It's no secret among the Loredagger family that I'm quite a fan of edged tools. Pocket knives to bayonets, machetes to swords, I love them all. Every time I go to a yard sale or flea market, the
tables with knives always catch my eyes. Modern knives with their super duper blades made of
exotic steels are fantastic, though my whittling is more often done with an older, high carbon
steel blade. In my youth, I favored flashy knives with big blades. Often these were KINOs, knives in name only, as the stainless steel in those days wouldn't take or hold a decent edge for any amount of time. Later on, the largest folding blade I could carry and afford was a Schrade Bear Paw. The steel on the Paw was pretty tough for me to sharpen in those days, being limited to a plain old whetstone. Once it had a keen edge, you were in business, though! Remember this was before I ran into the really tough alloys. Also, this was prior to my acquaintance and acquisition of such wonderful sharpening devices as the Lansky.
My dad could take a water whetstone and sharpen just about anything razor sharp, including the
cheap, crappy knives that I acquired before I knew the difference between a good knife and a bad knife. If I was lucky, I was able to trade them off before the blade had a chance to get dull again. Also, I had lots of knife traders in the family, so there was ample opportunity to trade up or down. It didn't take a lot of time to learn the expensive difference in value between a pristine Case XX Trapper and a Camillus hawkbill. Though I always loved hawkbill knives, they just never sat in the pocket as well as a Case. They were quite handy in dissuading alcoholics, or drunks as they were commonly called in those innocent days, from following you too closely when walking home along country roads at night. Actually, I was probably running, as this was way before I tipped the scales over the two hundred pound mark for the first time. Knowing the bad ass reputation of some of those guys, I'd still run, even if only in short bursts at a time. Too many pounds, too little breath is one of my own sayings. Guess how I came by it.
I get very sentimental when I write about knives, especially so for those acquired in my younger days. Thanks to a burglary by a young man named Andy Lynn, those knives as well as a good many
guns and household items I worked very hard to earn are no longer with me. Occasionally, when I'm feeling particularly mournful over a knife or gun, I'll reach out to my readers and Lorefans with a plea for vigilance. That is the case with this blog. If you ever come across a well worn, brown handled Case XX three-bladed stockman's knife, with the initials WEV on one of the bolsters, I'd love to talk with you. My mother gave me that knife and I carried it daily for many many years. If at all possible, I'd like to get it back. You can email me at www.loredagger.com. Many thanks for looking, friends.