The BlackBerry vibrated. I reached to silence the marital-friendly alarm clock and wished I’d resisted “ just one more” pint of Southwold’s finest some 7 hours earlier. The temptation to simply turnover and snooze was intense and made all the more attractive c/o the heavy rain lashing the window. As the intensity of impact increased I resisted the invitation to idleness and imagined myself creeping through some winter sun-dappled coppice with rifle & single stick in hand. I leapt from bed or rather whatever passes for such at 55 and stuck a good glob of toothpaste into a mouth I could barely open. Job done and Land-Rover loaded I hit the road. We would have roe filet for Christmas and what’s more Dougster’s fine stalking knife was finally going to get seriously dirty albeit far too many years after commissioning what I believe is “#3”.
And so it did and a fine piece of steel it proved: Long enough to bleed without having to ram most of the scales into the chest cavity; chunky enough to bite deep into sinew and ligament when removing legs (if you hit the right line!); similarly deft at lopping off heads and in the case of this doe two downward thrusts to the sternum was sufficient to open ribcage.
In summary a cracking piece of kit and only to be improved by a wee bit more reduction/profiling of the scales just below lanyard hole as I believe is now standard.