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Advice, Folders, Review

A DECADE WITH ED SCHEMPP’S BOWIE

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Ten years, and counting…

A decade. How time flies, huh ? That’s how long Ed Schempp’s Bowie has been part of my life. Ten years since it first review and a decade of regular pocket carry, countless cutting tasks, meals prepared, packages opened, and all those little everyday jobs that never make it into a knife review.

I own older knives, too. Honor, my Chris Reeve Sebenza, for example, has been with me for years. But Ed’s Spyderco C190CF Schempp Bowie holds a special place in my heart. Some knives earn your respect through their engineering, others through their history. And then there are those that, for reasons you can’t always explain, become part of your life. The Schempp Bowie is one of those knives for me. And you know what? It has never let me down. Not once.

I first wrote about this beautiful folding Bowie back in January 2016, in Pocket Legends of the Fall feat. Spyderco Schempp Bowie. Later, I took it to Tuscany, where it proved that a knife with such a distinctive silhouette could be just as comfortable around the dinner table as it was doing the less glamorous jobs of everyday life. Back then, I already knew I was dealing with something special.

Today, after ten years of ownership, I can tell you that my first impressions were not mistaken.

Ed presenting his new folder in 2015 (credits: Photo from https://www.candlepowerforums.com/threads/knife-review-the-spyderco-schempp-bowie-3-7-blade-–-cpm-s30v.406083/)

But here’s the funny thing: Ed himself has been putting his Bowie to work every day for a decade, too! So, when you own this knife, you’re carrying the EDC of a legendary knifemaker.

Ed’s own Spyderco Bowie lives on his ranch and accompanies him through everyday life. His has picked up deeper wear marks than mine, but that’s hardly surprising. Ed is a man who makes things, repairs things, builds things, and puts his tools to work. His personal Bowie looks like it has lived a little harder than mine… and that’s exactly how it should be. These are knives to be used, not locked away in a display case.

Mine has been treated with somewhat more consideration, perhaps, but make no mistake: neither knife is a safe queen.

Ed Schempp’s are knives to live with.

Taichung: where craftsmanship meets obsession

There is something I admired from the very beginning, and something that has become even more impressive with time. The work performed by Spyderco’s Taichung factory on the junction between the carbon-fiber scales and the brass bolsters.

Look at it. Then run your fingers over it. The transition is so beautifully executed that your eyes and fingertips tell you the same story. There are no crude edges, no unpleasant transitions, no little manufacturing sins that reveal themselves only after a few months of handling.

It is a remarkably clean piece of work.

Manufacturing a knife with this level of fit and finish is one thing. Maintaining that precision in a production knife, at a price that remains within reach of ordinary enthusiasts, is quite another.

« My brother in law is a cowboy action shooter. I wanted to redo the primary scale for a special knife for him to carry at shoots. I removed the bolster and scale on one side of the knife. The scale is dovetailed under the bolster so both parts had to be removed. Besides the two screws holding the bolster onto the knife there were also two 3mm shoulder pins pressed into the liners. These pins positioned the bolsters to the scales perfectly. There were two 3mm shoulder studs pressed into the carbon fiber scales that fit precisely into holes in the liners, besides the 3 screws holding the scale in place. This knife exceeds most methods of custom knife production, by far. I’m proud to have my name on this knife…Take Care…Ed Schempp P.S. It will take me awhile to do the scale replacement, I’d like to do it at the standard it was produced. »
Ed on Bladeforums February the 15th 2016.

And after a decade? Nothing has moved. The carbon-fiber scales remain intact. There is no separation, no loosening, no unpleasant surprise waiting for me after all these years. The fit between the scales and the bolsters remains as satisfying as it was when the knife was new. This is the kind of craftsmanship that does not need a marketing department to explain itself. You simply pick up the knife, even the one used for ten years, and look at it again…

Ed told me on his goal was to create a knife that, despite its generous blade length, would ride in the pocket like a much smaller folder. The design had to be compact and comfortable to carry, without sacrificing cutting performance.
The Bowie combines a substantial cutting edge with a relatively thin blade stock of approximately 2.5 mm. Its full-flat grind makes excellent use of that geometry, delivering the cutting performance that remains one of its strongest arguments.

The lack of a choil gives you more usable edge length, much like on my Jess Horn. You get more cutting edge out of the same overall blade length, without sacrificing the clean lines of the design.

It is a long blade in a surprisingly manageable package. And it cuts. Not because it needs to be aggressively marketed as a cutting machine, but because its ergos and geometry doe the talking.

Over the years, I have also given my blade a convex reprofile. This is as usual a very personal modification rather than a factory specification, but it suits the knife beautifully. Maintaining it on a leather strop is an absolute pleasure. A few passes, a little attention, and the edge comes back to life without requiring an elaborate sharpening ritual. The convex profile has become part of the way I live with this knife.

