Once upon a time in America, an outdoorsman had a sheath knife. Note I said A sheath knife. This was before the days of Knife collecting, when parsimonious working men would live within thier means and one piece of gear was enough. Like our grandfathers who had one shotgun, one knife. Anyway, that outdoors knife was of a type that I don't think is made anymore, but I miss very much. The little leather handle sheath knife.
You all must know the one I'm talking about, it always had a 3 to 4 inch pointy slim blade, and a handle of brown leather washers stacked up under an aluminum birds beak pommel. If there was a guard it was a thin piece of brass. It was the standard knife for generations of outdoorsmen in this country, much like the lever action 30-30 was to rifles. They were made by companies like Case, Western, PAL, Ka-bar, and I think even Queen had one. Case still had one last I saw a while back, and still called it the Little Finn.
The were small by modern fixed blade standards, almost too slim looking, but they worked well. They would zip open a deer, or gut a bunch of pan fish or trout. They had a nice thin flat ground blade that got really sharp, and sliced anything well, no matter if it was the tenderloin or the onion that was going in the fry pan with the tenderloin.
Sometimes they even had a small hatchet and the leather handle knife in a piggy back sheath. When I was a kid you could always tell the seasoned outdoorsmen, they would have one of these little leather handle knives on thier belt, and the leather handle and the sheath would be a dark weathered brown with some water stain here and there. It was said that a real outdoorsmen would be able to do anything with that knife and hatchet combo.
I remember one man that sometimes hung out at the little general store outside Cambridge in the late 50's. His name was Bill, but I never knew if he had another name. He was a regular in the store where a bunch of crusty oldtimers sat on upended crates and chairs and drank coffee and told lies. But they all would say this guy Bill was the best trapper on the eastern shore. He'd come in with a bunch of muskrat pelts to sell, and they'd ask him where he got them. He always gave them a semi-rude reply that it was none of anyones beeswax. Bill always had one of these small leather handle sheath knives on him. The owner of this trading post/general store was one of the guys who liked to sit around the pot belly stove they had there, and he subsidised his loafer friends. There was always a coffee pot on the stove and a big wedge of hard chedder cheese on the counter. I'd watch as Bill took out his knife and slowly slice off a bit of cheese for himself before taking a seat in the liers circle. I felt uncommonly privleged to be allowed to sit and listen in on such high matters that was discussed there. Once in a while when a good part of a tale was being got to, they would look at me and say "Now don't you go repeating this, boy!" Sometimes I think they felt it thier job to educate me in the most important things in life such as why the "sweet 16" was the best shotgun, or the blood knot being the best for fishing line, or why a pocket knife should be sharpened with small circles rather than a slicing motion on the stone. These trading post loafers were the wise men of thier day and my young ears listened well.
Once I happen to be sitting on a crate that was next to the chair occupied by the infamous Bill, and while they were talking he reached back and took out his knife and stropped it carefully on his boot top. I watched in very rapt attention. One of the loafers, a good natured man named Guy, told Bill he had an attentive audience. Bill looked over and asked me if I liked knives. I knodded and said very much so, and I asked what brand knife he had there. He let me examine it and it was a genuine Ka-bar, and strait razor sharp. I was surprised at the finger of blade the knife had. I asked him if it was big enough for a hunting knife, and I'll never forget his reply, "It don't take much to slit open a hide, boy". Here was the reputed best trapper and hunter of the eastern shore telling me that the 3 inches of blade on that slim Ka-bar was all he needed.
I guess that was the signal, because every one of the trading post loafers then pulled out thier pocket knives and I got to see some good ones. There were Utica's and Imperials with bone handles, a Case or two was shown, and then everyone was looking at me. I felt awkward at all the stares and simply said "What?"
"Well, what have you got?" I was asked. Slowly I took out my Boy Scout knife my dad had given me a couple of Christmas's ago and handed it to Bill. He took it with some respect and looked at it carefully. He knodded with approval at the sharpness and asked me where I got it. I told him my dad gave it to me.
