I ‘d just finished bucking oak on the east slope the other day when, looking up toward the now-bare canopy, I saw a six-foot length of gray, barkless trunk, probably 30 feet over my head. It was a sign that if this relatively mature hickory wasn’t dead already, whatever the cause, it was on its way out.
That’s the reason I scan the treetops this time of year, hoping to spot something standing-dead that’s worth taking for firewood. An added bonus was that this tree stood just 20 yards from the oak I’m in the midst of processing.
I came back to it yesterday morning with my Stihl chainsaw, felled it and bucked the trunk. (There was no crown to speak of.) This was a hefty tree, bigger than I first thought.
It produced a total of 22 rounds that’ll require splitting, plus another ten from high on the trunk that won’t. And it’s hickory, which will make dandy, BTU-dense firewood once it’s seasoned.
That said, I fought with the Stihl the whole damn time. Though the engine ran well, the chain cut poorly (I resharpened three times) and the bar pulled hard to the right.
I know what’s up, or at least I have a pretty good idea — I need to square-up and dress the bar rails and flip (or possibly replace) the bar. And I’ll have to work-over the chain again, including the rakers.
I got to wondering when I last set aside time to perform a thorough round of maintenance on the Stihl and my other saws. I looked it up — almost 11 months ago, in late January.
The weather forecast promises a stretch of mild, sunny days the rest of the week. It looks like the ideal time to bring everything out to my tailgate workbench, tear it down, clean it up and put it right.
I believe that’s what I’ll do.
Another day, another dip into the subject of pocketknives.
I don’t have any statistics to back this up, but I’m guessing that the canoe, like the Case I’m carrying now, is somewhere down the list of popular pocketknife patterns. Most folks probably are better acquainted with the Barlow, stockman, whittler, trapper and pen.
Truth is, people don’t carry (or buy) slipjoints as much anymore, and that’s a shame. I wouldn’t be without one.
For many years I chose a three-blade stockman or mini-stockman, sometimes a two-blade trapper or Barlow. Swiss Army knives, too, of course. The two-blade canoe pattern, to me, is a knife that’s stout enough to do actual work but doesn’t feel like I’m toting a rock in my pocket.
A two-blade Barlow runs a close second.
The Case I’ve been talking about the last couple of posts isn’t the first canoe I’ve carried. That distinction belongs to a 1980s-vintage Kissing Crane four-blade canoe (pictured). It’s a bit gaudy — stainless, brass and nickel silver where you’d expect, yellow celluloid scales, plus gold-tone faux filigree on the main blade.
Joining the standard spear-point and pen are a short spey and a coping blade. The complement of four tools naturally makes it thicker and heavier than a traditional canoe, but I’ve still enjoyed carrying it.
Kissing Crane was one of the Robert Klaas brands made in Solingen. It’s still around, though production has moved to you-know-where and quality has tanked. I’m glad to have bought this knife when I did, and if you find one from the German days, you should, too.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable