At a rest area once, I found a Vic Mauser in the gutter. Nice find and I used it for several months till I myself lost it. I figured that it just wasn't meant to be. Sure loved that knife.
Like the "one ring," it loosed itself from you to go on to the next victim. If you'd had it long enough it would have warped you into a Gollum-like creature.
My first knife was a Vic Huntsman (or was it a Woodsman, can't remember whether there was a difference between the two back then) but before they put the silly package hook on it. Got it in '76 or so when I was in fourth grade, I think. I've posted this story before so I may have that info mixed up. Anyway, it was a present from my dad after one of his many business trips to Europe. He was in Switzerland and brought me an actual Swiss Army Knife from the SAK motherland. I loved it, carried it everywhere. It went from my pocket into a book bag for safe keeping when I arrived at school every day, and really taught me a lot about tools and knives, getting injured using them, and how badly I could cut myself before I needed an adult to look after the wound (which i decided was never, as I didn't ever require stitches and I was afraid I'd have the knife taken from me; so I just used bandaids and tape and my folks got used to me having small cuts).
Jump to 1985, I was on a pre-semester trip before starting my first year at Guilford College in Greensboro NC. I was with five other seventeen- or eighteen-year-olds on the Photon, a fifty-foot aluminum sloop the college owned for these adventure experiences and for their marine bio program. It was docked in Wilmington and we were to sail off the coast of the Outer Banks for seven days. After a day-long run to Okracoke on one leg of the trip, we had been up all day and night in a storm and were recovering from the wet and the strain and some of us from the seasickness. I sat down on the deck, feet over the side, arms over the shrouds, enjoying the harbor at night and talking to a new friend and future classmate and now fellow Guilfordian. I felt my red SAK buddy slide out of my pocket, "thunk" off the fiberglass part of the deck we were sitting on, and then "bloop" down into Okracoke harbor. Any other time I'd have been bent out of shape. But I was too tired to get worked up and when my friend said, "You're never gonna see that thing again," I knew I couldn't do a thing about it and just let it go. I seem to remember our captain, Deb, saying that the part of the harbor we were in was about sixty feet deep and that anyone who dove there would find not only my knife but hundreds more. For some reason it put a smile on my face. I learned the value of lanyards that night.
I eventually replaced the knife with another just like it and carried it all through college and then on my first jobs after graduation and on a trek through North America ending up in Alaska for some months. But now, for the life of me I can't remember where that one went. I know I had it in grad school in DC in '92 as I remember showing off the thumbprint left in it where my 100% DEET-saturated hands had melted the scales during my time in Alaska. Now it too is gone. It is very possible I gave it away, but I just can't remember.
Two stories of ones that didn't get away: My newest Vic, my GAK/Trekker slid out of the leg pocket of a pair of carpenter jeans. I'd had a long day and was sitting on the grass looking west hugging my knees to my chest. It slid right out like the one had done on the Photon. I never heard it hit the grass. I sweated looking for it the next day when I remembered where I'd been and there it was, covered in ants. I added a pocket clip to it shortly thereafter. Some winters before that, a friend and I were snowshoeing in the mountains here in CO when I noticed my SOG Paratool was gone from my pocket. I had worn out the nylon sheath and was carrying it in my front pocket but again, I'd forgotten the 1985 Okracoke lanyard-lesson. Somehow the Paratool had worked its way up and out, or maybe it was in a jacket pocket and slipped out the side. I was suddenly sure I could find it. I calmly walked back on our tracks and stood looking for a moment in the snow. Besides our own tracks there was nothing. Then I spotted in the sun a perfectly rectangular hole in the snow. Like a cookie-cutter, it had left a imprint in the snow when it fell out of my pocket. I reached down into the hole and there it was, about elbow-deep in the powder. My friend said, "That's amazing. You shouldn't even be looking at that thing right now. It should be gone forever!" I suppose it's testament to learning to stand still and observe. But knowing how far back along the trail to look was a complete guess. I would say I just went back to where I last noticed it in my pocket and kept my eyes peeled along the way. I still have both the GAK and Paratool and they both get a lot of use in Spring, Summer, and Fall. I'm always thinking of new ways to carry and secure my pocket tools, especially as a horseman.
Zieg
WAS I should say! 
My own damn fault LOL... 
:thumbup:
