Newsletter - National Field Archery Society

12
Her Perfect Shot
LOUISE Winters sighed as she pulled back
clumsily yet again, her movements jerky and
strained. She could feel the tension in her jaw
as she fumbled for an anchor point and tilted
her head, nestling her face against the bow
string and lining up with the target. Her back
and shoulder muscles cried out at the weight of
the bow – slightly heavier than she was used
shooting. She tried to forget that she was being
watched. It was just her and the target. Relax,
focus, loose!
‘I’m going to take up fishing,’ she announced as
the arrow settled with a loud crack into the
tree that was way to the left of the target.
Her foot slipped on the muddy track as she
walked away, only serving to add to her bad
mood. ‘I just can’t hit a thing today.’
Louise lowered her bow and let the rest of the
small group walk down to the boss and take
scores while she did her best to sulk and pout
without actually swearing that she wasn’t playing.
Alan, her coach, patted her softly on the
back as he passed.
‘You’ll do better at the next one, love,’ he said
simply.
‘That’s what you said at the last target,’ Louise
replied under her breath and pulled her zip up
against the biting cold wind. It wasn’t really fair
that her coach was also her father – it made it
too easy to get mad at him for not correcting
her technique all the time. Barely sixteen, Louise
was getting frustrated that she was now
expected to compete against adults who’d been
shooting ten, fifteen or more years than she
had. Her scores hadn’t got worse, her shooting
hadn’t declined, but her draw length was longer
than it had been just six months ago and her
dad had bought her a new, higher poundage bow.
Shame she couldn’t hit a thing with it. And not
for want of trying either!
I just want one perfect shot today she told
herself. Is that really too much to ask?
Admittedly this was only their fourth target
of the day, but if it was any indication of how
things would pan out for the rest of the course,
perhaps fishing might not be such a bad idea
after all. Fishermen had a host of genuine
excuses – the fish just aren’t biting today! That
by Moira Hodgkinson
boat just scared off all the fish!
But nobody could possibly scare off a skinny
paper fox that was pinned to a stationary target.
The undeniable truth was that she was no
good at this sport any more. What was she doing
wrong? The new bow really wasn’t to blame, she
knew that, but try as she might over the last
few weeks, Louise was having no luck at all with
it, and this bitter weather wasn’t helping her
spirits one little bit.
They had spent day after day practising, going
right back to basics with her father checking
her position, her grip on the bow, adjusting her
anchor point, watching her line up shot after
shot. She’d not done too badly overall, but not
once since getting the new bow had she had that
feeling - that feeling where you just know
instinctively that everything has come together
perfectly, that feeling of serenity and calm –
just her and the target and nothing to stand in
the way.
Making her way round the course with the others
Louise found that not even her friend
Hannah’s jokes and bawdy laugh could take her
mind off the fact that she hadn’t once had that
perfect shot in nearly a month of intensive practice.
‘Well done that man. A perfect twenty!’ called
Harry to Alan, who was jotting down scores at
yet another stupid paper face, the outer line of
which Louise had barely scraped to achieve a
measly four points.
As the foursome walked back to the admin and
parking area to break for lunch, Hannah
snatched her own score card from Alan and
waved it in Louise’s face.
‘See?’ she said, thrilled to see she was a good
thirty points ahead for a change.
‘You’ve got such a bug up your behind about
leaving that old bow in the closet that even I’m
doing better than you today. And everyone
knows I’m no good.’
‘Gee, thanks Hannah.’ Louise narrowed her eyes
and bit into a sandwich with a sneer that made
her face curl and she bit her tongue.
‘Now look what you did!’
‘Hey, come on!’ Hannah chided. ‘You can’t blame
me for that.
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