There are objects we own, and others that, through use, quietly become extensions of our hand. The UKPK in Magnacut—here in its serrated form, dressed in Heinnie’s Titech titanium scales—belongs firmly to the latter. Not a piece to be admired at a distance, but one to be lived with. Everyday. Tested. Carried without ceremony. This tool is low profile but with an hungry edge.
What strikes first is the paradox. A familiar, ergonomic silhouette—born from a will shaped by strict legal constraints—yet delivering a level of cutting performance that feels anything but limited. That serrated edge does not flatter at first glance. It unsettles some, even repels others. And that is precisely where its relevance begins.
Because real life does not deal in ideal materials or perfect technique. A slice of cooling pizza, a stubborn thread, double-wall cardboard, an electrical cable—each offers a different resistance. Where a plain edge demands precision, serrations adapt. They bite and initiate cuts. From a caresse to firm push cuts, using thin SpyderEdge serrations is an escalation in my cutting intentions. I need that material to be cut fast !! It helps a lot when you cut a label in a store without to be noticed (once you bought it of course…)
In this configuration, Magnacut reveals a deeper character. I had noticed it on the wonderful Chief Salt . Its reputation is well established, but it is in repetition—across mundane, unremarkable tasks—that it truly asserts itself. Edge retention ceases to be a technical metric and becomes something tangible. Days pass, materials accumulate, and yet the initial sensation—a ready, immediate hungry bite—remains intact with a quiet, almost disconcerting consistency. That makes a real difference for an EDC.
It is telling that even its own designer, Sal Glesser, found himself rediscovering the knife through this serrated Magnacut expression.
Notice my “preaching to the choir” post 😄
This is a genuine sense of surprise at the endurance of the edge, accompanied by a nod to Larrin Thomas, whose metallurgical work made this steel possible. This is more than technical acknowledgment; it is recognition of a rare alignment between design intent and material innovation.
The titanium scales subtly shift the relationship further. The knife gains density, heft and presence. I just love that. It’s no more a lightweight though but the tactile experience becomes cooler, more deliberate. There is something almost architectural about it—a structure defined as much by its material honesty as by its purpose, ready to meet the unpredictability of daily use by sea, air or land.
Over time, what emerges is a quiet redefinition of the serrated edge itself. Long confined to specialized roles—rescue, rope, marine environments—it finds here a broader legitimacy. Not as an alternative to the plain edge, but as a different philosophy of cutting. More instinctive. More pragmatic.
I have felt the same with the Chaparral serrated, offering those performance in a lady/gentleman format. The UKPK offers a longer blade but a legal solution.
The serrated Chaparral brings this same idea into a more restrained, almost tailored format—slim, discreet, almost polite in profile, yet unexpectedly serious once it starts working. It’s the kind of tool that disappears into a pocket and reappears only when needed, delivering performance without ever looking like it intends to.
The UKPK serrated Magnacut, on the other hand, pushes the concept further in a different direction. Same underlying logic, but with more reach, more cutting length, more immediate utility when the task scales up. It’s not trying to be more aggressive—it simply extends the capability envelope while staying within a legal framework that forces discipline into the design.
Put together, they sketch an interesting continuum rather than a category: the thinner Chaparral as refined minimalism with bite, the thin UKPK as everyday legality stretched to its most useful expression.
Different formats, same underlying surprise: serrations stop being “special-purpose” and start behaving like a perfectly normal, highly efficient everyday cutting system !
To reach for a serrated blade to cut burger or break down a box should no longer feel unusual. If anything, it is where this knife feels most at home. Its modernity lies not in spectacle, but in normalization—in making high performance feel natural within the ordinary.
The serrated Magnacut UKPK does not argue its case. It does not need to. It simply works—and in doing so, it quietly resets expectations.
Low-profile in the pocket, yet unmistakably assertive at the edge, it pairs a hungry, enduring bite with a reassuringly solid construction. All of it contained within a form that remains legally acceptable in many places—an understated balance of restraint and capability.
Installing Titech titanium scales from Heinnie Haynes onto a Spyderco UKPK is less a mechanical operation than a quiet exercise in precision, patience, and restraint—something closer to watchmaking than simple knife maintenance. And I’m clumsy. The UKPK, with its deceptively simple slipjoint construction, hides a strong and finely balanced backspring fork whose tension defines the entire character of the knife. Respecting that tension is the key to a successful transformation. And trust me, it asks for respect because it is strong !!
Begin by approaching the disassembly with intention rather than haste. A quality Torx driver is essential, not only to preserve the hardware but to maintain control over each movement. Remove the pocket clip screws first, then the body screws, and only then ease into the pivot. At this stage, the knife is still under spring tension, and it is important to keep a subtle, steady pressure on the handle as the scales begin to separate. The backspring should never be allowed to snap free; instead, it must be guided, almost persuaded, into release.
This moment defines whether the process remains controlled or becomes unnecessarily chaotic.
As the original FRN scales come away, the internal architecture of the UKPK reveals itself in a straightforward yet unforgiving layout: blade, backspring, stop pin, pivot barrel, and screws, all of which must be preserved and transferred. The most elegant way to proceed is to move components gradually, keeping their orientation intact, allowing the new titanium scale to receive them in a natural sequence rather than reconstructing everything from memory. The washers, often overlooked, are in fact central to the final action. They must sit perfectly flat on either side of the blade, aligned with the pivot, as even the slightest misplacement will translate into stiffness or uneven movement once assembled. I have used gaffer tape to maintain the D Shape female screws in place while manipulating the scale.
Reassembly is where the transformation begins to take shape. One titanium scale becomes the foundation upon which the blade and spring are seated, their relationship re-established with careful alignment. The second scale closes the structure, and the pivot is introduced not as a point of tension but as a placeholder, tightened only enough to hold the system together.
Insert the blade carefully into the fork of the backspring, ensuring it seats naturally without forcing the geometry; from that moment onward, the entire operation shifts to the opposite end of the spring, whose tail must be guided with precision into the recessed channel of the titanium scale, where it locks into place and defines the tension of the mechanism.
The body screws follow, also left deliberately loose. At this stage, the knife should feel unresolved, almost unfinished, and that is precisely the intention.
The refinement comes next, and it is here that the distinction between an average installation and an exceptional one is made. The body screws should be brought to tension first, gradually and evenly, allowing the frame to settle without distorting the spring. Only then should the pivot be adjusted, and even then with the lightest touch, in minute increments. The temptation to over-tighten must be resisted entirely. On a slipjoint like the UKPK, excessive force does not create solidity; it creates imbalance, increasing spring pressure artificially and compromising the fluidity of the action. In extreme cases, it risks stressing the spring itself, which is the heart of the mechanism. Keeping the pivot loose with a touch of threadlocker is exactly the right instinct; it allows the mechanism to settle into its natural alignment before you commit to final tension.
