The women laughed at Ian’s comments and Wally’s reaction, but then they refocused on the competition as the next athlete leaned down to pick up the caber. This man was able to turn the caber, and as it crashed down, they compared its position to that of the first man.
“We don’t have the vantage point of the judges, but it looks to me like it’s not as good a toss as the first guy,” said Alice.
“There’s a lot of tossing left,” Ian said. “Someone could lead until the very last toss and still come in second.”
As if to prove his point, the next athlete not only turned the caber with a deft toss, but its landing position sent the crowd to their feet.
“To beat that toss, someone’s going to have to turn it exactly at twelve o’clock!” Wally exclaimed.
Emily pirouetted in excitement and then grabbed her father’s arm. “I’m so glad we could come today, Dad!”
Putting his arm around his little dancer, Wally kissed the top of her head. “Me too, Princess. Me too.” Father and daughter stood together through the rest of the first round and the following one. The two best tosses from the first round still stood. The Highlander in blue prepared to grab the caber for his third, and last, try.
“I don’t see how he can best the leading toss,” Alice declared. “Their muscles have to be exhausted by now!”
Peggy reached into her bag to retrieve a tube of sunblock. “Do you suppose these are the same guys who will be doing the Sheaf Toss and Heavy Hammer competitions?” She motioned for Emily to extend her arms for the lotion.
“Some of them,” answered Ian. “It’s kind of like the Olympics. You have your specialists who sprint or jump or throw the discus, and then you have your decathlon athletes.”
Annie nodded, reaching into her bag for a bottle of water. “Nobody can accuse the Scots of being soft.”
“That’s why there’s so many of ’em in Maine,” Wally asserted before directing everyone’s attention back to the field. “Whoa! Look at that toss!”
The athlete’s blue kilt flared as he hefted the end of the caber into the air, his warrior cry echoing across the field. Once again, the spectators jumped to their feet as the caber turned and landed so close to the twelve o’clock position that it seemed impossible. The athlete thrust both arms into the air. The two judges rushed to mark the release and landing spots, and they declared the toss to be the high score thus far.
No matter how the remaining athletes heaved, grunted, or hollered, their tosses could not improve upon the score of the Highlander in blue. After the top three athletes received their laurels, the announcer informed the crowd of the next event: the Haggis Hurl.
The two teenagers toted the caber off the field as volunteers carried a large barrel out and set it upright. Four kilted men trotted a table covered with dozens of what looked to be extremely large sausages from the sidelines and positioned it next to the barrel.
“I’ve never seen sausages that big before,” Peggy said, laughing.
“Nothing can compare to a properly prepared haggis,” Alice testified. “It wouldn’t be fit for the Highland Games if they made the haggis puny.”
Emily looked up at Alice. “Miss Alice, what’s the barrel for?”
“The competitors stand on top of it as they throw the haggis,” Alice answered. Emily’s eyes grew wide at her answer. She added, “Sometimes they use lower platforms for the women or youth challenges.” Turning to Ian, she asked him, “It’s been several years since I’ve seen the Games. Do they still do that, Ian?”
“Yes. They did the last time I attended,” answered Ian. “Although, when I was here last time, quite a few of the women insisted on using the barrels. Their balance was generally more impressive than the men’s, actually.”
The announcer took his place at the center of the field again. “Lassies and lads, the rules for the Haggis Hurl are simple compared to that of the Caber Toss. Each competitor will mount the top of the barrel and make his or her best throw. Unless you hit a judge, it will be measured for pure distance. Will the first hurler please take his position?” He started to walk off the field but stopped. “Ah, one more thing. After the official competitors have taken their throws, anyone in the audience wanting to give haggis hurling a try is invited to line up at the north end of the field. Keep an eye on the technique of the successful hurlers.” This time, he retreated to the edge of the field near the barrel and table.
Peggy nudged her husband’s arm. “Follow the announcer’s direction, and maybe you’ll be able to test the waters of haggis hurling like Mr. Mayor suggested.”