Eikinnsleikr is ready!

I have taken itr really slow, but now it´s here... prét a porter, so to say;-) made a sheath for Eikinnsleikr. Oak, of course, and a scandi style upper. The stainless insult to the right;-) is a removeable chain link I use to carry it on my foraging belt. The lower part is made of two halves of oak wood from some leftover beam of my old home, the handle is yew which grew before that old house, the blade is made from 1.2842 and wrought iron, which was given to me by one of my best friends, Elmo, that is, the bolster is Mokume Gane which does not show. It is in itself a rune, and the runes of the oak went into it.

My personal carry...;-)

A flaming autumn day´s ride, trail etiquette, cuppa tea and knife testing with a sundown as icing-perfect, I´ll take it.

 Yesterday, th sun was out and the day exploded with colours ever so vibrantly. I am currently depressed quite often, what with neither time nor money resulting in longtime "friends" taking their excuse, so to say, and grey weather in the bargain.

But one thing has always been certain to me: The woods are out there, and the spruce tops are singing in the wind. It was the first sound in my life I heard, for after I was born in hospital, I lived in the forest for 33 years. I think to remember opening my eyes from a sleep that was deeper than life, and awakening to the wonder of green, with the vibrantly green leaves and the dark green of the spruce and fir tops moving in a breeze. There were runes there I could not decipher, and of runes i knew not in the first place, but I was calm immediately and looked at the gently moving signs amazed. It is a world that has always embraced me, and it was never natural for me to live in a city, and all the roaring noise frightened me as a kid. Now, as someone who is seen as an adult;-), I know exactly why it frightened me. I overcame my fears and now there is but a mild pity left for the ways of modern day man, and, with a sense of self - irony I realize that I am part of the whole mess already. I have to, as anyone has to, at least to a certain degree, partake in the everyday madness.

And yet, the woods are waiting. They are not self - conscious. They just exist. They are not nice, and you might die there as well as live, and the trees and beasts could not care less. But if you really want to, you can become a part of it all, and all that will not matter any more. It is not important if you are "but" a newborn child or a grown individual, in fact, you stand more of a chance understanding it as a whole if you see it with the eyes of a newborn child. And since it is not possible to refer to that phenomenon intelligently, for it is autotelic, I will shut up about that for now and tell you about the ride.

 I rode towards the hills, and I was quite exhausted, but I carried on and made it into the woods.

 I was rewarded ever so richly with the flaming gold of a low sun in a crystal-blue sky. The air was cold and frisky, and every silhouette was standing out clear and sharp in this clean atmosphere. This space made me breathe deep and calm, and, even if the trail went uphill quite technically challenging, I managed without a dabbing of a foot. Then I saw two horseback riders approaching in the distance. Noticing one of the horses was rather shy, I pulled to the side of the trail to let them pass and waved them on. As they passed, we had a chat, and this chat turned out in a way chats like this unfortunately have a habit of turning out; both of them were quite amazed that I had let them pass and had some friendly words for them, for normally mountainbikers yell at them, slam into their horses (which is a most silly thing to do, for who wants to be confronted with a ton of whinnying, kicking, biting, half - mad horse must have but some three brain cells, and those situated in the Amygdala at best), find it funny to scream at the horses while passing at top speed from behind. I have to believe those two horseback riders (and the many others I have talked to, and I sometimes feel ashamed for my "fellow" mountainbike riders. Many are Testosterone-blind morons only interested in their own "fun", which mostly consists in putting the hurt to their "fellow" riders. In my time in the club I have encountered every facet of antisocial behavior, from slightly moron to outright dangerous, from relishing in hurting others up the hill to leaving injured riders with a wrecked bike in the middle of nowhere and laughing afterwards about that while telling the tale, to spooking horses and destroying private property just in the name of the almighty "fun". Those individuals are, in my book, retarded, anti - social, superficial arseholes. I have worked for trail access since 1990, I have worked for bettering the communication between the "user" groups of the woods, and, for the most part, have lived to the IMBA rule codex.

I took my trash home.
I controlled my speed.
I respected other trail users.
I avoided shortcuts and stuck to the trails.
I avoided offensive behavior such as yelling, skidding, and jumping at the encounter of other trail users.
I only modified trails with the permission of the land owner / the forest bureau or rebuilt the natural state after doing so.

Of course, there are morons amongst the other user groups as well, but, hey, if you do not communicate, you cannot better any situation. And if you behave like an asshole, you deserve to be treated as one, mountainbiker or not.

The culprit is, I had a chat with those two horseback riders, told them to address the website www.mtb-hagen.de in case they had one of those unfortunate encounters again, we wished each other to have a fine day and went on our merry way, content with the fact that we had done something good. Simple as that. And it does not mean you can´t have fun. I had. I took the next trail down the hill, and really let loose.