The final result: the UKPK gains a subtle weight, a cooler tactility, and a sense of structural integrity that the original FRN cannot provide. I love the added heft—it enhances the feel while preserving the rustproof nature of the UKPK Salt. t’s a rare upgrade where nothing essential is lost. Instead, everything is simply… tightened, deepened, and made more intentional. And for around 57 euros, it feels like a genuine bargain. Heinnie Haynes also offers brass and copper Titech scales, though they didn’t quite suit the spirit of my Spyderco UKPK Salt. But if Sal Glesser ever releases a 52100 version of the UKPK, copper would suddenly make perfect sense. 🙂
Now my Spyderco UKPK Salt has developed a beautifully smooth action paired with a reassuringly strong mechanism. The mid-stop produces a crisp, satisfying clang that subtly signals quality. It’s a pleasure to handle, with a confidently positive open position that inspires trust every time.
I often come across very strong opinions when it comes to serrated versus plain edges. More often than not, users dismiss serrations outright—too ugly, too difficult to sharpen, ultimately useless, impossible to tune… usually without ever having truly put them to the test.
Consider this a brief attempt to set the record straight.
The Spydie UKPK Salt in Magnacut, here in its serrated form, is built for unforgiving environments : lightweight, corrosion-proof, and relentlessly efficient when conditions turn wet, fibrous, or hostile.
Facing it, the Spyderco UKPK Sprint Run in SPY27 with a plain edge embodies precision and control, offering a refined, razor-like cutting experience with effortless maintenance.
What do we got ? Two identical platforms, two radically different philosophies: one designed to endure, the other to excel.
Let’s first compare the steel. Two of my favorite high end alloys and luxury, in this case, does not come from polish or presentation. It comes from intent.
The UKPK Salt, dressed in serrations and armed with Magnacut, carries the modern obsession with resilience to its logical extreme. This is not a steel that negotiates. It exists in total defiance of the elements: saltwater, humidity, neglect. Where older stainless steels would stain, pit, or surrender their edge, Magnacut remains composed, almost indifferent. Its toughness borders on the improbable for something so corrosion-resistant, and yet it refuses to chase the last degree of razor refinement. Its edge is not delicate—it is enduring. One senses immediately that this is a steel designed not for the enthusiast’s bench, but for the long, indifferent stretch of real use.
Across from it, the Golden Child, blade of SPY27, a Sprint Run which offers a very different kind of luxury. Less demonstrative, more intimate. Designed in-house by Spyderco, COM-SPY27 feels less like a technological statement and more like a tuned instrument. It sharpens with ease, almost eagerly, taking on a ultra fine, ultra precise edge that invites control rather than brute persistence. Where Magnacut stands its ground, SPY27 moves—fluid, responsive, alive under the hand. It does not seek to dominate harsh environments; it refines the experience of cutting within them.
The distinction is subtle but decisive. Magnacut is a wonder steel that reassures. SPY27 is an exclusive steel that seduces.
Now about the edge shape…. Here, inevitably, the steel disappears. What remains is the edge—the only part that truly meets the world.
Like Moses said, “Part the matters for me”… —oh wait, I meant the waters. 😉
On the Salt, the serrated profile transforms the blade into something almost mechanical in its intent. It does not glide; it engages. Each tooth acts as a point of aggression, catching, pulling, tearing through resistant materials with an efficiency that borders on inevitability. Rope, fibrous plastics, anything damp or uncooperative—these are not challenges but confirmations of purpose. You need to try it to understand it. Serrations aren’t saws—they’re teeth. Even as the knife loses its initial sharpness, the serrations continue to function, each peak preserving a fragment of cutting power. It is a system designed to keep working long after refinement has faded.
But there is no illusion here. This is not a refined edge. It does not slice so much as it asserts itself. Precision is sacrificed for continuity of performance. Elegance yields to certainty.
To sharpen it, use the corner of a stone or a triangular rod, and treat it like a chisel-ground blade: work each serration individually, then simply remove the burr on the flat side. It’s done in minutes—easy, almost effortless.
The SPY27 Sprint Run, with its plain edge, follows the opposite philosophy. The cut is continuous, uninterrupted—a single line of intent from heel to tip. It can be tuned at will, from a coarse, aggressive bite to a razor’s whisper. There is no tearing, no hesitation. Materials part cleanly, almost silently, as if persuaded rather than forced. In wood, the blade tracks with uncanny precision; in food, it glides effortlessly; in finer tasks, it answers the slightest pressure. Here, SPY27 reveals its true nature—not through endurance, but through absolute fidelity to the cut.
And when the edge begins to soften, it does not resist restoration. A few passes on leather, a moment of attention, and the blade returns to form. There is a rhythm to it—a dialogue between user and steel that serrations, by their nature, cannot offer.
Placed side by side, these two UKPKs do not compete so much as they define a spectrum.
The Salt, in Magnacut and serrations, is a study in persistence. It is the knife that continues when conditions deteriorate, when maintenance is forgotten, when the environment becomes hostile. It asks little and gives consistency in return.
The SPY27 Sprint Run is something else entirely. It is not concerned with surviving neglect. It assumes presence, attention, a certain appreciation for the act itself. It rewards that attention with a level of precision and tactile satisfaction that borders on indulgence.
In the end, the choice is not between better or worse. It is between two forms of excellence.
One refuses to fail. The other refuses to compromise.
And that review was also inspired (in the background) by that beautiful New Model Army song :
“We all get what we’ve got coming to us The tide flows both ways across the seas All following through on promises made The roads are filled with fleeing slaves and refugees – singing
Part the waters for me
Now this motioning forward will never stop We’re like sharks in the water, if we stop swimming we die All coming out of the ruins bedraggled and worn Like a people who stared too long, too long at the sun in the sky – singing
Part the waters for me
Any god will surely come, deliverance will surely come On our knees by the stony shore, crack the sky and deliverance will come
There’s a quiet irony in taking a knife designed for confrontation… and teaching it patience.
I’ve written more than once about Jade, my 8 years old Spyderco Yojimbo 2 Sprint Run—a blade that was never meant for the forest. It was conceived for speed, control, and intent in a very different kind of environment.
But strip away the narrative, and what remains is geometry.
And geometry doesn’t lie.
Somewhere along the way, it became clear that I wasn’t alone in that realization. At the last Minimeet, I had the chance to handle a design by Michael Janich—a fixed-blade prototype unmistakably rooted in the Yojimbo 2’s DNA, yet openly aimed at bushcraft.
