From 1980 to 1997 I worked with this guy Wayne. We became very good friends, and very often after work we'd go by the range and do some shooting. Wayne was a good hand with a Smith and Wesson model 41, and he set a high bar for me to compete with using my Ruger MK2 bull barrel. Sometimes on weekends Karen and I would get together with Wayne and his wife, Debra, for an outing or dinner. Wayne was a a little amused by my accumulation of knives. He was one of those older guys who live their whole life with just one little pocket knife.
I'd met wayne when I went to work there after serving my apprentice work at another shop. You always have to move on after getting your papers because they will always look at you as the apprentice. At the new shop I continued to learn from the older guys who had been at it longer than me. Guys like Wayne who had gone into the work after high school. I did'nt get into it till after my medical discharge from the army, so they had 10 years or more practical experiance on me. Wayne was 10 years older than me, and we became buds. I learned alot on the job from him, as well as to how to be a family man, as he was a bit ahead of me in that area as well.
Wayne was loyal to his little Buck 309 companion. His wife had bought him the pocket knife for a birthday gift some years ago as his old pocket knife was worn out. It had been carried since junior high school and had a couple of sharpened toothpicks for blades, so Deb had decieded Wayne needed a new knife. Knowing his old one was a small two bladed pen knife, Deb went to a knife shop and after advise from the sales person bought her hubby the Buck. That little two blader became Waynes new "go to" knife. He'd never use anything else. One reason was the sentiment, the other was Wayne was one of those one knife guys like my dad with his peanut. He never had "our disease".
One time we were out in a row boat fishing on the Potomac river, and Wayne dug into his lunch pack and took out a sandwich. Using his little 309 companion, he cut up some more peperoni to go on the sandwich and I asked him how he got along with a tiny pen knife like that.
"I gave up carrying a large knife when I got big enough to go bear hunting with a switch." was all he jokingly replied. And Wayne was a big guy. He sometimes had a resemblence to a large happy St. Bernard.
Another time we were squirrel hunting, he had his old Remington Speedmaster and I had my old Marlin 39. We got our bag and Wayne used his buck pocket knife to skin and dress those squirrels like a surgon. You'd have thought that the squirrel skins were on there with zippers the way he did it with that little Buck. Later his wife made a pot of chillie using the squirel and it was great.
But there came a time when his love of that little Buck would be put to the test.
We'd been planning to go crabbing ourselves because of the high cost of a bushel of crabs. We got some chicken necks and a couple of the Chinese style crab traps and planned a trip down to Solomans Island Maryland. This is a penninsula that sticks out on the water and is a great area for crabbing. They even have a crabbing pier for all night fishing. We'd made the plans to go at midnight, crab till dawn, then go home and have a crab feast. Since Solomans
was a good two hours drive from our area, it would give the girls back home time to get mobilized with the kettle. They got to sleep while their men went out to get the game. Kind of going back to the hunter/gatherer thing.
We had a good time down there at the pier, some other guys were out night crabbing, and we all had a good sized cooler. Not for the crabs, mind you, they went in a bushel basket, but for the beer. One cannot go crabbing without the beer. If the mighty hunters are going out all night in pursuit of the food while the gatherers are home sleeping, we may as well have a good time doing it!
So there is the scene of the upcomming drama. A bunch of guys out on a crabbing pier at Solomans Island, drinking all night and having a good time, and maybe not quite sober. It happened in the hours just before dawn. We'd had a good night, a bushel basket about 3/4 full of some nice jumbo Chesapeake Bay crabs, a mostly empty cooler of beer, and some snacks. Wayne and I were going to share the last slim jim in the snack bag, and Wayne neatly sliced it in half with the precision of the master machinist and tool and die maker he was. He set the little Buck knife on the wooden rail of the pier and what followed was uncertain. One of us bumped the knife, we don't till this day really know, but the knife was shoved off the wood railing and dropped into the water below with a soft plop.
There was a frozen moment of time that we stared at the water were the knife disappeared, then Wayne yanks off his shirt and starts untieing his sneakers.
"What are ya doin?" I ask him.
"I'm going after my knife!" Wayne says.
"We don't know how deep the water is"
"We're crabbing, not deep sea fishing!"
He had a point, the pier was only a few feet above the water, and lowering the crab traps to the bottom I don't think we had more than 6 to 8 feet of line out. Wayne climbs over the rail and jumps into the water with a big splash. Guys come running over to see whats up. I tell them he's going after a pocket knife, as Wayne disappears from view.
A few bubbles come up, and for a while theres no Wayne. Then he breaks the surface and gasps a deep breath.
"Its dark as hell down there! Can't see a thing!"
Franticly I rumage around in my pack and come up with my mini-maglight. Not sure if its really water proof I turn it on and put it in one of the used sandwich bags out of our trash bag, and close the ziplock. Handing it down to Wayne he takes another deep breath and goes down.
By now theres quite a group of semi-intoxicated crabbers and fishermen gathered for the free show. Some small talk reaches my ears.
"Jeez, the guys gonna drown."
"Well he's messin up the fishing anyways."
"I'll betcha a sixpack he makes it."
"Yer on, he ain't gonna find any knife down there!"
Wayne come up a couple more times gasping for air, and I'm argueing with him to forget it, we'll stop by a sporting goods store and buy another one, Deb will never know the difference. Wayne goes under again. Finally comes up and he has the knife. The crowd cheers and now we have to get Wayne back out. Thankfully there was alot of helping hands to get him up and over the rail. He lays there on the pier panting for breath. I ask him if he's happy now.
"Deb gave me that knife for my birthday," he pants, "I was'nt about to let the crabs have it!"
Several years have past since that night. We got the crabs home and had a good feast the next day.
This past weekend we were up at his house and having a cookout on his back deck. He had a large marinated flank steak on the grill smoking away, and just when he thought it was done he looked around, and not seeing a knife he took out a familiar looking pocket knife and cut into the flank steak to see if it was done. He set the knife on the rail of his deck and took off the steak with a long tongs. He saw me looking at the knife on the rail, and instinctivly knew what I was thinking.
"Well if it falls off of there, at least I don't have to go swimming!" was all he said.
I'd met wayne when I went to work there after serving my apprentice work at another shop. You always have to move on after getting your papers because they will always look at you as the apprentice. At the new shop I continued to learn from the older guys who had been at it longer than me. Guys like Wayne who had gone into the work after high school. I did'nt get into it till after my medical discharge from the army, so they had 10 years or more practical experiance on me. Wayne was 10 years older than me, and we became buds. I learned alot on the job from him, as well as to how to be a family man, as he was a bit ahead of me in that area as well.
Wayne was loyal to his little Buck 309 companion. His wife had bought him the pocket knife for a birthday gift some years ago as his old pocket knife was worn out. It had been carried since junior high school and had a couple of sharpened toothpicks for blades, so Deb had decieded Wayne needed a new knife. Knowing his old one was a small two bladed pen knife, Deb went to a knife shop and after advise from the sales person bought her hubby the Buck. That little two blader became Waynes new "go to" knife. He'd never use anything else. One reason was the sentiment, the other was Wayne was one of those one knife guys like my dad with his peanut. He never had "our disease".
One time we were out in a row boat fishing on the Potomac river, and Wayne dug into his lunch pack and took out a sandwich. Using his little 309 companion, he cut up some more peperoni to go on the sandwich and I asked him how he got along with a tiny pen knife like that.
"I gave up carrying a large knife when I got big enough to go bear hunting with a switch." was all he jokingly replied. And Wayne was a big guy. He sometimes had a resemblence to a large happy St. Bernard.
Another time we were squirrel hunting, he had his old Remington Speedmaster and I had my old Marlin 39. We got our bag and Wayne used his buck pocket knife to skin and dress those squirrels like a surgon. You'd have thought that the squirrel skins were on there with zippers the way he did it with that little Buck. Later his wife made a pot of chillie using the squirel and it was great.
