The Joy of Axe Throwing

By: Neva Mellow

Besides being able to field strip a machine gun in 34 seconds, and flying through 800 plus pages of a Stephen King novel every weekend, I also take great pride in my abilities in a skill that’s a little bit less expected: axe throwing. 

I first discovered this talent the night I received my high school diploma. Somewhere between celebration and sleep deprivation, I went out with a few friends to a local business that was part racetrack, part arcade, part taro-reading parlor, and that, of course, had a bull riding arena. Tucked away behind the soft glow of the Pac-Man machine and the well loved air hockey table, was a narrow passage that led to an ax throwing area. 

Six tall metal cages, all lined up against one another, were filled with laughter, cheers, and the sharp sound of metal meeting wood. Inside were freshly graduated seniors celebrating freedom, survival, and the fact that we had made it through high school. At the back of each cage, was a colorful target that had been splintered from countless throws. After watching for no more than a minute, I knew I had to try it. 

I stood in line for what felt like forever, until finally, I was handed a pair of the shiny silver Smith and Wesson throwing axes. And right at that moment, something unexpected happened. A wave of calm washed over me. The noise faded. My heartbeat slowed. 

Whack.

Whack.

Whack. 

Each ax I threw struck the wood with a satisfying thunk, imbedding itself deep in the crevices of the boards. They landed exactly where I intended them to, and every throw I made released some of the stress I had carried with me for so long. 

Coming back home with the first semester of college under my belt, I knew exactly where I wanted to go first. I touched down in RNO at 11 in the morning, spent some time with family, and then that same evening, I was back at it with the boards and axes. Some people find peace in quiet mediation, swimming, or running. I found mine hurling steel into wood at two in the morning.

Photo Credit: Neva Mellow