That moment changed the perspective.
Because it confirmed something simple: using a Yojimbo 2 in the woods isn’t a vue de l’esprit. It’s not a conceptual stretch, nor a contrarian experiment.
It’s a natural evolution.
I wasn’t alone in seeing it as a whittler, a wood cutter, a tool for controlled work rather than confrontation. It’s my reinterpretation—since 2018—of what a reliable forest knife could be against the grain: hollow grind and very pointy wharncliffe.
Steel: CPM M4 — aggressive, unforgiving, alive… and tough. Tougher than S30V, which matters when your Yojimbo carries a fine, precise tip.
Edge: Convexed — reshaped for efficiency, and just as importantly, easy maintenance on leather. A working edge, not a showroom finish.
Spine: Rounded — softened for control, especially in push cuts driven by the thumb of my left hand.
These aren’t cosmetic tweaks. They are functional decisions that shift the knife’s center of gravity—from tactical response to wood interaction. Because using a knife gently on a piece of wood is not just a task. It’s a sensation. And that sensation—quiet, controlled, almost meditative—is where the real value lies. Cutting wood is not only about efficiency. It’s about pleasure.
And pleasure is an essential part of the cutting experience with a CPM M4 thin edge. That straight edge doesn’t fight the material—it applies a constant, controlled pressure through the cut. It enters, separates, and exits with a continuity rarely found in production folders. Michael Janich has been advocate of that design for 25 years. And it seems he has taken his own Yo2 in the wild too. Because that’s where the Wharncliffe reveals its truth. Its straight edge isn’t a limitation—it’s an advantage for whittling.
Precision cuts become natural. Predictable. Repeatable. And then the thin, convexed edge takes over.
Suddenly, even hard, dry wood yields with ease:
cuts deepen without resistance
fibers part cleanly—almost polished under the thumb
the blade tracks perfectly straight, as if guided on rails
What is often misunderstood as a “tactical” profile becomes something else entirely: a controlled cutting line—precise, deliberate, uncompromising.
Even feathersticks are no longer a technique. They become a rhythm. A mantra. Notches become intention. Every movement feels deliberate. In total control.
Then comes the detail most people ignore: I have rounded spine on my Yo2. This is where the knife becomes an extension of my hand. No more sharp edges digging into the thumb. No hesitation when applying pressure. Just a direct transfer of force, guided and stable.
In extended carving, this changes everything. You don’t adjust your grip to the knife. The knife adapts to your movement.
But CPM-M4 is not a forgiving companion. It stains. It reacts. It asks for care. This is not Magnacut. 😉
But in return, it offers something rare: a lasting, aggressive bite into the material. In wood, that translates directly to efficiency. Less effort. More control. Longer sessions without compromise.
It does raise a question, though—one worth exploring. How would a Magnamax Yojimbo 2 perform in that domain? Magnamax sits close, in spirit, to a stainless K390—high wear resistance, a keen, persistent edge in a rustproof package. That could change the balance for a wooden Yojimbo 2. Either way, it would be an interesting evolution of a SD tool into a wood knife. But back in 2018, when Jade took shape as a sprint run, CPM M4 was the undisputed king of the hill.
Let’s be clear: Jade is not my traditional bushcraft knife.
It won’t baton logs
It won’t split kindling with brute force
It doesn’t pretend to be indestructible
But that’s precisely the point. This knife exists in its own different space:
Where cutting is not about survival theater, but about precision, control, and understanding the material. Calm and enjoyment.
It remains a folding knife and its tip is fine, by design. But within its intended envelope, Jade performs with a clarity few knives achieve.
Because some knives are defined by their makers and others are polished by their users. Jade belongs to the latter.
What began as a tactical tool has become something quieter, more refined: a modern woodcraft instrument, shaped not by doctrine, but by experience. Convex at the edge, softened at the spine— this is not a knife that was designed for the woods. It’s a knife that learned them. Jade the quiet warrior…
The Edgerati is a knife meant to be seen. Concealed use is not its calling; it is designed to be displayed. This intent is immediately evident in the intricacy of its handle, crafted from aerospace-grade aluminum—a material currently coveted in both automotive and mobile technology. Its aesthetic is at once modern and authoritative, a subtle nod to industrial sophistication.
This folding cutting tool feels as though it stepped straight out of a James Cameron film—somewhere between The Terminator, Aliens, and Avatar. With its feather-light, aerospace-grade construction and unapologetically high-tech design, it belongs as naturally on Pandora—clipped to the gear of a frontier colonist—as it does in the pocket of a discerning collector. Sleek, precise, and unmistakably futuristic, it carries the kind of visual authority that would make it an effortless on-screen presence: a prop that doesn’t just look the part, but performs with the same credibility in the real world as it would under cinematic scrutiny.
The clip positions the knife prominently in the pocket, foregoing deep-carry discretion for confident visibility. For those who prioritize subtlety, this may give pause—but the Edgerati embraces its presence unapologetically. Lightweight yet commanding, it wears its virtues with pride.
What truly surprised me was the Edgerati’s rare equilibrium between strength and comfort—its balance giving the knife an almost living presence in the hand. I had anticipated something more cumbersome, even imagined that maintenance might prove tedious, yet the opposite is true. The Edgerati feels intuitive, effortless. Whether in the kitchen or deep in the wilderness, it performs like a seasoned workhorse. The blade deploys with immediacy and closes with a swift, reassuring snap, reinforcing the impression of a tool engineered with equal measures of precision and confidence. It’s the kind of knife my friend Sancho would appreciate—always eager to move fast and light, even when chasing joggers. (This is indeed a private joke… Sancho doesn’t actually run—he ambushes them.)
The geometry of the blade underscores its reliability: it cuts deep, precise, and confidently. Out of the box, the factory edge is nothing short of perfect—a testament to the meticulous craftsmanship that defines the Edgerati.
There is, admittedly, one small point of contention. While the S30V blade—expertly heat-treated by Spyderco—represents one of the finest expressions of this steel, I couldn’t help wishing for something a touch more adventurous. To be clear, CPM S30V remains a benchmark alloy, purpose-built for cutlery and still remarkably relevant. Yet today, we live in an era blessed with extraordinary newcomers—Magnacut, or even CPM MagnaMax. One can’t help but imagine, just for a moment, what the Edgerati would feel like straight out of the box with a MagnaMax blade: a true thunderclap, a statement heard across the knife world. For now, that dream must wait—but it certainly makes the prospect of future Sprint runs all the more tantalizing.
In the kitchen, hands are often wet—or worse, slick with oil. This is the ultimate test of a knife’s ergonomics: can it be drawn from the pocket and handled with confidence, without any risk of slipping? The Edgerati answers that challenge effortlessly. Its handle offers a subtle, almost rubber-like tactility under the fingers, and once in hand, it seems to lock naturally into the palm, inspiring immediate control even in the most slippery conditions. Just as importantly, its open construction makes the knife remarkably easy to clean under running water, while full access to the mechanical components simplifies maintenance and lubrication—practical virtues that reinforce its status as a true everyday tool.
And so, maintenance remains refreshingly straightforward: a single drop of oil can be applied directly to the detent ball path, ensuring consistently smooth action without the need to disassemble the knife. This is a clear advantage afforded by the knife’s unique design, offering genuine, everyday value to the end hard user.
I brought along my 1990s ATS-34 Sebenza and my Falcon to compare the weight and feel of these classic titanium-frame folders against the lightweight, aluminum-framed Edgerati.
The contrast is immediate: the Edgerati feels astonishingly light and well balanced in the hand, yet without ever compromising solidity or control. Rest assured, I also appreciate the reassuring heft in the hand when handling “Honor”, and it’s precisely what made the Sebenza so successful: a sharp, reliable tool that is simple to disassemble, clean, and sterilize. (Click the links to explore its full history.) And for the record, the Massdrop Falcon is the knife that ultimately prompted me to retire both the Techno 1 and Techno 2 from my “compact, robust folder” rotation. And truly—it’s that good.
I had initial concerns about that aluminum coating, but so far it has proven remarkably resilient. It shows no fragility, and the minor signs of wear blend seamlessly into the overall aesthetic. This is a knife that seems destined to age gracefully, acquiring character without compromising its refined appeal.
For those who appreciate a personal touch, customization is not merely possible—it becomes transformative. I chose to slightly round the spine of the blade, softening its edges and taming the aggressive upper jimping, using nothing more than a simple, coarse €5 diamond file. The result is subtle yet meaningful, enhancing comfort without compromising the knife’s character, and reinforcing the idea that the Edgerati welcomes thoughtful, owner-driven refinement.
Using the straight spine of the blade to push or gather ingredients on the cutting board is another advantage the Edgerati offers—something you simply can’t do with the Bodacious or the Shaman.
At 3.7 mm, the blade thickness may sound substantial on paper, yet the reality is far more nuanced. The Edgerati features a tall blade with a full flat grind, resulting in a geometry that is uncompromising straight out of the box. Thanks to its pronounced distal taper, the blade thins rapidly, delivering excellent cutting performance without any sense of excess material behind the edge. In that respect, it recalls me my Lil’ Temperance—4 mm thick, yet tall and very efficient. On a blade of this height, 3.7 mm translates to razor sharpness, with no penalty in use. By contrast, the Shaman’s high saber grind required significant reprofiling to suit my preferences. Not so with the Edgerati—much to my own surprise. And considering that I routinely pair it with a Chaparral, one can easily gauge just how deeply I appreciate thin, efficient blade geometry.
The result is subtle yet immediately perceptible under the fingers, elevating both comfort and control and transforming the knife into something truly bespoke. The ability to tailor the Edgerati to one’s own preferences is not a mere convenience—it is an integral part of the ownership experience.
The Edgerati has proven itself a consummate workhorse, commanding respect far beyond the display case. It moves effortlessly from the precision of the kitchen—slicing sun-ripened tomatoes or conquering a stubborn squash—with the same grace and efficiency it demonstrates in the field, whether filleting fish, shaping kindling, or executing impromptu repairs.
Through every challenge—pictured here during my now-infamous “butt bottle” test—the blade retains its razor-sharp edge and the handle shows no sign of strain, a quiet testament to the knife’s meticulous engineering. It is a piece that draws admiration, and occasionally amazement, at first glance, yet continues to thrive under the most demanding real-world conditions—a rare and compelling union of refined elegance and enduring, work-ready reliability. This blade feels unmistakably powerful the moment it meets material. Thanks to its more pronounced point and more efficient overall geometry, the Edgerati delivers deeper, more decisive cuts with noticeably less effort than the Shaman. Again, in my experience, every Shaman I’ve owned required edge refinement to meet my expectations; with the Edgerati, no such intervention has been necessary, to my own surprise.
In short, the Edgerati is not merely another elaborately designed folder, nor simply a lighter reinterpretation of the Spyderco Shaman; it is a statement of modern design—a precise balance of form and function that commands attention while delivering uncompromising performance. One might even call it a KWEMRP: a Knife Where Elegance Meets Rugged Performance. 😉.
And here’s a video clip featuring Sonoya Mizuno that could have inspired the Edgerati’s design:
Also another design which is totally Sal Glesser passion: MACAN BOATS Aluminium Yacht and… they are Italians !! Their aluminum construction is based on a mixed system of transverse and longitudinal framing, executed to the highest standards of quality. All scantlings are calculated and implemented in strict conformity with naval architect specifications, ensuring optimal structural integrity while preserving weight efficiency. Aluminum’s exceptional strength-to-weight ratio is central to this approach.
Screenshot
Welding is carried out by highly trained professionals recognized among the most experienced in the industry. Hull plating is assembled with exceptional precision, resulting in a fair, true hull that requires minimal fairing compound—reflecting both structural excellence and refined craftsmanship. For them too, aluminium is the future, really.
The Chaparral platform is one of Spyderco’s most refined designs. It is extremely thin—among the thinnest in their entire lineup—both in blade stock and handle thickness. This isn’t just about comfort: the blade geometry is optimized for slicing efficiency. Minimal stock, high grind, and a fine edge mean it cuts with very little applied force.
The SlipIt design removes the locking mechanism, making it legal in many jurisdictions that restrict blade length or prohibit locks. Despite being a slipjoint, it feels very solid and the choild provides an extra security. The internal construction—including the concealed stop pin near the pivot—adds stiffness and long-term durability that you don’t always get with non-locking folders.
With the pocket clip removed, the Chap becomes almost invisible. It carries deep in the pocket, or even inside my keys wallet, without printing or drawing attention. Yet, once deployed, in use, it never feels inadequate. The cutting performance compensates for the modest size. Also the absence of clip makes it much comfy in my palm. It is again a sensual experience which contributes to the pleasure of useing your EDC. (I also use a smaller clip found on the Microjimbo when I need to have it clipped on my watch pocket.)
But removing the pocket clip takes about two minutes—just one screw— and requires no modification. Immediately turns the Chaparral SlipIt into a deep-carry in the bottom of the pockets, ultra-discreet folder civilian and refined as a beautiful object, not a thug favorite guillotine.
If you need a knife that stays well within legal boundaries, carries unnoticed, and still delivers real cutting capability, the Clipless Chaparral SlipIt is a smart, elegant, technically sound choice.
Edit: And if you’re worried about scratches, here’s a photo of a Squeak Titanium (not mine), clipless, living its best life at the very bottom of a pocket…
Keeping a titanium knife there is a bold choice—titanium (like wooden scales) is far softer than keys or coins—but it perfectly illustrates the beautility of EDC knives.
Digression: Did you think we were born in peaceful times?
In Western Europe today, amid increasing concerns over violence and insecurity, carrying a fixed blade — something I’ve done for decades with a short fixed blade — or even a locking folder can easily be misinterpreted.
And every single day, in the fall of 2025, the European newspapers report yet another knife attack or crime.
Knife attacks in the United Kingdom have shown a persistent and worrying upward trend in recent years. National data indicate that police recorded just over 53,000 knife‑enabled offences in the latest annual cycle, with assaults and robberies accounting for a substantial portion. While knife-related homicides represent a small percentage of overall offences, the absolute numbers remain high, with young people disproportionately affected. Offences involving the possession of bladed weapons have also risen, highlighting broader issues of accessibility and carrying habits in urban areas. Compared to a decade ago, knife-related violence has increased significantly.
(From a locking folder to slipjoint folder…. Sign of the times ?)
Most knife crimes in the UK use everyday knives like kitchen knives, because they’re cheap and easy to access. But a significant minority of attacks involve more “exotic” or dangerous blades: like machetes !
In Germany, some state-level police offices estimated more than 21,000 knife attacks in 2022, which corresponds to about 60 knife attacks per day nationally.
In France, knife attacks also remain a major concern, with more than ten thousand recorded assaults involving bladed weapons in the most recent year across areas policed by the national force alone. This figure corresponds to roughly a few dozen attacks per day and does not include all regions or the gendarmerie’s jurisdiction. Schools in the Paris region reported over a hundred knife-related incidents within a year, highlighting a sharp increase in youth involvement and the normalization of carrying knives. Broader national indicators show rising attempted homicides and a high proportion of armed robberies committed with knives, underscoring the central role of bladed weapons in everyday violence. French law places certain knives (e.g., automatic opening, butterfly/balisong knives, fixed-blades over a certain size, double-edged blades) into stricter categories (Category D weapons) when carried without legitimate reason. Folding pocket-knives of everyday use (e.g., classic French models) are more tolerated — they may be treated as tools rather than weapons if not used aggressively or carried without justification.
~89 / 100,000 (using ~55,008 knife-enabled offences and a population of ~61.8 M)
France
~15 / 100,000 (based on ~10,397 reported “knife attacks” and a population of ~68.6 M)
Germany
~10.7 / 100,000 (using ~8,951 knife-attack figure from 2023 data)
In the UK, the rules are straightforward: a non-locking knife with a blade under 3 inches. But now it seems that one-hand-operated folders are no longer welcome; For the record, one-hand operation is actually safer: not only for opening, but also for closing the knife. A closed folder is a safe folder, and being able to switch your tool into “safe mode” quickly is a genuine advantage.
In France, things are far murkier — everything hinges on intention and context of use. It’s almost a Minority Report situation.
Ironically, in the country of Opinel and Laguiole, we’re now backpedaling because of sheer stupidity. And I’m not blaming the criminals who use knives to hurt people — that’s obvious. I’m blaming the people who carry a knife for self‑defense. After a search from the Police in front of an high school: “Why do you bring this knife to school ?” “To defend myself !” A knife is not a self‑defense tool — it’s a catalyst for problems. Awareness, on the other hand, is a self‑defense tool, and that’s something you really need to keep sharp. Even something as simple as wearing AirPods can compromise your ability to stay safe, cutting you off from your surroundings.
Unless you’re a gangster settling scores with your own kin, a knife will never be your bodyguard — not even with training. In fact, it can make things worse, especially if you think you’re “trained in knife fighting.” A knife as a weapon is a killer’s tool, meant for ambush and combat, not for duels.
(The only blade that might actually “help” you — for example in an attempted‑rape situation where you are physically overwhelmed, dominated, and restrained — is also the one that will almost certainly land you in even more trouble afterward. And if you ever reached that true last‑ditch moment, your best hope would ironically be a short serrated edge rather than a razor edge; under an adrenaline surge, an aggressor won’t even register a clean cut. The Spyderco Manbug Wharncliffe SpyderEdge comes to mind. But even then, you would need the mindset to become the aggressor just to survive — and you must be prepared to defend your actions in court afterward.)
I remember reading about an elderly man who was being harassed by a gang of young men. In the confrontation, he slashed the hand of one of his aggressors with his Swiss Army Knife — and in the end, he was the one standing before the judges. “To claim self‑defense, sir, there must be proportionality between the attack and the response.”
“It’s also a mindset. I’ve carried a knife since I was 9 and have never had the inclination to cut or stab someone. It’s all about how you have been raised.” Des Horn
So let’s remain ladies and gentlemen, and let’s be low profile in our EDC choices. The knives we carry and appreciate are not pocket bodyguards — they’re tools we genuinely enjoy using for simple, everyday tasks.
Carrying a knife in today’s civilian world means opening parcels, prepping food, cooking, doing small repairs — being a handyman or -woman, or at least trying to be. I’ve written before about the modern slipjoints we now have access to: knives that benefit from three decades of “tactical” evolution. They offer deep-carry clips, true one-hand opening and closing, and high-performance steels refined for modern cutlery.
So why would you choose a Mike Read folder? Is it better than a UKPK or an Urban? Nope. The SlipIt flagship UKPK, for example, also has a thin edge, and you can even dress it up with titanium scales if you feel like it. Its mechanism is also stiffer, with a two-stage closing “safety” that makes the blade feel more controlled on the way down.
So why choose the PITS2? It ultimately comes down to taste — your willingness to spend a bit more, your appreciation for the mechanism, the maker behind it, and of course a love for titanium and M398.
So what does the Alien/PITS2 truly bring in the long run?
In my case, I was genuinely surprised by how this “hard-to-open-one-handed” knife has grown on me. That stiffness actually makes it reassuring to carry — you know the blade won’t pop open by accident. Especially when you carry it in the back right pocket.
First: it slides in and out of the pocket effortlessly. That deep-carry clip is a real asset. It reminds me of the C181GTIP Lil’ Lionspy — also made in Maniago — but this one is even better than a wire clip: smooth, secure, and gentle on pockets.
