I don't know why, but these strange French knives seem to stick with me like a hide out bottle of cheap gin to a closet alcolic.
I've downsized repeatedly, and now actually own very few pocket knives. Just my family old ones and a couple of saks. And the Opinels.
I've fooled on and off with them since I got hooked by the first one back around 1979 or 80. I've carried and used the heck out of them, sanded down the handles and stained and varnished them. I do like the way they cut, and the funcky old timey design does apeal to me. But I have nicer knives to carry. I mean, the Hen and Rooster was the hight of beautifull production knives, and the thin carbon blades cut great. And my Wenger SI is built like a tank and has many uses aside from just a cutting tool. Yet the humble Opinel keeps somehow finding it's way into my pocket almost of it's own develish volition.
There were times I gave them away, thinking the craze was over. I had a nice number 9 that I had done a Minwax golden oak stain and linseed oil finish on. One day a co-worker who had lost his pocket knife borrowed it to cut something and was ammazed at how it went right through the material. I told him to keep it with my best wishes. He protested and I made him give me a coin for it so the friendship would not be cut. He'd never heard of the supperstision and thought it funny. But later that day he insisted on buying me lunch, so for the price of a bacon cheeseburger and medium root beer I had the satisfaction of knowing my co-worker was equipted with a good knife. I told myself I had "better" knives and did'nt need some cheap French penny knife. I did'nt. For about 3 months. Then I bought another and broke out the sandpaper and varnish.
So thats how it is, I'm a closet Opinel addict. No matter what else I owned, there was always an opy lurking about, like Marleys ghost, and I tried to ignore it. I'd go to cut something, and my fingers would brush the nice stockman or sak in my pocket, but then seek out the round wood handle of the Opinel of the day. A nice number 8 I had reshaped the handle to look like a small navaja, or the compact little number 7 with the Helmsman spar urathane finish. In winter, a navaja shaped number 12 rides in the big flap pocket of my Filson cruiser coat. At 10 years old its done yeomans duty on sandwiches out in the woods, apples to be shared with my Karen while sitting on a log nature watching, light battoning in wet weather to get a small fire going to roast some hot dogs while out with the family. The number 12, like all Opinels is very light weight for its size. A regular number 7 is so light, it can be dropped into a pocket right alongside another pocket knife and you can't tell the pocket is any heavier.
I guess its never too late to admit to a problem. I'll just light my candle and face the camera. "Hello, my name is Carl, and I'm an Opinel addict."
I've downsized repeatedly, and now actually own very few pocket knives. Just my family old ones and a couple of saks. And the Opinels.
I've fooled on and off with them since I got hooked by the first one back around 1979 or 80. I've carried and used the heck out of them, sanded down the handles and stained and varnished them. I do like the way they cut, and the funcky old timey design does apeal to me. But I have nicer knives to carry. I mean, the Hen and Rooster was the hight of beautifull production knives, and the thin carbon blades cut great. And my Wenger SI is built like a tank and has many uses aside from just a cutting tool. Yet the humble Opinel keeps somehow finding it's way into my pocket almost of it's own develish volition.
There were times I gave them away, thinking the craze was over. I had a nice number 9 that I had done a Minwax golden oak stain and linseed oil finish on. One day a co-worker who had lost his pocket knife borrowed it to cut something and was ammazed at how it went right through the material. I told him to keep it with my best wishes. He protested and I made him give me a coin for it so the friendship would not be cut. He'd never heard of the supperstision and thought it funny. But later that day he insisted on buying me lunch, so for the price of a bacon cheeseburger and medium root beer I had the satisfaction of knowing my co-worker was equipted with a good knife. I told myself I had "better" knives and did'nt need some cheap French penny knife. I did'nt. For about 3 months. Then I bought another and broke out the sandpaper and varnish.
So thats how it is, I'm a closet Opinel addict. No matter what else I owned, there was always an opy lurking about, like Marleys ghost, and I tried to ignore it. I'd go to cut something, and my fingers would brush the nice stockman or sak in my pocket, but then seek out the round wood handle of the Opinel of the day. A nice number 8 I had reshaped the handle to look like a small navaja, or the compact little number 7 with the Helmsman spar urathane finish. In winter, a navaja shaped number 12 rides in the big flap pocket of my Filson cruiser coat. At 10 years old its done yeomans duty on sandwiches out in the woods, apples to be shared with my Karen while sitting on a log nature watching, light battoning in wet weather to get a small fire going to roast some hot dogs while out with the family. The number 12, like all Opinels is very light weight for its size. A regular number 7 is so light, it can be dropped into a pocket right alongside another pocket knife and you can't tell the pocket is any heavier.
I guess its never too late to admit to a problem. I'll just light my candle and face the camera. "Hello, my name is Carl, and I'm an Opinel addict."
