I can remember the moments like it was yesterday, the chilled and foggy autumn morning air, or the sweltering, hot, humid summer heat at midday. My grandfather sitting out on the porch with a good 22. Cal rifle, on the hunt for “cow birds”, crows, or an old soda can sitting a few yards away in the grass. My grandfather was a gun nut and a knife accumulator.
On top of the bookshelf he kept an old Buck knife display case full of knives of every shape and size, patterns I now know by name laid, but couldn’t possibly guess when I was little. Each knife waiting inside to be picked out and used. My grandfather carried knives depending on the weather; which I’ve always thought was curious.
Often times he sat with an old Marlin model 60, a semi automatic 22. I can still envision him standing there with a shell too lazy to be ejected, leaving the rifle jammed. He would turn the rifle sideways exposing the action and fish into his pocket for his knife. The jingling of keys, coins, his heart pills in a little brown glass bottle and of course his Buck 704.
He would open the knife and ever so gracefully remove the spent casing with a flick of the wrist, the little hollow brass would fall to the ground with a satisfying “tink”.
As he got older his habits didn’t change, but his vision and the tenacity in his hands did. A scenario of a jammed shell played out once more and as he fished through his pocket searching for his knife; mine was already deployed and ready. I got to practice my flick as my grandfather held the rifle steady; he smiled as it fell to the ground knowing I had learned something.
This passed weekend I did some shooting with my father in law. He brought out an old Marlin model 60 that he hadn’t fired in 15 years. I cleaned it up a little before we went out, but it could have used some added attention. The first few rounds cycled cleaning, so I handed Robert his rifle. A few more rounds went down range before I saw him fidgeting with the safety. I knew what the problem was immediately and explained the issue to him. Taking the rifle I fished into my pocket and dug out my little stag stockman; with the clip point deployed all I needed was a quick, flick of the wrist.
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Cutting a piece of 1” EPDM hose yesterday was part of the workout for my Buck 301. Unfortunately I didn’t realize that it was steel reinforced, and put a nice nick in the blade. 
