I came at 7:30pm on a Friday night (and fair warning, Tuesday and Thursday nights are not the time time to go 7pm onward because there's league shooting that shuts down the lanes for amateurs and enthusiasts) after an hour's hike in from the Upper East side on a particularly cold and blustery evening.
Pro Line had come recommended from an estranged friend who geeks out as hard as I do about Hawkeye and had decided a while back to give archery a shot with his young daughter at Pro Line and had a great experience.
I have Japanese martial arts background -- and even did some rudimentary kyudo a few years back -- but have always preferred the aesthetics of Western-style archery. So, taking my buddy Frank's recommendation to heart, arming myself with Google Map directions I prayed were accurate (with Queens' litany of avenues upon streets upon drives upon lanes of consecutive freaking numbers), I ventured forth.
In the midst of closed shops and darkened alleys, there was a sign touting nondescript archery lanes above the door marked 95-11, and after a few tugs, the aging glass door gave in. Three flights up a dingy fluorescent staircase covered in gray rubber-studded flooring, lauded on the final landing by cardboard cutouts advertising deer urine, I pulled open an unmarked door and was welcomed by a bustling hole in the wall sporting all ages, from all walks of life, happily firing away from Swiss-army-knife-like, high-tech compound bows at sets of various sized targets plastered intimidatingly downrange.
I looked around like a deer in the headlights, the community of regulars close knit enough that I likely stood out like a sore thumb. This did not stop me from being able to approach one of several gentleman at the counter and simply declare, "Hi, I'm sure it's obvious I'm new and have no idea what I'm doing, but I'm here to shoot things."
With a Buddha-like calm, and sage nod, the instructor who would be my babysitter for the evening (I've forgotten his name sadly), signed me up, took my $20, and replied: "Just aim the pointy end away from me and the lights, and we'll get along just fine."
Right after my arrival, a party of about 10 others came in, all new like me, all looking to occupy the abbreviated "novice" lanes that occupied the left half of the room. This did not stop our babysitter in the Assassin's Creed Shirt (ACS from now on for short) from calmly explaining the rudimentary facts of shooting arrows from the basic recursives we were renting from the facility, and after a quick briefing for safety, he helped assess and adjust our sights, and continued to give us pointers on our stances and draw techniques throughout the night at no trouble or irritation to him at all (and believe me, 11 of us were a handful, and ACS himself was also attempting to get some shooting time in himself).
The lanes themselves are a total divorce from everything New York around them, from the almost meditative air to the paleolithic hunting-sport being practiced inside the facility, to the camouflage carpeting and hunting tips sold in glass cases at the counter, to the pot of communal, half-burnt coffee brewing constantly in the corner. It's an utter reverie, lovely slice of slowed time in the midst of an otherwise bustling city.
I'm really happy I went. I will be going back, by myself, certainly, possibly with others. The large party that was there with me seemed to enjoy themselves as well, with an impromptu points competition breaking out towards the end with staggered point values for the rings of the target, -5 for cork or wood, -10 for someone else's target, and +20 for someone else's bulls-eye.
It's not far from the A train, or the QM15 express bus. It's open 7 days a week. It's the cost of a trip to the movies for two hours of fun. Stop debating going and just go. read more