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Warrick Edmonds

Nathan’s knife is crap!

I’ve been propping up a table at the annual Adelaide Knife Show for more than a decade but less than a century. Last weekend saw the retirement of the bloke who’s been organising it for 27 years in favour of handing management on to some young bucks with the promise of a bigger venue, more razzmatazz and social media advertising. That’s all good. Luckily for me, it also saw an expert give me a run down on everything I do wrong with my knife making. With his input I can now up my game. Here’s how that went.

Expert standing in front of my table of wares picks up the sheath for a long bladed hunting knife, which is essentially Nathan’s hunting knife with some unnecessary decorations. He sniffs it and looks concerned. He loudly proclaims to his girl and mate but mostly to the world in general that it’s too long, “how the hell can you have that on your hip” and proceeds to mimic running through the bush with it flapping and banging around. He then tells me, “it’s gotta be mounted across your back, (parallel and sideways on your belt he means, like some small, concealed fighting knives)”

Just to put you in the picture, in its sheath, we’re talking about a package about 35cm long. And some knives do get mounted sideways on belts, but typically smaller knives and typically angled slightly sideways on you hip like a police revolver, so you can see what you’re doing when stuffing the sharp blade back in its holder.

He’s a big bloke and I’m not. I’m taking my time and thinking how much he looks like a spoiled, overfed school yard bully. I’m checking out his mate and girl and they both slink around in his shadow, so it’s a clear picture. Anyway, I root around in my pack under the table and pull out a post-it-note, you know that flimsy yellow paper square. I ask for the knife back and get interrupted again by old mate. “I don’t care how ^&^%* sharp it is”, (which is a funny thing to say about a knife). Ignoring him, I zip the blade through the paper, which makes no noise and one half falls to the floor between us. “So you want to blindly fiddle that into a sheath you can’t see behind your back?” I ask. “Nah”, he looks at me as if I’m stupid, “You’d practice it first!”

“How many fingers you got now?” I ask him. He snatches the sheath back and pretends to run through the bush again with it flapping at his side, then, grinning, looks to his companions for approval.

Ok, look, I just couldn’t help myself. “Done much hunting mate?” I ask. “Yeah, heaps” he says dismissively. I says, “Yeah but do you get out of your car? Can’t say I’ve ever done much sprinting after deer when I’ve been stalking ‘em. What about you Mal?” I look to another knife maker standing to my left, he smiles.

Things don’t go well after that. Our expert is all quite and just standing there, looking down at me with his hardest stare and going slightly red. I reckon I was truly- rully about to be smacked. However standing either side of me were two other knife makers, both of them sheep farmers from the harsh inland paddocks, both about the same size as our expert, and probably ten times tougher. My possie. With all three of us staring back he did what all bullies do when faced off. He took it out on his girl, I could see her copping an ear bashing as they pushed away through the crowd, his little acolyte obediently trotting after.

So, there you have it Nathan. You gotta mount that thing sideways on your belt behind your back. When you do, let me know how it goes for you eh. Hey, don’t forget to practice first!