Of course, this is not a claim that a convex edge is universally superior. Different geometries suit different jobs, and the original full-flat grind already gives the Schempp Bowie excellent cutting credentials.

But for my own use, this combination works wonderfully. And the blade itself? Still perfectly centred. No corrosion whatsoever on my example. After ten years of regular carry, that is worth mentioning.

The CPM S30V blade has aged gracefully, although I would not attribute its condition to the steel alone. Regular use, sensible maintenance, and the conditions in which a knife is carried all matter.

Still, there is something deeply satisfying about opening a knife you have owned for a decade and finding that it remains exactly where it should be.

Let’s talk about the lock. Michael Walker’s liner lock may no longer be the most fashionable choice, but it was all the rage at the turn of the century, when tactical folders exploded in popularity. Think of the knives from Bob Terzuola or Ernest Emerson, among others. The titanium liner lock was practically synonymous with the modern tactical folder, and for good reason: it was simple, effective, and allowed for slim, lightweight designs without compromising on strength when properly executed.

The Bowie lockbar is made of stainless steel, not titanium. And after all these years, it shows no significant wear. Some of my titanium liner-lock folders (AFCK), on the other hand, have reached the end of their useful life due to lockbar wear. Using a steel liner has made all the difference.

Ten years later, the action remains one of those small pleasures that are difficult to quantify in any specification sheet. Silky smoothness makes you appreciate the quality of the underlying construction.

It is Ed Schempp’s interpretation of the folding Bowie, and that interpretation makes a difference.

The blade’s angle and curvature give the knife that particular feel in the hand. The handle seems to settle naturally into the palm, while the geometry provides a satisfying combination of control and leverage during cutting.

The result is a knife that feels comfortable and powerful without needing to be oversized.

Ed’s Bowie manages to combine a distinctive visual identity—that of a gentleman’s knife—with genuine utility at its heart. His designs have strong personalities, but that personality is never merely decorative. Every curve, every angle, every detail serves a purpose. They are unmistakably Ed Schempp’s designs, but first and foremost, they are tools meant to be used.

That elegance comes from the combination of materials. The woven carbon fiber gives the handle a distinctly modern character, while the brass bolsters and integrated guard introduce a more traditional touch. It is an unusual marriage of old and new, but one that feels entirely natural.

On mine, there are, admittedly, a few scratches on the full steel backspacer. Nothing serious. When you carry a knife clipped to your pocket, it will inevitably rub against other objects. In my case, part of my wallet is made of aluminium, and the two have occasionally met in the confined space of a pocket. It seems like aluminium corners won a few rounds. The backspacer bears the evidence. But these are superficial marks, not structural concerns. They are the sort of little scars that accumulate when an object is actually used rather than admired from a distance.

The carbon fibers scales, on the other hand, remains in excellent condition, and the brass bolsters continue to provide that tactile contrast that makes the Schempp Bowie so recognizable. And then there’s that peculiar smell. Because brass has a smell of its own, and that’s part of this knife’s character, too. 😀

Those brass bolsters are not simply a decorative flourish. It is part of Ed Schempp’s design language.

(I had already appreciated the way it was integrated into the Bowie, both aesthetically and ergonomically. But seeing Ed’s work on the Spyderco Native 5 50th Anniversary edition brought that appreciation into sharper focus.)

The use of brass, and the way it can be incorporated into a knife’s architecture, tells us something about the designer’s willingness to look beyond the usual modern conventions.

(Today, the knife industry is full of familiar combinations of titanium, G10, Micarta, and carbon fiber Nothing wrong with that, of course, but sometimes you can’t help feeling that we’ve seen it all before. Old-timers will remember the Buck 110 and its many heavy German clones, with brass bolsters and liners everywhere. They had their own kind of elegance, but they were also hefty beasts in the pocket. Ed Schempp has blended the warmth and traditional character of brass bolsters with modern materials and a surprisingly pocket-friendly design. A nod to the old school.)

On the Schempp Bowie, the brass bolsters help bridge the gap between a classic American knife pattern and his thoroughly modern touch.

They give the knife warmth. They give it character. And they make it instantly recognisable.

Looking at that work today, I find myself appreciating the design more deeply than I did when I first took the knife out of its box.

I love its quillons. My thumb naturally finds its place on either side of the guard, depending on the grip and the task at hand. It’s playful, almost as if the knife invites you to experiment with your grip.

Yes, sometimes it takes a decade to fully understand what a designer was trying to tell you—and to realise, years later, just how much you had understood at first glance, ten years earlier.

I am obviously not the only person who appreciates this knife.

