EAGLE NEST — In about 30 minutes, Kevin Ricketson can turn an ordinary hunk of rock into a sleek, finely trimmed instrument of death.

Well, maybe not your usual instrument of death, but certainly an impressive piece of lithic weaponry.

Ricketson is a flintknapper, someone who practices the not-so-delicate art of making arrowheads and other types of projectile points from solid stone.

In the shade of his canvas awning, amid the hubbub of the Frontier Rendezvous in Eagle Nest, Ricketson spent most of the last weekend in June seated on a chair, banging away at slabs of chert, chalcedony, glass and obsidian. At his feet, the jagged flakes created by the violent stokes of his copper-headed club collected in a glimmering mosaic of blues, blacks, pinks and grays.

On the tarp spread out in front of his tent, Ricketson displays the raw materials he's dug out of hillsides and streams in several states to use in his points. Crowds of passers-by stop to watch him work or browse the finished arrowheads set out for sale.

"It took me about two years sitting in my garage with a book on 'knapping before I could start making points that were recognizable," Ricketson says between whacks with his club.

As an avid arrowhead hunter back home in Bartlesville, Okla., Ricketson was drawn to flintknapping because of his interest in prehistoric tools. The hours spent learning how, where and with what strength to strike the rock taught him a lot about the real pieces he was finding on the plains. It also taught him to appreciate the delicacy that goes into crafting a fine arrowhead.


Each arrowhead starts with raw material. Prehistoric man made do with what he could dig up or trade for, but the types of rock have always had to fit a certain criteria.

"It has to be homogenous, with no fault lines, and it has to form conchodial fractures, like elongated horizontal cones," Ricketson says.

Jargon like that likely comes from years locked up in a garage with a book and plenty of rocks. Simply put, whatever you're using to make your arrowhead had better break predictably, consistently and leave one hell of a sharp edge.

Ricketson picks out a palm-sized piece of pinkish chert and takes a seat at his working chair. He examines the stone from all angles like a sculptor examining a marble block.

"Every rock and every point is a puzzle," he says. "You just have to work it out."

Then, without a word, he makes his first hit.

Blow by blow, Ricketson roughs out a sketch of the arrowhead. Between hits, he uses a grindstone to smooth the shard edges in order to keep the rock from cracking or splintering.

These sturdy whacks with the club are known as percussion flaking, and each thud of the club sends a shower of thin shards to the ground. The heavy club is filled with lead — a convenient substitute for the heavy antler ends used by prehistoric flintknappers.

The trick, Ricketson says, is to make each strike below the centerline of the arrowhead. In other words, if the point is held flat on his thigh, the club should hit below the outer edge of the point, as if he were striking downward at the underside of the arrowhead. It's not easy, and it's one of the skills Ricketson learned through improved hand-eye coordination and a lot of trial and error.

Ten minutes in, Ricketson has the basic form finished. The point has the shape of an arrowhead and both sides have been worked to give it the rounded bifacial appearance. Probably 80 percent of the original chunk of chert lies in pieces on the ground.

The next step in the process is the detail work done by pressure flaking. Ricketson pulls out a device known as an "Ishi stick" from his bag of tools. It's a plastic wand with a copper nail imbedded in it. The tip of the nail sticks out from one end and is used to carve out smaller, more precise flakes in the rock. The long stick allows the flintknapper to direct a tremendous amount of force into a very small part of the arrowhead, and essentially pop the flakes off with the intense pressure.

Again, Ricketson starts on one side of the point and patiently works the edges with the Ishi stick. He inspects the rock for irregularities and cleans up any unsightly bumps or bulges left over from the percussion flaking. Before long, he has an elegant, razor-edged triangular point.

The final step in the arrowhead is to carve in the notches. Delicate flakes are taken from each side near the base, giving the finished point that quintessential arrowhead look.


There are countless styles of projectile points dating back thousands of years. And though Ricketson says his favorites are notchless points dating to the Clovis era, he says the buying public is looking for something that looks like an arrowhead.

As a hobbyist flintknapper, his aim is to sell and trade what he can. But unlike some of the more dedicated attendees camped out in Eagle Nest over the weekend, these gatherings are rare for Ricketson. He is a chemical engineer who owns a second home in Angel Fire and says he has attended only events that were held in the Moreno Valley.

Most of the finished points on display at his camp go for $15 to $20 — well below the going rate of $10 an inch. But for Ricketson, flintknapping has nothing to do with getting rich.

"It's enough for me if I can come out here, make a little gas money, and have a good time," he says.

Contact J.R. Logan at 575-377-2358 or jrlogan@sangrechronicle.com.