot of us like the straight end bow for hunting. They're not quite so sensitive. Straight all the way. you don't have any curve in them. This is my favorite bow here. Shooting it for about old years. You know, archer is really safe. You can practice it in your own backyard and it's real inexpensive. It takes you out in the sunlight and fresh air where you can tone your muscles. But most of all, it's real fun. Watch this picture and I think you'll see what I mean. Last summer, I received word from Johnny Farmer, a rancher friend of mine who lives out on the Mojave Desert, that the rabbits had eaten up his vegetable garden and flowers and were starting to work on his lawn. He asked me to come down and help him get rid of the pest. Soon after I'd received Johnny's message, Ed Hill, Skip Moore, Ben Pearson, and I headed across the Mojave Desert in what we call a desert hoopy. The hoopy is a combination of Model A Ford, barbed wire, and manila rope. A goofy looking contraption, I must admit, but hard to beat traveling across country in the desert. After the noon, we came inside of Table Mountain, which was located on Johnny's ranch. We had a look through the glasses at the layable land and picked out what we thought was the easiest way to go. then continued our journey. The next morning, while we waited for Johnny to come up and tell us where he wanted us to hunt, we decided Ben had brought a few animal targets along for just such an occasion, and we soon had them set up. It was decided to add a little flavor to the contest that the winner would be relieved of all camp chores for the duration of the hunt. This was truly a prize worth shooting for. Personally, I've never been of washing dishes and gathering wood to say nothing of cooking over an open fire outdoors. I think that all of us realize that every fellow was going to be shooting to win. [Music] It was decided that Ed would pull the arrows and Ben would keep the score while Ski and I just stood around and see that they were honest. When we had finished shooting the three targets and the tally was added up, it was found that I had won by a small margin. I was delighted, of course. But before I had a chance to pat myself on the back, Ski Moore grabbed me, and before I knew what was taking place, Ed and Ben joined Ski, and I was being carried bodily under violent protest to a horse trough nearby. here. I was given a real ducking. I never did learn when they planned this double cross, but they sure carried it out without a hitch, and they seem to get a great kick out of it. I got the last laugh, however. For three days, I had the pleasure of sitting quietly by, watching them do all the camp work. If they hadn't dumped me in that horse trough, I might have relented a little. But after that, I stuck strictly to our original agreement. Ed was appointed the official cook by acclamation. One day he rigged up the Dutch oven and prepared a rabbit stew. He buried the Dutch oven in the hot ground underneath the fire. We left it there all day. during the cactus, but they blended so well with the underbrush, it was awfully hard to photograph them. [Applause] The first day, each of us got at least two or three rabbits. And that evening, when we got in from a hard day's hunt, and hungry as wolves, we simply had a feast. I don't think I ever ate anything better. >> Stew cooked in this manner just can't be beat. All in all, we had a wonderful hunt. We had killed and scared enough rabbits to give Johnny some relief for a short time at least. This is Avalon, a popular resort city off the coast of Southern California on Catalina Island. Wiggly company. It is 25 miles wide. A few weeks ago, Ben Pearson, Wayne Stock, boarded the boat at Wilmington and were met at the docks at Avalon by my good friend Jack White and Buck Morehead. Jack is the head game warden on the island and is also superintendent of the Wrigley cattle ranch. As soon as the boys had become acquainted, we boarded two motor vehicles and moved out of Avalon and headed toward Blackjack, which is located several miles back in the interior of the island. It was here that we intended to stay for several days while we made a picture. We were going to do some wild boar and goat hunting with a bow and arrow. As a rule, hunting is not allowed on Catalina, but the officials of the Catalina Island Company had been gracious enough to give us permission to make this film. In due time, we arrived at Blackjack and turned the motor vehicles over to a couple of ranch hands while we went into the ranch house to make preparation for the next day's hunt. We decided to go for wild hogs first. The next morning, long before daylight, we boarded the jeep and made our way further into the interior of the island. We had no more than reached the vicinity where Jack knew that the boar stayed when he spotted the old tusker heading for a green meadow about 200 yd below us. We left the jeep and carefully stalked up over the top of the hill to have a look. The way the ground was located, we decided to make a three-way stalk on the Tusker. By coming in from three different directions, we felt sure that it would be impossible for the boar to get out without one of us getting a shot at him. These boar were planted on Catalina Island several years ago and of the old Spanish boar stock that was brought over to California during the 16th century from Spain. They will often attack man and the old tuskers have been known to kill full grown cattle and horses without provocation. They are considered to be worthy adversary by most rifle hunters and few archers ever go after them with a bow and arrow. The tusker was so busy eating the new grass, he paid a little attention to what was happening around him. Ben was the lucky fellow. He was the first one that got close enough to make a shot and he sent a broadhead right through the flank of the tusker. The boar hadn't gone very far after Ben shot when Wayne took a shot at him from the other side of the meadow. Then I saw the boar coming toward me through the trees. Pretty soon he trotted out into the opening. I sent a broadhead right through his chest cavity high. I knew the bull was hard hit, so I didn't shoot a second time. He ran only a short ways and then fell. By the time we got to him, he was stone dead. He was a very nice specimen, about four years old with a good pair of tusks. Besides making a fine tro as we had pre-arranged it, I went up on the ridge and signal Jack and Buck. They soon came down to where we were waiting and we loaded the bore on the jeep and headed for home. Back at Blackjack, the ranch hands took over again while we went inside to have some muchdeserved refreshments and to plan our goat hunt for the next day. Early the next morning, long before the first sun ray spread across the blue