When I revisited the Spyderco forums and BladeForums, I found several comments that echoed my own experience, particularly concerning the blade geometry, the fit and finish, and the way the design combines elegance with everyday usefulness.

One of the more detailed discussions appeared on the Spyderco Forums in 2015.

The reviewer initially thought the knife might not be for him. After meeting Ed Schempp and handling the Bowie, however, he began to understand the design and found himself increasingly reluctant to put it down. He praised the smooth action, the blade centring, and the quality of the lock engagement. More importantly, he described the knife as an elegant, controlled slicer rather than a heavy-duty brute.

A second discussion, on BladeForums in February 2015, reached similar conclusions.

The owner was struck by the knife’s appearance, the amount of blade available in such a compact handle, and its surprisingly comfortable pocket carry. He also praised the thin blade stock and the smooth action, while noting that the handle provided good control and leverage.

The Spyderco Forums discussion on Ed Schempp’s designs offers another interesting perspective. One owner specifically highlighted the Bowie, praising its distinctive handle shape, carbon-fiber scales, brass bolsters, and versatility, including its usefulness as a camp cooking knife.

Finally, a 2025 Spyderco Forums discussion about long, thin blades included a particularly telling comment from someone who had acquired a second-hand Schempp Bowie and was enjoying its long, relatively thin, slicey blade. It’s never too late to appreciate that knife. 😉

Nearly a decade after the knife first appeared, its cutting geometry was still giving an owner a reason to seek it out and that is perhaps the most interesting point to emerge from these discussions.

The Bowie has never been a universally conventional design. The guard, the blade angle, and the overall silhouette may not appeal to everyone. Some users will prefer a more familiar handle configuration, while others may simply dislike liner locks. And that is perfectly fair. But for those who appreciate what Ed was trying to achieve, the design continues to make sense.

Yes, really, even if I’m repeating myself a little, the Schempp Bowie was never just about looking like a Bowie. It was about translating the character of a classic blade into a modern folding knife without losing the qualities that made the original pattern interesting in the first place. It had to be elegant, but not fragile. Distinctive, but not impractical. Modern, without becoming anonymous.

And capable of cutting properly, rather than simply looking the part.

Ed Schempp and Spyderco’s Taichung factory got that combination remarkably right.

My knife is still perfectly centered. Its lock remains free of perceptible play. The action is still silky smooth. The carbon-fiber scales remain intact, the bolster smells and the knife shows no sign of corrosion.

And I intend to keep using it. Not because it is perfect in some abstract, laboratory sense, but because it has earned my confidence through years of everyday ownership. That is a much more meaningful achievement.

Looking back at my previous articles about Ed Schempp’s Bowie, I realize that my opinion has changed very little. What has changed is the depth of my appreciation. Ten years ago, I admired its unusual lines, its beautiful materials, its silky action, and the meticulous work performed in Taichung. Today, I can add something more substantial to that list: experience.

Speaking of experience… and Legends of the Fall.

Pekka, Sylvie, Pirkko, Jur, Ed, Linda, Jan Dirk, Des… in September 2013.

Yep, my first encounter with Ed Schempp dates back to 2013, after the SICAC knife show in Paris. Spyderco had kindly invited us to dinner at Le Petit Poucet, in Neuilly-sur-Seine, in the company of Ed Schempp, Des Horn and Pekka Tuominen, among others.

It was one of those evenings that make the knife world such a special place. Beyond the knives themselves, there were the people who design them, make them, and share the same passion for their craft. Meeting Ed for the first time gave a human dimension to the name I already knew from his work. (Little did I know that, three years later, his Spyderco Bowie would become one of my regular companions — and that, ten years on, I would still be carrying it.)

Looking back at that photograph, I realise how much time has passed. Some things have changed, but Ed’s Bowie is still in my pocket. And that’s a pretty good way to measure the lasting appeal of a well-designed knife.

This is a knife built to last, and one of the relatively rare modern folders that combines a long blade with genuinely slim stock and excellent cutting geometry.

There is a certain irony in the fact that a folding Bowie, a pattern that might initially seem a little old-fashioned or even theatrical, has proved to be such a dependable everyday companion.

I think that says quite a lot.

Ed still uses his own Bowie every day on his ranch. Mine continues to accompany me through the ordinary business of life. Our knives have accumulated different marks and scratches, but they share the same essential purpose.

And if I had to sum up Ed Schempp’s Bowie in a single sentence, it would be this:

Some knives impress you when they are new. The best ones make you appreciate them even more ten years later.

This one has earned its place in my pocket. And it isn’t going anywhere.

Advice, Folders, Review

The Exclusive Jess Horn is NOT Old Fashioned.

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Nope, it is not.

At first glance, the Jess Horn in CPM CruWear looks like a knife from another era. And that is a huge part of its charm. There is something wonderfully timeless about this folder—and I’m totally in love with it.

