"Carl's Lounge" (Off-Topic Discussion, Traditional Knife "Tales & Vignettes")

Blues said:
I used to carry something similar to the "key", Robert, that I had made myself...but since I got the sliver grippers I've just found them so useful I haven't looked back. It's a small investment that'll last a long time and pay dividends in utility.
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You've sold me! when my pay goes in I'll order one...I'm quite obsessive with checking for ticks and my pets, I lost a cat as a kid to a paralysis tick.
 
Blues said:
On my keychain at all times:

86k9401s2.jpg


Works a treat on getting the ticks off dogs (and humans).
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I've owned a pair of these for more than a decade.
Any tips for tick removal when using them?
 
Stelth said:
I've owned a pair of these for more than a decade.
Any tips for tick removal when using them?
Click to expand...

On my dog (which receives Frontline Plus treatments monthly) the ticks generally don't get a chance to "attach" before I remove them with the grippers. So I just pull 'em straight off.
(Normally several hours pass before a tick begins to feed.)

If the tick is attached, place the grippers as close as possible to the head of the tick and pull directly upward from the skin. Do not twist it out or you may break the tick and leave parts embedded (which can cause infection).

You don't want to squeeze the body of the tick which may cause the stomach contents to burst or cause the tick to regurgitate into the wound (which you want to avoid to prevent any infection from Lyme's disease.)

So, if it's already feeding, pull it straight up and out by grasping the head end.
(Then put it in a baggie and save it in the freezer for a week or two until you are sure you don't have any telltale symptoms of Lyme's disease. If nothing shows up, discard.)

Clean the grippers with alcohol after any contact with ticks.

Hope that helps.
 
Duncan's post number 14 in my thread about lazy day fishing, made me think of something I had not thought of in a long time. Sometimes the old guys will spring a surprise on you. Mr. Van was always full of surprises, and most of them taught us good lessons.

And one day, he showed us what could be done with a broomstick.

We'd been out for a weekend campout way up in West Virginia, and on the way back stopped at the little country store by the roadside that was the first place where the dirt road came out to a paved one. Old clapboard building, peeling paint, and sagging front porch, but it had a cold Coke machine, and a shelf full of snacks inside. We all piled in for a Coke and a candy bar, and were about halfway done with our scouting of the candy bar selection when a yell of protest got our attention.

Young Jimmy Parker, one of our younger and smallest scouts had already got his stuff and had walked out on the front porch, and right into the local lowlife bully that had pulled up in a car with a few of his pals. Big guys in black t-shirts with a pack of smokes rolled up in the sleeve, duck tailed haircuts. One had taken Jimmy's unopened candy bar, and when Jimmy had protested, slapped him. They were standing around making fun of his boy scout uniform, heckling him, and pushing him around. Inside the store, we his fellow scouts were in a moment of shock, then somebody yelled for us to go help Jimmy.

Before we could respond, something shoved me aside with a force that sent me bouncing off a cooler, and I saw it was Mr. Van rushing to the front of the store. He'd been picking up a new pouch of pipe tobacco, and had been at the back of the store. As he got to the front door, he paused for a brief second, took in the scene outside, then did a strange thing. He turned to the old man behind the counter, and told him to put the broom on the bill. He then grabbed the broom that had been leaning against the wall and stood it out at an angle, then stomped down on it hard, breaking it off. He then stepped out through the screen door with a section of broom stick in his hand.

Inside, we 12 year old scouts held our breaths, not knowing what was going to happen. Somebody made the comment we should take out our scout knives and go help, but it was all over in a minute.

The biggest of the bullys looked at Mr. Van and made a comment that now they had a big boy scout to deal with. They snickered a bit, and the big guy took a step towards Mr. Van and asked him if he wanted that stick shoved up his---. Mr. Van made no reply, he just hit him.

