- Joined
- Jul 3, 2001
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- 6,135
One afternoon in the summer of 1974, I was 13 years old and bowhunting for one of the most dangerous and cunning animals on the North American continent.....the chipmunk. After missing my mark several times, I pulled the last arrow from the quiver and noticed that the plastic nock was missing. Well, trying to be resourceful, I decided to take my knife and cut a new nock into the end of the wooden arrow. When I began to cut down on the arrow, the blade, you know the one that's "famous for holding an edge", was so sharp that in instantly sliced through the wooden shaft and cut my left index finger all the way to the bone. It was so deep that I had to get 4 or 5 stitches. The knife I was using was my Buck 105 Pathfinder that my grandfather had bought me a few months earlier. It was my first real sheath knife.
Twenty eight years later, I still have the scar on my finger and the Buck 105 that I still use in the field and around the house.
Twenty eight years later, I still have the scar on my finger and the Buck 105 that I still use in the field and around the house.