The Great Nauga Hunt has a curious history.

I worked for the Long Beach, California, Fire Department. One day in a fire station, I forget which one it was, I overheard two firemen talking. One fireman was telling the other one about a joke he had played on another fireman. The joke, the fireman said, was telling this other fireman that naugahyde was the hide of an animal. When I heard this, I laughed to myself. Who would believe that naugahyde was the skin of a real animal? The fireman telling the story was convinced that the fireman he was playing the joke on, did not know that naugahyde was a manmade plastic covering. I didn't know the fireman who was supposed to believe that naugahyde was the skin of a real animal very well, but I thought he was pulling the leg of the fireman who was trying to play the naugahyde joke on him.

Anyway, I don't know who was kidding who, but the utter absurdity of anyone believing that naugahyde was the skin of a real animal seemed so completely impossible that I shook my head in disbelief. I laughed to myself whenever I thought of this incident.

I knew instantly that here was a story, a story I wanted to tell, but how would a writer write such a story? How could you invent a character that would be so dumb as to not know that naugahyde was a plastic covering and not the hide of a real animal? I didn't know.

As time went by, my mind (subconscious?) began to spit out scenes of a young man who was a hunter, such as the ones we used to see in the Tarzan movies and the Jungle Jim stories. An innocent, gullible young man, but a great hunter, who belonged to one of those hunting clubs we used to see in movies about Africa, of men sitting around in a room with the mounted heads of animals hanging on all of the room's walls, usually Englishmen or Europeans.

Well, I wasn't going to write about a bunch of English stuffed shirts, I was going to write an American story about Americans, even if they were stuffed shirts. I've had enough of insulting, ill mannered Englishmen and Europeans bashing America and Americans. The trouble was, I had to use some Europeans anyway, because I made the hunting club an international club.

So you see, from this unusual beginning, I (my subconscious) made up the story, The Great Nauga Hunt.

The Great Nauga Hunt is one of the greatest, if not the greatest hunt in all of the history of the universe.

If you like great hunting stories you will like The Great Nauga Hunt.

I have added the history of how and when I wrote The Great Nauga Hunt to the end of the story so the reader can find out where an author gets some of his stories.

Robert James Warner was born and raised in Long Beach, California. He went to the local schools. He was drafted in to the Navy on March 9, 1944, during the World War II as soon as he finished his last semester in High School. He was discharged from the Navy on June 16, 1946.

Mr. Warner went back to school at Long Beach City College, on the G.I. Bill, taking Mechanical Engineering before he switched to journalism. After about a year and a half at City College, he quit.

Mr. Warner had always been interested in writing, but he had huge handicaps to overcome: he couldn't spell (he still can't); and grammar was then and is now a mystery to him.

Mr. Warner first began to write when he was about twenty.

During the next few years, he wrote some songs, poetry, and short stories, but his output was quite low.

From 1947, after Mr. Warner left City College, to 1950, he had a number of different inconsequential jobs--the longest, at Douglas Aircraft in Long Beach where he worked in the blueprint department for eight months until he quit and loafed awhile.

In 1950, he enlisted in the Active Naval Reserve as a Weekend Warrior, so that he could learn seamanship and get paid doing it. He has had a life long love affair with boats (building his own) and fishing.

About three months later, the Korean War started and Mr. Warner was called back to active duty in the Navy Aircorp for a year. He was discharged in August 1951, serving on three aircraft carriers, operating off of Korea in the China Sea, bombing and strafing the communists!

After Korea, Mr. Warner went back to City College for awhile, then got a job on a freighter as a deckhand. He then made two trips to the Hawaiian Islands, about thirty days round trip, hauling bulk sugar for C&H Sugar in Crocket California on the Sacramento River.

Leaving the ship in Crocket, he went to Santa Rosa, California, where he washed dishes in a few restaurants and got a poem published in the local newspaper--a big day in his life.

Next, he went to Yosemite and washed some more dishes before going home.

Mr. Warner has cleaned chicken dung from under the pens; he owned and operated his own auto wrecking yard; owned his own 2nd Store; was half owner of a Yacht Landing; speculated in Real Estate; and worked at some other odd jobs, going to work for the Long Beach Fire Department in 1953 for the next twenty-six years, retiring in October, 1979.

Mr. Warner got married in 1961, had his son in 1963, and got divorced in 1973.

In 1974, Mr. Warner and his son, Jeff, drove to Alaska during the summer. On his return, Mr. Warner wrote his first novel.

Since 1974, Mr. Warner has written 15 novels, about 125 short stories, 2 Civil War history books, and 2 poetry collections.