Oh, and I’ll take carbon fiber over just about anything, any day! These scales are absolutely gorgeous. Seriously gorgeous. The weave, the depth, the way they catch the light… I just love that sense of sheer quality.

Ah, those elegant lines, the slender blade, the big flat axis screw, the understated proportions—it immediately brings to mind the kind of traditional pocket knife that could have been carried decades ago. That is what makes the Jess Horn feel so timeless: its design relies on proportion, simplicity, and function rather than fashion. Nothing is exaggerated, nothing is trying too hard to look modern. There is nothing aggressive or overtly tactical about it. No futuristic geometry, no exaggerated blade shape, no visual statement about the technology hidden inside. Just a beautifully proportioned folder whose design could have existed decades ago and would still look right decades from now. Its quiet simplicity is precisely what gives it character.

But look closer, and the story changes completely.

Just look at the edge length—it’s basically the same as a Manix 2. You’re getting a serious amount of cutting power in such a slim package. And the lock is rock solid, with absolutely zero blade play. Honestly… wow.

The secret ingredients? A healthy dose of CQI, a handful of clever choices !

Because putting a steel like CPM CruWear into such a thin, traditionally styled blade creates something that is, in many ways, remarkably modern. The real magic of this knife is the combination of old-school geometry and contemporary metallurgy.

I love CPM CruWear. It’s an exceptionally well-balanced tool steel, offering that peculiar combination of toughness, wear resistance and edge stability that makes it particularly well suited to the Jess Horn thin cutting blade that is meant to be also used. And for an everyday-carry knife, that balance is even more valuable. You get excellent edge retention without moving into the extreme territory of steels that are difficult to sharpen or prone to chipping, and enough toughness to trust a thin pointy blade in real-world use. More importantly, CruWear is really pleasant to maintain. A leather strop, a ceramic rod, a piece of jade… that’s often all it takes to bring the edge straight back to razor sharpness. For an EDC knife that gets carried, used, touched up and used again, that ease of maintenance is a huge advantage. A knife should not only perform when it is new—it should remain a pleasure to use and maintain week after week, and CruWear makes that sooooo easy.

CPM Cru-Wear has a history that goes back long before our current obsession with “super-steels.” Its roots lie in the Vasco Die family of tool steels developed by Vasco Metals in the 1960s, originally for hot-forging dies rather than knives. Vasco later developed grades such as Vasco Tuf and Vasco Wear, the latter designed to combine wear resistance with useful toughness.

Crucible eventually developed its own version, Cru(cible)-Wear, introducing it in 1994 and later producing it through the Crucible Particle Metallurgy (CPM) process. The result is a steel containing around 1.1% carbon, 7.5% chromium, 1.6% molybdenum, 1% tungsten and 2.4% vanadium, with roughly 10% carbide volume. But the numbers only tell part of the story. What really matters is the fine and uniform distribution of those carbides (thanks to the CPM process). Compared with the tougher CPM 3V, which has a lower carbide volume (around 5%) and prioritizes toughness, Cru-Wear gives up some impact resistance in exchange for better wear resistance and edge retention. Compared with CPM 15V, however, it contains far fewer carbides and is therefore much less demanding when it comes to sharpening and generally less prone to chipping.

So, CPM Cru-Wear doesn’t try to win the edge-retention contest at any cost. Instead, it gives the user that praise very stable, durable edge that can take a very very fine apex, withstand hard cutting without constantly threatening to chip, and still be sharpened without turning the job into an rocket engineering project. What else ?

I’ve been using Horny in the kitchen, much like Cliff did with his ZDP-189 version some twenty years ago. I got it wet, rinsed it off, didn’t even oil it—and while cutting butter, I was practically greasing the blade anyway. A quick wipe with a paper towel and it was good to go.

And what a wonderful little kitchen knife, my friends! What a chef’s lightsaber! Its needle-like tip opens packages with barely a whisper, while the thin blade has more than enough authority to deal with cartons, plastic and all the usual packaging before it goes into the trash. And when it comes to actual food preparation, its precision is simply delightful. The thin, keen edge slips through vegetables, meat, butter and all sorts of ingredients with an almost surgical feel.

This is one of those knives that makes you want to keep finding things to cut—not because you have to, but because using it is just so damn satisfying.

The handle is somewhat square in cross-section, and the exposed liners are a little sharp. I’ll probably give them a light pass with a diamond abrasive, but honestly, it doesn’t bother me much. If anything, the angular profile gives me a useful indexing reference: unlike a perfectly round handle such as an Opinel, I always know how the knife is oriented in my hand and where the edge is pointing. For precise cutting, that’s a real advantage.