None of us saw it come or go, it was almost to fast to see. One moment M.r Van had been standing there with the stick held in both hands about waist level, then there was this blur, and the stick wacked right into the bully's face. It was a snapping blow, and the stick was back in both of Mr.Van's hands at waist level before we were sure of what had happened. The bully let out a yell of rage and came at Mr. Van. Only Mr. Van wasn't there.

He'd taken a hopping step to the side, and jumped down off the porch and was out in the dirt parking lot. The main bully followed him and we were sure it was going to be the end of Mr. Van. Mr. Van was a lean built guy, about 6 foot or maybe a bit over, but this country store bully was a huge guy. He was taller than Mr. Van with a lot more meat on him, even if a lot of it was the big beer gut. His two buddy's stayed on the porch, and cheered on their friend, yelling for him to stomp the boy scout.

The bully tried to rush Mr. Van, arms out to get a hold of him and pin him down, but Mr. Van just would do this side step or back step like a boxer, and every time the broom stick would strike out with a loud wack. The bully would yell with pain, then in an increasing rage, try again to get Mr. Van. He'd come in swinging ham sized fists, but again the stick would wack, and the bully would scream in pain and killing rage. Blood was running down the bullys face from where the stick had split the flesh on his face. Again the wack on a hand, or wrist, then finally Mr. Van did this ducking side step and with both hands drove the end of the stick into the bully and gut level. There was a woosh, like someone had pushed a big bellows together, and the bully crumpled into a fetal position in the dirt of the parking lot. Blood flowed from his face, one hand, and it seemed like some of the fingers on one hand were broken. He was done. Mr. Van had beat the stuffing out of him with a little bit of broom stick. It had only taken a minute or less. I know, because I don't think we 12 year old scouts could have held our breaths much longer.

About that time the sheriff's car pulled up with the red gumball on top going, and big guy in kahki's and a badge got out. It was sorted out in a minute, and cuffs were put on the bully in the dirt. The two others had drifted to the side and run off during all this. The sheriff asked little Jimmy if he'd do him a favor and testify that the bully had slapped him, so he, the sherriff, could charge him with assault on a minor and get rid of him for a while. Jimmy said he would. Names were taken, phone numbers and adresses. A deputy did most of that while the sheriff and Mr. Van had a talk. The sheriff had seen the globe and anchor tattoo on Mr. Van's arm and had grinned. It was summer and short sleeve shirts were the order of the day. On the sheriffs forearm was a faded very similar tattoo. I don't know what they talked about, but it seemed like they came to a agreement. As Mr. Van was walking away, herding us back on the old school bus that belonged to the church that sponcered our scout troop, the sheriff called over to Mr. Van.

"Hey Marine!"

Mr. Van turned, and the sheriff called "Semper Fi!"

"Semper Fi!" called back Mr. Van.

It was a quiet ride home, with Mr. Van sitting up front in a thinking mood. Much later, when we got home he talked to us. Told us how sometimes the world was not a nice place, and things like this happen. Told us that we needed to know how to defend ourselves. We were told to go out to the woods before the next meeting on Friday night, and cut ourselves a stick as long as our forearm and about as thick as a broomstick, and bring it to the next meeting.

That next Friday night, we found Mr, Van had gathered a collection of sports saftey gear from a handful of different sports. Hockey face masks, catchers masks, shin guards, hockey gloves, football shoulder pads. And spare sticks. That summer a bunch of kids learned what can be done with a piece of wood. Where to hit, where to jab, how to block a knife, how to strike back right from the block. There was long stick techniques, and short stick work. Mr. Van called it snap strike techniques.

I think it may have been one of a very few truely life changing summers of my life. It also taught me to be wary of an old guy with a stick in his hand that shows no fear. Especially if he has a globe and anchor tatoo on his forarm.

Carl.
 
jackknife said:
Duncan's post number 14 in my thread about lazy day fishing, made me think of something I had not thought of in a long time. Sometimes the old guys will spring a surprise on you. Mr. Van was always full of surprises, and most of them taught us good lessons.

And one day, he showed us what could be done with a broomstick.

