Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Just like Jim Bowie

Southwestern knife, tomahawk championships come to Belen

Sandy Battin News-Bulletin Staff Writer; Sbattin@news-bulletin.com

Belen Randy Thomas of Flagstaff, Ariz. — they call him Bird Man — was reclining on a lawn chair, his tall frame stretching out forever. He appeared relaxed, but he was obviously keeping an eye on the competition.

He looked durned comfortable, but there was a knife — a big sharp one — at his side. He looked as if he was ready to help Daniel Boone defend the camp if a grizzly wandered through.

With names like Jim Bowie and Kit Carson wafting through Willie Chavez Park in Belen Saturday, it appeared as if a time warp had opened up. Out had stepped mountain men in buckskins complete with coonskin caps, a bare-chested fellow who resembled a tattooed Native American and even a couple of women who needed only bonnets to look as if they might be at home on a wagon train.

All of them had long knives strapped at their sides or tomahawks — 'hawks, they called them — cradled in their hands.

The 2008 Southwestern National Tomahawk and Knife Championship was under way and competitors — heck, world champions — had turned out in 19th century garb. They waited patiently, swapping stories, comparing notes, to hurl their weapons at playing cards pinned to huge round targets cut from cottonwoods.

"There's a whole lot of practice behind it," Bird Man said. "Practice, practice, practice."

He loves these get-togethers because that's where he sees his fellow competitors. "We only see each other a couple times a year, and it's like a family reunion," he said. "People think we're trying to be all macho, but it's about seeing good people, enjoying our sport."

Next to him, Mike Bainton of Austin, Texas, agrees. Not only do folks enjoy the camaraderie, he says, but they also like learning about their nation's history.

He was largely responsible for a competition like this one, only on a larger scale, held last year at the Alamo. "I did a lot of fancy talking. We wanted to throw where the battle took place," he said.

It drew a big crowd as the 45 participants threw their handmade knives and 'hawks at lightning speed. "Jim Bowie was my hero. He was the kind of guy who had the courage of his convictions," Alamo said. "He died at the Alamo with all the others, but he stood for what he believed in. He threw a wonderful knife."

Alamo has collected 87 Bowie knives — known for being sharpened on both sides at the tip. "It sticks better into the target," he said.

Knife throwing is easy to judge. "It's a sport that's objective instead of subjective," Alamo said. "It's not a question. You stick the card or not."

He says this typical late summer day in Belen is beautiful. "It's wonderful; perfect weather. I'll be here every year. We've got great hosts," he said.

At about that point, one of those hosts, Vickie Overpeck of Bosque, passes by. Early in the day, there are 11 pros, 10 amateurs and five juniors under the age of 14 competing.

The sport traces its history back to the rendezvouses that mountain men once gathered at to sell the furs they'd caught, to do a little socializing and to demonstrate their skills in necessary life-saving skills.

Overpeck says the fur trade era pretty much ended in 1840. "The ending came when silk began being imported from China," she said. "The fur trade was established to make top hats from beaver. ... It had lasted from the late 1700s to 1840."

Like many at the competition, Overpeck and her husband, Dan, had gotten interested in knife throwing as an outcropping of their involvement in the rendezvous tradition.

Modern reenactors gather to honor the history, spending a weekend here or there in as close a copy of the way the fur traders lived as possible. They camp in tents, cook over fires and show off their skills in knife throwing or archery. "You can't have any modern conveniences," she said. Sometimes, they camp at historic sites, making the past come even more alive. In Taos, the Hacienda de Martinez welcomed such an event in recent years. The Overpecks, who moved to New Mexico recently, will be bringing the Southwestern championship to Belen every year in early September.

While the concept is as American as a buffalo pie, it's taken on an international sheen. "It started in the Western states, but even Germany is hot on this — and France," Overpeck said.

"It's a family event; it's great for the kids," she said. "Like that proverb, it takes a village.

"The kids invent their own games. They're running and screaming in the woods. We cook out and sleep in a tent. There's no TV at night, so we sit around and visit or go walking. Someone will be playing a guitar, and someone will have a banjo, and someone else will have a fiddle, and pretty soon there'll be music.

"It's always great camaraderie."

All of the competitors at this event have made most of their own clothing. "If they're in buckskin, it's from deerhide. All the hair will be scraped off and then they'll use deer brain and water to soften it. ... Then it's smoked in a kind of teepee. When you wear it, it breathes. The air passes right through like cotton," Overpeck said.

At the end of the event, a council fire will be lit, and that's where nicknames will be passed out.

That's how Little Big Man earned his name. Jake Poff, 11, of Edgewood came to own a new moniker last spring when he scored better at knife-throwing than all of the adults at a meet.

"I think it's pretty neat," he said.

The Man's dad, Ben, says old-timers love passing on lore and experience to the younger set. "They're like grandfathers to them," he said.

Knife and 'hawk throwing "is pretty much a physics lesson — it depends on how far back you're standing, how tall you are," he said.

"It's not rocket science. It's easy to learn to do, but it takes a little practice."

Jake is the reigning New Mexico knife throwing champion in his age group, while his brother Corey, 13, is the state 'hawk champ. Brother Luke, 6, is just starting out.

Under the shade of some trees, Dale "Rattler" Tate of Ignacio, Colo., and Roy "Moses" Neal of Kerrville, Texas, are swapping information.

Rattler has been at the sport of knife throwing for more than 50 years. "Growing up, my heroes were the characters from 'Last of the Mohicans' ... all the James Fenimore Cooper books," he said.

Rattler boasts a little on Moses: "He beat every world champion," he said. Neal holds the Texas and Montana state championships.

Rattler makes his own knives — and shows one with a hide handle sewn onto it.

The announcer cuts in at that moment, saying that the competition was switching from throwing at playing cards to cut-out red chiles. "We were going to use real chile, but we thought someone was going to wipe off their blade and get it into their eyes," he says over the loud speaker. Safety comes first, even in ersatz 1840.

Ben Wheeler of Belen says he's been throwing knives all his life. "I travel all over for these things," he said. "It's fun."

The trick is in the release, he says. It's in knowing how to let the 'hawk slide.

In the end, Mike Bainton — Alamo — had the highest score in knives and 'hawks in the pro men's division, while Erica Molock of Fort Worth, Texas, took top scores in the women's division. She had the highest score in the competition.

William "Lone Wolf" Scrampser of Bastrop, Texas, took the amateur title.

Jake Poff won in the children's division, keeping his Little Big Man name alive by outscoring some of the men.

Overpeck said on Tuesday that several residents from Los Lunas and Belen had asked for more information about the event.

And one local man bought a knife and a 'hawk and one of the cottonwood targets left over at the end of the weekend. "He put it in the trunk of his Volvo and drove away," she said.

"I think we're generating some interest among people here."

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