I grew up around blacksmithing. Dad put me on blower duty at the ripe old age of 7 (as soon as I was big enough to crank the forge blower) and by 10 or 12 I was swinging my own hammer. At about 15, I knew I'd seen it all and knew how to do everything! As a seasoned metalsmithing pro, I'd just finished forging this nifty tanto-shaped blade. Now it's time to fit the handle (stacked leather disks with brass bolster and butt). In preparation, I'm cleaning up and squaring off the tang with an angle grinder; the knife held firmly in a leg vice. It looks great and I know I've got it made. I turn off the grinder, wait for it to spin down (for safety!), set it down, and grab hold of the tang of the knife...
You know, it's funny how the really, really hot things feel cold and slippery. The cold is because the nerves are misfiring as they die from the heat and the slippery is from your own skin melting. I melted the fingerprints off the first four fingers of my left hand with that little "oops." Couldn't touch anything for days and didn't get the fingerprints back for about six weeks. I still have that knife, though. Holds a right fine edge. I guess I made a pleasing offering of pain to the metal gods.
Never forget that grinding adds huge amounts of heat to your workpiece or that steel doesn't glow until about 900 degrees fahrenheit!
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Hurley in Memphis