Month: March 2012

Yesterday was an epic day at Seal Beach, with up to five-foot waves and less than a dozen of us surfing. The report was for 1-2 feet, poor conditions; however, we had glassy, big, well-formed waves all day and by the time we pulled out our arms were toast.

Today, many of us from the California Surfing Club went down to San Onofre (San O) for an outing. The surf was great in the morning, but by about 2 p.m. the onshore wind and high tide made the waves mushy. Still, we were able to catch numerous waves and ride them for up to about 100 yards.

Lots of surfers today, and now back in Hunting Beach ready for a shower, dinner, and rest for tomorrow’s surfing session back at Seal Beach. The surf is supposed to get better and higher all week, ending with rain on Saturday … then I must head back north to get ready for the the Professional Bowhunters Society’s Gathering in Portland for five days, followed on by two or three days surfing Oregon, then home, and then off to Kansas City for a two-day meeting for Compton Traditional Bowhunters.

Hopefully, April will be slower!

The first time I met Glenn St. Charles was in a dark, smoky restaurant called the Butcher Block. He was the guest speaker for the Treasure Valley Bowhunters, a local archery club in Boise, Idaho that I was a member of at the time even though I lived 45 miles away in a different town. Like most bowhunters of the day I had read much of Glenn’s writings and knew him from Fred Bear’s books and articles, the most enchanting ones of the Little Delta hunts in Alaska. But now, here in front of me, was this man I had admired for many years talking about hunting, ethics, and what it means to be a bowhunter.

I’ll never forget the evening. Here was Glenn at the podium in this dark place, weaving stories of hunts and experiences while every now and then Glenn’s friend, Bill “Willie” Vanderhoff, interjected his two cents worth of comments at what he must have deemed the right time. The constant flow of liquor seemed to spur him on even more — and louder — as the night progressed until he was, to me, a stark raving drunk by the time the night ended. Willie, though, was an Idaho bowhunting legend in his own right, having killed more big mule deer in the Owyhee Mountains than any other bowhunter at the time. Years later I would befriend him and stay now and then at his place on Lake Cascade: Silver’s Cabin.

After the banquet ended I was able to sit down and introduce myself to Glenn. Although he was busy signing autographs with other members, he was quite the gentleman and he and I talked for over a half hour until it was very late. I had to drive back to Mountain Home that night to be ready for work at 6 a.m., but we promised to stay in touch.

Over the next several years I wrote Glenn often, especially when I wanted to know about wood arrows and longbows and all things traditional. Like everyone at the time I was shooting a compound, which was an old wood riser Bear Kodiak Magnum with plastic wheels. Against the objections from other members of our archery club, I had shaved down the sight window so I could shoot off the shelf. Glenn was shooting a compound, too, at the time, and said that there was nothing so impersonal in bowhunting than shooting “that damn contraption.” I told him I was ordering a one-piece Bear Kodiak Magnum recurve and planned to hunt bear with it that spring. He wrote back that he, too, thought he should give up the compound and return to the recurve.

That spring I shot a black bear with the Bear recurve. I was hooked and ordered a custom takedown Bighorn recurve from G. Fred Asbell of Bighorn Bowhunting. Fred was a prolific writer at the time, and his adventures of bowhunting with a recurve and wooden arrows woven through the pages of Bowhunter Magazine brought back that nostalgia I knew of shooting lemonwood longbows in my youth.

After several years of shooting traditional equipment, learning how to make wood arrows and Flemish spliced bowstrings, the idea of Traditional Bowhunter® Magazine (TBM) was born. None of the other bowhunting magazines were covering what I wanted to know … what almost every bowhunter using a longbow or recurve wanted to know and read about. My first thought was to do an interview with the oldest, most respected person at the time: Glenn St. Charles. The gears were put in motion.

The following spring at the Pope & Young Banquet in Boise in 1989, I sat down with Glenn and told him my plan to publish a bowhunting magazine that would be geared toward the traditional bowhunter, those who shot recurves, longbows, and selfbows. His reaction was incredulous and his support was enthusiastic. To say he was excited would be an understatement. I then said I wanted to come out and interview him at his shop and museum in Seattle the following month. We discussed the magazine, editorial direction, and other things, and then he agreed to be interviewed.