But there came a time when his love of that little Buck would be put to the test.
We'd been planning to go crabbing ourselves because of the high cost of a bushel of crabs. We got some chicken necks and a couple of the Chinese style crab traps and planned a trip down to Solomans Island Maryland. This is a penninsula that sticks out on the water and is a great area for crabbing. They even have a crabbing pier for all night fishing. We'd made the plans to go at midnight, crab till dawn, then go home and have a crab feast. Since Solomans
was a good two hours drive from our area, it would give the girls back home time to get mobilized with the kettle. They got to sleep while their men went out to get the game. Kind of going back to the hunter/gatherer thing.
We had a good time down there at the pier, some other guys were out night crabbing, and we all had a good sized cooler. Not for the crabs, mind you, they went in a bushel basket, but for the beer. One cannot go crabbing without the beer. If the mighty hunters are going out all night in pursuit of the food while the gatherers are home sleeping, we may as well have a good time doing it!
So there is the scene of the upcomming drama. A bunch of guys out on a crabbing pier at Solomans Island, drinking all night and having a good time, and maybe not quite sober. It happened in the hours just before dawn. We'd had a good night, a bushel basket about 3/4 full of some nice jumbo Chesapeake Bay crabs, a mostly empty cooler of beer, and some snacks. Wayne and I were going to share the last slim jim in the snack bag, and Wayne neatly sliced it in half with the precision of the master machinist and tool and die maker he was. He set the little Buck knife on the wooden rail of the pier and what followed was uncertain. One of us bumped the knife, we don't till this day really know, but the knife was shoved off the wood railing and dropped into the water below with a soft plop.
There was a frozen moment of time that we stared at the water were the knife disappeared, then Wayne yanks off his shirt and starts untieing his sneakers.
"What are ya doin?" I ask him.
"I'm going after my knife!" Wayne says.
"We don't know how deep the water is"
"We're crabbing, not deep sea fishing!"
He had a point, the pier was only a few feet above the water, and lowering the crab traps to the bottom I don't think we had more than 6 to 8 feet of line out. Wayne climbs over the rail and jumps into the water with a big splash. Guys come running over to see whats up. I tell them he's going after a pocket knife, as Wayne disappears from view.
A few bubbles come up, and for a while theres no Wayne. Then he breaks the surface and gasps a deep breath.
"Its dark as hell down there! Can't see a thing!"
Franticly I rumage around in my pack and come up with my mini-maglight. Not sure if its really water proof I turn it on and put it in one of the used sandwich bags out of our trash bag, and close the ziplock. Handing it down to Wayne he takes another deep breath and goes down.
By now theres quite a group of semi-intoxicated crabbers and fishermen gathered for the free show. Some small talk reaches my ears.
"Jeez, the guys gonna drown."
"Well he's messin up the fishing anyways."
"I'll betcha a sixpack he makes it."
"Yer on, he ain't gonna find any knife down there!"
Wayne come up a couple more times gasping for air, and I'm argueing with him to forget it, we'll stop by a sporting goods store and buy another one, Deb will never know the difference. Wayne goes under again. Finally comes up and he has the knife. The crowd cheers and now we have to get Wayne back out. Thankfully there was alot of helping hands to get him up and over the rail. He lays there on the pier panting for breath. I ask him if he's happy now.
"Deb gave me that knife for my birthday," he pants, "I was'nt about to let the crabs have it!"
Several years have past since that night. We got the crabs home and had a good feast the next day.
This past weekend we were up at his house and having a cookout on his back deck. He had a large marinated flank steak on the grill smoking away, and just when he thought it was done he looked around, and not seeing a knife he took out a familiar looking pocket knife and cut into the flank steak to see if it was done. He set the knife on the rail of his deck and took off the steak with a long tongs. He saw me looking at the knife on the rail, and instinctivly knew what I was thinking.
"Well if it falls off of there, at least I don't have to go swimming!" was all he said.