Even though it’s light, the PITS2 feels dense and substantial in the hand. If you love titanium, you immediately recognise that warm, almost organic sensation it gives in the palm. Chris Reeve was the first to offer that pure‑titanium tactile experience, and the PITS2 carries that same aura.
Then your thumb finds the hole. It’s stiffer than most Spydercos I know, but that final click when fully opened is immensely satisfying. Forget about using your ring finger — it’s your thumb or nothing.
The hole is sharp enough to allow a “Spyder‑Drop,” though it occurs in two deliberate steps rather than one smooth motion.
Another major advantage: the PITS2 cannot pinch your fingers during opening or closing — a problem that the PITS1 sometimes had.
And, as I mentioned in the quick first‑look, that relatively tall blade comes with very thin geometry. This is the first Spyderco edge in a very long time—aside from my Chaparrals—that didn’t need to be convexed. I usually “de‑shoulder” everything to my taste and to my standard test: the plastic bottle butt.
This is where the PITS2 truly shines: pure cutting performance. So far, it has never disappointed me. At first, I thought its more “gentle” blade tip wouldn’t be pointy enough for my tastes—especially since I’m used to the UKPK, Yojimbo 2 or the Microjimbo—but the PITS2’s tip is razor‑keen. It finds its way into soft or dense materials with nothing more than a light, controlled pass.
Actually, butter knives do not need to be sharp. 😉 The PITS2’s thin edge can slip effortlessly through delicate materials—like slicing a layered birthday cake without crushing it. And it can zip through cherry tomatoes, which is always a great test of geometry and edge aggressiveness. Tomato skin resists, tomato flesh is fragile; a good blade needs to pierce the first without mangling the second.
Well, well, well… go figure: tomatoes can be tricky — and a perfect opportunity to put your favorite edge to the test. But honestly, what more could you ask for from a good EDC, superb slicing ability. A sharp knife is a safe knife.
M398 in that matter continues to surprise me. It reacts to leather like… K390 ! Amazing steel ! I’ve already used M398 on the Roadie XL and the Metropolitan, and it proved far more forgiving than I expected. I initially thought it would be brittle — especially after snapping about half a millimeter off the tip of my Roadie XL — but in everyday use it has shown itself to be an excellent alloy that also responds beautifully to stropping.
After some real use, I still haven’t managed to chip or even noticeably dull the PITS2’s thin edge. What’s remarkable is that it’s still as razor-sharp as it was right out of the box.
I also love how easy it is to check, clean, and oil the PITS2. I can appreciate how skeletonized hidden liners have added lightness and strength to folding knives, but they also tend to become little nests for rust. For that reason, I really appreciate it when liners are DLC‑coated — and even better when they’re made of titanium.
Regarding the PITS2’s titanium handle, the absence of hotspots and the beautifully beveled edges make it a real pleasure to hold.
The cutout for the mechanism isn’t beveled, so you can feel its slightly sharper edge. I’ve also noticed that the two handle slabs are symmetrical, while the cutouts around the pivot are not identical.
Low profile usually comes with a deep‑carry clip or no clip at all… but the PITS2 clip is really shiny, so it still catches the eye. I know, because I’ve checked my reflection in a mirror and eventually had to unclip it and drop it deep into my pocket before passing through security recently. Low profile wise: a tip if you are ever checked, do not open your knife with one hand, use both.
In those days of increasing knife crime and genuily believe that your EDC’s shape needs to be sheeple‑friendly. If I pull out my fully serrated Native Chief Salt, anyone around will instantly assume that this long, pointy, toothy, shiny blade is straight out of Jack the Ripper’s toolkit.
The PITS2, with its rounded profile and non‑threatening blade shape, is a perfect example of a legal and friendly high tech EDC that won’t raise any eyebrows if used in public. It’s actually even less threatening than a UKPK.
ll in all, the PITS2 delivers on its promises. Incredible thin edge. Enjoyable mechanism. Low profile. Easy to clean.
It’s a friendly, high‑tech luxury tool that can be brought to the table to slice a sausage, yet also serves as a reliable outdoor companion capable of carving a walking stick. I’m loving the Alien in these times of shifting paradigms.
So let the weary land be rested and the killing season over Let the shadows stretch forever in the light of burnished silver For I fear the age of consequence and I wish that it was over Bring me the snowfall, bring me the cold wind, bring me the wiener…
(My Nano has been heavily resharpened into a convex edge, while my PITS2 comes with its thin, perfectly even factory edge.)
The SLIPIT™, is a group of American-designed folding knives developed by Spyderco. Originating from the UK Penknife (UKPK) project — the first folding knife to combine their one-hand-opening Trademark Round Hole™, clip carry, and a non-locking mechanism — and drawing inspiration from the Caly series, the group comprises the UKPK, Metropolitan, Urban, and Squeak models. All were designed by Sal Glesser.
The Blue Brother of my Slipit family is the UK Penknife (UKPK) Blue G10 CPM SPY 27 version AKA “The great slicer” or “The Golden Child” as it is made in Colorado when the others are made in Italy. My UKPK is the G10-handled version in CPM SPY27 steel. It features the thinnest blade (2.5 mm vs 3mm for the other members of the SlipIt family) and offers the best slicing performance, with a cutting edge measuring 75 mm. You can notice its this G10 version got 4 screws on the handle. (When Spyderco site is only showing 3 screws for their UKPK G10 SPY27 model) Edit: I got an answer from Golden about that: “The photo of the G10 model you see online is a photoshopped version of the lightweight model, which only has 3 screws. The 4 screw version is standard for the g10 variant.” The FRN UKPK got 3 screws and a short spring/backspacer. Perhaps easier to rinse and clean. Its Salt version even exist in yellow with CPM Magnacut and in green with LC200N and also with serrated edge.
On mine, its thin CPM SPY27 blade is particularly well-suited to maintenance by leather stropping, and this model is unique in the group for employing a fork spring, likely necessitated by the longer stainless steel backspacer. Thanks to its blade steel, the UKPK also provides the greatest lateral strength of the series.
Its versatility makes it suitable as a travel knife, steak knife, whittling tool, office companion, or even a light kitchen knife. You can even change for another style of clip if you want a toolish look. The UKPK won’t let you down FRN or G10 version. They are great travel non threatening folders.
The Black Brother of the Slipit family is the Metropolitan, a tad shorter than the UKPK but often described in my book as having “an everlasting edge.” This model is notable as the only Slipit presented here with an FRN (fiberglass-reinforced nylon) handle. FRN is great and solid and the Metro got a full spring/back spacer.