The handle is also fully enclosed, with that steel backspacer requiring a quick inspection after rinsing the knife under hot water. But none of that got in the way of its mission in the kitchen. It simply did the job, every single time.

And that kind of reliability is always welcome.

Ah, it is not stainless—the 7.5% chromium content is nowhere near enough for that—so it deserves a little care around moisture and corrosive environments. But for someone who actually uses a knife rather than simply admiring its steel designation, CPM Cru-Wear makes a tremendous amount of sense. It is one of those steels where the whole is greater than the individual numbers: excellent edge stability, very good wear resistance, high toughness, and reasonable sharpening effort, all in the same blade. And this is what I like about Cru-Wear ! It isn’t about having the most extreme steel on paper. It is about having a steel that makes an extremely good and pleasant knife in the real world.

And pleasure in holding, using, and cutting with force and precision is mandatory in my own appreciation of a knife. That matters just as much as the metallurgy itself. A knife can have outstanding specifications, but if it doesn’t feel right in the hand, if the edge doesn’t invite you to cut and pierce, or if using it simply isn’t enjoyable, then something is really missing.

Long story short: I don’t judge a knife only by what its steel can do—I judge it by how much I enjoy deploying it, holding it, and actually using it.

And I’m getting used to the clip position too. In the end, maybe it’s a good thing for a knife to have a bit of character in the way it carries. I tried fitting a deep-carry clip, but once installed, the screws couldn’t get enough purchase—the clip was just slightly too thick. No big deal. I’m even considering removing the clip altogether and carrying the knife in a dedicated pocket of my sling bag. To be honest, I rather like the idea. This Jess Horn is starting to feel less like something I simply carry and more like a knife I’ve given its own little place in my everyday life.

One rather nice thing about the clip is that I can actually rest the knife on it when my worktop is wet. The clip is flat, fairly large, and positioned right in the middle of the handle, so it acts almost like a little stand and keeps the handle and blade away from the wet surface.

You always discover little tricks like this when you learn to work with your tools rather than against them.

“USE ME! FOR GOD’S SAKE!” screamed the deployed Jess Horn.

And that thin blade is just… asking to be used ! Its geometry gives you effortless cutting performance, but it also means that the steel has to be able to support that geometry. A brittle or overly wear-resistant steel would make the concept much less appealing. CruWear brings a different balance: it is tough enough to tolerate real-world use while still offering excellent edge retention.

And when the edge eventually needs attention, CruWear is refreshingly easy to bring back.

It takes an extremely sharp edge without becoming a nightmare to sharpen. With the right stones and a good technique, bringing the Jess Horn back to a genuinely razor-sharp condition is almost part of the pleasure of owning it.

That is where the apparent contradiction becomes particularly interesting.

The blade doesn’t need to be thick and overbuilt. It doesn’t need a spectacular tactical design. It doesn’t need to advertise its strength.

Its technology is hidden in the steel.

That is perhaps what makes the Jess Horn so compelling. Its modernity is almost invisible. You don’t experience it by looking at the knife. You experience it when you really cut into something, when you feel how effortlessly that thin blade passes through any material. Even mushrooms !:D

In a sense, the Jess Horn is a perfect example of how modern knife technology has evolved in the right direction.

We tend to think, myself included, of technological progress as a race toward ever-greater complexity: more intriguing parts, more micro-mechanisms, more unwanted features, more white-coat engineering. But real progress sometimes lies in the exact opposite direction—doing more with less, and making something simpler, more reliable, and genuinely useful. Take another Horn, Des Horn “450#” for example (link here)

Another example is the evolution of knife locks. Instead of adding more parts, springs, buttons, and mechanisms, clever engineering can achieve exceptional strength and reliability with remarkably few, precisely tuned components. Less complexity, more intelligent design, means fewer things to go wrong—and, ultimately, a knife that simply works when you need it.

That thin, elegant blade (pictured here next to Patrick Bonetta Kitchen Warrior) can remain thin and elegant because modern metallurgy gives it that extra push in the right direction, providing a combination of properties that simply wasn’t available a few decades ago.

So yes, the Exclusive Jess Horn looks like an old-school knife. But underneath that vintage personality is a very modern piece of engineering.

Horny is not an old-fashioned knife made with modern steel. It is a modern knife deliberately disguised as an old-fashioned one.

Advice, Folders, Review

Spyderco Sage 6 REX 121 –C123GPBOR – One week of Tango (part 2)

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Disclosure: This is the same Sage 6 REX 121 as my last review, only one week later, provided by Spyderco as a complimentary review sample through the Spyderco Ambassador Program. Receiving this amazing knife does not influence my opinions. Spyderco does not preview, edit, or approve my reviews, and all conclusions are based solely on my own testing and experience.

I call this Sage 6 “Tango”.

