Where arrows go to die

It started off as a bit of a joke. A few broken arrows were planted in the entrance of our field shoot, after a particular member had a bad day. They had hoped that they might magically grow into new ones. Those couple of arrows, soon became a handful, those handful became a few dozen. Soon you had archers doing the “Sign of the cross” and saying a few prayers, hoping their arrows weren’t the unlucky ones to join the ever growing collection.

It was soon dubbed the arrow graveyard and it lives up to his name. It takes no prisoners and claims arrows from beginners and veterans. It is always silently waiting for its next victim.