- Joined
- Feb 3, 2011
- Messages
- 1,941
One of the reasons I love Buck knives so much, is due to the many stories and memories they are able to make with you in a lifetime. They aren't laid down to rest because of the many battle scars they sustain while by your side, but they do earn a break from the years of hard use they endure.
Those stories held inside the handles of these trusted companions help me to remember the loved one, or friends they produced them with. Carrying those knives don't change the story they already have, in fact it adds to the library of uses it's been trusted to complete.
One of my greatest memories with a buck knife is when I spent just a few hours hanging out with my Dad.
It was the late doe season and the snow had already began to fall on Pennsylvania. The cold, frosty morning my Dad spent in the woods of one of the few days remaining to the season proved to be worthless, no deer, no meat. He came in for lunch and and got warmed up, preparing to spend the evening back on stand. With orange and rifle slung on back, he began to pick his way through the woods to the stand overlooking the field. I wished I could be with him, but I was too little to be out in the cold on stand, or at least thats what they told me.
As the darkness starting falling on the farm, I was brought out of boredom by the voice of my Dad's 308 rifle. A doe was down and there was soon to be work for my loving Mom. My Dad had the doe hanging from the old winch before I could get warm clothes on and make it down to the barn. Tired, yet happy, my father opened his trusted Buck 422 Bucklite and began the skinning process. He was worn from the hours spent on stand, but he still captured the opportunity to teach me something, he slid the blade up each leg cutting the skin away like a surgical tool. I admired him as each new idea he thought might help me in my future as a hunter he mentioned, every word was followed by a cloud of steam.
He finished skinning the doe with his 422, and turned to the 119 to get the butchering done. It looked like a sword when I first saw it when I was younger, the shiny blade razor sharp from my fathers stropping belt. It separated each cut of meat with ease, which I took and bagged for my Dad. That 119 never got as much use in the barn as my Dad's Bucklite, but when the meat was home and to be cleaned, my Mom used it like it was a thousand dollar chef knife. She really got the job done quickly with that big 119. I was proud of the way that knife worked for my family, and I'm proud now of they way it continues to preform.
If you have a Good story to share about a memory with yourBuck knife, I'd love to hear it.
Thanks
Those stories held inside the handles of these trusted companions help me to remember the loved one, or friends they produced them with. Carrying those knives don't change the story they already have, in fact it adds to the library of uses it's been trusted to complete.
One of my greatest memories with a buck knife is when I spent just a few hours hanging out with my Dad.
It was the late doe season and the snow had already began to fall on Pennsylvania. The cold, frosty morning my Dad spent in the woods of one of the few days remaining to the season proved to be worthless, no deer, no meat. He came in for lunch and and got warmed up, preparing to spend the evening back on stand. With orange and rifle slung on back, he began to pick his way through the woods to the stand overlooking the field. I wished I could be with him, but I was too little to be out in the cold on stand, or at least thats what they told me.
As the darkness starting falling on the farm, I was brought out of boredom by the voice of my Dad's 308 rifle. A doe was down and there was soon to be work for my loving Mom. My Dad had the doe hanging from the old winch before I could get warm clothes on and make it down to the barn. Tired, yet happy, my father opened his trusted Buck 422 Bucklite and began the skinning process. He was worn from the hours spent on stand, but he still captured the opportunity to teach me something, he slid the blade up each leg cutting the skin away like a surgical tool. I admired him as each new idea he thought might help me in my future as a hunter he mentioned, every word was followed by a cloud of steam.
He finished skinning the doe with his 422, and turned to the 119 to get the butchering done. It looked like a sword when I first saw it when I was younger, the shiny blade razor sharp from my fathers stropping belt. It separated each cut of meat with ease, which I took and bagged for my Dad. That 119 never got as much use in the barn as my Dad's Bucklite, but when the meat was home and to be cleaned, my Mom used it like it was a thousand dollar chef knife. She really got the job done quickly with that big 119. I was proud of the way that knife worked for my family, and I'm proud now of they way it continues to preform.
If you have a Good story to share about a memory with yourBuck knife, I'd love to hear it.
Thanks
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