I learned to breathe a long time ago. It was not a hard process. Not something I had to practice at a long time. No coaches pushing me
beyond where I thought I could go. It just seemed to come naturally to me. One minute I was all warm, feeling great and the next I was
breathing. Oh sure the doctor did encourage me to breathe, and it seemed as though he was right, so I did.
Ever since that first breathe I have endeavored to keep breathing. I avoid places and things that might cause the lack of oxygen and thus
stop this wonderful exercise of breathing. Plastic bags, large auditoriums, water and open mountainsides all have the ability to prevent
breathing. Although the aforementioned places and things are varied and unique, breathing can become difficult when in their presence.
I will illustrate this for you in the following words.
Plastic bags do a wonderful job at keeping my sandwiches fresh and seemingly are not dangerous, but can be dangerous because of their
ability to stop the flow of oxygen. The poor bacteria in that bag with the sandwich, do not have the adequate oxygen to cause the
sandwich to become less than fresh. They can't breathe! Because of my love of breathing, I find myself opening the zippered top of the
sandwich bag just enough so as to let in some air to keep the little bugs alive. Now don’t get me wrong, I like fresh sandwiches but I enjoy
breathing, and it bothers me to think of the poor little things suffering there.
Avoiding large gathering places is another one of the safety measures I employ to keep oxygen coursing through my lungs. To be put in
the position of speaking to more people than can be safely gathered around an open fire is dangerous. I can tell story after story all night
long when talking to a group of hunters around the fire. I never have the slightest trouble drawing a decent lung full of air in this
situation, but put me in a room or stadium or auditorium full of people in suits and ties and "I can't breathe!" Since I am a proficient story
teller, the only conclusion that I can come up with is that the amount of people that they cram into those large meeting places suck up all
the air and leave little for the speaker. And since fear is a word I have to look up just to know it's meaning, my wife's conclusion that I am
just scared is flat wrong!
Water can be very calm and beautiful but we all know that that can change in an instant and ruin your day. I have been known to do a little
scuba diving. The inherent nature of the sport would lend some to think my fear of not breathing is not as bad as it might seem. On the
contrary, if they were to observe my preparations before a dive, fanatical to say the least, little doubt would be left in their minds as to my
continued desire to breathe. I check each valve three or four times for proper operation. I tap the gauges to see if they might be stuck. I
don’t just carry one emergency supply of oxygen but two. Even with all this preparation I worry about immersing in a world of only liquid
air. I like to breathe! I always figured that I could hold my breath about three minutes at the most in an emergency. Enough to get to the
surface with time to spare. Enough time to exit one world for another. Enough time to breathe!
Yes breathe! Breathe! Breathe! But I could not! No matter how much I wanted to breathe I just could not. I could not close my eyes, nor
turn my head. For that matter I could not even move. Did I disregard one of my own rules and put myself in harms way? Could it be that I
had had a stroke? What else could explain the lack of breathing? There I was in the middle of a beautiful mountainside and I could not
breathe! I had not moved nor taken a breath in the last 20 minutes or so. At least I think it had been that long. I had pain in my lower back
and pains in the seat of my pants. One arm felt as though a tree limb were poking it and the pain there was evident so I must be alive! Yes,
I must be alive! I wanted to shout, I am alive! But I could not!
I could see there were 4 sets of eyes looking for any sings of life I might display. Maybe it was the emergency team checking to see if I
was alive? I could hear and feel my heart pounding as though it were a jackhammer. Could they not hear the pounding? Was that not
sign enough to them of my continued presence in this world? Then at last a new set of eyes appeared. Yes, the ones I had been waiting
for. A doctor? No, they were different. They came attached to a very large North American Tom Turkey!
I was finally told I could move with the whispered guidance to bring my gun up. I did not move! I did not breathe! Bring your gun up! Still I
did not move. Frustration tinged the words as they were whispered. Only later did we sort out this conversation, because what I was
really hearing was "Blow him up! Blow him up!" My hearing is not what it used to be after years of hunting and the wail of alarm sirens.
My opportunity at this point to get the gun to a shooting position had come and gone. I would have to wait for awhile until the Tom
decided what he was going to do with the decoy that was not showing him the proper respect. At last the time came again and I made my
move, and was able to breathe again. My first wild turkey lay dead on the ground not more than 20 yards in front of me.
It is extremely difficult to convey here with these words the tremendous pressure there is to not move nor breathe when there are so
many sets of eyes that make their living, their life, watching for danger. Listening for any sound that does not belong. The slightest
movement or sound would send them fleeing. At times one or another of the turkeys assembled in front of us would look directly under
the tree where we sat and ponder what it was that they were seeing. At these times I was sure that they would react to the pounding of my
heart.
Earlier that that same day my son had shot his first Tom Turkey. It was maybe 20 minutes before I could carry on a normal conversation
after that. If it was possible, I think seeing him get that turkey was even more exciting than shooting my own. Being that close to a quarry
is an overwhelming experience in and of itself. Watching my son successfully complete all that is necessary to put one of these
magnificent birds on the ground for good filled me with pride. He nor I were shaking because of some foreign drug induced affect on our
bodies after a night of drinking , no a natural adrenaline rush was our drug of choice that day.
Turkey hunting has now been added to my list of things that cause breathing trouble. Visiting beautiful mountain meadows with streams,
eating sandwiches preserved in plastic bags, in the pursuit of the turkey may not be for everyone, nor may it be perfectly safe, but it is a
rush that I think I will be back for. Now how can I get out of that next speech I have to give? Yes auditoriums are still to be avoided!
beyond where I thought I could go. It just seemed to come naturally to me. One minute I was all warm, feeling great and the next I was
breathing. Oh sure the doctor did encourage me to breathe, and it seemed as though he was right, so I did.
