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More Than Just a Hobby-->Favorite knife stories to tell?

Jun 19, 1999
In reading the responses of those of you who offered reflections on my posted topics, I realized that knives aren't just a hobby or a tool for some of you, but they bring a certain pride to their owner. They are, simlply, part of life, and for some of us, a big part. So I do appreciate all the responses to my "rookie," questions, but would like something a bit more sentimental from you this time, especially those of you who know the pride of custom-making a knife, or who grew up around knives.

I have followed your advice, checked out reccomended knives, and have delved even further into
an understanding of knives and their daily uses.

I want to know your personal favorite stroies involving knives. I'm not necessarily looking for a life-cahnging, heart-wrenching tear jerker. Just a story that involves a knife bringing much-needed protection, thrilling adventure, or, best of all, some "cutlry comedy."

Feel free to use a lot of space. I'm sure that these will be interesting.


"How I wish that somewhere there existed an island for those that are wise and of good will." -Albert Einstein
A Schrade Clipit once saved my let! Yep, true story. I had that clipit hanging from a belt loop on my jeans and dangling in my right front pocket. At the time, I was also playing with a CS "Warhead" throwing knife (a nice heavy thrower but a terrible design that breaks all to easily, but that is another story). I'd already been throwing knives for hours that day and was getting tired and sloppy. Not usually a big deal for most professional throwers as they are edgeless, but the CS Warhead happens to be very sharp and double edged.

Well damned if I didn't get sloppy and bring the Warhead down hard into my right thigh! Cut a clean hole an inch long in my pants. My first thought was "oh my God, I've sliced my leg open and this one is going to take stitches!" But I felt no pain and after a few seconds I realized there wasn't any blood! So I reached into my pocket and sure enough, that Schrade Clipit hanging there had taken the blow! There's a nice groove in the plastic handle now, but the groove has a story at least, and the knife did save my leg...
... when I picked up the Gigands at our local post office sing sent me as a trade, they were heavily packed. The postman insisted that we open the package to see if everything were as declared (good thing sing declared them as "knives"). As I was very excited to open it I whipped out my Military and started cutting. The postman's eyes almost popped out and the old lady beside me stepped back in horror.

Now I have my small traditional slipjoint folder (my "sheeple knife") to use so as not to scare the bejezzus of anyone!
I was at our local fair when I was about 10 or so with my horses. (I used to show) Any way, there was a kid about 6 or 7 years old in another tent who wouldn't quit bothering me. He had this sweet old shetland pony that he would take out in the ring and run and run around. The poor horse was too old to take it. Anyway, the little brat got mad at me one day for some reason I don't remember and told me he was going to have his big brother beat me up, and he had a big knife, so I better watch out! I was with my cousins and already had a family reputation as a knife knut. When he said that, I just smiled and pulled out my Schrade stockman and opened the large blade. I used to consider this a big knife until I saw a CS Vaquero Grande. That tends to alter you perception. I told him that "I was just showing this to him, I wasn't trying to threaten him." His eyes got about 2 inches across! It was great! When I asked if his brother's knife was this big, he stammered, "Y-yeah, its bigger!" I just laughed and walked away. I still think it was hilarious the way his eyes got all big like that.

Just because I talk to myself doesn't mean I'm crazy. What's wrong with getting a second opinion?
I've got one, nothing to do with saving lifes or anything heroic. I went to the toilet one day for some "BIG" business as i will always carry a book for reading but i was in a rush and didn't have one. So, i took out my gerber applegate folder and started playing while i'm at IT. When i was finished, i closed it with my pants down. It slipped, cut my thumb and nearly cut my twinkie OFF! As an advise for you guys out there, DON't play with your knife when you're in the toilet.

Power to the blade and lightsaber.
When I was 10 years old I went hiking over the desert hillside with a friend. About noon on a hot day we slid down a steep crumbled rock slope into an excavation for an industrial building foundation. We could not climb back out. Trying to climb up the crumbled rock was like trying to climb a backward running treadmill. The sharp sides of the excevation were 10-feet deep, smooth, and verticle. It was about 110-degrees in the shade and we were in the noon day sun. We were already out of water.

There was nothing in the hole to dig with except my 2-inch bladed pocket knife. We used the knife to dig a ladder in the side of the excavation wall and got out within about an hour. I don't know when people would have searched for us. I don't know when heat stroke might have cooked our little kid brains.

I don't let my kids out of civilization without a pocket knife and a disposable butane lighter.

"Defense against knife attack:
Option 1. If you have a gun shoot him."

[This message has been edited by Jeff Clark (edited 27 June 1999).]
On a lighter note: When I was 14 or 15 a little punk pulled a 3" gravity knife on me and flipped it open. It was all for show and there was no serious threat involved. At the time I was carrying a 9-inch-bladed folding pruning saw in my very deep trouser pocket. I casually pulled it out of my pocket and flipped open the 9" blade with the 1/4-inch-long pruning teeth. The overall tool when openned was about 19". Held near the butt-end it projected from my hand about 15". I gained considerable respect in the neighborhood from the group that witnessed the incident.

"Defense against knife attack:
Option 1. If you have a gun shoot him."
Here's a few of "duh" stories involving me and knives. "Duh" stories involve blood....my blood,and stupidity.
When I was a kid I was bitten by a rattlesnake while at scout camp. Everybody, I mean everybody came to my rescue with their butter-knife dull and rusting scout knives to cut the appropiate "X" incision to remove the venom. My knife was dull as everyone elses.
Anyway, by the time I reached the hospital I had been damaged to the point that the doctors laughingly told me that while I'd be fine, I'd never get rid of the scar left by those dull knives. They were right as the scar is still there after more than 30 years.
Another story involved a family Thanksgiving dinner, too much whiskey and a butcher knife. I had the honor of carving the bird at Dad's house. I was horrified at the dullness of the carving knife and made a big deal of sharpening it to perfection and showing everyone what a knife should look like.
Anyway, I cut an artery in my hand on the first or second slice, sending a stream of blood to the ceiling, several members of my family, and all over the dinner.
They went to a cafeteria. I went to the emergency room. That story surfaces annually to this day.
A year or so ago, I somehow opened the Sebenza usual to my nightstand during the night. Maybe I was sleepwalking or something (Yikes!!!!).
The alarm went off the next morning and I cut the hell out of myself when I reached for it.
I didn't feel a thing other tham the warmth of fluid as I slumbered. By the time I was conscious, the bed looked like a murder scens. I had to struggle with 4 sutures to my right hand (sewing with the retarded left) before cleaning up the carnage and getting to work.

Hows that for a few "knife stories"?
Never cut anyone but myself

The previous story reminded me of one my uncle told from his experience working pipeline in Alaska in the 1950s. A group of the workers were out in a line shack and had knocked off for the day. The had eaten supper and were playing poker and drinking. One of the men got up to go outside and have a "dump". He came running back in, saying that he'd been bitten by a snake. Sure enough, there were marks on his buttocks, so the drunk men set about slashing "X" marks on him with their hunting knives. Ouch!! They then had a debate over who would do the sucking. This they finally resolved and they took turns sucking out blood. The eventually got him bandaged and lying on his stomach in a bunk. They then went out into the early Arctic dawn to find the snake. The fellow had told them which log he had used, so they went over to look at it. No snake, but a VERY angry mother Canada Goose in her nest with obvious signs of why she was angry. The guy had been truly "goosed"!

Walk in the Light,