A COMPLETE STRANGER one day saw my need of a decent pocket knife. Camping near Fort Pickens along Pensacola Bay, I was making a hideous mess of my tent guide line. A storm approaching, wind rising, rain pelting. There I knelt, making pitiful slashing gestures with the camping equivalent of a butter knife.
In short, a used but serviceable -and razor sharp- knife was lent, lines repaired, the loaner returned. Almost. “Keep it” greeted me the next day, along with the sun, a humid funk rising from the damp ground.
Never absent a pocket knife for a single day after that, its utility proven time after time. One can cut, pry, poke, slice, shave, nick, flatten, abrade, any number of additional operations with a good knife. Operations! Missed that one. Yes, an emergency tracheotomy is not beyond a sharp pointed knife and improvised breathing tube. If you want an appendectomy on a desert island, better hope someone -like me- has a good knife in their pocket.
When my knife broke, I bought an identical model -staggered at the sum- but happy again to be so equipped. Chance conversation illuminated me on Gerber’s warranty. Forever. I sent it in, and they repaired the original. Now I have two. A spare, in case one is at the cutlery professional, having it’s edge honed.