Ever since that first breathe I have endeavored to keep breathing. I avoid places and things that might cause the lack of oxygen and thus
stop this wonderful exercise of breathing. Plastic bags, large auditoriums, water and open mountainsides all have the ability to prevent
breathing. Although the aforementioned places and things are varied and unique, breathing can become difficult when in their presence.
I will illustrate this for you in the following words.
Plastic bags do a wonderful job at keeping my sandwiches fresh and seemingly are not dangerous, but can be dangerous because of their
ability to stop the flow of oxygen. The poor bacteria in that bag with the sandwich, do not have the adequate oxygen to cause the
sandwich to become less than fresh. They can't breathe! Because of my love of breathing, I find myself opening the zippered top of the
sandwich bag just enough so as to let in some air to keep the little bugs alive. Now don’t get me wrong, I like fresh sandwiches but I enjoy
breathing, and it bothers me to think of the poor little things suffering there.
Avoiding large gathering places is another one of the safety measures I employ to keep oxygen coursing through my lungs. To be put in
the position of speaking to more people than can be safely gathered around an open fire is dangerous. I can tell story after story all night
long when talking to a group of hunters around the fire. I never have the slightest trouble drawing a decent lung full of air in this
situation, but put me in a room or stadium or auditorium full of people in suits and ties and "I can't breathe!" Since I am a proficient story
teller, the only conclusion that I can come up with is that the amount of people that they cram into those large meeting places suck up all
the air and leave little for the speaker. And since fear is a word I have to look up just to know it's meaning, my wife's conclusion that I am
just scared is flat wrong!
Water can be very calm and beautiful but we all know that that can change in an instant and ruin your day. I have been known to do a little
scuba diving. The inherent nature of the sport would lend some to think my fear of not breathing is not as bad as it might seem. On the
contrary, if they were to observe my preparations before a dive, fanatical to say the least, little doubt would be left in their minds as to my
continued desire to breathe. I check each valve three or four times for proper operation. I tap the gauges to see if they might be stuck. I
don’t just carry one emergency supply of oxygen but two. Even with all this preparation I worry about immersing in a world of only liquid
air. I like to breathe! I always figured that I could hold my breath about three minutes at the most in an emergency. Enough to get to the
surface with time to spare. Enough time to exit one world for another. Enough time to breathe!
Yes breathe! Breathe! Breathe! But I could not! No matter how much I wanted to breathe I just could not. I could not close my eyes, nor
turn my head. For that matter I could not even move. Did I disregard one of my own rules and put myself in harms way? Could it be that I
had had a stroke? What else could explain the lack of breathing? There I was in the middle of a beautiful mountainside and I could not
breathe! I had not moved nor taken a breath in the last 20 minutes or so. At least I think it had been that long. I had pain in my lower back
and pains in the seat of my pants. One arm felt as though a tree limb were poking it and the pain there was evident so I must be alive! Yes,
I must be alive! I wanted to shout, I am alive! But I could not!
I could see there were 4 sets of eyes looking for any sings of life I might display. Maybe it was the emergency team checking to see if I
was alive? I could hear and feel my heart pounding as though it were a jackhammer. Could they not hear the pounding? Was that not
sign enough to them of my continued presence in this world? Then at last a new set of eyes appeared. Yes, the ones I had been waiting
for. A doctor? No, they were different. They came attached to a very large North American Tom Turkey!
I was finally told I could move with the whispered guidance to bring my gun up. I did not move! I did not breathe! Bring your gun up! Still I
did not move. Frustration tinged the words as they were whispered. Only later did we sort out this conversation, because what I was
really hearing was "Blow him up! Blow him up!" My hearing is not what it used to be after years of hunting and the wail of alarm sirens.
My opportunity at this point to get the gun to a shooting position had come and gone. I would have to wait for awhile until the Tom
decided what he was going to do with the decoy that was not showing him the proper respect. At last the time came again and I made my
move, and was able to breathe again. My first wild turkey lay dead on the ground not more than 20 yards in front of me.
It is extremely difficult to convey here with these words the tremendous pressure there is to not move nor breathe when there are so
many sets of eyes that make their living, their life, watching for danger. Listening for any sound that does not belong. The slightest
movement or sound would send them fleeing. At times one or another of the turkeys assembled in front of us would look directly under
the tree where we sat and ponder what it was that they were seeing. At these times I was sure that they would react to the pounding of my
heart.
Earlier that that same day my son had shot his first Tom Turkey. It was maybe 20 minutes before I could carry on a normal conversation
after that. If it was possible, I think seeing him get that turkey was even more exciting than shooting my own. Being that close to a quarry
is an overwhelming experience in and of itself. Watching my son successfully complete all that is necessary to put one of these
magnificent birds on the ground for good filled me with pride. He nor I were shaking because of some foreign drug induced affect on our
bodies after a night of drinking , no a natural adrenaline rush was our drug of choice that day.
Turkey hunting has now been added to my list of things that cause breathing trouble. Visiting beautiful mountain meadows with streams,
eating sandwiches preserved in plastic bags, in the pursuit of the turkey may not be for everyone, nor may it be perfectly safe, but it is a
rush that I think I will be back for. Now how can I get out of that next speech I have to give? Yes auditoriums are still to be avoided!
 | |  | |  | |  |
Plastic Bags, Water, Open Mountain sides
and other Dangerous things!
and other Dangerous things!
