So the woods called out again, and more so, the song of steel was joining in; so I packed a hacksaw and made for the hills. Cold it was, but the sun came out, and I slowly trod my way up the hillside.
And as always, as the first trees embraced my stride, calm washed over my ravaged soul and soothed my pain.
Deeper yet I walked and higher I came. It was like a walkabout, to find a dream in a piece of steel lying in the woods for a hundred years.
The hills were radiant with a winter sun.
And the light woods faded into the twilight of spruce and fir. And while I like the radiant birch and the elegant beech and the strong oak, the shadow of the twilit spruce woods holds no terror for me, for I was born in a place like this and know its ways well.
The trail lay frozen, enchanted by a crystal veil.
The sun was already sinking when I reached the hilltop, embracing me with shadow.
Through the woods I trod, and there...
...behind a thicket of fallen trees and branches
...there it was that a secret of steel awaited me with its silent, violent song.
Those leaf springs from a forgotten chariot have a carbon content of about 0,75-0,90%.
And make an excellent Nessmuk...;-)
Old leaf spring steel, selective temper, with a hefty blade thickness at 7mm...12cm blade, elk antler scales, high convex bevel, mosaic pins.
And still slicey enough to make a delicious snack.
This knife now bears the soul of the woods, and it gives me more comfort than a run-of the-mill production knife ever could. This is the soul of Tribal knifemaking in my book.
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