But, if you don´t know what brakes are for, you should not ride a bike. Period. I know, and if anyone asks, I will teach anyone, for free even if you ask politely enough.

But, as is my wont these days, shredding simply does not suffice all of the time. So I visited my oaken friend atop the hill overlooking that lake (I hope you appreciate I spared you another picture of the vista*ggg*). There, I had a cuppa tea (ten, in fact;-)), an apple and some bannock, and out came the bush knife for some testing.

 It´s the one I made in the Bethaus smithy the other day. I put a bevel on it (not that it needed it:-), take note I was proud:-/)

 I did a quick leather wrapping to the handle and it was ready to go.

 Spine thickness is about 6mm. The blade is 140 mm long, and made from selectively tempered spring steel that has seen some very conservative heat treating. It supports my weight. As a prybar, it´s a cinch!

 First came the prying test. I slammed it up to 1 cm into that log and levered the tip out-no damage whatsoever. In fact, I kicked it with my boots to pry it out. No harm done.

 Then I hacked halfway through that log. Then I realized that a cylindrical handle shape as with that knife is not feeling exactly right for that kind of task. Also, I blistered my hand on the sharp butt of the handle. Not so good. What was more grave is that it did not shave after that. But I forgot to test sharpness before, so it might as well be the bevel was not fine enough in the first place. I have to check it out encore un fois at home.

I leant the ride gainst a tree and snuck inside the stems of the three-stemmed oak...

 I sipped my tea and savoured the golden light and the fading warmth. Then I had the sensation of warmth radiating from the bark of the tree itself, and not only the energy it had stored from the light of the sun. It warmed me from my belly up, my heart as well as my head. I smiled, had another swig of tea and thanked the tree for its gift.

 It has been the source of many mocking, cynical remarks by many people I met, but, yes, I love trees. I love them as a piece of creation, as my fellow beings, and for no reason especially as well.

 In the depth of the bark, there were tiny ants squirrelling along, and in the cold autumn air some few midgets were dancing their strange dances, their wings translucent with flaming, golden light.

 There are worlds inside worlds, worlds above, inside and neighbouring, life everywhere even in the autumn, even in winter. Life itself is wonderful and deserves better than the ridiculous mess humans make of it.

I then really enjoyed practicing my feather stick skills with my new Nessie. It makes some really delicate shavings. It feels light and nimble. Not a knife for hacking, though, even if batoning works quite well, too. There are better whittlers, too, due to the offset of the edge line, but you can grow accustomed to that. I think I´ll make more like this...

 Then the sun was sinking, and I relished in the vibrating colours.

 I put my headlamp on and made for the trail home. By the way, I was on the road with the last shred of light. I have, of course, done rides where I could not avoid being in the forest after dark with a torchlight on, but doing so scares the animals, who need all the rest they can get in winter. So please, if you have any sense in you, do not ride at max speed with max headlight on through the woods. Going silently and unlighted is another matter, if you can do so, or, if you must, stick to fireroads that are also widely frequented during the day. That way, animals can grow accustomed to your impact and do not panic all the time.

 Overlooking the hills of home with the last shred of light.

It was a beautiful day, and a solemn calm filling me up to the brim. Of course, all the peace in my heart did wear off suddenly with my next encounter with the next urban human, but that´s another story, and it´s not worth telling at all.

The light, however, and the energy of the trees, are mine. And noone can ever take it from me.

A ride into the golden autumn´s peace-and being very nasty to my mountain man bushcraft knife;-)

I just had to get out the other day, what with my mind and my heart battered from too many obligations, conflicts and other interhuman pieces of cake;-). So I straddled my steed, which hasn´t seen the dirt for some time, and made for the woods. When I rode the first kilometres, I was still asking myself what the heck I was doing, when I could stay at home, cuddle into my bed and pull the blanket over my head to pretend I wasn´t there. But that state of mind has never done anyone any good. Life IS a bastard, at times, at least when you have too much interference with humanity:-/. But it won´t stop kicking at you if you´re lying on the floor. Instead it will jump on the back of your head with all its might and nailed boots on. So, no use crying or hiding other than in the woods. It was right painful to go the distance, not only psychologically, but also, due to my profound lack of training... but after the first downhill, my mind was wiped clean, and with the first air I got over an embankment, I was grinning like a madman (okay, I AM a madman;-)), and I was in the mood to shred. And shredding I did, and as my muscles warmed up to their task, it became increasingly more easy, and I really enjoyed the ride. At this point, I paused and cuddled between the twin stems of an ancient oak that stood there in my youth and hopefully will be after my death.

I leant the bike to a tree and knelt at the oak leaves at her feet... erm, another song...;-).