"Well then, it's the best one" he said as he handed it back to me.
I learned alot from the trading post loafers.
You all must know the one I'm talking about, it always had a 3 to 4 inch pointy slim blade, and a handle of brown leather washers stacked up under an aluminum birds beak pommel. If there was a guard it was a thin piece of brass. It was the standard knife for generations of outdoorsmen in this country, much like the lever action 30-30 was to rifles. They were made by companies like Case, Western, PAL, Ka-bar, and I think even Queen had one. Case still had one last I saw a while back, and still called it the Little Finn.
The were small by modern fixed blade standards, almost too slim looking, but they worked well. They would zip open a deer, or gut a bunch of pan fish or trout. They had a nice thin flat ground blade that got really sharp, and sliced anything well, no matter if it was the tenderloin or the onion that was going in the fry pan with the tenderloin.
Sometimes they even had a small hatchet and the leather handle knife in a piggy back sheath. When I was a kid you could always tell the seasoned outdoorsmen, they would have one of these little leather handle knives on thier belt, and the leather handle and the sheath would be a dark weathered brown with some water stain here and there. It was said that a real outdoorsmen would be able to do anything with that knife and hatchet combo.
I remember one man that sometimes hung out at the little general store outside Cambridge in the late 50's. His name was Bill, but I never knew if he had another name. He was a regular in the store where a bunch of crusty oldtimers sat on upended crates and chairs and drank coffee and told lies. But they all would say this guy Bill was the best trapper on the eastern shore. He'd come in with a bunch of muskrat pelts to sell, and they'd ask him where he got them. He always gave them a semi-rude reply that it was none of anyones beeswax. Bill always had one of these small leather handle sheath knives on him. The owner of this trading post/general store was one of the guys who liked to sit around the pot belly stove they had there, and he subsidised his loafer friends. There was always a coffee pot on the stove and a big wedge of hard chedder cheese on the counter. I'd watch as Bill took out his knife and slowly slice off a bit of cheese for himself before taking a seat in the liers circle. I felt uncommonly privleged to be allowed to sit and listen in on such high matters that was discussed there. Once in a while when a good part of a tale was being got to, they would look at me and say "Now don't you go repeating this, boy!" Sometimes I think they felt it thier job to educate me in the most important things in life such as why the "sweet 16" was the best shotgun, or the blood knot being the best for fishing line, or why a pocket knife should be sharpened with small circles rather than a slicing motion on the stone. These trading post loafers were the wise men of thier day and my young ears listened well.
Once I happen to be sitting on a crate that was next to the chair occupied by the infamous Bill, and while they were talking he reached back and took out his knife and stropped it carefully on his boot top. I watched in very rapt attention. One of the loafers, a good natured man named Guy, told Bill he had an attentive audience. Bill looked over and asked me if I liked knives. I knodded and said very much so, and I asked what brand knife he had there. He let me examine it and it was a genuine Ka-bar, and strait razor sharp. I was surprised at the finger of blade the knife had. I asked him if it was big enough for a hunting knife, and I'll never forget his reply, "It don't take much to slit open a hide, boy". Here was the reputed best trapper and hunter of the eastern shore telling me that the 3 inches of blade on that slim Ka-bar was all he needed.
I guess that was the signal, because every one of the trading post loafers then pulled out thier pocket knives and I got to see some good ones. There were Utica's and Imperials with bone handles, a Case or two was shown, and then everyone was looking at me. I felt awkward at all the stares and simply said "What?"
"Well, what have you got?" I was asked. Slowly I took out my Boy Scout knife my dad had given me a couple of Christmas's ago and handed it to Bill. He took it with some respect and looked at it carefully. He knodded with approval at the sharpness and asked me where I got it. I told him my dad gave it to me.
"Well then, it's the best one" he said as he handed it back to me.
I learned alot from the trading post loafers.
