PER­FECT POINT

Outdoor Life - - HUNTING - Chris Hrenko

I was a con­sum­mate golf-course an­gler and cray­fish col­lec­tor. I was ex­plor­ing Lit­tle Dry Creek, prob­a­bly look­ing for golf balls I could sell back to the pro shop, when I saw a square bit of metal stick­ing out of the muddy bank un­der a bridge. I ex­ca­vated a bit, de­ter­mined the metal was the bot­tom of a mag­a­zine, and came up with the .45 Auto that had been used in the homi­cide and then ap­par­ently tossed off the bridge. The au­thor­i­ties had combed the area for days fol­low­ing the mur­der, but it took a 7-year-old sports­man to pro­duce the ev­i­dence.

While hunt­ing rab­bits and squir­rels, I found a large ob­sid­ian ar­row­head, com­pletely in­tact, along the edge of a corn­field be­hind my grand­par­ents’ house in Ohio. It was al­most as big as to­day’s iphone, and its edges were sharp­ened at par­al­lel an­gles. I al­ways won­dered if it was de­signed to spin in flight. It’s hard to imag­ine what peo­ple must have gone through to get that ob­sid­ian hun­dreds of miles back to Ohio in the days be­fore roads and bridges. The near­est source for ob­sid­ian back in the pre-set­tle­ment era was prob­a­bly the Yel­low­stone Plateau. I won­dered about the per­son who must have trea­sured it, and how they lost it.

I brought the point to school to show my sixth-grade class. Our school had been built by a con­trac­tor that spe­cial­ized in prison con­struc­tion, and it was one of those modern build­ings with ex­posed duct work and floors of stained con­crete. Some bozo class­mate of mine dropped the ar­row­head onto that hard floor, and it shat­tered into pieces.

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