One month later my family and I went out to visit my brother, who lived across the valley from Glenn’s place. I took off one day and drove over to Northwest Archery, which was not only Glenn and Margaret’s home, but also the St. Charles Museum (now part of the Pope & Young Museum). I had never seen the museum until that day, so for many hours Glenn walked me around, showing me things, and explaining the rich history of the artifacts, bows, arrows, quivers, displays … it was an experience I could never have imagined until then. For the remainder of the day I sat down with Glenn and we discussed many things, all of which I recorded on audiotape. Margaret, always the consummate host, fixed us lunch followed by one of Glenn’s favorite deserts: pie and ice cream. I shot pictures and spent hours in the museum with Glenn as he entertained me with stories of his bowhunting escapades. The place oozed the smell, sight, and feeling of real bowhunting history. It was a day I shall never forget.

The following month after I had transcribed the audiotapes into a ten-page interview article I sent it over to Glenn to review and amend as he saw fit. This was part of the deal: I would put down the material in writing, and he would go over it to make sure it was what he wanted in print.

Several weeks passed and then late one evening I got a phone call from Glenn. “You can’t print this. I want to put this in my book!” were the first words out of his mouth. Even though it would be several more years until he finally got down to writing the book of his life, to this day the interview has never been published and the original text and audio tapes reside in my office.

A year after Traditional Bowhunter® launched I took a job with the Federal Aviation Administration, which caused me to move to the Seattle area. Over the next ten years my family and Glenn’s family would spend countless days together, and many of Glenn’s birthday celebrations included my family as well. My wife would always bake special pies for Glenn: huckleberry was his favorite, but any berry pie would do. We’d all meet at their house and share an evening of shooting bows at stuffed animals that Joe would pickup from flea markets, have dinner, watch old 8mm movies of the Wilhelm brothers and other historical films, and then have pie and ice cream. For years my family was welcomed into the St. Charles family, and to this day my children still consider Glenn and Margaret their adopted grandparents. It was, and always will be, a special bond.

In 1993 we had our annual TBM, Inc. meeting in Seattle. While there the staff from TBM was visiting the St. Charles family at the museum when the topic of all of us going caribou hunting that fall came up. The hunt would include about 20 bowhunters, and Glenn said he wanted to go, too. At 83-years old, he said it might be his last time in the field with a bow in hand.

The trip was one of memories. The hunting was fantastic, the fishing was outstanding, and the camaraderie unforgettable. Many of us were lucky and took caribou. Glenn managed to land a huge Lake trout, which was the main thing he wanted to do on the trip. He ended up having it mounted.

One evening we had a small party with Billy Ellis making an unusually good drink with southern whiskey and Tang. Many stories were told about the day’s hunt, and we got a rare chance to hear Glenn relate his excitement of the day. He and Jay had spotted a band of caribou that was bedded on a bluff next to the lake. It was the perfect setup for sneaking up on them. Morris, their guide, slowly motored the boat out in front of the caribou and killed the engine. The wind and wave action pushed the boat shoreward, bringing them just under the bluff where the caribou were bedded. They grabbed their bows and arrows and snuck up to within 25 yards of the herd. Arrows started flying, but the caribou just stood up and looked at them. Buck fever hit Glenn and Jay as each shot became more erratic than the one before. Within a minute all their arrows were lying out in the ground behind the caribou.

“I’ll tell you, I’ve never been so embarrassed. I just forgot to pick a spot! I was shooting at all of them at the same time. Man, oh man, I haven’t been that excited in years!” Glenn said. “I’m sure glad that the excitement and feeling of the hunt hasn’t escaped me after all these years, though!” It was a night of fond memories.

Over the next several years my family spent a lot of time with Glenn and Margaret and their family. It was an annual event to spend an evening with them on Glenn’s birthday, Robin always baking a berry pie or two, which was one of Glenn’s weaknesses: he loved pies, so much so that at many of the annual Traditional Bowhunters of Washington banquets he would bid up to $75 to $100 for a pie at the auction. At times, he would actually bid against himself!

Margaret and Glenn were like adopted grandparents to my children. Margaret taught my daughter all about crocheting and other handicrafts, which she still remembers all these years later. Both of my children, grown and gone now, have fond memories of times spent with the St. Charles, both at their home and elsewhere.

Glenn was monumental in the formation of the Compton Traditional Bowhunters, an international organization that works putting bows and arrows in the hands of women and children around the world. He was the driving force to create an organization that promoted the use of traditional archery and bowhunting, not unlike what he did in creating the Pope and Young Club.

