There Is No Spoon…

Spoon boy: “Do not try and bend the spoon. That's impossible. Instead… only try to realize the truth.”

Neo: “What truth?”

Spoon boy: “There is no spoon…”

(‘The Matrix’ 1999)

 

For me, the journey into the wild started with adventures as a Boy Scout.  Much of this involved making things out of endless pieces of rope and pine poles, usually involving some sort of river crossing.  We made fires, sang lots and occasionally, we whittled.

Whittling involved taking a perfectly good stick and turning it into a pile of wood-shavings with a largely blunt knife.   Ultimately the most exciting thing a bunch of Boy Scouts could turn out was the aptly named ‘pointy stick’, which was then routinely poked into other boy scouts to see whose was the sharpest.

When someone recently told me that there was nothing finer than whittling around the fire at the end of a long day of tramping, it took every fibre of my being to remain connected and interested in the conversation.  I asked innocently what sort of things he whittled, looking for evidence of puncture wounds on his torso, and he said “mostly spoons”.

Spoons.  Why on earth would you choose to whittle a spoon for goodness sake?

So, I asked around, and apparently all the kids are doing it.  Ray Mears carves a spoon every time he goes on an expedition, to connect him with the place and leave a lasting memory.

So, I had a look online, checked a few books out, and got started on my first spoon whilst sitting around the fire with Terry, one night at the Bushcraft Show.

And I lost six hours of my life.  So I showed Terry, and he promptly lost six hours too.

It has to be one of the most engaging, absorbing and addictive pass-times I have experienced.  It is completely compelling, yet allows some part of your brain free to communicate with your fellow whittlers.  It requires fierce concentration, not least to avoid removing a digit. You need to understand your materials, learn to use your knife with great finesse, and develop an immunity to pins-and-needles in your backside.  Yet it still allows room for conversation, albeit a bit disjointed sometimes.

But why? Why so engaging and enthralling?  Well, I can only propose my own feelings on the subject, having sat in a meditative state for many hours now surrounded by piles of shaved wood.

Firstly, it’s the subject.  I would suggest that a spoon is the first ‘tool’ you have experience of as a child, the first tool you are introduced to several times every day, that you eventually take control of yourself, and become more and more able to control, moving from ‘chunky for little hands’ to wooden spoon for mixing cakes.  Apart from the knife, which you are trusted with as you get a little older, the spoon is arguably the only other implement you need to eat with: forks are just for finesse. So using a knife to make a spoon seems somehow prosaic and ‘right’ to me.

Second, a spoon is no easy thing to make, even though you understand its shape and function at an innate level.  Once you start carving, you realise that the balance, thickness of the bowl, diameter of the spindle, length and width all convene to make the spoon either useable, or decorative.  However, the piece of wood, your blank ‘stock’ if you like, will ultimately dictate the shape and size of everything: the internal structure of the wood, grain, knots and faults all have an impact on the ultimate result.  Forcing the wood to take a shape it doesn’t want to ‘hold’ will result in disappointment.

Third, it requires incredible skill, all which appear to be native, but take time to come to the surface.  So, the first spoon you make, you learn about working with and against the grain, defining the shape, producing a curve, symmetry around the spoon shaft.  The next one is more refined, the early cuts more sure, the later shavings smaller and more delicate.  And every time you go to your next spoon, the skills develop.

Fourth, when you see what other types of spoon people are carving, and realise quite how far you can take the art, you get inspired to have a go.  No one laughs at your early attempts to carve ivy leaves on the handle, and actually as you try, you realise your mistakes, and craft a better version the next time.  I’m amazed at how quickly you can become competent and even confident with making really beautiful pieces of art in a relatively short period of time. 

Fifth, it is timeless.  Our forefathers have been doing this in every age across the globe, using bone splinters to carve driftwood on the shores of distant seas, knives to carve scrimshaw from the teeth of sperm whales, to adorn furniture and make functional tools.  To make life more intricate and functional.  By picking up a sharp and a lump of wood, we are continuing the tradition of thousands of years; re-learning skills and techniques that our elders knew throughout their life.

Sixth, it teaches you about tools in an entirely different way. I know now why I need to keep a knife sharp.  I also understand why a knife has so many surfaces, curves and a point.  As I carve I find myself naturally favouring one part of the blade over another.  Also, you quickly feel when the blade is starting to loose it’s edge, and then you learn how to maintain it.  I now have a proper whetstone, leather strop and the experience to use it.  I can put an edge on a blade that I can shave with, and I know that having my knife that sharp makes for better whittling.  I’ve also bought other types of sharp such as crook knives with curved blades, detail knives and the like.  The list is as endless as the pastime is absorbing.

Finally, it is a great tool to have for survival.  Again, not the Zombie Apocalypse sort of survival, though pointy sticks always come in useful against the undead, but the sort that can make the difference between being comfortable and being miserable. You can make tent pegs that actually stay in the ground and hold a load in the wind.  You can make traps with pointy sticks to catch some well needed calories, fashion a frame for a broken rucksack, make a shuttle to weave a Paracord net in order to catch fish, or just pass time while you’re waiting for the weather to clear.

Or you can make a spoon to eat your rabbit stew with. 

If you are going to carve a spoon, a few words of wisdom: 

• Don’t do it on carpet, the shavings stick like glue, do it outside with your back to a tree trunk and your front to a campfire.

• Seriously, make sure you have good light.  If you're doing it at night, have a good light or head-torch, the risk of a severe cut is much higher if you can’t see what you’re doing.

• Don’t be tempted to cut of big chunks than your knife can handle, you risk snapping your work or stabbing someone.  Work at the speed the wood and knife work at comfortably, you’ll get much better results.

• Don’t feel you have to start with a plan in mind.  Let the wood ‘talk to you’, carve around knots and faults in the wood to make them stand out, see what shape or form comes from the piece of wood you have chosen.

• Keep your tools razor sharp, clean them after use and oil the blades with camellia oil before sheathing or wrapping them.  Always sheath or cover your blade when you’re not using it.

• Get inspired, look at other people’s work and try to copy their designs, it’s a great way to refine your skills.  Talk to experts, especially knife makers like Ben Orford and craftspeople like Woodsmith Experience who are very approachable and regularly answer emails and forum posts on their sites.  They were a great help as I explored my new passion at the Bushcraft Show.

• The words “I’ll be there in a minute” should not be used whilst whittling, it gives those not whittling a false sense of hope.  Be honest and say “I’ll do it tomorrow. Probably”.

So, in the end, there really is no spoon, to amend the words of ‘Spoon Boy’ to my needs: “do not try to carve a spoon, for that is impossible, instead realise the truth. It’s not about the spoon.”

It’s not about the spoon, it’s about the experience of carving the spoon.