(The scene: The International Hunting and Exploring Club, Cape Town, South Africa. The men are sitting at the dinner table in the club. A member, Chuck Halden, has passed a picture of an animal he calls the Greater and Lesser Nauga around for the members to look at.)

The picture of the Greater and Lesser Nauga continued around the table to Halden. He put the picture back in his coat pocket, studied George (the hero of the story) covertly from the corners of his eyes, and remarked: "I'll bet there isn't a man alive who could take a Nauga?"

Halden's remark caused an instant silence. The remark seemed to hang suspended in the air, a palpable entity swirling and writhing over the length and breath of the dinner table. My God!, one could almost feel that remark floating almost malignantly within the circle of intent faces around that table.

George's soft voice shattered the silence, and destroyed the almost living entity that was Halden's remark. I remember vividly that I was so startled I must have jumped a foot.

George said: "I think I could get one."

As I have said, I was so startled by George's reply I jumped, recoiled might be more accurate, a foot. I happened to be looking at Halden and his jaw literally dropped open in surprise as George took the bait.

I was appalled and badly shaken. I glanced quickly at George's face. Was George playing cat and mouse with Halden? Did he really believe Halden's preposterous Nauga story and picture?

George's face, as usual, was calm and composed, rather neutral, not revealing much about his feelings, but I seemed to see belief there and I shrank inside. Why didn't I protect the boy? He was my friend. I'm certain he trusted me. Why then, didn't I protest and expose the stupid practical joke?

I have agonized over that question and searched my soul for years seeking an answer without any real success. My only excuse is that I thought it was all rather harmless and that George would learn, as we all have, a badly needed lesson in gullibility.

Halden's jaw clicked shut and then he smiled slowly as he said, "So you think you could get one, eh Nimrod?"

George's head came up a little straighter at Haldens' tone of voice as he replied, "Maybe. I'd like to give it a try, Mr. Halden."

"Well now," Halden grinned, "you would, eh Red?"

"Why not?" George replied in his unruffled way. "You have the location, I've never been to Nagaland before. It might be fun."

"Well, yeah, it would be fun, all right, Nimrod," Halden grinned. "Are you a sportin' man, Red?"

"A sporting man?" George echoed, puzzled.

Halden's grin widened. "Yeah, you know, a gambler."

"Oh. Yes, Mr. Halden, I believe I am."

"Well now," Halden said, laughing softly, "I'm willin' t'bet you ain't never gonna git a Nauga, Nimrod. You feel like takin' that bet?"

"I don't know, Mr. Halden. Why bet at all? I hunt for the fun of it."

"That's right, Nimrod, we all do, but I thought it might be a whole lot more fun if we made your Nauga hunt a sportin' proposition. Are you willin' to make a little wager on the side?" "A little what?" George asked, puzzled again.

"Jesus. A bet, sonny, a bet."

"Oh. I don't know, Mr. Halden. What would we bet?"

"Oh, I don't know, Nimrod. I don't like takin' candy away from babies so let's make it a hundred bucks, OK?"

The ridiculous amount caused a ripple of laughter from around the table.

George grinned.

"That too much for you, Nimrod?" Halden asked, a sneer in his voice.

"No, I don't believe so, Mr. Halden."

"I'm glad t'hear you can handle a hundred bucks, Nimrod. Now, if you're a real sportin' man we could up the stakes to where it would be real interestin'. Say, membership in the club?" "What?" George exclaimed, as the rest of us gasped. Halden was going too far. Still, to our shame, none of us interfered.

"What I mean," Halden grinned, "let's bet our membership in the club plus the hundred bucks. If you take a Nauga, I resign. If you don't, you resign. What d'ya say, Nimrod?"

"I don't know, Mr. Halden. I wouldn't want you to resign from the club."

"What?" Halden asked sharply, in sincere astonishment. "Did I hear you right? You don't want me to resign from the club? Why you- ah - I mean, that's real nice of ya, Nimrod, but don't worry about me, OK? Is it a bet?"

"What are the terms, Mr. Halden?"

"What? Terms? Well now, let's see, terms. OK, we'll have t'have a time limit. Let's see, oh hell, take five years, that should give ya enough time to take five Naugas. We'll each write out a resignation an' give it to some neutral party, say Conway here, OK? That all right with you, Claude?"

I was flabbergasted that Halden had chosen me as the neutral party. I instantly decided to accept. "I'd be delighted to act as judge, Chuck," I replied.

"Well, Nimrod? Put up or shut up. We can't sit here all night."

"Do you still want to bet one hundred dollars too, Mr. Halden?" George asked.

"What? Why, sure, why not? We'll give the money an' the resignations to Claude Conway here to hold an' he'll decide who wins an' who loses, all right?"