The Longest I ever made wasn't more than 45 feet (3 revs), and the best I ever saw wasn't that long. But I thought that you might ejoy the story.
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It was my 1st or 2nd rendevous, and I ended up at the hawk targets for practice with a few other folks. A gentleman that was pushing 70 or 80 stepped up and asked if he could join us. As a newby, I am watching everything, and quickly notice that this old feller ain't marking his spot, he is just stepping up, throwing and most time hitting the mark.
But one of the othe guys starts feeling his oats, and wanted to turn the practice into a full blown money on the barrelhead competition. The old feller says that he doesn't play for money, etc etc. Well you all have seen or been in conversations like that, and soon enough the old guy is being called chicken, and the fool is strutting around in his best chicken imitation.
The old feller steps up to the line, with the hawk in his left hand, stretches his right arm, and when he puts the arm to his side, he loosens the knife in the sheath on his hip. The hawk goes to the right hand, he looks the fool straight in the eye and says, "You know why I don't play this game fer money?"
Instantly the old feller steps though and hurls the hawk. His right hand continues though to the knife handle on his hip. In one motion he unsheaths the knife and underhand flips it at the target.
The hawk hit dead center, and stuck the top toe of the blade, with the handle nearly parallel to the ground. An instant latter that belt knife stuck dead center in it's target, the end of the handle of the hawk! ::
The old feller turned to the young fool. "I don't play this game fer money cuz ther ain't no competition!" With that he pulled is knife and hawk, and walked back to camp. Smiling all the way! ::