The Man With The Kodiak Bow

Here is a poem from my friend George Stout about the late, great Fred Bear. I knew you would like this.

The Man With The Kodiak Bow
By: George D. Stout

No matter where your path may lead, as an archer you will know
Our sport would not be what it is, were it not for the Kodiak bow
Its not so much the bow itself, but how it came to be
From simple farm boy born around the turn of the century

His early years were driven by the tilling of the land
A family farm where much was done by rough, hard working hands
He helped to fill the winter’s cache by hunting cottontails
Around the Valley Cumberland midst creeks and Indian trails

He went to Detroit, Michigan, when he was mere a lad
A pattern maker skilled in handwork, taught him by his dad
But his life work was realized when by chance he came to know
A man named Young, who ventured there, to speak at a sportsman’s show

He started out in Spartan style with leather goods and ware
But in ensuing years he knew he had to move from there
He chose the hills of Michigan, near where AuSable flows
To build a dream where he could live and build his recurve bows

For years he traveled with his bow to lands beyond the sun
He taught us that his Kodiak was as deadly as a gun
His legacy is of fair chase, of honor and of care
And we owe a debt to this pioneer we know as Papa Bear

And as I walk these sylvan woods in Pennsylvania’s hills
My mind recalls my first bow hunt; the excitement and the thrills
And little could we realize the whole world would come to know
That simple farm boy who became, the man with the Kodiak bow