Glenn often came to the Compton Traditional Bowhunters’ Rendezvous in Berrien Springs, Michigan, and never failed to entertain the masses of members and their families with his stories. Sitting around the campfire on Saturday evening, he would hold the audience captive with his stories of hunts, making bows, and history of other noted bowhunters he knew. He was a class act, always staying late to visit with people long after the fireside chats had ended. That was what made him so likeable, so personal … he loved people, and he loved archery.

One year Margaret came down ill and passed unexpectedly. It was a shock to not only those of us close to the family, but also to the wide circle of friends who looked forward to seeing her at Pope & Young, PBS, and other gatherings around the country every year. It was devastating to Glenn, and at Margaret’s memorial he sat alone in the front row, weeping uncontrollably. As the plethora of tributes came to an end I moved up and sat with Glenn. He was shaken beyond words and I offered as much comfort as I could, holding his hand as he wept … and I wept along with him.

Not long after Margaret passed Glenn’s son, Joe, became engaged to a lovely lady, Cyndi. When I received the wedding invitation I called Joe and told him I would be there. The wedding was held at a beautiful log home in Big Sky, Montana. I saddled up the Harley and pointed it toward West Yellowstone and, eventually, Montana. I booked a room in a hotel in town, so had to dress up and take the Harley up the mountain to the house where the wedding would take place. Glenn was surprised to see me, especially with coat and tie, on a motorcycle. He marveled that I would make such a long trip for just a wedding, but I told him I wouldn’t miss it for the world — this was family.

The wedding was a lovely outdoor event with many people I knew, and lot more I didn’t know. Glenn took his seat in the front row of chairs and I took the seat next to him. As Joe and his future wife Cyndi said their vows, Glenn started to shake and sob uncontrollably. I put my arm around his and held him while he wept. When the ceremony was over we sat there for a long time until he settled down. He turned to me and said, “Ever since I had that stroke I haven’t been able to control my emotions!” I just smiled and gripped his hand and when he was ready, we walked back to the reception.

The last I spoke to Glenn was a few months back. When I called he was excited, telling me that I was the only one who ever called any more; however, when Asbell or some one else would call he would tell them that he never heard from me. That was Glenn. He treasured people, and as his eyesight and health faded over the last several years he looked forward to visiting and speaking with everyone he could.

One day last month I got a call from Roger Atwood, president of the Pope & Young Club. He told me Glenn had not been feeling well and went in to see his doctor. After a CAT scan, it was found he had lung cancer and he started to fade fast. Andy Carpenter called me and said we should go and visit him right away. I booked a flight for Thursday and had plans to meet with Andy, Rocky Holpainen, and Joe St. Charles and have dinner with Glenn and visit for two days.

The weekend before the trip to Seattle I was hunting antelope in the vast open desert of Idaho. I was reminiscing about images of Glenn and his escapades while bowhunting antelope in Wyoming and Nebraska when a lone buck offered me a shot. One arrow, forty yards, and the work started.

The next day I headed back home, elated that I had finally taken an antelope in my home state. As I came off the high desert and down into the Snake River canyon my phone started chirping. It was a message from Fred Asbell; Glenn passed away at 1 a.m the morning before. I was devastated. The exuberance I felt on my hunt vanished as I aimed my truck to the north, and home, knowing this day would come, but still having a hard time coming to terms with the news. I would not see nor talk to my friend again, and that hurt.

There are many, many other things I remember about my friendship with Glenn, but time and space are short, and many things he shared with me are best kept in my memories … my trophies, as it were. Glenn was a shining light in my life, a mentor who had a profound influence on who I am today. He was a close and dear friend, of whom I will miss immensely; however, I can rejoice in his life, and how he helped shape my ethics of hunting with the bow and arrow.

As I pen these words in memory of my friend I cannot help but remember him wearing a sombrero, eating chili at the Compton Traditional Bowhunters’ Rendezvous a few years back. After the chili feed, Glenn and a handful of friends were sitting by a lone campfire enjoying the evening’s festivities while kids ran around and played nearby. He was excited to be a part of the gathering and as he looked around, he leaned over and said, “Just look at all this! Such a deal!”

Yes, Glenn, it has been such a deal, and you were a big part of it. Being your friend all these years has been an honor, and I am sure going to miss you.