The first knife I ever made was an ugly thing. Hammered from the springs of an old Toyota, it was born in the forge of a retired blacksmith on a neighbouring farm during a long, northern Norwegian winter many years ago.
With a handle made from a piece of birch firewood, it wouldn’t win any beauty contests. Nevertheless, it represented the first, faltering steps in a slow journey towards a craft that was to play an increasingly important part of my life. Despite its flaws I still have that knife and it still sees regular use; Land Cruisers never really die, after all.
The perfect blade
At first knife making was purely a hobby, a slow quest to find the perfect blade. But you can
