Hooked on Hawks
The tomahawk handle split with a resounding crack, much like the way a bat sounds as it makes contact with the perfect pitch. It wasn’t intentional. For an instant, I felt terrible. And then I was strangely proud because it had been my arm hurling it toward the tree stump and it had been the force of my throw that had caused the wood to splinter. The couple working with me shrugged off the break and encouraged me to keep trying. So I did.
There was no pride in the number of times the hawk had glanced off the wood, nor was there any shame. I just wanted a solid hit. It took more throws than I had thought it would before the blade cleaved the stump, but it finally did happen. I didn’t jump up and down or squeal with delight. Instead, it was more of a deep sense of satisfaction that radiated outward when I saw the handle hanging down and the axe buried within the wood.
Ever since I saw the girl throwing tomahawks last year, I wanted to try it. Now I have and I want to do it again. There’s a certain thrill you get from doing it and I gotta tell ya, I’m hooked.
More than 12 hours after leaving home yesterday morning, LD and I arrived safely home, covered in at least four solid inches of dirt, exhausted, and somehow refreshed from a day in the mountains.
I haven’t taken a photo of the handle I split yet, but I will. I have a lot of other photos to sort through first.
Looking forward to the pictures!!!! :nana:
Comment by Pam — 2009/09/07 @ 07:02
Cool! I love the hills! Standing by for the pictures in North Korea.
Comment by JihadGene — 2009/09/08 @ 11:24