When Joshua Hood encounters a Pacific yew tree, his perspective transcends the mere potential for crafting a bow; he perceives a profound intergenerational connection, a contemplative exploration of equilibrium, tension, and repose, and a way of life that bridges the present with his Klamath-Modoc ancestors. This deep resonance is reflected in his tribal name, nteys s?odt’a, meaning "bow worker," a designation that has evolved into a self-fulfilling prophecy for the 35-year-old artisan and educator. Hood not only meticulously constructs custom bows but also imparts the art of traditional bow-making and archery through courses, primarily serving students from historically Black, Indigenous, and people of color (BIPOC) communities in Portland, Oregon. His endeavors are further amplified by a nonprofit organization dedicated to cultivating outdoor skills among youth, with traditional archery forming the central pillar of all his work.

Hood’s educational offerings are intentionally inclusive, welcoming individuals from all backgrounds, with announcements typically shared via his Instagram account. His work addresses a significant gap in BIPOC outdoor education, particularly at a time when funding and support for programs empowering marginalized communities have faced cutbacks. While the broader "primitive skills" movement, encompassing bushcraft, toolmaking, and wilderness survival, often gravitates towards expensive courses and crowded retreats, it frequently overlooks its Indigenous origins. Hood’s commitment to decolonizing the transmission of Indigenous archery knowledge, while maintaining accessible pricing, cultivates a vital space for a community that may not always feel at home in mainstream archery circles. "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." The disparity in cost is stark; while commercial bow-making courses can command fees of $1,500 or more for a few days of instruction, Hood’s three-day workshops are priced between $500 and $750. "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," he states.

Hood’s journey into bow-making began in his late teens while teaching at a survival school. A colleague led bow-making clinics, offering Hood an opportunity to acquire a new skill. However, the experience felt incomplete. The process relied on power tools and commercially sourced lumber, diverging from the methods of his ancestors. "I wanted to be able to do this like my ancestors did it, without going to Home Depot to get the lumber," Hood expresses. Initially, he experimented with ash saplings, shaping them with a whittling knife, before gradually incorporating hatchets, draw knives, and other hand tools. "I wanted to be able to do this process wherever I gathered the wood," he explains.

The creation of a Hood-made bow commences with a deliberate and thoughtful selection of wood. Earlier in his career, he worked with hazel, ash, and dogwood. Currently, he favors denser hardwoods such as osage orange, black locust, and the Pacific yew, or ts’pinksham in the Klamath-Modoc language, the tribe’s traditional choice for bow construction. Given the tree’s current vulnerability to overharvesting, Hood reserves its use for bows intended for himself or other individuals of Klamath-Modoc heritage.

Before harvesting, Hood leaves an offering of tobacco as a gesture of reciprocity. His sobriety, embraced in 2019, has profoundly deepened his connection to the trees he harvests. He emphasizes the importance of seeking permission, stating, "We take a life from something very precious, that gives us oxygen, and then it just kind of sits in a void. 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, the wood undergoes a curing process for approximately nine months, a period Hood likens to "a baby in the womb." Once the cured piece, known 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, referencing the critical need for the bow’s limbs to be balanced for accurate arrow projection. He likens the process to a mirror: "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. How do we have vision for where we’re going?"

Vee, Hood’s apprentice who requested her last name be withheld, also views bow-making as a powerful metaphor for envisioning a more hopeful future. The 32-year-old crafted her first bow with Hood in the autumn of 2023, a year after experiencing the profound loss of her brother to a gunshot wound. Hood became a significant source of support, akin to a brother figure, and the following spring, Vee returned to deepen her understanding of bow-making and assist with teaching 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 reflects. "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."

Hood believes that distilling such profound meaning into an educational course requires ample time, allowing each student to progress at their own pace. Occasionally, a three-day course concludes before a student has fully completed their bow, prompting them to return later to finish their work. "Patience is a big value in bow-making," Hood emphasizes. "Nothing sacred should be rushed." Upon completion of their bows, Hood guides participants through archery practice, ensuring they learn to use their creations in a safe and mindful environment. His certification as a USA Archery instructor further enables him to teach archery in school settings.

In September, Hood, alongside co-founder Joshua Tuski, launched Learning Through Land, a nonprofit organization dedicated to providing outdoor skills education for youth in the Portland area. While archery and bow-making remain central, the curriculum will expand to include arrow-making, hide-tanning, knife-carving, and friction fire-starting techniques. Hood and Tuski aspire to enrich young lives by imparting these practical skills and the invaluable 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 states. "There are always teachings within teachings."

Ultimately, Hood harbors a deep-seated aspiration to harvest an animal on his tribe’s ancestral lands using a bow he has crafted himself. He views this as the ultimate expression of connection and continuity. Until that day arrives, he remains dedicated to refining his own mastery of the craft and taking profound pride in empowering others to do the same. "This is in everyone’s DNA," Hood asserts. "We just have to wake it up."