- Joined
- Jul 17, 2011
- Messages
- 33
I got a great demonstration yesterday in the importance of carrying a knife, the ability of a traditional pattern to hold its own with a modern, 'hard-use' knife, and in particular, the ability of a No. 8 opinel to punch above its weight. I was traveling with friends to a ferry on Lake Ontario, planning to make the crossing to Wolfe Island for the evening. Having been late to leave the house, I decided to take my longboard instead of walking (longboarding, for all you who've never seen it, is like skateboarding, but very, very fast). Zipping downhill through Kingston, I misjudged my aim when going through an intersection and found myself pointed directly at a sidewalk curb. Not being terribly aerodynamic, I didn't want to try my luck at flying, so I jumped for it before the curb could launch me. I landed just a little wrong, felt a hot jet of pain shoot up my ankle, and sat down hard.
I wasn't sure just what I'd done to myself, but I'd gone far enough that I figured I might as well push on to the ferry and enjoy my evening. It quickly become clear, though, that I wasn't going to be able to walk around all night on that ankle; it was swelling up pretty good, and putting any weight on it was becoming impossible. I did make it to the ferry, but without some improvement in my situation, there was no way I was going any further that night.
I believe in being prepared, though, and I had a couple resources: a first aid kit and a No. 8 Opinel. I wrapped my ankle good and tight with a tensor bandage to stabilise it and keep the swelling down, but it still hurt like crazy to walk. Lucky for me, I also found a stand of saplings by the lake's edge, and I set to work finding myself a cane. Having found a two-inch sapling sturdy enough to bear my weight, I set to with my knife, starting off with as deep a wedge as I could get and then continuing to cut thin shavings from both sides of it. As I worked, I thought about all the friends who'd scoffed at my Opinel's thin blade, wooden handle, and simple lock. "It'll never stand up to a real job," they'd said; "When you need it most, that blade'll snap, or the lock will fail. That knife's a cheese-cutter and little else." Well, that thin blade was going through the green wood as if it really was cheese. I wasn't sawing at the wood, or trying to pry at it, or twist the knife into it; I was using it the way a knife is meant to be used, and by golly it held up its end of the bargain. Before long I'd felled my sapling, and the carbon steel blade was still plenty sharp enough to zip through the branches and shoots on the sides. I walked back to where my friends were waiting with a good, strong walking stick and a good deal less pain in my steps.
I just wanted to post this story as a reminder about what traditional patterns can do if you use them the way they ought to be used, and also as a thank you to all the folks who've been talking about this for years here. I've been soaking up your wisdom, and it's paying off. I want to thank jackknife in particular for his oft-repeated advice to sharpen your knife every morning before you go out the door, because you never know what you might need to cut, or where, or when. Truer words were never spoken, and when the time came to do something a little more important than opening letters, my knife was sharp enough to do the job.
Mac
I wasn't sure just what I'd done to myself, but I'd gone far enough that I figured I might as well push on to the ferry and enjoy my evening. It quickly become clear, though, that I wasn't going to be able to walk around all night on that ankle; it was swelling up pretty good, and putting any weight on it was becoming impossible. I did make it to the ferry, but without some improvement in my situation, there was no way I was going any further that night.
I believe in being prepared, though, and I had a couple resources: a first aid kit and a No. 8 Opinel. I wrapped my ankle good and tight with a tensor bandage to stabilise it and keep the swelling down, but it still hurt like crazy to walk. Lucky for me, I also found a stand of saplings by the lake's edge, and I set to work finding myself a cane. Having found a two-inch sapling sturdy enough to bear my weight, I set to with my knife, starting off with as deep a wedge as I could get and then continuing to cut thin shavings from both sides of it. As I worked, I thought about all the friends who'd scoffed at my Opinel's thin blade, wooden handle, and simple lock. "It'll never stand up to a real job," they'd said; "When you need it most, that blade'll snap, or the lock will fail. That knife's a cheese-cutter and little else." Well, that thin blade was going through the green wood as if it really was cheese. I wasn't sawing at the wood, or trying to pry at it, or twist the knife into it; I was using it the way a knife is meant to be used, and by golly it held up its end of the bargain. Before long I'd felled my sapling, and the carbon steel blade was still plenty sharp enough to zip through the branches and shoots on the sides. I walked back to where my friends were waiting with a good, strong walking stick and a good deal less pain in my steps.
I just wanted to post this story as a reminder about what traditional patterns can do if you use them the way they ought to be used, and also as a thank you to all the folks who've been talking about this for years here. I've been soaking up your wisdom, and it's paying off. I want to thank jackknife in particular for his oft-repeated advice to sharpen your knife every morning before you go out the door, because you never know what you might need to cut, or where, or when. Truer words were never spoken, and when the time came to do something a little more important than opening letters, my knife was sharp enough to do the job.
Mac
