“Behold! The Sword of Power!”
Whether from Arthurian legend or a stick in the woods, we’ve all felt the magic of wielding something greater than ourselves.
The legend of King Arthur dates back to the 9th century (circa 828 AD). So, it’s safe to say that most children growing up in the Western world have heard some version of the tale where a young boy pulls a sword from a stone—or receives it from the Lady of the Lake—and becomes king. As with most legends, there are countless versions. But one thing remains constant: the sword. Excalibur, the magical blade, may be even more famous than the king himself. In the 1981 movie Excalibur, the wizard Merlin dramatically proclaims, “Behold! The Sword of Power!” as he presents the blade to Uther Pendragon.
Be honest—how many of us have ever picked up a stick in the woods or a pool noodle at the store and wielded it like a sword, staff, lightsaber, or wand? Bonus points if you yelled, “Behold! The Sword of Power!” Don’t worry, you’re not alone.
I was a blacksmith’s boy but yesterday; I am—what shall I say I am today?
– Charles Dickens
For Master Bladesmith and Heber Valley resident Daniel Olsen, that kind of imaginative play wasn’t just a phase—it was the start of a lifelong passion. “Before my dad became a school teacher, he was a contractor,” Daniel explains. “He would cut sword shapes from plywood, and my brothers and I would rush to play with them—just like in the King Arthur stories.”
Daniel grew up in Battle Mountain, Wyoming, with wide open spaces and lots of freedom to explore. His parents, both school teachers, fostered in him a deep love for American and European history. “From a young age, I was fascinated by pioneers, settlers, colonists—where they came from and how they lived,” he recalls.
So, it makes perfect sense that on a family trip to Utah, one of their first stops was This Is the Place Heritage Park. The blacksmith’s shop immediately drew Daniel in. “I was 14, and the shop was just so enthralling. I asked my parents if I could stay while they toured the park. I think I spent like three hours with the blacksmith.” When it came time to leave, Daniel said wistfully, “Man, I wish I could do this.” The blacksmith looked at him and said, “Why don’t you?”
That suggestion set the course for Daniel’s life. The blacksmith told him that with a railroad track, a hammer, and a hairdryer, he could make anything he wanted. So when Daniel got home, that’s exactly what he did. “I dug a hole, borrowed my dad’s hammer, took my mom’s hair dryer, and found a piece of railroad track. My first knives were barely recognizable, but I didn’t care—I was hooked.”
His parents weren’t too concerned about him building fires or hammering steel in the backyard, but the hairdryer? That crossed a line. “They made me get my own,” Daniel laughs. With no internet or YouTube, he turned to the library, checking out books on blacksmithing and forging. “It gave me something positive to focus on. I think it helped me avoid a lot of that teenage rebellion.”
By the time he was 16, someone offered to buy one of his knives. “I sold it for $50 and thought I’d struck gold,” he says. That first sale kicked off not just a career, but a lifelong habit of reinvesting in his craft. “Every time I sold a knife, I bought more tools. I’ve been doing that for 33 years, and now we have a shop full of incredible equipment.”
The “we” Daniel refers to is intentional—because now, his son Isaac has joined him in the forge. Isaac remembers watching his dad work, especially the rigged-up hair dryer. “I thought it would be fun to try it myself,” he says. His first “real” knife came from an old truck leaf spring. With guidance from Daniel, Isaac made the entire thing, including the handle. “He used layered fabric—denim and burlap—set in resin and pressed. It’s more durable than wood and looks amazing,” Daniel says proudly.
Isaac’s favorite creation so far is a Bowie-style knife with a tigerwood handle. But his real passion lies in making Kukris—large, curved knives used in Nepal. “Right now, I’m working on two chef’s knives using a Japanese method called Go Mai, which means five layers,” Isaac explains. The knives use a mix of metals and natural materials—including wood Isaac foraged himself—and incorporate features like turquoise inlays and horseshoe pieces used as bolsters.
One of the knives is for a mentor who had a profound impact on Isaac’s life and inspired him to serve a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The second is for his mission president. “I wanted to give them something meaningful and unique,” Isaac says.
Listening to Daniel and Isaac talk about their projects is like watching a symphony of fire and steel. They finish each other’s sentences, share stories, and describe their work with contagious enthusiasm. Honestly, you might want to camp out in their shop just to witness the process.
Better yet, you can. Their business, 4D Blades and Tools, offers classes for all skill levels. Participants can forge chef’s knives, hunting blades, or even full-size swords. “We get people from all over,” Daniel says. “Youth groups, families, couples. One of my favorite things is watching relationships get reforged—pun intended—while people create something together.”
Bladesmithing spans millennia and has deep roots in nearly every culture. Blades have symbolized power, protection, social status, and spiritual belief. They’ve also served as critical tools, from ancient survival to modern cooking. More than weapons or utensils, blades are storytelling vessels. A knife passed down through generations carries not just steel but memory.
Daniel and Isaac understand this better than most. They’re not just making tools—they’re helping people preserve legacies.
Daniel shares one unforgettable project: a custom knife for an active-duty Special Forces soldier. “He needed something reliable,” Daniel says. Together, they selected high-performance materials and functional design features. But the knife became so much more.
The soldier had served in the Marines and Army before joining Special Forces. Daniel incorporated material from his old duffle bags into the handle, along with his grandfather’s WWII jump wings, a Buffalo nickel from his grandmother, and a silver dollar his grandfather gave him before his first deployment.
“That coin was supposed to come back with him,” Daniel says. “But his grandfather passed away while he was overseas. He’s taken it on every deployment since.” They melted the silver dollar and used it in the bolster, embedding generations of memory into one object. “Now, he sends me photos from the field. He built an entire shelter with that knife once when they were stuck in a remote area for a week.”
The soldier’s eight-year-old daughter has already claimed the knife for the future.
“These stories are why we do what we do,” Daniel reflects. “That knife will outlive all of us, and so will the memories attached to it.”
Another memorable moment came when an elderly man randomly pulled into Daniel’s shop. They got to talking, and the man shared that his father had made a knife in high school—over 100 years ago.
That knife will outlive all of us, and so will the memories attached to it.
He went home, got the knife, and brought it back to show Daniel. “It was in incredible condition. And as he held it, the stories just started flowing—about his dad, the mountains, working with sheep. That knife was a time capsule.”
Those moments—unexpected visits, shared memories, multigenerational legacies—fuel Daniel’s passion. He’s even writing a book, The People of the Blade, exploring the global cultural impact of bladesmithing.
And of course, he’s still creating with Isaac. Watching Isaac design and forge blades, not just for beauty or function, but as meaningful gifts, has been a highlight of Daniel’s life. Isaac is discovering that this work goes deeper than shaping metal—it’s about honoring relationships and creating something lasting.
As Isaac puts it, “Bladesmithing has all kinds of funny sayings—like ‘Too many irons in the fire’ or ‘Don’t lose your temper.’ One of my favorites is, ‘Bladesmiths don’t make mistakes. They just make smaller knives.’ But that’s not entirely true. Failure is actually a big part of the process.”
He continues, “We’re pushing the limits of what’s possible with materials, so things go wrong sometimes. But just like in life, we try, we fail, we learn, and then we create something beautiful and unique. That’s what makes this work so fulfilling.”
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