[report]A few months ago my daughter mentioned that she knew a guy who was giving a bladesmithing class. Knowing my affinity for knives, she correctly assumed that I'd be all over it. What better way for some father/daughter bonding than learning how to make a knife? We signed up, as did my brother and his daughter. The dude "teaching" the class was a nice enough guy, and I'm sure he knew his shit, but he was no teacher. It was pretty much a totally unorganized free-for-all, jockeying with eleven other people for position at three forges and five anvils. It was still pretty cool and we had a good time.
Here's what happens if you beat on a very hot railroad spike for a few hours:
The results were less than stellar. I beat the hell out of my blade until there wasn't enough meat left to really bevel a blade. Of course my brother's turned out way better than mine. Fucker. At least Mom always liked me more. He did a paracord wrap while I used a piece of oak for a handle:
I know it's crude as hell, but it inspired me to get serious about making knives. And to make a better knife than my brother. I watched a shitload of you-tube, sectioned off a section of the basement for my shop, bought some equipment, ordered some bar stock and have spent the last few nights at my new belt grinder. Now I have somewhere to go while my wife spends three fucking hours every Monday watching "The Bachelor". Here are two almost ready for heat treating:
The heat treater has a minimum racking charge so I'm going to wait until I have seven or eight knives ready to do at once. I hate waiting, 'cause I've got some nice zebra wood and black palm for handles that I'm dying to see finished.[/report]
“We act as though comfort and luxury were the chief requirements of life, when all that we need to make us really happy is something to be enthusiastic about.” Charles Kingsley