I’m sitting beside my camper
high up in the Catalina Mountains
when a medieval knight walks by.
Just around the corner I find six knights in full armor and they’re getting ready to fight.
This is not scripted – and those long swords and axes are very real
though mercifully blunt.
Their armor weighed 70 pounds and we're at 8,300 feet
so the match lasts only 40 seconds.
"Stop fight!"
Then they have a rest, get up, and go at it again.
They’re a friendly bunch
with dogs
and children playing on the sidelines.
Spouses help with the armor
and bring the combatants drinks.
They call themselves the Hell Hounds
and Mathew was one of their first members.
“Fighters ready? Yeah! Ready! Fight!"
It’s full speed, full power, full force.
You are trying to take your opponent down to the ground.
So you wanna hit him in a soft spot like a hip
which is generally not all that well protected.
An armpit is great.
Once he’s on the ground he is out of combat.
He cannot get back up until that round is over.
It’s always good to twitch a little bit so that the referees and everybody know that you’re okay.
Their armor is authentic –
they could pass for knights on any Medieval battlefield
in Europe or the Middle East.
Almost.
It’s not just heavy
it’s extremely complicated
and you need an awful lot of it.
A full set of gear will run you almost three thousand dollars.
And with all the fighting, it doesn’t last that long.
It’s not easy on the human body, either.
This is in essence a blood sport.
Injuries are common.
The way most of us look at the injuries….
It’s what we pay to play.
And that can be very hard on spouses.
Some of them start buying armor and come out to the field and start fighting.
My wife
understands why I do this
and, um, doesn’t really like to watch it when I’m on the field.
Many come out and help their partners
even if it’s just to be there in case things go wrong.
“Stop fight!”
So what sort of person becomes an armored combat fighter?
“Good fight!”
Maybe a little Type A personality.
They’re also gonna wanna have a good sense of humor
and they must really love adrenaline.
They welcome anyone who wants to try it.
We have women fighters
“Arms, legs – they all count. ‘Kay.”
Some youth fighters.
You can’t fight until you’re eighteen
but we do some training with them.
After half a dozen rounds they’re pretty much wiped out
“Done.
Fight’s up!
Stop fight!”
They eat donut holes while peeling off their sweaty armor
and repairing broken gear.
“I’m all set.”
In the end, you get the feeling that it’s more about camaraderie than combat
and that they really care about each other
on and off the field.