Why Tango? Because orange is the color that immediately comes to mind when I look at it — and because the name evokes the Argentine tango dancers of the early 20th century, with their flamboyant, warm-colored clothing.

So, for the rest of this review, Tango it is.

And this particular knife is about to take us somewhere rather unusual: into the world of REX 121, one of the most extreme cutting steels I have ever had the pleasure — and sometimes the frustration — of using.

The Sage 6 Rex121 is not without its flaws. Like every Sage I’ve used, the quillon at the choil is just a little too sharp for my index finger.

The idea was simple: just knock the edge down a bit with a diamond file.
Well, it’s moments like this that make you realize just what a fucking bastard of a steel REX 121 is to file!! Pardon my French.

And on that note, I still haven’t achieved the convex edge I ultimately want.
One thing is certain: REX 121, with its huge percentage of tungsten and cobalt, responds politely only to diamond.

As I’m rather clumsy, I use gaffer tape to protect my blade’sides from scratches I might otherwise cause. Diamonds are unforgiving.
And remember I don’t really sharpen; I reshape that edge, rounding off the angle and turning the original bevel into something more convex and organic — and, above all, much easier to maintain freehand.

The result is immediately apparent in my test, where I push-cut through the bottom of a Coca-Cola plastic bottle. The plastic is thickest right in the center of the bottle’s base, where it corresponds to the injection gate used to form the bottle.

Straight out of the box, Tango couldn’t cut through it.
Once I had convexed the edge, however, the blade went through it with ease.
(But when it comes to this particular test, the Nilakka by Pekka Tuominen wins every single time as also Opinel’s thin blades…)

Naturally, I’ve cut a lot of cardboard with it.

That’s probably the one area where REX 121 absolutely makes a mockery of every other steel on the market, treating them all like a bunch of under-carbonized losers.

I used a Triangle Sharpener with CBN rods, setting the edge at 15° per side.

Once I had established a good edge, I went straight to the leather strop.

The result is a rough shaver, but a shaver nonetheless. It has plenty of bite.

Now, this big show-off of Tango has also been put to work on much more mundane tasks.

Now you’re going to tell me that a 440A knife would handle sausage meat or bread perfectly well, and I’ll tell you that you’re absolutely right.

But this blog isn’t called Nemo Steel Review, is it?

And so that very Sage 6 gets exposed to grease and crumbs.

Those two organic contaminants, once they make their way into the mechanism, can become a problem…

And things could get even worse when you’re skinning a hare…

I don’t have those kinds of thoughts when I use my Manix MagnaMax, fitted with the handle from my Manix 2 Salt, because I know I can soak the knife in hot, soapy water without worrying about corrosion.

But with a Sage 6 carrying a steel this extreme?

Is it going to start rusting somewhere I can’t see?

And will those uncoated skeletonized liners eventually turn into little pockets of rust? Or bacteria colonies ?…

My first thought was to apply a thin layer of Teflon-based bicycle chain oil inside the handle, using a cotton swab soaked in it.

Then I thought: am I really going to have to do this every single time I use it ?

Why the hell am I putting myself through this when I have…

Its little brother, the Sage 5 Salt Lightweight with its CPM MagnaCut blade.
A pure masterpiece of an EDC knife, with every metal component built to withstand a dip in the ocean. Its review is here BTW.

The kind of knife you can throw into the bottom of your suitcase before taking off for some unknown destination. It’ll survive a stint in the rainforest or a picnic beside a salt lake without batting its spyderhole of an eye.

The Sage 6 REX 121 and the Sage 5 Salt MagnaCut represent two almost opposite philosophies of EDC knife.

The REX 121 is a cutting machine: its extreme wear resistance gives it phenomenal edge retention, especially when cutting cardboard.

The trade-off is an exceptionally demanding steel to sharpen, with far less tolerance for moisture and corrosion.

The Sage 5 Salt takes a completely different approach: MagnaCut offers an outstanding balance of edge retention, toughness, and exceptional corrosion resistance.
And the Salt takes that philosophy all the way.

The Sage 6 is the one I’d choose when I want to push cutting performance to the limit, while the Sage 5 is the one I’d take anywhere without having to worry about maintenance.

One makes you think about its steel; the other simply lets you use your knife.

And that, ultimately, is the difference between an extraordinary specialist blade and a true adventure EDC.

I also managed to get a really nice convex edge on my Sage 5, and at this point it needs nothing more than a strop to keep it sharp. It’s a whittling champion, whereas the Sage 6 still needs some work to refine its edge.

MagnaCut is also remarkably tough, while REX 121 is considerably less so. That difference in toughness is something you can feel in actual use: MagnaCut will be much more forgiving when the blade encounters twisting, knots, or lateral stress.

In short, comparing these two brothers is genuinely fascinating.