We'd been out for a weekend campout way up in West Virginia, and on the way back stopped at the little country store by the roadside that was the first place where the dirt road came out to a paved one. Old clapboard building, peeling paint, and sagging front porch, but it had a cold Coke machine, and a shelf full of snacks inside. We all piled in for a Coke and a candy bar, and were about halfway done with our scouting of the candy bar selection when a yell of protest got our attention.

Young Jimmy Parker, one of our younger and smallest scouts had already got his stuff and had walked out on the front porch, and right into the local lowlife bully that had pulled up in a car with a few of his pals. Big guys in black t-shirts with a pack of smokes rolled up in the sleeve, duck tailed haircuts. One had taken Jimmy's unopened candy bar, and when Jimmy had protested, slapped him. They were standing around making fun of his boy scout uniform, heckling him, and pushing him around. Inside the store, we his fellow scouts were in a moment of shock, then somebody yelled for us to go help Jimmy.

Before we could respond, something shoved me aside with a force that sent me bouncing off a cooler, and I saw it was Mr. Van rushing to the front of the store. He'd been picking up a new pouch of pipe tobacco, and had been at the back of the store. As he got to the front door, he paused for a brief second, took in the scene outside, then did a strange thing. He turned to the old man behind the counter, and told him to put the broom on the bill. He then grabbed the broom that had been leaning against the wall and stood it out at an angle, then stomped down on it hard, breaking it off. He then stepped out through the screen door with a section of broom stick in his hand.

Inside, we 12 year old scouts held our breaths, not knowing what was going to happen. Somebody made the comment we should take out our scout knives and go help, but it was all over in a minute.

The biggest of the bullys looked at Mr. Van and made a comment that now they had a big boy scout to deal with. They snickered a bit, and the big guy took a step towards Mr. Van and asked him if he wanted that stick shoved up his---. Mr. Van made no reply, he just hit him.

None of us saw it come or go, it was almost to fast to see. One moment M.r Van had been standing there with the stick held in both hands about waist level, then there was this blur, and the stick wacked right into the bully's face. It was a snapping blow, and the stick was back in both of Mr.Van's hands at waist level before we were sure of what had happened. The bully let out a yell of rage and came at Mr. Van. Only Mr. Van wasn't there.

He'd taken a hopping step to the side, and jumped down off the porch and was out in the dirt parking lot. The main bully followed him and we were sure it was going to be the end of Mr. Van. Mr. Van was a lean built guy, about 6 foot or maybe a bit over, but this country store bully was a huge guy. He was taller than Mr. Van with a lot more meat on him, even if a lot of it was the big beer gut. His two buddy's stayed on the porch, and cheered on their friend, yelling for him to stomp the boy scout.

The bully tried to rush Mr. Van, arms out to get a hold of him and pin him down, but Mr. Van just would do this side step or back step like a boxer, and every time the broom stick would strike out with a loud wack. The bully would yell with pain, then in an increasing rage, try again to get Mr. Van. He'd come in swinging ham sized fists, but again the stick would wack, and the bully would scream in pain and killing rage. Blood was running down the bullys face from where the stick had split the flesh on his face. Again the wack on a hand, or wrist, then finally Mr. Van did this ducking side step and with both hands drove the end of the stick into the bully and gut level. There was a woosh, like someone had pushed a big bellows together, and the bully crumpled into a fetal position in the dirt of the parking lot. Blood flowed from his face, one hand, and it seemed like some of the fingers on one hand were broken. He was done. Mr. Van had beat the stuffing out of him with a little bit of broom stick. It had only taken a minute or less. I know, because I don't think we 12 year old scouts could have held our breaths much longer.

