With Your Own Hands

     On this blog, I’ve talked a lot about some of my big passions - hunting, fishing, family, and the outdoors. But I haven’t mentioned another of my hobbies: working with my hands. Whether it’s in fixing things, carpentry or blacksmithing, I get a feeling of satisfaction that I can’t quite put into words. It might come from seeing a hunk of wood or metal come together and turn into something pretty or useful, or both. Or it might be that in this world of instant gratification, seeing something that took time, effort and skill is really rewarding.   

     Apprentice-Dad has come home more than once to find me huddled over a bed of coals with a red hot piece of steel buried inside, or the belt sander singing as the University of Wyoming logo is shaped from a hunk of cedar. It comes with a price though. Currently I have two or three cuts that might scar over, three blisters, and a chunk of my right ring finger and pinky where the skin just is just starting to grow back after getting caught in the belt sander. But for all the pain it caused me, and the scares it caused my mom, I think it was worth it. Not only do I make myself some cool toys, I know how to do cool stuff that I can pass on to the next generation.
     Last Wednesday, I got the itch to make myself a knife. So I got two files from the local hardware store. So with consultation from my favorite YouTube bladesmith, I set about prepping one of my files to become a knife by firing it to break its temper. Once it was ready, the long process of shaping the blade began. First I drew a stencil onto the knife file, then cut that out roughly with a saw. With the other file, I cleaned up the edges of the stencil. Then I built a bed of coals in a barrel, and with a Shop-Vac as my bellows, I heated up the knife and quenched it in oil (I used motor oil) to harden it. Then I placed it in the oven for a couple hours (I used our toaster oven in the garage, as using the one in the kitchen tends to stink up the house and cause one’s mother to question one’s hobby.) While that was going on, I used the belt sander to quickly make handle and made a sheath out of PVC. Once that was all done, I put the varnish on the handle, and spray painted the sheath. Then I put Wyoming Armories’ (my company) brand on the handle and sheath and epoxied the handle to the blade. And it was done.
     I guess what I love about doing this kind a thing is the ability to watch the process and emotionally attach yourself to something that begins as a commonplace object and through work, turns into something great, useful, and beautiful. It reminds me of life - how we start as not much, but as we are forged in life’s fires, we become useful, great, and beautiful.

-The Apprentice 

For more info on knife making, here are some things that have helped me:

www.waltersorrellsblades.com

www.youtube.com/channel/UCkLxJCuQZ4hStBfs8TCnT9Q

Honoring our Eagles

Q: What's the difference between the Boy Scouts of America and the guys at 3 Elk Meadow?

A: The Boy Scouts have adult leadership.

     Our family has a relationship with the Boy Scouts of America. Our young men are Scouts, and both Long Rifle and I are proud to say that we’ve been Scout leaders. We believe that Scouting has taught us a lot about being good outdoorsmen and good men. That's why we’re so proud to say that we have two Eagle Scouts in our family. Since he’d neither of them would ever think of calling attention to his own accomplishments (as The Ranger would say, “That's just not what we do in our family.”) we will call attention to them. You've gotten a feel for what great guys they are right here on 3EM, but let us pause for a moment to honor our two Eagles.
     These two guys have been best buddies almost since birth.

Different as night and day in some ways, but always together. I've never seen them divided on any topic. If you haven't picked up on it, Ranger is older by about eight months. That small difference has never mattered much. When they were much younger, we called them the Coyote Brothers because, like coyote pups, if they weren't eating or sleeping they were wrestling. Now, they're young men – my wing men.   
    The Ranger is a quiet guy who was the oldest of his generation in our family. As such, he was the first to catch a fish, the first to shoot a rabbit. It was the Ranger who got us started on the whole Cutt-Slam thing that became a rite of passage for us all. Like his dad, he’s not a big guy. But he’s rawhide tough. It's pretty hard to tire him out, and he's a cool hand in a tough spot. He shares his family’s love for Wyoming history and he's the keeper of the family stories. He's an expert on aviation, and he can tell you at a glance what plane that is up there at 35,000 feet, what airline it flies for and where it's headed.      

     The Apprentice got his name because he's a lot like me. More precisely, he’s what I wish I could be. He’s a kind, hard-working and intelligent guy who has always loved wild things and wild places. He's the guy who packed his first load of elk meat off the mountain in a Ninja Turtles backpack at age five. He’s the guy who’s up at 6 AM, asking what he can do to help. He’s learned a lot along the way. But perhaps just as important, he’s taught us a lot. He’s taught us the importance of patience, and toughing things out even when they're hard. He’s taught us to be considerate of others and to be gentle in how we treat those we love.
So here's a shout out to our two Eagles, the Ranger and the Apprentice. You're a credit to our family, and we’re proud of you.

- Grandpa

Saguaro Sea

     In the desert of Southern Arizona, I look out over an ocean. Waves of majestic saguaro cacti, standing in the hot desert sun. One catches my attention. This one is taller than the others, and has a lot more arms. He’s been alive for probably around 200 years. Day after lonely day he stands there among his brethren, proud and tall. He’s been through a lot – his gnarled, twisted arms, and ever browning stalk indicate how much. But he’s resilient. He’s survived freezes, possibly fires, and wind. He grew up surrounded by the Navajo tribe, having never seen a white person until he was 20 years old. He was my height as he watched armed men leave their homes to go fight the Confederates during the Civil War. He was well over a century old when we entered World War II, and 150 by the time Grandpa was born. He’s reaching the end of his life now, and I wonder if he’s tired of it. He’s watched fads come and go, seen how fast things change, and yet he hasn’t changed. That’s what I like about him and his brothers. He doesn't care about who’s our next president, what celebrities are doing, or the newest, coolest technology. He just stands there, gazing day after day over the Saguaro Sea. Old man, I respect you.

-The Ranger