Here's something you might be interested in.
Ask a Hipster — Advice you didn't know you needed
Big Screen — Movie commentary
Blurt — Music's inside track
Booze News — San Diego spirits
Classical Music — Immortal beauty
Classifieds — Free and easy
Cover Stories — Front-page features
Drinks All Around — Bartenders' drink recipes
Excerpts — Literary and spiritual excerpts
Feast! — Food & drink reviews
Feature Stories — Local news & stories
Fishing Report — What’s getting hooked from ship and shore
From the Archives — Spotlight on the past
Golden Dreams — Talk of the town
The Gonzo Report — Making the musical scene, or at least reporting from it
Letters — Our inbox
Movies@Home — Local movie buffs share favorites
Movie Reviews — Our critics' picks and pans
Musician Interviews — Up close with local artists
Neighborhood News from Stringers — Hyperlocal news
News Ticker — News & politics
Obermeyer — San Diego politics illustrated
Outdoors — Weekly changes in flora and fauna
Overheard in San Diego — Eavesdropping illustrated
Poetry — The old and the new
Reader Travel — Travel section built by travelers
Reading — The hunt for intellectuals
Roam-O-Rama — SoCal's best hiking/biking trails
San Diego Beer — Inside San Diego suds
SD on the QT — Almost factual news
Sheep and Goats — Places of worship
Special Issues — The best of
Street Style — San Diego streets have style
Surf Diego — Real stories from those braving the waves
Theater — On stage in San Diego this week
Tin Fork — Silver spoon alternative
Under the Radar — Matt Potter's undercover work
Unforgettable — Long-ago San Diego
Unreal Estate — San Diego's priciest pads
Your Week — Daily event picks
Mr. Kim’s Korean archery
“Have a straight mind and a straight body.”
Mr Kim with his near-bullseye shot.
“Chinese used the spear, Japanese used the sword,” says Mr. Kim. “We Koreans used the bow. Have for 5000 years.”
A badge on his tunic reads “World Kuk Gung Federation” above a sewn picture of a horseman shooting arrows from a galloping horse.
We are looking out over a steep field bisected by a stream. This is Mr. Kim’s traditional Korean Archery field.
“‘Kuk Gung’ is ‘Horn Bow,’” he says.
On the creek’s opposite upslope, four square targets face us, each one white, black, and red. “That is a long way, Mr. Kim,” I say.
“Not a problem for Korean Kuk Gung,” Mr. Kim says. He says a Korean bow can propel an arrow 475 feet, 145 meters. “At Olympics they only allow distance of 30-90 meters,” he says. “We always win archery at Olympics.”
Mr. Kim draws his bow out of a blue and white cloth sleeve. Wow. I am surprised how small it is.
“Why is it called a ‘horn bow’?” I ask.
“Because it is made of bamboo, mulberry wood, maple tree skin, and water buffalo horn. It is a composite of all these, glued by fishes’ swimming bladder.”
Mr. Kim (right) watches a pupil’s draw.
Mr. Kim knows these things because he has practiced Korean archery for most of the 43 years he has been traveling back and forth from South Korea, where he grows and sells succulents and cacti for the American, European, and other markets. “We ship 4 to 5 million plants every year,” he says. “I control 70 percent of the market.”
But love of Korean archery is clearly what drives him now. He purchased this land up in the rolling hills of Valley Center to turn it into a Korean traditional archery center, the only one in the U.S. He’s developing the part of the field by the creek into horse trails where students can learn to gallop on horseback while shooting arrows.
Now he bends the bow between his legs so he can stretch its string. It’s curled like Cupid bows you see on Valentine’s Day cards.
But looks are deceptive. “This is the most powerful bow,” Mr. Kim says. “You see those?” He’s pointing to the four distant targets. No way other bows, he says — English, Japanese, Chinese — can reach those targets. (To be fair, many military historians say the English longbow had an effective range of over 300 yards.)
He takes the sleeve and wraps it around his waist. “Now, sleeve becomes quiver,” he says He slips five wooden arrows between it and his tunic.