About that time the sheriff's car pulled up with the red gumball on top going, and big guy in kahki's and a badge got out. It was sorted out in a minute, and cuffs were put on the bully in the dirt. The two others had drifted to the side and run off during all this. The sheriff asked little Jimmy if he'd do him a favor and testify that the bully had slapped him, so he, the sherriff, could charge him with assault on a minor and get rid of him for a while. Jimmy said he would. Names were taken, phone numbers and adresses. A deputy did most of that while the sheriff and Mr. Van had a talk. The sheriff had seen the globe and anchor tattoo on Mr. Van's arm and had grinned. It was summer and short sleeve shirts were the order of the day. On the sheriffs forearm was a faded very similar tattoo. I don't know what they talked about, but it seemed like they came to a agreement. As Mr. Van was walking away, herding us back on the old school bus that belonged to the church that sponcered our scout troop, the sheriff called over to Mr. Van.

"Hey Marine!"

Mr. Van turned, and the sheriff called "Semper Fi!"

"Semper Fi!" called back Mr. Van.

It was a quiet ride home, with Mr. Van sitting up front in a thinking mood. Much later, when we got home he talked to us. Told us how sometimes the world was not a nice place, and things like this happen. Told us that we needed to know how to defend ourselves. We were told to go out to the woods before the next meeting on Friday night, and cut ourselves a stick as long as our forearm and about as thick as a broomstick, and bring it to the next meeting.

That next Friday night, we found Mr, Van had gathered a collection of sports saftey gear from a handful of different sports. Hockey face masks, catchers masks, shin guards, hockey gloves, football shoulder pads. And spare sticks. That summer a bunch of kids learned what can be done with a piece of wood. Where to hit, where to jab, how to block a knife, how to strike back right from the block. There was long stick techniques, and short stick work. Mr. Van called it snap strike techniques.

I think it may have been one of a very few truely life changing summers of my life. It also taught me to be wary of an old guy with a stick in his hand that shows no fear. Especially if he has a globe and anchor tatoo on his forarm.

Carl.
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Good story, Carl. Unfortunately, I found myself in a situation similar on my bike a year or so ago. Drunk idiot threw a half full beer bottle at my face from the car in front of me. I called the police. While we were waiting (he was in the liquor store reupping), I was hit and did not hit back. I was holding a big wrench. The police said I would lose if I took it to court because of the wrench (which I didn't even use because I realized I didn't want to hurt the idiot that bad). I wonder how that story would play out today with the stupid laws we have.
 
Nothing better then a story about a bully getting his ass kicked! That Mr. Van was something else Carl and you honor him well with your tales.
 
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Great story, It does remind me of some past incidents I was involved in...bullies are the same no matter where you are, insecure and useless without the backup of their buddies. :)

Good on Mr Van.
 
Good read Carl... My dad ( A Marine) told me when I was young to never underestimate anyone, irregardless of size or age.

Your story reminded me of a friend of mine. He is in his 50's, not very big and most would never think twice to give him grief. His dad was a Marine, and he was also.
He has been involved in various forms of Martial Arts since he was very young. About 7 years ago he was honored with being inducted into the Black Belt Hall of Fame.
 
Good on Mr. Van, I cannot abide that, especially people who do it to kids. Also, you can never judge a book by it's cover. A friend of mine is skinny as a rail, about 5'7", but will take a whole mob down swinging if he is defending his family or friends.
 
Well today is a shot in the pills :) driving to work I didnt get more than 5 mins up the road and my car that only had to last another couple months tops goes into melt down! I'm hoping its just a thermostat but when trying to save for an international permanent move taking a sick day at work doesnt help.

Cars, its a love hate relationship!
 
Carl, That was an EXCELLENT story! I enjoyed every bit of it.
It's good to know there was a MR. Van. ;)
-Bruce
 
Great story, Carl.

They do a lot of stick fighting in in escrima. I wonder if Mr. Van spent some time in the Philipines.
 
I am spending the next two weeks in PA with my folks. Gonna be fishing and shooting pool and all kinds of good stuff. I sent a knife to their house. Two knives. My fishing knife and a Buck 303 Cadet. Is this insanity? Has anyone else done this. My Dad is not a knife guy, so I can't borrow. And I can't be naked for two weeks!

I was surprised I chose the Buck as the primary.
 
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