When Joshua Hood gazes upon a Pacific yew tree, he perceives far more than the raw material for a bow; he envisions a profound connection spanning generations, a contemplative practice of balance, tension, and release, and a lifeway that directly links him to his Klamath-Modoc ancestors. This deep resonance is encapsulated in his tribal name, nteys s?odt’a, which translates to “bow worker,” a designation that has, in many ways, become a self-fulfilling prophecy. At 35, Hood dedicates his life to crafting custom bows and leading traditional bow-making and archery courses, primarily for students from BIPOC communities in Portland, Oregon. Complementing this work, he spearheads a nonprofit organization dedicated to teaching youth essential outdoor skills. Every facet of Hood’s endeavors is intrinsically tied to traditional archery, reflecting a holistic approach to heritage and skill.

Hood’s classes are open to all, with announcements frequently shared via his Instagram account, fostering an inclusive environment. His efforts address a critical need for accessible BIPOC-centered outdoor education, particularly at a time when funding for programs empowering historically marginalized communities has faced significant cutbacks. As the broader primitive skills movement, encompassing bushcraft, toolmaking, and wilderness survival, increasingly gravitates towards high-cost courses and exclusive retreats, it often overlooks its Indigenous origins. Hood’s commitment to decolonizing the transmission of Indigenous archery knowledge, while simultaneously maintaining affordability, creates a vital sanctuary for individuals who may not feel entirely at home in contemporary archery settings. “There aren’t a lot of Native folks doing this type of work,” Hood observes. “They aren’t as abundant as our counterparts, who have a chokehold on what you might call the ‘skills’ world.” Indeed, while many bow-making courses can command prices exceeding $1,500 for a few days of instruction, Hood’s workshops range from $500 to $750 for a three-day immersive experience. “I have to put food on the table and keep the lights on, but I’ve been able to do this work without breaking the pockets of our participants,” Hood states, emphasizing his dedication to accessibility.

Hood’s journey into bow-making began in his late teens when he assisted a co-worker leading bow-making clinics at a survival school. While eager to acquire a new skill, the experience left him feeling unfulfilled. The methods employed involved power tools, which Hood lacked access to outside the class, and relied on commercially sourced lumber from hardware stores. “I wanted to be able to do this like my ancestors did it, without going to Home Depot to get the lumber,” he recalls. Initially, he experimented with carving ash saplings using only a whittling knife, gradually progressing to using hatchets, draw knives, and other hand tools. “I wanted to be able to do this process wherever I gathered the wood,” he explains, underscoring his desire for self-sufficiency and connection to the natural source.

Hood’s meticulous bow-making process commences with the deliberate and mindful selection of wood. While he previously worked with hazel, ash, and dogwood, he now favors harder woods such as osage orange, black locust, and the Pacific yew, known in the Klamath-Modoc language as ts’pinksham. This latter wood is the tribe’s traditional choice for bow-making. Recognizing the tree’s vulnerability to overharvesting, Hood reserves it exclusively for bows crafted for himself or other members of the Klamath-Modoc community.

His commitment to reverence extends to the harvesting process itself. Before taking wood from a tree, Hood leaves an offering of tobacco as a gesture of reciprocity and respect. He credits his embrace of sobriety in 2019 with enabling him to cultivate more profound and meaningful relationships with the trees he harvests. The act of asking for permission, he emphasizes, is paramount. “We take a life from something very precious, that gives us oxygen, and then it just kind of sits in a void,” he reflects. “The spirit of that tree is like, ‘Where am I going next? Am I going to be firewood, or am I going to be made into something, or am I just going to sit, and get eaten by bugs?’”

Following the harvest, Hood allows the wood to cure for approximately nine months, describing the process as akin to a “baby in the womb.” Once the cured piece of wood, referred to as a “stave,” is ready, Hood initiates a ceremony to honor it before commencing the woodworking. “We let it know what our intentions are for it, and then we smudge it with cedar, give a prayer, and try to welcome it into a new form that can teach us how to restore balance to our lives,” he explains, highlighting the essential equilibrium required for a bow’s limbs to function correctly in projecting an arrow. “To have some type of vision, to see a bow in a piece of wood that otherwise normally just looks like a big stick, it’s like a mirror,” he muses. “How do we have vision for where we’re going?”

Hood’s apprentice, Vee, who requested her last name be withheld, echoes this sentiment, viewing bow-making as a powerful metaphor for envisioning a brighter future. Vee, 32, crafted her first bow under Hood’s guidance in the fall of 2023, two years after experiencing the profound loss of her brother to a gunshot wound. Hood became a significant source of support, akin to a brotherly figure, and the following spring, Vee returned to study bow-making and assist with Hood’s clinics. “We take a tree that was once living and bring it back to life in a new form, one shaped by who we are,” Vee shares. “I’ve seen people come in with hopes of making a bow and walk away with a little more soul, having tended to some of their wounds. Our world is medicine, and healing can be so simple.”

The process of distilling such profound meaning into an educational course requires ample time, and Hood champions allowing each student to progress at their own pace. He acknowledges that the three-day course may not always be sufficient for completion, encouraging participants to return and finish their work when they are ready. “Patience is a big value in bow-making,” Hood asserts. “Nothing sacred should be rushed.”

Upon the bow’s completion, Hood guides his students through archery practice, ensuring they can utilize their newly crafted bows in a safe and attentive environment. His certification as a USA Archery instructor further enables him to teach archery within school settings, extending his reach to younger generations.

In September, Hood, alongside co-founder Joshua Tuski, launched Learning Through Land, a nonprofit organization dedicated to offering outdoor skills classes for youth in the Portland metropolitan area. While archery and bow-making will remain central pillars, the curriculum will expand to include arrow-making, hide-tanning, knife-carving, and friction fire-starting. Hood and Tuski aspire to enrich the lives of young individuals by imparting these valuable traditional practices and the profound wisdom that accompanies them. “These are fun and important skills, but also we want to have conversations with students about how they can impact our daily lives,” Hood explains. “There are always teachings within teachings.”

Ultimately, Hood harbors a deeply personal aspiration: to one day harvest an animal on his tribe’s traditional homelands using a bow he has personally made. He views this as the ultimate culmination of his journey, a full-circle moment of profound connection. Until that day arrives, he remains dedicated to refining his own craft and finding immense satisfaction in empowering others to do the same. “This is in everyone’s DNA,” Hood concludes. “We just have to wake it up.”