Stories with a stockman

J

Jccrigger

Joined
Jul 15, 2013
Messages
85
I have a few stories with a stockman knife but not many but I love hearing other peoples stories of stuff the have done while using a stockman so let's hear your story with a stockman
 
Well...

For a while some time ago I carried an elderly Schrade 34OT. You know, sawcut delrin, 1095, the good stuff. Put a razor sharp edge on it, then carried it around. My most memorable moment with that sucker was going to camp and whittling on a stick with the main clip blade early in the morning, watching the sun hit the dew.
Not exactly deeds of daring do, or adventures with cattle, but an experience to be remembered.
 
I did a trach with one once--you mean that kind of story? No big deal really. I had a part time job as a pen-rider at the local stockyard, one of the guys fell* off his horse and wrapped his neck around the top board of the fence. I cut the end off a cigarillo tube one of the other riders had in his pocket, used the tip of the sheepsfoot blade to make the incision, and inserted the tube in the incision. Hardest part about it was listening to the guy complain that I'd dropped his last cigar in the muck.

*For almost 20 years he claimed he was knocked off by a steer; shortly before he passed away he admitted he was hung over and "just fell off".
 
coffeecup said:
I did a trach with one once--you mean that kind of story? No big deal really. I had a part time job as a pen-rider at the local stockyard, one of the guys fell* off his horse and wrapped his neck around the top board of the fence. I cut the end off a cigarillo tube one of the other riders had in his pocket, used the tip of the sheepsfoot blade to make the incision, and inserted the tube in the incision. Hardest part about it was listening to the guy complain that I'd dropped his last cigar in the muck.

*For almost 20 years he claimed he was knocked off by a steer; shortly before he passed away he admitted he was hung over and "just fell off".
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What do you mean, "no big deal really"! Maybe it's just because I'm a city slicker, but I think it's nothing short of miraculous that you could perform a tracheotomy with a stockman and a piece of plastic tubing.
 
Just got my first stockman.... So my best story is making a new hole in my belt.

But my grandpa told me he used to help his dad castrate pigs, and he used a spey blade on a stockman.
 
A couple of decades ago I worked at an aerospace company in a development lab. Aside from developing special materials which could not be purchased commercially, we did some small production runs of materials which were too finicky to be made in regular production. One of those materials involved casting a special rubber material on a sheet of plastic. The last stage of producing the sheets was to trim excess rubber so that it matched the size of the backing sheet. I used the spey blade on my Buck 303 to do so. I kept it just sharp enough that it would cut the rubber cleanly without being so sharp that it would cut into the backing. So a stockman spey blade was used to trim material used on an aircraft.
 
Just got one if these myself in maroon micarta. It's my first stockman and I'm thoroughly impressed with this pattern. I recommend it for anyone looking to add a new stockman to the collection.
 
coffeecup said:
I did a trach with one once--you mean that kind of story? No big deal really. I had a part time job as a pen-rider at the local stockyard, one of the guys fell* off his horse and wrapped his neck around the top board of the fence. I cut the end off a cigarillo tube one of the other riders had in his pocket, used the tip of the sheepsfoot blade to make the incision, and inserted the tube in the incision. Hardest part about it was listening to the guy complain that I'd dropped his last cigar in the muck.

*For almost 20 years he claimed he was knocked off by a steer; shortly before he passed away he admitted he was hung over and "just fell off".
Click to expand...

knarfeng said:
A couple of decades ago I worked at an aerospace company in a development lab. Aside from developing special materials which could not be purchased commercially, we did some small production runs of materials which were too finicky to be made in regular production. One of those materials involved casting a special rubber material on a sheet of plastic. The last stage of producing the sheets was to trim excess rubber so that it matched the size of the backing sheet. I used the spey blade on my Buck 303 to do so. I kept it just sharp enough that it would cut the rubber cleanly without being so sharp that it would cut into the backing. So a stockman spey blade was used to trim material used on an aircraft.
Click to expand...

Amazing stories guys. I've got a few stockmen but none such amazing stories yet.
 
I was born in 1949, the oldest of 5 children. My dad was an Army WWII vet, on a .30 cal. machine gun, 11 Airborne Division. Never talked much about what he did in the service to us kids. He passed away at 86 about a year ago.

I was raised on a farm in eastern Nebraska. Most all my dad's family were farmers. While growing up my dad was always busy at farming and doing odd jobs helping out neighbors. Seems like that is what they did back then. My dad loved to hunt, trap and fish. So when there was spare time and me being the oldest son, I was always tagging along with my dad from an early age. It seems my dad always had a Stockman in his pocket. He used it for everything around the farm, from cleaning game to castrating pigs. I remember when I was about 6 or 7, my dad told me we were going to go deer hunting. I couldn't wait for Saturday and opening morning to come. Neither my dad or myself had ever been deer hunting. We never had a lot of firearms in the house. An old Winchester .22 pump, a Remington 16 ga., and an old 03A3 Springfield .30-06.

Opening morning finally came. I remember getting up at 3 in the morning. My mom packing us a lunch in a brown paper bag, and everything wrapped in wax paper with a thermos of coffee and a quart jar of water to drink. We were hunting on a farm that was my dad's brothers, about 10 miles from where we lived, along the Platte River. The ride in the old 55 Ford pickup seemed to take forever, as it would only go about 45 mph. It had really low gears, and the old granny 4-speed.