And I have to admit, choosing REX 121 could almost be considered a form of masochism: it’s more demanding to maintain, both when it comes to mechanism and edge.

But there’s something intoxicating about using REX 121. Putting a steel of this caliber into such an “approachable” friendly platform as the Sage 6 is an experience you really have to live through.

It’s like having a lion in your pocket, ready to roar — to borrow Prince’s words from 1999.

So, ten days later, where does that leave the Sage 6 REX 121?Somewhere between a brilliant EDC knife and a beautifully unnecessary piece of madness.

The REX 121 is an extraordinary steel, but it comes with a price: sharpening is a pain in the arsenal (!!), corrosion resistance requires attention, the edge is less forgiving, and even the mechanism makes you think twice about what you’re putting this knife through.
(The Sage 5 Salt MagnaCut is, in many ways, the rational choice. It is tougher, vastly more corrosion resistant, easier to maintain, and an outstanding whittling knife.)

And yet, if you ask me which one I find more exciting to use, the answer is the Sage 6.

There is something deeply satisfying about having a steel this extreme on such an elegant, compact and friendly platform. It makes very little practical sense — and that is precisely what makes it so much fun.

The Sage 6 REX 121 is not the knife I would recommend to someone looking for the easiest EDC life. It is the knife I would recommend to someone who wants to experience what happens when you put one of the most extreme cutting steels available into one of Spyderco’s most refined platforms.

And if this review occasionally wandered a little too far down the rabbit hole, well…

“I was dreamin’ when I wrote this. Forgive me if it goes astray...”

After all, this is a knife made from REX 121. A little madness was probably unavoidable.

Advice, Folders

Spyderco PM2 Lightweight 15V vs. Manix 2 MagnaMax

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Spyderco has released two knives this year that, in my opinion, perfectly illustrate two very different visions of the modern high-performance folding knife.

On one side stands the Para Military 2 Lightweight CPM-15V Sprint Run—a knife designed around one simple objective: maximizing cutting performance while carrying as little weight as possible. A sprint run destined to be harder to find.

On the other is the Manix 2 MagnaMax, a folder that feels unapologetically overbuilt, engineered to inspire confidence in every situation while introducing what may become one of the decade’s most important alloy: a “stainless tool steels”.

Spoiler alerts: after living with both, I don’t think one replaces the other.

They simply excel in different ways.

The Lightweight Champion

At only 76 grams, the PM2 Lightweight almost disappears in the pocket.

Every design decision serves one purpose: efficiency.

The FRN scales, the simplified construction, the excellent (refined *) Compression Lock and the outstanding blade geometry all contribute to a knife that “cuts far above its weight class” sorry for the cliché.

What impressed me most wasn’t even CPM-15V.
It was the knife itself.

(*Spyderco quietly refined the Lightweight platform. Robin’s teardown revealed a redesigned Compression Lock spring featuring a longitudinal groove that improves lateral stability during operation. It’s an invisible modification, but one that perfectly illustrates Spyderco’s continuous evolution of an already outstanding design.)

The result is a PM2 that feels more mature than previous Lightweight generations.

The Heavyweight Workhorse

The Manix MagnaMax immediately sends a different message.

At 136 grams, it’s sixty grams heavier than the PM2 LW.

Normally I would criticize such an increase.

Here, I don’t.

Because the weight isn’t wasted and it was welcomed.
To quote Wallach on the forums:
“The other thing that jumped out at me immediately was the weight. I haven’t handled a “base” model Manix 2 in quite some time, and I had forgotten how heavy and dense this knife felt with full steel liners. I have a set of AWT scales coming for this knife, but I’m thinking I will try carrying it like this for a while, as I have to admit the knife has a different feel to it.”

Spyderco using full stainless steel liners, paired them with a stronger Ball Bearing Lock spring and produced perhaps the most confidence-inspiring Manix I’ve ever handled. It is striking.

Everything about this knife feels designed for decades of hard use.

Even the details on the MagnaMax blade impressed me:

The softened jimping, beautifully finishe, refined tip geometry and exceptional fit and finish all suggest that Spyderco knew this wasn’t just another run.

It feels now like a flagship.

CPM-15V vs. MagnaMax

Comparing these steels isn’t as straightforward as it first appears.

CPM-15V remains one of the absolute kings of wear resistance.

If your priority is maximum edge retention and you don’t mind spending extra time sharpening, it remains extremely difficult to beat.

MagnaMax follows a different philosophy.

Rather than maximizing only wear resistance, it attempts to reach an extraordinary balance between edge retention, corrosion resistance and toughness.

What impressed me during my testing is that MagnaMax never made me think about corrosion.

I simply used it. Kitchen work. Wet food. Cheese. Tomatoes. Lemons. Oily hands. Daily carry.

It behaved exactly as a great working stainless steel should.

