Rafael, 11, tipped his head, stared at a spot on a massive elk target, its rack curving skyward, in a stand of trees.
He drew his bow, intent, and released an arrow. Thwack.
“That was a perfect shot,” Mike said.
My husband, Mike Benge, and his friend Franz Froelicher were walking courses with Rafael Gonzalez, who was here for the first time at the Colorado Traditional Archery Shoot (CTAS), all shooting at life-sized synthetic turkeys, deer, bighorn sheep, pronghorn and bear. Also, a jackalope.
As we moved on marked trails from one target to another, Rafael kept shooting quietly and accurately, his composure only ruffled when Mike belatedly realized they were allowed not just one but two turns on this course, to hand in their best scores.
“I didn’t know,” Mike mourned.
Rafael’s eyes widened. “Let’s go!” he said.
The two darted off for a high-speed repeat of the course, about a half mile through forested land in the Flat Tops above New Castle, in the remaining 30 minutes before deadline.
Not an archer myself, I have gone to the shoot here and there over the years, when Mike’s and my sons were small and shot pliant little bows at the children’s dinosaur course. Later they cranked along the long courses among a gang of parents and friends, and lined up to shoot at plastic bags of water rigged to dump water balloons on the dads’ (in our case) heads.
On this June day nearly four years ago, by the time Mike and Rafael returned breathless, it had been a lot of hot, dusty hours in the high-altitude sun. We’d brought snacks but not dinner. The awards ceremony was two hours away.
“If he won a trophy, I could contact them and have it mailed to us later,” Mike mused.
“Hang on,” I suggested, figuring I’d see if I could find anything out. I trekked over to registration, peered around, and eventually glimpsed a clipboard with results for boys aged 8 to 11.
I hurried back to where Mike waited and whispered, “We can’t leave.”
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“Describe a turning point in your life” is a standard writing-class assignment, and a good one. Nine years ago, as an adjunct instructor, I asked that of a writing class at CMC Spring Valley, and still remember what several of my students wrote about.
One was Ladibel, a quiet and polite youth who sat in the front row on my left. He listened, handed in every paper. Ladibel, who had grown up in Basalt, wrote that a major life event came in third grade when a 15-year-old boy became his Big Buddy. Age 8, Ladibel marveled that someone outside of his family chose to spend time with him. The experience was so illuminating that in high school, he said, “I did the same thing. I was a Big Buddy.”
Our younger son, Roy, was also a Big Buddy in high school, as much to a small flock of kids as his assigned third-grader, Colter. Each week Roy walked a few blocks from Roaring Fork High School to the town elementary school, and they talked about football, and headed out to the playground to throw a football, and all Colter’s friends ambled along and threw too.
I have no direct experience with the Buddy Program, but at least half a dozen friends and sometimes their grown children have participated, and I’ve met dozens of other mentors at get-togethers. My husband, Mike, joined the program four years ago, paired with Rafael, then 11. Rafa is now 15, and though his family moved to Rifle, they still get together. They practice archery, ski (the program provides equipment and passes), fish, hike, climb and play golf (a program in New Castle offers summer instruction and deals for kids).
The Buddy Program, www.buddyprogram.org has been going strong in the Valley for 51 years, with four different mentoring programs and over 600 members from Aspen to Rifle. As I write, it is wrapping an early-year membership drive. To join, Mike had to be interviewed and to submit two reference letters, a rigorous but doable process. The program asks for a year’s involvement. Mike always says, “I’ll stay with it as long as he wants to keep hanging out!” He is extremely proud of what a smart and focused learner Rafael is, and brags about him.
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At the shoot, we waited, waited at picnic tables under an awning. Rafael’s mother had given him $20, and Rafael asked Mike if he thought it’d be okay to put it in the raffle for a custom bow. Mike agreed, and got him a second ticket.
When the ceremonies began, the kids’ prizes were first. Third place in the boys’ class was announced. Rafael later told me that upon hearing another name, he thought he’d missed his chance to place. Second place was announced. And then first — Rafael had won.
He rose slowly, shocked, walked forward as over 100 people clapped and cheered, and returned holding a beautiful etched-stone trophy in both hands.
How many people ever hear a hundred-plus people clapping for us?
I would love to have left, but now we had to wait for the raffle, which was conducted with playing cards passed around. One by one numbers were eliminated, and probably suits and colors. The ousted holders put their cards down onto the tables. Each time Rafael’s card stayed up. The announcer reached the last two cards. Then one was called out, and only the other remained.
Rafael looked straight up in disbelief. “That’s mine!”
And so, in an exceptional concatenation of events and amid another great round of applause, he also won a wood-laminate bow, with a wolf totem embedded in the grip, and his name and the initials of all his family members written there as well. The bow was a $700 value, donated by a smiling and respectful craftsperson who discussed specs with Rafael and Mike that night and over the next few months.
Rafael has since gone to the shoot every year, including with his family when Mike was away. He and Mike still practice archery, and Rafael uses the prize bow; the limbs can be replaced as he grows.
Most recently he and Mike have been skiing, at Sunlight and in Aspen. Rafael has improved rapidly, and last weekend skied the black-diamond Olympic Bowl at Aspen Highlands, learning the valuable skill of side slipping if things get difficult.
When they first met, Rafael came up to Mike’s shoulder, and now they are nearly eye to eye. Last week, when Mike asked if he’d like to ski again this week, Rafael said, “Of course.”