Favorite Knife Memories - we all have them!

B

Bryson S

Joined
Oct 15, 2018
Messages
26
Dear all,

I thought it would be nice to have a place where we could share our favorite knife memories or associations with knives. Such memories, for me, are one of the things that make carrying or owning specific knives extra meaningful.

For example, I was three when my paternal grandpa died, so I don't have any memories of him, something that's always bothered me. I want to know who the man was who raised my own father.

About two years ago, when I was visiting my parents, my dad brought out some of the knives that his father had owned, and told me to take whatever I wanted. One of the knives, an old Schrade I think, wasn't in itself remarkable, but when I opened the blade I found a thumb print lightly rusted into the side of the blade. Was this my grandfather's own fingerprint? I can't know for sure, but it was his knife, and he often used it and sharpened it, so chances are it is his. This is a connection to him, a man partially responsible for my existence, which I really value. I don't carry the knife for fear of losing it, but it sits on my shelf and whenever I see it I'm reminded of the man who raised my own father. This has become particularly salient for me because I now have a one year old son myself, and already I'm looking forward to someday passing down my own knife collection to him, including his great grandfathers knife.

I really hope others will take the opportunity to share their favorite memories associated with a knife!

Best,
Bryson
 
About 40 years ago I took a couple of Chinese made (American Camper) machetes on a summer camping trip. In short order both knives were wrap around a limb (1-2 inches) like a soggy noodles. I left them there and came back determined to find a better option; I am still looking for the perfect tool.


N2s
 
My grandfather got me into knives when I was a kid. He was all about the traditional small folders with 3 or 4 blades.

He gave me some very old knives from his father (my great grandfather), and some of his own.
Those knives stay in a small display case. They only come out for cleaning and oiling.

Irreplaceable.
 
not2sharp said:
About 40 years ago I took a couple of Chinese made (American Camper) machetes on a summer camping trip. In short order both knives were wrap around a limb (1-2 inches) like a soggy noodles. I left them there and came back determined to find a better option; I am still looking for the perfect tool.


N2s
Click to expand...
You should go back out to the spot with a metal detector. Maybe your machetes are buried there
 
I used to own a Buck 112 Ranger that I carried when hunting with my father.

Both are long gone. My father due to cancer and a heart attack, the 112 because some slimeball stole it out of my car.

Out of all the knives that I have bought and sold, traded or gifted away, the 112 is the one I miss the most. Not because it’s a great knife but, because of the memories of times with my father.
 
My uncle Bob gave me his Army issue "Demo" knife when he came home from Viet Nam in 1963. (I was 8)

That particular knife is long gone now. I think my mum stole it when she divorced my pappy.

(the gods know she stole most of my stuff and gave it to my future step brother, or trashed it.)
(yes. my mum was a proper term for a female dog. I Don't know if that changed with her passing. I kinda doubt it. If someone calls me a S.O.B I just agree with them.)

I don't recall anymore if it was a real genuine Camillus manufacture, or from one of the other companies that made them for the various military branches under government contract.
I know the one the Army Reserves issued to me in 1975 (I still have it) was manufactured by Western Cutlery in Bolder, CO.
 
One of my favorite knife memories is my dad giving me my first knife, a little red Case. I carried it everywhere, and unfortunately carried it to the beach in my pocket. Maybe it washed up on an island and saved a castaway, or helped some tribe get into coconuts easier lol
 
Crikeyyy said:
My grandfather got me into knives when I was a kid. He was all about the traditional small folders with 3 or 4 blades. He gave me some very old knives from his father (my great grandfather), and some of his own. Those knives stay in a small display case. They only come out for cleaning and oiling. Irreplaceable.
Click to expand...

How about taking them out for photographs so that we can see those treasures. :thumbsup:
Would be cool to see them.



Ray
 
I have a ton of those memories. Most mean nothing to anyone but myself, or my wife. I can have a pleasant knife use memory from something as mundane as opening a can of beans with a Sak. Levelling out a flat spot on a sandy bank in the far northern Boreal forest. Using shoreline wood in the emberlit stove to warm the beans while watching a large peaceful river. Smelling the wood smoke and pine trees/ moss. The warm sand, the fresh air as I scavenge burnable indigenous materials. I'm getting older. I hope that I go out in a spot like that, instead of in a traffic accident.
 
