I can't recall just where I read it, but it was some eastern philosophy that life is like a great wheel. If you wait long enough, it will come around in a circle.
I've come a circle.
When I was a kid in the scouts, Mr. Van had us do all sorts of things with our standard scout knives. I have made mention on how he wpould preach to us that if we had our pants on, we'd at least have our pocket knife with us. We built camp furnishings, tripods for cooking pots, emergency litters for carrying our injured scouts. But after we had proved ourselves to him, he'd relent and let us carry our leather handle scout sheath knives. Mine was a Case finn type, like the men of my childhood on the Choptank carried.
I don't know how many hours of a sometimes misspent youth I had hanging around the front porch of the Jenkins store, gleening invalueble tidbits of information from the esteemed members of the liers circle. But one of my most locked in memories was of each man carrying a small sheath knife. Nothing big mind you, not over 3 inches or so of blade. Or as old Bill Harding would put it, "a fingers worth of blade." Bill made a living from LaCompte Marsh, trapping thousands of muskrats and beaver, poaching an illegal deer now and then. Matt Rankin was a proffesional poacher. One dark night, I got to see first hand how with two .22 rounds, he took out two deer. A deadly shooter if ever there was one. Late at night it was not unusual to see his old Ford truck pulling away from the back of a resuraunt that would have venison on the special the next day. Both men, till very old age carried almost the same knife; a Case or Ka-bar little finn with a 3 inch blade.
Oh, they had a pocket knife on them. It was refered to as "Ma 'ol pen knife" or "that's ma jackknife." It was used for the cruder jobs they didn't want to use the "good" knife for. The little finn's.
On my journey thru life I went off on a few tangents here and there, but in the end came back to what I remember from my childhood. I carried all sorts of knives, stockmen, sodbusters, sak's, customs sheath knives. Now I'm back to a small pocket knife backed up with a small sheath knife. The combo seems to cover more, if not all, the bases a bit better. I remember old Bill telling me the virtues of his choice of knife one day, and now in the early part of the 21st centruy, those reasons seem as valid now as then. Just have to scale it down a bit for the sake of modern political corectness. I think sometimes of something Mr. Van told us once; "When you walk out your front door in the morning, you just can't tell what's going to happen in the course of the day till you get back home. Try to be prepared. Try to choose what you have in your pockets with care."
I love my peanut, and I love my basic sak. But if I have to lean a little on something in an emergency, I like the idea of a sheath knife. Dosen't have to be big, just sharp.
A year and a half ago my friend, Jim Krandall, gave me a Buck Hartsook. I really did not want it, or anything, for driving him around to his cancer treatments. Thats what friends are for. But he was set on giving me a gift, and he gave me a Hartsook like the one he carried. I admit that at first I thought the chemo treatments had gone to his head. I looked at the little knife and thought it some sort of joke. As I posted someplace else, can't recall where, the joke was on me. Or I sometimes wonder if he was trying to tell me something.
I carried the knife to be kind to Jim. At first. Then I learned some leasons I had forgiotten.
The knife was so convienent and it came out so easy. Nothing to open. Nothing to get gunk or foodstuff in. No way for a blade to fold up on me if I get stupid. Wash it off in a creek or sink with no place for water to collect. Weigths nothing. The little Buck made me think of the men back down on the bay. The little finn's they swore by. I let Jim know how much I came to love the little skeleton Buck.
Now Brett has brought me back full circle. I'll still have a small sak or the old Camillus scout knife stashed on me someplace, but I've went back to a small sheath knife in the side pocket for an un-folding pocket knife. Those men of the liers circle knew what I had forgot. Simple is good. In a time where guns are loaded with laser sights, tactical lights, and knives have gone fancy with gimicks as well, I remember a time when some men made a living in the outdoors with single barrel break open shotguns, bolt action .22 rifles, and small leather handle little finn knives.
Simple is good.
I've come a circle.
When I was a kid in the scouts, Mr. Van had us do all sorts of things with our standard scout knives. I have made mention on how he wpould preach to us that if we had our pants on, we'd at least have our pocket knife with us. We built camp furnishings, tripods for cooking pots, emergency litters for carrying our injured scouts. But after we had proved ourselves to him, he'd relent and let us carry our leather handle scout sheath knives. Mine was a Case finn type, like the men of my childhood on the Choptank carried.
I don't know how many hours of a sometimes misspent youth I had hanging around the front porch of the Jenkins store, gleening invalueble tidbits of information from the esteemed members of the liers circle. But one of my most locked in memories was of each man carrying a small sheath knife. Nothing big mind you, not over 3 inches or so of blade. Or as old Bill Harding would put it, "a fingers worth of blade." Bill made a living from LaCompte Marsh, trapping thousands of muskrats and beaver, poaching an illegal deer now and then. Matt Rankin was a proffesional poacher. One dark night, I got to see first hand how with two .22 rounds, he took out two deer. A deadly shooter if ever there was one. Late at night it was not unusual to see his old Ford truck pulling away from the back of a resuraunt that would have venison on the special the next day. Both men, till very old age carried almost the same knife; a Case or Ka-bar little finn with a 3 inch blade.
Oh, they had a pocket knife on them. It was refered to as "Ma 'ol pen knife" or "that's ma jackknife." It was used for the cruder jobs they didn't want to use the "good" knife for. The little finn's.
On my journey thru life I went off on a few tangents here and there, but in the end came back to what I remember from my childhood. I carried all sorts of knives, stockmen, sodbusters, sak's, customs sheath knives. Now I'm back to a small pocket knife backed up with a small sheath knife. The combo seems to cover more, if not all, the bases a bit better. I remember old Bill telling me the virtues of his choice of knife one day, and now in the early part of the 21st centruy, those reasons seem as valid now as then. Just have to scale it down a bit for the sake of modern political corectness. I think sometimes of something Mr. Van told us once; "When you walk out your front door in the morning, you just can't tell what's going to happen in the course of the day till you get back home. Try to be prepared. Try to choose what you have in your pockets with care."
I love my peanut, and I love my basic sak. But if I have to lean a little on something in an emergency, I like the idea of a sheath knife. Dosen't have to be big, just sharp.
A year and a half ago my friend, Jim Krandall, gave me a Buck Hartsook. I really did not want it, or anything, for driving him around to his cancer treatments. Thats what friends are for. But he was set on giving me a gift, and he gave me a Hartsook like the one he carried. I admit that at first I thought the chemo treatments had gone to his head. I looked at the little knife and thought it some sort of joke. As I posted someplace else, can't recall where, the joke was on me. Or I sometimes wonder if he was trying to tell me something.
I carried the knife to be kind to Jim. At first. Then I learned some leasons I had forgiotten.
The knife was so convienent and it came out so easy. Nothing to open. Nothing to get gunk or foodstuff in. No way for a blade to fold up on me if I get stupid. Wash it off in a creek or sink with no place for water to collect. Weigths nothing. The little Buck made me think of the men back down on the bay. The little finn's they swore by. I let Jim know how much I came to love the little skeleton Buck.
Now Brett has brought me back full circle. I'll still have a small sak or the old Camillus scout knife stashed on me someplace, but I've went back to a small sheath knife in the side pocket for an un-folding pocket knife. Those men of the liers circle knew what I had forgot. Simple is good. In a time where guns are loaded with laser sights, tactical lights, and knives have gone fancy with gimicks as well, I remember a time when some men made a living in the outdoors with single barrel break open shotguns, bolt action .22 rifles, and small leather handle little finn knives.
Simple is good.
. I get the chills just thinking about sweeping the snow off of the seat first. Nothing like that old wooden seat and thirty below zero.