This is not a product review, although it certainly could be. If it was, I doubt it would be read by more than a handful of visitors. It’s not like the Victorinox® Swiss Army® knife is something new, right? According to my bit of research, it’s been around since 1890. The name is also actively protected, hence the registered trademark symbols, above. Frankly, you can’t blame them. It’s been a real game changer in more ways than one, and yes, the first model was adopted by the Swiss Army.
Enough trivia. This article is about the knife pictured, which has made a slight bulge in the left front pocket of countless pairs of my pants for longer than I can remember.
This story is about how far I’ve gone to ensure that knife remained in my possession, and how it’s been there for me. Coincidentally, this story occurred at one of my favorite fly fishing spots, so it’s a fishing story, too.
Put simply, that knife is one of my best friends. These days, I don’t even recall how I came to own it. It’s a good bet it was gifted by my oldest brother, who developed a tradition of gifting knives to his son and brothers long ago. In any case, that photo shows it exactly as it came out of my pocket today.
The setting for the day I almost lost it was on East Ten Sleep Creek, in the Bighorn Mountains of Wyoming. The “East” designation is important. At the time, the eastern fork of the creek was much less accessible than the western one. Obviously, that was the main reason we preferred it.
Pam and I were on a rare trip we’d decided to take by ourselves. We often enjoyed joining family and friends at the campground we used, It was a large, undesignated hilltop space where we had room to set up everyone’s campers and tents, along with a huge screen tent everyone could use for cooking and eating.
There was no drinking water, so we always hauled in ten to twenty gallons in 5-gallon potable water jugs. Ice had to be brought in as well, of course, but if more was needed, a two or three-hour round trip to Meadowlark Lodge would provide cheap refills.
There was a huge pool at the base of the hill that served as a marvelous swimming hole. From there, the creek ran downstream several miles to a bridge on the highway we drove in on. The entire stretch was well stocked with Rainbows and Brookies, but for those who had the leg power, a long hike downstream led to wide, grassy meadows where a stealthy fly fisher could tie into some hefty Browns.
At the upstream end of those pools was a set of rapids, and where they broke as the land leveled, the family often stopped and drifted bait to the fish waiting in the calmer water. I enjoyed playing with those fish, and it was a great place to grab a few to cook and eat right away, but my Paradise was in the meadows below.
Pam, having a much shorter stride, would opt out of the long hike and stay closer to camp. That was her plan on this trip, too, and I landed a couple of nice ones before I hiked back to join her. She’d had great luck with the Brookies, so we had a nice meal and relaxed for the evening, then piled into the camper and slept.
We only had the one day for this trip, so we reluctantly packed up after a good breakfast and headed back out toward the main road. It was just about the time we made it past the roughest stretch of the road in, when I realized my trusty Swiss Army knife wasn’t in my pocket. It didn’t take a lot of thought to realize where it was. Fortunately, we also knew there was a shortcut – of sorts. Once the road reached the high ground and opened up a bit, there was a spot where the meadows were close enough to see, though there was quite a bit of ground to cover. Fortunately, with the exception of the first few hundred yards, it was a gentle slope to the creek, then a quick hike to the pools.
Needless to say, I didn’t think twice. Pam and the dogs stayed in a pullout with a good view of my route, and I made the trip to rescue my Swiss-made buddy. It was sticking up out of the bank where I’d left it when I washed my hands. I’d never felt the need to carry a bigger knife to this spot. It did everything I needed.
Take a close look and you’ll see it’s been through a lot since then. The scales are chipped and scratched, and the corkscrew is slightly bent from overuse at an artists’ party. Everyone brought wine. No one brought a corkscrew. The bottle opener was there for this bartender to provide service for the beer and cider drinkers, too. This bartender may have partaken of the refreshments, as well. Within moderation, of course.
The can opener has seen plenty of use on other camping and fishing trips, and a few odd occasions when I wanted to show off. The fold-out scissors have performed on many occasions, too. Rumor has it, this knife is the only reason I’ve been invited to some parties.
We have a relationship and plenty of tales to tell, this knife and I. I carry the light end, keeping the blades clean and reasonably sharp. It does the heavy lifting and prying. It bears more scars than it’s given me, although there have been a few. I’m all about knife safety, but I’m also a klutz at times.
The shield logo is worn away by my own hand. The knife still holds the original toothpick and tweezers and they’re well used. I’m proud to say it has never been used as a hammer. I’d never stoop so low. The chipped scale doesn’t have a match on the other side. I can’t recall what caused that, but I’ll swear it was accidental, rather than due to abuse.
It goes on the top of my dresser every night, and every morning, it goes into the left front pocket.
I hope some readers will be able to relate. Either way, I hope you enjoyed the read. As for the location of the creek and the exact route, I’ll leave that for you to find. I’m reasonably sure there’s now a road that leads to the lower end of the creek, so the pools are more easily accessible. I’m not sure I’m happy about that. Progress isn’t always a good thing.