Having a look around, I grew ever so much calmer, and the excitement of the ride left me to make room for a sense of deep peace. The sun was warming my chest, and I had a sip of tea.

Golden light surrounded me, and the clamour of the world subsided in silence. Even my bike became but a device to get there...

Then that gnarly little troll in the back of my brain told me to take out the mountain man knife I made some time ago, and which I finished recently-okay, I THOUGHT I had finished it*ggg*-and made a sheath for it, too, and really put it through its paces. The blade is 115 mm long, has a 6mm thick spine, and a high convex bevel. It is made from leaf spring steel with a selective temper and a leather washer-stag antler crown handle. Making a fuzz stick was a cinch, and for its heft, it really cuts well. I realized, however, that the edge was not hair-popping sharp, as I like to have my knives and that I can improve on it still.

The blade with its sheath, and a patinized leather sheath, wet-formed and hot-waxed around the knife.

The spine of the knife. The rough surface shows it was forged into shape about 95 %. It has seen less than 3 % stock removal. The handle is heat-coloured.

Batoning through dried, knotted pine wood and spruce wood was a cinch, of course, for the blade´s convex bevel and thick spine.

Then I rammed it tip first into an aged oak stem lying around and levered it out. The tip went in for about 5-10 mm each time. I repeated the process 10 times. No damage to the tip whatsoever, which delighted me very much.

It was when I had hacked halfway through the oak stem that I realized the handle came somewhat loose, not as much that it would have hindered working, but loose nonetheless. Since I am increasingly fond of this knife, I stopped to check, and I realized I simply forgot to peen the tang over the rune disc at the crown! Silly, I know...;-)

So I just sat back and enjoyed the scenery.

I sincerely hope that tree will sleep well this winter and awake to a new year of prospering after the dark hag is done with dealing death...

And I had a cuppa forest...;-). (Cheer up, my love!*ggg*)

 I kept sitting there and meditating, and the sun sank lower. Short have the days become, and it became a bit chilly, so I went on my merry way, having a bit of shredding and a really enjoyable singletrail ride-oh, and as far as I can tell, no toads were harmed in the process;-).

At home, I peened the tang over the rune disc (this much cheating shall be allowed, isn´t it?;-))

Akiri really inspired me;-), so I hacked through a piece of stag antler.

No harm to the edge!

 Then I cut a sanding belt from my belt grinder. No harm done.

I carved a mild steel rod. After all that, the blade still shaved. Then I slammed into the rod, inflicting a minor dent on the edge.

 It still worked, though.

 Slamming through a tin can then was but child´s play.*ggg*

The dent. It could be removed with some strokes of the strop, and I had not to reprofile the edge at all.

I am a bit proud of my achievement, for all that means I got something right. Noone in their right mind does that to his or her knife, and a knife certainly is not an axe. But it´s comforting to know that you can rely on your blade. Tiny mistakes, however, lead to failure, for instance, not peening over the tang properly. If you have to rely on your knife, you want to double check you have done everything properly. And, I will make a knife with a full tang out of this steel.

Coming to think about it, this knife is made from spring steel. I think, I will stick to this sort of steel. I have tried silver steel, CrV steels, 100Cr6, Tank bearing, damascus, 440 C, D2 and many more. The best knives I own are made from junk spring steel.

It was a strange day, with going from depression to joy and to contention even. I know there are several of you out there currently living lifes that are not exactly easy. Do not let life bring you down! get out into the woods, they can help you cope with the everyday madness. For me they do that.

And hey, we´re all mad, aren´t we?*ggg*

News from Viktor

Some days ago I stopped by to visit Volker and Viktor again and to discuss my work for the Bethaus... and I now have a job there! Plus, I got a chance to shoot some photos of Viktor´s tools. Some of you had asked for a detail of the sickle Viktor made while still in Kazakhstan, and here they are;-). Below is a machete he made but only recently for clearing underbrush. Handle is oak, the blade is C75 sawblade steel riveted to a thick spine of common low-carbon steel. Would not be my choice, actually, but I have to appreciate the craftsmanship, which is a sight to behold in my book. Plus, I find the idea quite creative, even though I find it a bit of an overkill. But then who am I to question a master?

This is the sickle´s handle that has impressed me quite a lot. Note the bolster ears that wrap around the handle... sort of.

 That´s the quart / reverse side of the handle.

 Up close. No filing whatsoever, just forgework. Inside there´s a rattail tang reaching even into the handle and ending about halfway through.

 That´s a detail of the sickle´s blade. spring steel riveted to mild steel.

 That´s the machete´s blade, too shiny to see the riveting. I made about ten photos and gave up.

The tang and the handle of that beast. The wood is ancient oak that lay submerged in waterfor about 200 years in an abandoned tunnel ofthe mines around these parts. Viktor gave me a piece of that, too, and I look forward to mount a knife with it!