Good Intent

Some knives begin with a piece of steel.

This one began with a friendship.

My mate Richard Bennett turned eighty last year. Richard is a photographer, sailor and all-round good bloke. He's also been one of the biggest supporters of my knife-making adventures, constantly turning up with interesting bits of timber and asking, "Could you make a knife handle out of this?"

Quite often, the answer is yes.

Richard owns a wonderful little boat called Good Intent. She has quite a history, having started life as one of the lifeboats from the Lake Illawarra—the bulk carrier that struck the Tasman Bridge in Hobart in 1975. During a recent refit of the boat, Richard kept a section of the original mast for me.

As soon as I saw it, I knew it deserved to become something special.

I paired the mast timber, a Canadian Spruce with a piece of Tasmanian Huon pine that had washed up on Richard's property on Bruny Island. I liked the idea that both pieces of timber had spent much of their lives around the sea before finding their way into the same knife.

The design took a little more thought.

Rather than making a conventional pointed blade, I settled on a sheepsfoot pattern. Traditionally used by sailors, the sheepsfoot has a rounded tip that greatly reduces the chance of accidentally stabbing sails, ropes—or yourself—when working on a moving deck. It's a practical design, born from generations of people who earned their living at sea.

That seemed entirely appropriate for a knife that belonged aboard Good Intent.

The blade is AEB-L stainless steel, chosen because life on a boat is hard enough without having to constantly worry about rust. The brass bolster will develop a soft patina over time, while the mast timber and Huon pine carry with them a history that can't be bought from a timber merchant.

One final touch remained.

I had the words "THE GOOD INTENT" engraved on the blade.

Not simply because that's the boat's name.

Because I think it also says something about the friendship behind the knife.

Some gifts are practical.

Some are personal.

Some become part of the stories we tell.

I hope this knife becomes all three and that it sails with Richard for many years to come.