He is a modest, quietly powerful man who clearly believes in the precepts he painted on the posts designating the shooting area:
“Be seen as a model of love and virtue.”
“Have a straight mind and a straight body.”
“Protect integrity through discreet behavior.”
“Be courteous.”
He hands me a bow. “First lesson,” he says. “We do each ten times.”
My exercise is to draw the bow to shooting position, hold, and then undraw. He shows me how to hold it above my head, level it, push the bow hand forward, while hauling the string hand back, harmoniously. “Good for breathing,” he says.
Also exhausting for a first-timer. He watches every movement. Only then does he go to shoot his ten arrows — and you can hear the distant “bap!” as most hit the targets. He hangs up his bow and heads off down the hill. “Where are we going?” I ask. “To pick up the arrows,” Mr. Kim says. “Part of discipline.”
Here's something you might be interested in.
Mr. Kim’s Korean archery
“Have a straight mind and a straight body.”
Mr. Kim’s Korean archery
“Have a straight mind and a straight body.”
Mr Kim with his near-bullseye shot.
“Chinese used the spear, Japanese used the sword,” says Mr. Kim. “We Koreans used the bow. Have for 5000 years.”
A badge on his tunic reads “World Kuk Gung Federation” above a sewn picture of a horseman shooting arrows from a galloping horse.
We are looking out over a steep field bisected by a stream. This is Mr. Kim’s traditional Korean Archery field.
“‘Kuk Gung’ is ‘Horn Bow,’” he says.
On the creek’s opposite upslope, four square targets face us, each one white, black, and red. “That is a long way, Mr. Kim,” I say.
“Not a problem for Korean Kuk Gung,” Mr. Kim says. He says a Korean bow can propel an arrow 475 feet, 145 meters. “At Olympics they only allow distance of 30-90 meters,” he says. “We always win archery at Olympics.”
Mr. Kim draws his bow out of a blue and white cloth sleeve. Wow. I am surprised how small it is.
“Why is it called a ‘horn bow’?” I ask.
“Because it is made of bamboo, mulberry wood, maple tree skin, and water buffalo horn. It is a composite of all these, glued by fishes’ swimming bladder.”
Mr. Kim (right) watches a pupil’s draw.
Mr. Kim knows these things because he has practiced Korean archery for most of the 43 years he has been traveling back and forth from South Korea, where he grows and sells succulents and cacti for the American, European, and other markets. “We ship 4 to 5 million plants every year,” he says. “I control 70 percent of the market.”
But love of Korean archery is clearly what drives him now. He purchased this land up in the rolling hills of Valley Center to turn it into a Korean traditional archery center, the only one in the U.S. He’s developing the part of the field by the creek into horse trails where students can learn to gallop on horseback while shooting arrows.
Now he bends the bow between his legs so he can stretch its string. It’s curled like Cupid bows you see on Valentine’s Day cards.
But looks are deceptive. “This is the most powerful bow,” Mr. Kim says. “You see those?” He’s pointing to the four distant targets. No way other bows, he says — English, Japanese, Chinese — can reach those targets. (To be fair, many military historians say the English longbow had an effective range of over 300 yards.)
He takes the sleeve and wraps it around his waist. “Now, sleeve becomes quiver,” he says He slips five wooden arrows between it and his tunic.
He is a modest, quietly powerful man who clearly believes in the precepts he painted on the posts designating the shooting area:
“Be seen as a model of love and virtue.”
“Have a straight mind and a straight body.”
“Protect integrity through discreet behavior.”
“Be courteous.”
He hands me a bow. “First lesson,” he says. “We do each ten times.”
My exercise is to draw the bow to shooting position, hold, and then undraw. He shows me how to hold it above my head, level it, push the bow hand forward, while hauling the string hand back, harmoniously. “Good for breathing,” he says.
Also exhausting for a first-timer. He watches every movement. Only then does he go to shoot his ten arrows — and you can hear the distant “bap!” as most hit the targets. He hangs up his bow and heads off down the hill. “Where are we going?” I ask. “To pick up the arrows,” Mr. Kim says. “Part of discipline.”
Comments