A Stubborn Knot

I set a straight dry birch stick across the split-log bench to carve out a clean guyline toggle. *Gasp!* A rock-hard grain swirl jammed the blade right mid-stroke! I froze dead solid, spectacles fogging, holding my breath until my shoulders burned. No snap, no slip. Just pure, stubborn wood. *Hah—gasp!* I didn't give an inch. I planted my boots flat against the damp gravel, leaned my entire chest over the handle, and pressed both thumbs hard along the spine. *Creak—shave!* With one mighty push, the stubborn curl peeled clean off, leaving a smooth, square notch carved right through the heartwood.