Its key strength lies in the choice of blade steel: Böhler M398, known for delivering extremely long-lasting edge retention at a comparatively very accessible price point. Despite its 3 mm blade stock, the Metropolitan remains an excellent slicer. While M398 offers less lateral strength than CPM SPY27, it excels in edge holding, making this model particularly well-suited as a folding skinner or for heavy-duty tasks such as breaking down cardboard.
The Red Brother of the Slipit family is the Urban, my Low Profile London Traveller, produced as an exclusive edition for Heinnie Haynes. This model was acquired at approximately twice the cost of the Metropolitan, owing to its premium blade steel: CPM S90V, a high-performance alloy offering edge retention on par with Böhler M398. Now the FRN Urban is released with M398 too which makes my previous expensive Heinnie S90V Urban quest totally obsolete.
Released prior to the availability of the Metropolitan and the M398 Urban, this knife also features a G10 handle with a distinctive finish. Its compact dimensions allow it to be carried discreetly, such as in the watch pocket of denim trousers. In this collection, the Red Brother is primarily employed as a travel knife for use in London. I have it equipped with the short MicroJimbo clip for the lowest profile possible.
TECHNICAL SPECIFICATIONS Overall Length: 5.95in 151mm Closed Length: 3.54in 90mm Blade Thickness: .114in 2.9mm Blade Length: 2.49in 63mm Edge Length: 2.15in 55mm Handle Material: Red G10 Origin: Italy Steel: CPM S90V (on mine) M398 for the FRN version. Knife Weight: 60 gr (for mine) 56 gr for the FRN version in M398.
Big Pizza ? No problemo.
The Silver Brother – The Tweetanium ! The Squeak is truly a jewel within the SlipIt family. Despite its compact size, it never leaves me feeling “under-knived” when carried in a watch pocket. I once owned a Squeak Deluxe Sprint Run with a titanium handle and Elmax steel blade, which I eventually passed on to JD. Thanks to Guillaume, I was able to acquire another example, new in box.
Later came the titanium sprint-run version, which felt even sharper at the edge, requiring less effort when cutting. Its rounded titanium scales were warm to the touch, slipped smoothly into the pocket, and offered a more refined feel than the FRN model. The stiffer titanium construction also produced a stronger spring, giving the knife a crisper “walk and talk.” While one-hand opening was slightly more demanding, both versions remained capable of the classic “Spydie drop.” The titanium scales are smooth under the thumb and provide superb ergonomics in a three-finger grip. Construction is minimalist, relying on only two body screws plus one for the deep-carry clip.
This is a three fingers grip when the Urban is still a four finger grip.
This rare titanium variant stands out as a refined upgrade over the standard Squeak—an elegant evolution of an already excellent design. I love Elmax steel since my Lionspy. I remember beating the crap out of it and it was really forgiving: no chipping and great sharpness. It is tough for a stainless steel.
Its short blade is full-flat-ground, exceptionally thin at the edge, and employs a slipjoint-style “notched-joint” mechanism: the spring holds the blade open during use and offers resistance when closing.
It slice through a Coke bottle butt with its factory edge ! Not many models from the Spyderco line can do that right out of the box. In practice, performance is outstanding. The small blade slices cleanly through materials such as plastic, wood, ropes and even after extended use—up to a year on my first Elmax Squeak—it remains razor-sharp with only minimal stropping required. Elmax, a rare style among Spyderco knives, is that good !
The Spyder hole and blade spine are the also the sharpest of the family. It could be used to strike some ferro rod.
Compact yet versatile, the “mini micro” knife proves remarkably capable for everyday tasks: cutting meat at the table (where the blade’s belly is especially effective), opening tags, breaking down plastic, and more. It also maintains a discreet, non-threatening presence in public and restaurant settings. It makes a great money clip too.
TECHNICAL SPECIFICATIONS Overall Length: 5.05in 128mm Closed Length: 3.05in 77mm Blade Thickness: .118in 3mm Blade Length: 2in 51mm Edge Length: 1.75in 44mm Handle Material: Titanium Origin: ItalySteel: Elmax (for mine) N690Co (for the FRN version). Knife Weight: 69 grams (48 grams for the FRN version) The Squeak in this titanium version is the heaviest of the family.
Le Choix des Armes
Blue UKPK – the versatile slicer.
Black Metropolitan – the non locking hunter’s companion.
Red Urban – the low-profile city dweller.
Silver Squeak – three fingers power house.
Each model is reliable, discreet, and delivers outstanding cutting performance thanks to their blade geometry. They shine on the plate and impress with pure slicing ability on the hardest materials (my pastic bottle tests…). Thanks to their relatively strong non locking mechanisms, they also handle whittling tasks—yes, even the Squeak is surprisingly pleasant and powerful against any piece of wood. And don’t forget, now their slip-joint strength is impeccable. Also each knife comes with a choil, keeping your fingers safe from unwanted blade closure. Really, when it comes to staying open, Sal Glesser’s four slip-joint designs outclass his excellent Roadie XL—and put Anderson’s COBOL to shame. Sharp, firm, secure, and reassuring—no surprises when handling these slipjoint knives which are proof that size doesn’t define performance. 😉
Disclaimer: this knife was supplied at no cost by Spyderco as part of their brand ambassador program. The review that follows, however, remains entirely independent and unbiased. I thank them for placing their trust in this little blog.
Paul Alexander is back, and the COBOL is perhaps his most aggressive creation yet. Built on the “techno-primitive” DNA of the NAND™, this knife isn’t just a tool—it’s an alien in your hand, standing out even in Spyderco’s lineup, which is renowned for pushing the boundaries of design.
No real lock, just a generous choil. The purpose? A steak knife? An impact tool? Or could this be Spyderco’s very first letter opener?
The blade geometry is thick, so it’s no whittler—but you could still sharpen a pencil. Or maybe… it’s a paper knife after all.
(Paper knife vs. letter opener—often confused, but they are not the same. Paper knives were made to slice open the folded edges of hand-produced books before reading. Letter openers grew out of them: longer, blunter, and built solely to tackle envelopes. Today, paper knives are mostly collectibles, while letter openers remain a staple on desks everywhere. They come in wood, metals like stainless steel, silver, or pewter, plastic, ivory, or mixed materials—often with decorative handles stealing the spotlight. Some modern designs hide a retractable razor, and electric models can blast through stacks of mail—but beware: they can nick the contents.)
But the COBOL blade explodes with a hybrid of Japanese tanto elegance and katana-inspired Americanized assassination tool, machined from M390 particle metallurgy stainless steel. Its saber-ground primary bevel flows into a saber flat grind at a faceted tip, ready to slice with surgical accuracy. It is an eye candy ! Even closed.