I remember the walk in in the dark and my dad turning around and telling me to be quiet every 10 minutes. We finally got to a clearing inside the timber. There was an opening that my uncle had about 20 acres of corn planted, that was already picked. I remember setting by a big old Cottonwood tree, waiting for it to get light. When the sun finally come up, it was kind of a foggy, hazy morning, and you could see about 50-60 yds. Wasn't long before my dad whispered that there was a deer in the field. There were 2 does and a buck. I can still remember the boom of the .30-06 across that cornfield and seeing 2 of the 3 deer take off running across the field. We got up and walked down to where my dad shot and there was a nice little 4x4 whitetail buck laying on the ground. I remember my dad unloading the rifle and handing it to me to hold. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his old brown bone well worn Stockman, and in no time had the buck field dressed. I was amazed at how sharp that thing was.

It was the first time for us to have venison to eat, which most of our family enjoyed. My mom was a very good cook. And after that, my dad and I were deer hunting buddies forever, until he passed away last May. I hope when I get to heaven and see him, he still has that old .30-06 and that well worn Stockman and I can go deer hunting with him again.
 
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wackafew,

THAT was a fantastic story! Carl had better watch out! :)

What wonderful memories. Thanks for sharing that one.
 
I carried a Buck stockman for 25 years as my edc pocket knife. In January of 1991, I had to crawl into a wrecked Datsun/Nissan little thing that was upside down against the guard rail. A bit of a fire had started in the engine compartment where the battery had shorted out against the greasy engine. I just couldn't get the darn seat belt to release the lady hanging upside down in the driver seat. Used the sheep foot blade of the stockman to cut the belt and drop the idiot on her head.

It took a couple of coffee's from 7-11 to get the greasy tasting smoke out of my throat.
 
wackafew said:
I was born in 1949, the oldest of 5 children. My dad was an Army WWII vet, on a .30 cal. machine gun, 11 Airborne Division. Never talked much about what he did in the service to us kids. He passed away at 86 about a year ago.

I was raised on a farm in eastern Nebraska. Most all my dad's family were farmers. While growing up my dad was always busy at farming and doing odd jobs helping out neighbors. Seems like that is what they did back then. My dad loved to hunt, trap and fish. So when there was spare time and me being the oldest son, I was always tagging along with my dad from an early age. It seems my dad always had a Stockman in his pocket. He used it for everything around the farm, from cleaning game to castrating pigs. I remember when I was about 6 or 7, my dad told me we were going to go deer hunting. I couldn't wait for Saturday and opening morning to come. Neither my dad or myself had ever been deer hunting. We never had a lot of firearms in the house. An old Winchester .22 pump, a Remington 16 ga., and an old 03A3 Springfield .30-06.

Opening morning finally came. I remember getting up at 3 in the morning. My mom packing us a lunch in a brown paper bag, and everything wrapped in wax paper with a thermos of coffee and a quart jar of water to drink. We were hunting on a farm that was my dad's brothers, about 10 miles from where we lived, along the Platte River. The ride in the old 55 Ford pickup seemed to take forever, as it would only go about 45 mph. It had really low gears, and the old granny 4-speed.

I remember the walk in in the dark and my dad turning around and telling me to be quiet every 10 minutes. We finally got to a clearing inside the timber. There was an opening that my uncle had about 20 acres of corn planted, that was already picked. I remember setting by a big old Cottonwood tree, waiting for it to get light. When the sun finally come up, it was kind of a foggy, hazy morning, and you could see about 50-60 yds. Wasn't long before my dad whispered that there was a deer in the field. There were 2 does and a buck. I can still remember the boom of the .30-06 across that cornfield and seeing 2 of the 3 deer take off running across the field. We got up and walked down to where my dad shot and there was a nice little 4x4 whitetail buck laying on the ground. I remember my dad unloading the rifle and handing it to me to hold. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his old brown bone well worn Stockman, and in no time had the buck field dressed. I was amazed at how sharp that thing was.

It was the first time for us to have venison to eat, which most of our family enjoyed. My mom was a very good cook. And after that, my dad and I were deer hunting buddies forever, until he passed away last May. I hope when I get to heaven and see him, he still has that old .30-06 and that well worn Stockman and I can go deer hunting with him again.
Click to expand...

Hopefully you will find time to post a pic of them for us. Great story
 
I don't have an exciting story to tell other than to relate that I recently found my father's old stockman pocket knife among a pile of tools.

My dad died in 1966. I remember him carrying a pocket knife, like everyone back then, but I never knew what happened to it or what kind of knife it was. When my mom died in 1980, it fell upon me to clean out her house--the house where I grew up--and get it ready to sell. I boxed and carted home and put into storage a lot of stuff without ever going through it closely. Among these items were a few hand tools in cardboard boxes but, since I already owned tools, I never needed to use any of them. At some point, I dumped these tools in a big red steel tool box and, after getting married and buying a house, I put that box on a shelf in the storage room. A couple of weeks ago, I was looking for something to use for a project and thought maybe there was something I could use in that old tool box. Although I never found what I was looking for, I did discover a small stockman pocket knife under a mountain of rusty old wrenches.

When I examined it I realized it was my dad's old pocket knife. Nothing special, just a Schrade 108OT Old Timer covered in gunk and some rust. I recognized it immediately although I didn't remember it being so small. I soaked it in oil and scrubbed off the decades accumulation of dirt and rust. It's not pretty but the worn-down blades sharpened up nicely and a lot of memories started flooding in of my dad using that knife for everything. He was a hunter and he used it to skin a lot of small game as well as complete every necessary cutting task. I'm sure he never owned more than one pocket knife at a time so it had to do for whatever job came up. It served him well.

I will treasure this knife for the rest of my days.
 
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