After leather stropping both knives, I noticed that CPM 15V still exhibited a slightly toothier edge than MagnaMax. It became particularly noticeable on thick-skinned, fully ripe tomatoes. The PM2 would immediately grab the skin and zip through it effortlessly, without compressing or squashing the fruit first.
But that may simply reflect my sharpening skills—or my lack of them. Sharpening is always a tricky business, so I’m reluctant to draw any firm conclusions from that observation alone.

Meanwhile, based on my own use—mainly breaking down a number of cardboard boxes—MagnaMax already feelsremarkably close to the elite wear-resistant tool steels that normally ask you to sacrifice corrosion resistance.

That said, these are not controlled, quantified tests like those you often see on YouTube. I have no reliable way of measuring actual edge wear, so this remains a subjective impression rather than a scientific conclusion.

If that impression proves accurate over time, this balance between excellent edge retention and true stainless performance may well become MagnaMax’s greatest strength.

Sharpening

Interestingly, both steels surprised me.

CPM-15V behaved exactly as expected. Slow. Demanding. Rewarding.

MagnaMax surprised me for another reason.

My normal sharpening routine simply wasn’t producing the finish I wanted. Only after adapting my technique did the steel really begin to reveal its potential.

15V teaches me patience.
MagnaMax teaches me adaptability. 😉

Living With Them

The PM2 is the knife I instinctively slip into my pocket when I want maximum performance with minimum weight.
The Manix is the knife I reach for when I expect to spend the entire day using it.

It fills the hand better.
Its Ball Bearing Lock feels almost indestructible.
It simply inspires confidence.

Final Thoughts

If someone asked me which knife cuts better, I’d probably answer, Define “cuts better.” 😉

If someone asked which knife feels stronger, I’d immediately answer: the Manix.

If someone asked which steel keeps an edge longer, CPM-15V still deserves its legendary reputation. The trade-off, of course, is that you have to pay a little more attention to corrosion and keep the blade lightly oiled.

If someone asked me which knife I’d take on a hike or while travelling, the honest answer would probably be: a future PM2 Lightweight in MagnaMax!

I think it would also make an outstanding hunting knife, as I mentioned in my previous review.

Then again… so would the Manix 2 MagnaMax.

Oh boy… what a dilemma.

The PM2 Lightweight CPM-15V reminds me of a Lotus Seven fitted with the most powerful engine ever officially installed in a Seven—the 550-horsepower supercharged RST-V8 of the Caterham Seven Levante. It’s all about maximizing performance while keeping weight to an absolute minimum.

The Manix 2 MagnaMax, on the other hand, feels like Mad Max’s Ford Falcon Interceptor: heavier, tougher, brutally reassuring, and seemingly ready for whatever the road throws at it even the apocalypse !

But if someone asked me which knife I’d take on an unknown journey—one where I might encounter rain, food preparation, workshop tasks, cardboard, rope, wood, and endless daily cutting…

I’d choose my Manix 2 MagnaMax Salt “the quintessential Goldilocks knife” to quote Red Leader on the forums.

Not because it wins every category.
Because it hardly loses any.

But even with the Vanilla version and it full liners and steel ball, Spyderco didn’t simply release another Manix with a new steel.

They quietly improved almost every aspect of the platform while introducing MagnaMax into production.

The PM2 Lightweight CPM-15V remains one of the finest slicing tools I’ve ever carried. And I’m planning to go in vacation with it as my only knife.

The Manix 2 MagnaMax may well become one of the finest all-around folding knives Spyderco has ever built.

Your mileage may vary, but just like their automotive counterparts, they’re both a joy to live with, really !
One is built to set lap records. The other is built to survive the rally.

Advice, Folders, Review

The Serrations of the Everyday — Notes on a Serrated Magnacut UKPK enhance with titanium scales.

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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.

Advice, Folders, Review

INSTALLING THE TITECH HEINNIE® EXCLUSIVE SPYDERCO UKPK TITANIUM SCALES.

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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.

Advice, Folders

“Part The Matters For Me” – Spyderco UKPK Salt Serrated vs UKPK Sprint SPY27 Plain Edge – Teeth vs Razor.

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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

Part the waters for me”

Screenshot
Advice, Folders, Review

Reprofiling Intent: Turning the Yojimbo 2 into a Woodcraft Tool

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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…

Advice, Folders, Review

Spyderco Edgerati part 2 – The KWEMRP That Commands Attention !

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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.

Advice

Spyderco Chaparral® SLIPIT™ Birdeye Maple C152NLWDP – Part 2 Clipless Solution.

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Sometimes discretion isn’t optional. Local laws—or the context you’re in—can severely limit what qualifies as a legal EDC.

That’s where the Chaparral SlipIt excels.

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.