The handle is crafted from titanium for a sleek, minimalist look. Integral spring arms and seated ball bearings do NOT lock the blade, but a generous choil and thumb pressure on the tail keep every grip surprisingly secure. A hole in the handle aligns perfectly with the signature hole in the blade, completing the design’s clean, purposeful aesthetic.
Made in Italy, this Japanese‑inspired blade oozes quality — but don’t expect buttery action. It’s slow to open and even harder to close. Think of it as a straight razor: there’s no lock, so safe handling is essential. You actually grip it by the blade, a move that recalls antique Roman folders rather than modern folders with locking mechanisms.
Flip it open one-handed using the extended “tail”—don’t expect the thrill of a straight razor snapping into action. It’s slow.
But once open, you can admire the clash of techno-primitive design with katana-inspired elegance. In the right hands—and with the right mindset—it’s more than a letter opener; it could be a self-defense tool. After all, geishas once defended themselves with hidden blades…
A gorgeous showpiece that’s too long for UK carry rules. Opened, it goes from elegant to downright threatening.
Compared to one of Spyderco’s top EDCs, the Sage 5 Salt, the COBOL takes on a far more menacing presence. Where the Sage 5 is sleek and understated, the COBOL commands attention—its techno-primitive, katana-inspired lines give it a dangerous edge that’s impossible to ignore.
Another beautiful desk knife in my collection: the Pole Position. Desk knives, made for opening letters, are more than tools—they’re elegant objects, carefully designed and treasured by collectors.
Ambidextrous, the COBOL comes with a reversible deep-pocket wire clip for left- or right-side, tip-up carry.
So, who is the COBOL for?
Out of the box, mine won’t shave—it could use a thinner edge for my taste. It is sharp but razor not sharp. The flipping action is also really slow, but once open, you’re holding a stunning object, perfect for a desk: cutting strings, opening letters, small chores. Using it in the woods? Forget it. In the kitchen? Its geometry isn’t ideal. But as a steak knife? On the plate, it would certainly shine.
Tried the COBOL on some wood—ouch! To keep control, you’ve got to brace your index on the choil, since there’s effectively no lock. That makes it tricky and dangerously easy to catch the blade’s heel, even half open, just to avoid a jump close. Bottom line: this knife was never meant for whittling anything.
So, really, the Cobol is from another world—an alien and a looker. And yet, loving this alien is easy. The craftsmanship is impeccable: titanium engineered with clever CQC design, every detail thoughtfully executed. But it demands a place of its own. On your desk, at the table or in your collection, the COBOL isn’t just a Spyderco knife—it’s an extraterrestrial in their production. Spyderco is known for their high performance knives. Yep, in that matter this beautiful one is something from another mind. But now, if you love the alien, it’s up to you to decide how you’ll use it — but with such a very soft locking mechanism, be mindful of its limits.
Disclaimer: The Spyderco Triangle Sharpmaker Diamond Rods Set of 2 – 204D was provided by Golden, along with the Caly 3.5. This article is the perfect opportunity to put them to the test. The Sharpmaker is my own.
In the parcel from Golden were also two sets of rods: the 204CBN Cubic Boron Nitride rods and the 204D Diamond rods. Since my Caly 3.5 needed some convexing, it was time to see what these rods could do.
But you know, I’m a freehand sharpening guy. I don’t like being locked into fixed angles. I prefer to adjust pressure and movement based on what I feel directly from the blade against the rod. That’s why I’ve never been too fond of “systems” that take control away from your hands.
For me, sharpening should stay super simple, and—most importantly—adaptable. If I’m in the wild, far from the workbench, I still want to be able to bring an edge back with nothing more than a rod, a stone, or even something improvised.
That’s where the Spyderco Sharpmaker is different. It’s a system, yes, but it doesn’t dictate the process. It allows me to sharpen by feel, with freedom, and still gives me the precision I want.
Exactly — and that’s one of those clever little details only Spyderco would think of.
On the back of the Sharpmaker base, you’ve got two horizontal grooves that let you lay the rods flat. In that configuration, the tool basically transforms into a bench stone. With the diamond rods mounted this way, it works like a compact, portable diamond sharpening stone, letting you go full freehand.
So you get both options: the guided 30°/40° setup if you want consistency, and the freehand mode if you prefer to feel the steel, control pressure, and chase your own convex. That versatility is what makes the Sharpmaker more than “just a system.”
The gaffer tape trick is smart: it saves you from accidental slips while keeping the grind line safe. And yes, the 204D diamonds are hungry — they bite into ZDP-189 without hesitation, which also means they’ll scratch anything that touches them. But like you said, a working knife will earn its scars.
Polishing can always bring back some scratchless shine, but what really matters is how the geometry evolves: a little convexing, a thinner edge, and suddenly the Caly 3.5 stops being just elegant — it becomes a laser.
That’s exactly where your knife starts to become yours.
The convexing not only boosts cutting performance but also gives the edge that organic flow — you can see it in the way the bevel catches the light. It’s no longer a factory grind; it’s a living edge shaped by your own hand. It makes the knife more precious.
And by rounding the spine and softening the jimping, you’re turning what could feel harsh into something smoother, almost like a river stone. It transforms the Caly from safe queen into a companion you actually want to use every day, without hotspots or distractions.
Most people underestimate how quickly diamond or CBN rods load up, and how much that affects sharpening efficiency.
Clay stone (terre de Sommières, or even a simple pottery stone) is excellent because it’s mildly abrasive: it lifts out the embedded metal without scratching or damaging the surface of the rods, and it works faster than detergents or erasers.
It’s also in the spirit of my philosophy: keep it simple, practical, field-ready. No fancy cleaners, just a tried-and-true trick that works every time.
Dry chestnut is fibrous and can grab onto a thicker bevel, so the fact that your convexed ZDP-189 now glides “like a razor through butter” is a strong demonstration that the edge mod really paid off.
Convexing changes everything. Once the edge’s shoulders are rounded, the edge stops fighting the wood. No more wedging, just a clean, controlled push cut — like sliding through butter, even in stubborn chestnut.
That’s where ZDP-189 really shines. Most steels would give up at this geometry, folding or rolling. But at 65 HRC, ZDP holds steady. You get the sharpness of a razor without the fragility.
And the Caly 3.5? On paper, it’s a gentleman’s knife. In hand, convexed and sharp, it’s a wolf in disguise. A refined tool that thrives on real work, not just resting pretty in a pocket. Wood tells one part of the story, but plastic will reveal another — especially the stubborn bottom of a bottle. That’s where I’ll see if this convexed ZDP-189 edge can truly glide without wedging. I’ll update this post as soon as I get the chance to put it through that test.
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