Sounds kinda dumb, but back when I was 17 my friend and I were backpacking in Roaring Plains West Wilderness in WV in Mid-July. We got kinda lost after following a game trail, and it was starting to get dark, so we decided to make dinner and decide what to do next. Well, as I'm taking the food out, my friend starts freaking out. Apparently he saw a bear around a 100 feet out and he believed it was coming towards us. Well, I had my Kabar USMC with my Azwelke kydex sheath on my hip and I had given my friend my Buck 119, so I told him to take his knife out too. At that moment I was incredibly thankful that I had brought something more substantial than my PM2. Anyways, we started yelling and making noise, and I'm trying to look and spot the bear my friend is freaking out about. A minute passes, and none of us see the bear. My friend admitted that he may have not seen one after all. Crisis averted. Looking back, we probably would have died if the bear had attacked us. And not bringing bear spray was a big mistake. But man, that feeling of holding a big ass piece of steel- and thinking you might have to end up using it in a life or death situation- was exhilarating.
 
This time if year I think about Christmas of 1987. I was 6, almost 7. It was the first year that something was under the tree for me before Santa showed up. "To: Jacob. From: Dad". It was small...it was heavy. It was about 6" long was wrapped in my dad's telltale untalented style.

I picked that box up and rattled it for weeks. My dad put it there just to torture me, I'm sure. It was the first thing I wanted to open Christmas morning.

Inside was a multitool. Now by our standards as knife knuts it was pretty paltry. Black plastic grip with crescent wrench head. Screwdrivers folded out from the side as did a saw and some other odds and ends. However, on that plastic scale in gold paint was "Jacob". As far as I was concerned, Vulcan had never crafted such a fine tool as this.

I took that tool all over hells half acre with me. Cut and sawed and found nuts to turn. I had that tool for all of about 5 months before I lost it in the woods. My old man knew it would happen. Kids lose stuff. What I didnt lose was an appreciation for a good sharp knife and pocket full of rudimentary tools.

Over 30 years later, I still carry a good knife and a multitool. I'm lucky enough that my dad and I get to work along side each other. The lesson that taught me that stuck with me the most helps me in my dad to day work more than any other. A man with some knowledge, some imagination, and a couple tools can figure out most any problem that needs to be fixed.
 
the first time I closed a folder on my finger...wasn't the last time either but man did that one stick in my head
 
memories with knives??!
one stands out!
met a gal.
and after a couple of dates
took out my box of knives.
aaaand.... never saw her again.
yup, a good thing too.
it would have been tragic to find out later
that it's either the knives or your better half :-)
 
Oh man - lots. Best and most significant would be how it all started. My grandfather died when I was very young but my grandmother kept a box with all his knives in the garage. From an extremely young age I would get the box down, line up all the knives and basically just study them in amazement. Mostly were just general store knives, slipjoints, bucks and some marbles or handmade hear or there. From that time on I was hooked.

Worst memory. When I was a kid my Dad got a new hen and rooster 3 blade stock man at the state fair (purple-ish/mulit color acrylic or bone if I remember right) buck 303 size. Not the most expensive knife but would have been very expensive for us at the time. Driving home I was using it to open all the baseball cards I got and managed to loose somehow. We never found it. To my amazement - Dad didn't get mad, but I could tell he was really disappointed. I would kill to find that same knife and replace it even after 25+years.
 
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my father practiced martial arts and had a samurai like sword that I always tried to get to when I was around five or so. One day I got real close and he unsheathes it to show me how dangerous it was. Since then I’ve always had a love and fascination with knives.

my stepfathers father(more of a grandfather to me than anyone) always uses his knives for everything and kept them tremendously sharp. Never trusted anyone else’s knives to be just as sharp so he always uses his own.

my father would spend hours and hours at the knife shop finding the perfect blade on a weekend. I was always a little scared because the shop had so many insane blades and armor around and during the nineties everything had a sort of heavy metal medieval torture type of vibe eg: cold steel
 
My dad bought me my first knife when I was in 3rd grade. A Smokey mountain knife that was a cheap SAK clone. It fell apart but he had bought another one for when that happened. When we went on vacation we would spend a couple hours in a knife shop almost drooling on the knives while mom and my sisters shopped at the other stores.
 
My grandpa let me do some whittling with his 3-bladed buck slipjoint when we were camping sometime around when I was 6 years old. I closed the blade on my pointer finger, splitting it pretty darn good right about in the corner of the nail. It bled for a good long time and I remember it now 40+ years later how much it hurt.

My only thought was not to let him see it because he wouldn't let me borrow his knife ever again. I could literally walk you back to that spot on the end of Stanton Lake in the Bob Marshall Wilderness today. I remember exactly where it happened.

My grandfather is long gone. He remains one of my very few hero's.

I still have the scar, and every year in the winter it cracks. Especially when I am in the shop a lot. That's the other thing I got from my grandfather - my love for woodworking. So every year I super glue the cracks in my fingertips except that one. I let it hurt a little. Brings back one of the best memories I have.
 
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