Nonfiction

by Ron Bolt

What might a mild-mannered, retired elementary school teacher do in his spare time?  He might find a hobby which releases his inner barbarian.  And he does!

            Along with my respectable pastime of teaching children’s Sunday School, I participate in an activity of questionable repute. I throw axes.

            My interest in ax throwing began while living in Drain.  The North Douglas County Fairgrounds hosted logging competitions.  I never attended, but noticed the large slice-of-tree-trunk target.  I asked a friend about the ax throw.

             “They use double-bladed axes.  The ax throwers hold them with both hands, swing them straight back over their heads and let ‘em fly.”

            I bought a large, double bladed ax at the local hardware store and carried it to the fairgrounds to face the target.  I paused to consider the mechanics of the throw: one must swing the ax back with sufficient force to catch a bounce off the backswing in order to propel the heavy ax toward the target. 

My mind played a video of me overdoing the backswing, embedding the broad blade between my shoulder blades.  I staggered around with the ax hopelessly lodged in my back, handle protruding above my head.  Instead of helping, frightened people ran for their lives, thinking an ax murder was on the loose and they might be next.

            If I succumbed, readers would laugh as they read of the account in the newspaper, “Hey listen to this . . .” 

If I survived, I’d have to listen to countless retellings at family gatherings of Ron’s ax throwing debacle.

            At that point, I considered returning the ax and taking up stamp collecting.  Instead, I took a deep breath, grasped the ax with both hands and swung it back over my head. The ax did not stick into my back and I didn’t want to know how close it came.  I heaved it forward toward the target.  The massive projectile whirled through the air, culminating with a whomp as the ax stuck in the wood.  I was hooked.

            That Thanksgiving, all the men in the family and women who showed an interest strutted to the ax throwing grounds. I contemplated that early Thanksgivings might have included activities such as ax throwing competitions.  Even though our family tradition began that year, it felt like honoring a tradition from the early days of American history.

            Our custom continued until the removal of the logging skills competition equipment. Thanksgiving activities reverted to feasting and watching football games on TV. Not a bad way to spend the day, but after having walked on the wild side it just seemed a bit tame.

            A few years ago, I discovered a large-diameter log end, which I hauled to my Sutherlin home and fashioned into a target.  With such a handy target, ax throwing isn’t just for holidays anymore.  Any excuse brings out the ax.  If party decorations include crepe paper, we drape a strand across the target and throw axes at it.  Who ever cuts it takes home the severed paper as their trophy.  If a celebration calls for balloons, guess where they end up?

            One obstacle to my hobby proved to be the durability of ax handles.  At some point during each event, the ax handle broke, sometimes early into the competition.  It cost me nearly $20 for a new ax or handle.  One Thanksgiving, the ax broke on the first throw.  It dampened the testosterone level of throwers who looked forward to proving their manhood but left them without opportunity.

            Not ready to give up my hobby, I searched far-and-wide for a solution.  Finally, I located a genuine throwing ax in a catalog.  It resembles the ones you see in movies when wild-charging, barbarian hordes wave their axes in the air and yell.

            My son-in-law thought just standing there aiming and throwing a battle ax appeared too civilized.  He instituted the practice of throwing while running at the target with a primal scream.  I must admit, it adds to the experience.

My hobby recently evolved when my son gave me a throwing knife for my birthday.  We enjoy popping balloons tacked to the target.

That’s given me another idea.  I’ve always been impressed when a knife thrower on television has his scantily-clad assistant stand in front of a wall with balloons attached

around her.  The expert knife thrower breaks the balloons by throwing knives while leaving the assistant intact.  Sometimes, they even strap the assistant to a target and spin it, while the knife-guy punctures the balloons around the cartwheeling girl.

I’m looking for the right opportunity to approach my wife about taking my hobby to the next level.