Fleshing with Flint

Its been some time since a raw hide was delivered to the door of the Boyne Currach workshop, once the butcher agreed for posterity sake that the recording of how to make a Stone Age currach was a worth wile project to be pursued. Indeed the dog looked forward to his new friends arriving again this weekend to play cute and cuddly kitten around the legs of the volunteers as they worked. A totally different approach than that of the well loved Jack Russell  who took on a more wolf like approach to guard his over sized dinner some years back. That was almost twenty years ago when I made my first successful attempt at traditional boat making, when the air by the river was filled with the minty aroma of temptuous love. The boat was a craftsman's dream come true and after learning how to skull the boat, I set out on a 75 mile journey from the source to sea of our little river. I ditched the dog for some far better company by way of my new companion who was keen to accept the offer of a picnic deep down in the slumbering waters of Glenmore. So after the Russell was distracted, we made our escape to the river and floated away in his boat, pleased, for a time at least, to be without him. I sculled as my partner sat back to enjoy the scenery but eventually tiring of talking to my buttocks she and I sat up on the seat together to paddle. The over hanging branches gave off a cool and relaxing atmosphere in which to enjoy the deepest stretch of the water and far away from the walkers and fishermen that appeared occasionally along the rampart over the other side. Just then my partner drew my attention to a hair thin spout of water springing up between her legs. I laughed with embarrassment and began passing it off as the place where the knife carved too deeply into the flesh while fleshing the hide. And on saying that, I reached down to put my finger over the squirt of water. Just then I slipped and my finger drove through the once hair pricked hole to create a torrent of water pouring into the craft. In a panic I pushed my finger back into the hole and with my head firmly placed on my partner's lap, I roared "PADDLE!". It  was the longest and most difficult journey I ever had to undertake and with our zig-zag manoeuvres, attempting to get to the other side of the river, as the boat was slowly filling up. But it taught me a good lesson: never to cut too deep when fleshing........

This time around no knives have appeared at the table, instead only the flint shards knapped from stones a fortnight before. The hide dangled down from being draped over an existing leather currach to help us stretch it into the correct shape. The flint, once you got used to it, cleaned fat and tissue far closer to the skin than I would have ever risked with a knife, the trick of course was to grow a long thumb nail so as to be able to trap the filament of tissues between your thumb nail and fore finger, allowing you to pull as you scrape. By the end of a long day we were finished, the only thing left was to bury the bones as a project for another day. We sailed to Wales in our conversations and the smell..... well it left as soon as we forgot it was there.