As sailors, and sailmakers, what may look like odd fashion accessories are really totems of our skill. I hung up my rig knife when I stepped off ships and traded it for a scissor holster and palm when I climbed into the sail loft. Most tall ship sailors have stories behind the knives, marlin spikes and sheaths they wear on their belts. I bought my knife from an old Mainer named Mudd. At the sail loft, my shears are a hand-me-down from a gal named Maud. I have yet to truly make the new tools my own, however. Those things can't be forced. A certain bond has to occur, a meeting in the middle, where the sailmaker molds to fit her tools and a tool molds to fit its master. When that happens, a certain pride of craftsmanship might glint on the blade to match its wearer's smile. Of course, not all tools inspire that kind of romance. There was a glint in my eye in the photo below but it was of rage. In that moment, I wrestled a finicky stapler. It was the third one I broke that day.