Pacific, we were on the move again. Just after sunup, as we worked our way over the rolling hills, we came onto a herd of buffalo. Of course, we were not hunting these majestic creatures. They belong to a private herd owned and maintained by Mr. PK Wriggley to help preserve the diminishing species. At first, they didn't seem a bit wild, but when we started photographing them, they moved away. A little further, we found a lone bull. He was a handsome brute, but lost no time making tracks. It was not long before we reached the top of the ridge right in the middle of the goat country. There are several reasons for hunting these goats. First, they are a menace. And second, they breed so fast unless they herd is kept under control that they eat up all the grass and move in on the cultivated fields and gardens. The young ones are delicious eating and the flesh of the old ones are used by the Catalina Island Company to feed the birds at the zoo in Avalon. After we left the jeep, we separated. Jack and I made our way along one canyon while Wayne, Buck, and Ben worked their way up over the hill into another section. Jack and I soon spotted a bunch heading for the low country. We watched them through the classes for a little bit and finally decided it was best that I go down alone. I rounded a clump of sour oak and run square into a big blonde Billy. He was about 60 yards away. We saw each other at about the same time. He ran into a thick clump pack cactus and stopped to see if he could figure a way out, I guess. But before he could get on the move again, I nailed him right through the heart. He leaped over the cactus, trotted a few yards, and went down. I soon made my way over to where he lay and saw that he was an exceptionally fine specimen. Jack came up to have a look at my trophy. In the meantime, Ben and Wayne were having some luck in their vicinity of the island. Ben got a shot at a big black fellow about 80 yard away and sent an arrow right through his hind leg, cutting the hamstring. He pursued the goat with such haste that the chem couldn't keep up with him. But he finally dispatched the brute with an arrow right through his neck. Wayne was more lucky. He drilled his trophy right through the middle at about 75 yards and had no trouble finding it. After some time, Jack showed up with a jeep and reloaded my trophy and went in search of Wayne and Ben. We found Ben a mile or two over the hill sitting alongside an old road waiting for us. He was dog tied but was as happy with his trophy as a school boy with a new baseball bat. After picking up Ben, we went on looking for Wayne. We found him a little further along sitting on the side of the hill waiting. They had had a little trouble getting their goat out of the canyon. They were bushed, as a cowboy would say. And were they glad to see us. All in all, it's been a most successful hunt. Three nice billy goats and one wild boar. Not a bad two days hunt for three archers. Back at Blackjack, the boys took charge and assured us that the trophies and meat would be at the docks at Avalon by sailing time the following day. We went inside to have a much needed rest and to rehash the day's hunt. Last summer, I received an invitation from my friend Ben Pearson of Pinebuff, Arkansas to come down and join him and a bunch of other archers for a born era hunt on the White River. When I arrived at Stutgard, Arkansas a few weeks later, where the party was supposed to meet, I learned that Ben, Ken Jones, Thaad McCullum, and Tom McGee had already gone down and set up camp and were waiting for me. At the river, I found Red McCullum at the boat landing with his speedboat ready to take me down to their camp. A little later, when we came into view of the camp, the archers were having a practice session with their bows and arrows. [Music] When they saw Red and me coming, they hurried down to the river's edge to meet us. [Music] All the fellows seemed in a happy mood and gave me a rousing welcome. Tom McGee, always an enthusiastic, cheerful guy, gave with a loud yell and tossed his hat into the air, and I drove a blunt point right through the middle of it. As Tom quickly sobered and went to get his top piece, he seemed most disappointed. I was not so sure my display of skill had pleased him. When he came up to greet me with a firm handshake, I could see a devilish twinkle in his eye and knew he was not really angry with me. When I asked him for my error, he grinned and said, "One hated, one error." And real early the next morning, we were off. Ben and Jones took one boat and went down river to a spot they knew about where the big gar come close to the bank to feed. Thaad Tom and I got in another boat and went up river. We plan to float down and shoot from the boat. I rigged my arrow to a strong fishing line which was attached to a heavy rod and reel. In order to keep the line from tangling while shooting, I fashioned an outrigger from a bamboo pole and a clothes pin. Ben and Jones had already rigged their arrows. A big gar was feeding near the top of the surface, close and near the bank, and they got the first fish. [Applause] and Ben was happy when he brought him to Gaff sometime later. The alligator garfish is one of the most prehistoric fishes living. They are mean and tough. He was a huge brood and tipped the scales at almost 200 lb. It wasn't long after Ben had landed his catch when we spotted a big gar feeding near the surface and as the boys moved the boat into position, I drove a lily iron type broadhead right in the middle of it and the fight was on. [Applause] He was trying to throw the hook, but I knew an arrow hook he had never thrown. I knew the jig was up for this brute, but he had other ideas and it took me close on two hours to convince him that he was our meat. Finally, he began to weaken. The gar was not the only one weakening. Thad, an oldtime gar fisherman, told me to be very careful. He said sometimes these gar would charge a fellow trying to gaff him. I thought he was only kidding. But I learned differently a few days later. I shot one with an arrow when we had him alongside and he made one leap, knocking the cameraman down and landing smack dab in the center of the boat. Had I not leaped upon the bulkhead, he would have bitten my leg off, but that's another story. I was all set now to gaff my fish. My foot well braced against the side of the boat. I eased the gaff under his chin, then gave it a quick jerk. The instant the gaff struck the fish, he gave me the prize of my life. After considerable effort, we finally got the garshore and hung him in a tree alongside of Ben's catch. Now, I think you know what I mean when I said archery is the greatest sport in the world. And besides, it's inexpensive. It may not be the sport of kings, but you it's the king of sports. [Music]