- Joined
- Dec 25, 2000
- Messages
- 868
Since so many people seemed to enjoy my "Waves of Disgrace" thread, I thought I'd offer a thread reflecting just the opposite. I'm very interested to see how many proud Emerson owners have had the chance to use their blades in emergency situations, and how your Emerson Knives performed when "the balloon went up". Here is my own offering.
I'm a rancher, but this wasn't always the case. In fact, up until two years ago, I never imagined myself living this life that I have now come to love. It all began when I was living in the Midwest and met a very wonderful lady on the internet. One thing led to another, we fell in love, and I picked up my life and moved to the mountains of Southern California to spend eternity with her.
She has owned and operated a successful Angora Goat business for quite some time now, and this business has become a very welcome way of life for me. I enjoy raising animals, and I love these beautiful mountains that we call home. But along with the good sometimes comes the bad, and this past summer brought alot of bad in the form of entirely too many Western Diamondback Rattle Snakes. And if there's one thing I HATE it's snakes. Ugh.
Angora Goats have horns, and with those horns they love to beat the hell out of the fenceline. Who repairs the fenceline? You guessed it; me. So this past July I was out repairing weak spots in the fenceline, with my trusty female Pitbull, Jazzabelle. Jazzabelle (Jazz) is a dog that my wife got from PitBull Rescue as a gift for me because my PitBull of 14 years recently passed away. Jazz isn't much interested in goats, which is fine because my wife's Border Collie, Scout, watches over the goats. Jazz prefers to walk around and sniff wildflowers, sunbathe, chase butterflies,....anything at all, as long as she's near me. She's clearly my buddy. As far as I could tell, she didn't have an aggressive bone in her body, until this hot July afternoon.
Jazz and I moved from one fencepost to the next, wiring and nailing. I was wearing a pair of thick suede gloves in order to avoid cuts and splinters. We were just about to walk back to the house for a cold drink when Jazz growled deeply. I followed her eyes down to my feet and froze for an instant. There, beside my right foot, was a stretched-out Western Diamondback, slowly moving himself into a coiled position, rattles just now beginning to give warning. Was I in condition white? I don't think so. The Rattler was very well camouflaged within a patch of weeds amongst the soft dirt. He must've been sleeping when we stumbled upon him. I'm usually quite alert to any possible danger, and looking back upon this episode I still don't see what I would've done differently.
Jazz sensed the imminent danger as her hackles were now raised high upon her back. As she lunged at the Rattler, I reacted with an instinctual grab to keep my favorite little dog from getting hurt. My gloved right hand was now violently clenched around this Rattlers head and neck. Never have I been so terrified, but never have I had such an all out desire to kill something. Perhaps this snake was as innocent as a newborn, laying there minding his own business, just being a snake. But to me, he was a threat to my happiness, and I found this entirely unacceptable. My ears were ringing with adrenalin and my mouth was dirt dry. I don't even remmber drawing my titanium LaGriffe from beneath my shirt. It just kind of magically appeared in my left hand. And then it cleanly and swiftly removed the snake's head as the snake thrashed wildly in my grip. The rattles continued their nauseating sound long after the head was seperated, and I had to look at the snake a good many times to make sure that I had in fact decapitated it. I kept envisioning this snake growing another head and attacking. But of course it didn't.
In the accompanying pix, you won't see my LaGriffe.
http://www.betactical.com/Blades/Rattler2000/index.htm
There's good reason for that; it's because I refuse to take it off. So instead you'll see my Cold Steel GunsiteII prodding at the snake's head. The GunsiteII is a damned good blade, and I had it clipped on during this snake encounter and could very easily have accessed it to dispatch the Rattler. But instead, I suppose I reached for the blade that I subconsciously trusted most. And it didn't let me down. Thanks Ernie and the entire Emerson staff for making blades that can be trusted and depended on.
------------------
Eric
"The best toys are the ones that you can put an eye out with."
[This message has been edited by Eric Blair (edited 01-08-2001).]
I'm a rancher, but this wasn't always the case. In fact, up until two years ago, I never imagined myself living this life that I have now come to love. It all began when I was living in the Midwest and met a very wonderful lady on the internet. One thing led to another, we fell in love, and I picked up my life and moved to the mountains of Southern California to spend eternity with her.
She has owned and operated a successful Angora Goat business for quite some time now, and this business has become a very welcome way of life for me. I enjoy raising animals, and I love these beautiful mountains that we call home. But along with the good sometimes comes the bad, and this past summer brought alot of bad in the form of entirely too many Western Diamondback Rattle Snakes. And if there's one thing I HATE it's snakes. Ugh.
Angora Goats have horns, and with those horns they love to beat the hell out of the fenceline. Who repairs the fenceline? You guessed it; me. So this past July I was out repairing weak spots in the fenceline, with my trusty female Pitbull, Jazzabelle. Jazzabelle (Jazz) is a dog that my wife got from PitBull Rescue as a gift for me because my PitBull of 14 years recently passed away. Jazz isn't much interested in goats, which is fine because my wife's Border Collie, Scout, watches over the goats. Jazz prefers to walk around and sniff wildflowers, sunbathe, chase butterflies,....anything at all, as long as she's near me. She's clearly my buddy. As far as I could tell, she didn't have an aggressive bone in her body, until this hot July afternoon.
Jazz and I moved from one fencepost to the next, wiring and nailing. I was wearing a pair of thick suede gloves in order to avoid cuts and splinters. We were just about to walk back to the house for a cold drink when Jazz growled deeply. I followed her eyes down to my feet and froze for an instant. There, beside my right foot, was a stretched-out Western Diamondback, slowly moving himself into a coiled position, rattles just now beginning to give warning. Was I in condition white? I don't think so. The Rattler was very well camouflaged within a patch of weeds amongst the soft dirt. He must've been sleeping when we stumbled upon him. I'm usually quite alert to any possible danger, and looking back upon this episode I still don't see what I would've done differently.
Jazz sensed the imminent danger as her hackles were now raised high upon her back. As she lunged at the Rattler, I reacted with an instinctual grab to keep my favorite little dog from getting hurt. My gloved right hand was now violently clenched around this Rattlers head and neck. Never have I been so terrified, but never have I had such an all out desire to kill something. Perhaps this snake was as innocent as a newborn, laying there minding his own business, just being a snake. But to me, he was a threat to my happiness, and I found this entirely unacceptable. My ears were ringing with adrenalin and my mouth was dirt dry. I don't even remmber drawing my titanium LaGriffe from beneath my shirt. It just kind of magically appeared in my left hand. And then it cleanly and swiftly removed the snake's head as the snake thrashed wildly in my grip. The rattles continued their nauseating sound long after the head was seperated, and I had to look at the snake a good many times to make sure that I had in fact decapitated it. I kept envisioning this snake growing another head and attacking. But of course it didn't.
In the accompanying pix, you won't see my LaGriffe.
http://www.betactical.com/Blades/Rattler2000/index.htm
There's good reason for that; it's because I refuse to take it off. So instead you'll see my Cold Steel GunsiteII prodding at the snake's head. The GunsiteII is a damned good blade, and I had it clipped on during this snake encounter and could very easily have accessed it to dispatch the Rattler. But instead, I suppose I reached for the blade that I subconsciously trusted most. And it didn't let me down. Thanks Ernie and the entire Emerson staff for making blades that can be trusted and depended on.
------------------
Eric
"The best toys are the ones that you can put an eye out with."
[This message has been edited by Eric Blair (edited 01-08-2001).]
