Leathercraft is something I’m still new to. I’ve been dabbling with a few ideas, but I often find myself stuck on what to make, not wanting to create just for the sake of it and risk wasting good material. At the same time, there’s a quiet truth in the idea that skill comes through doing, and sometimes the only way forward is simply to keep making.
The idea for this project didn’t come from the workshop, but from time spent out in the field.
During my South Africa Game Ranger Experience and CyberTracker Expedition, I treated myself to an upgrade in binoculars. A decent pair makes a real difference when tracking, allowing you to read animals from a distance, pick up on behaviour, and settle into observation without needing to close the gap.
But as the days went on, I found myself increasingly distracted by small frustrations.
They came with a standard neck strap, which quickly became uncomfortable. With my work as a tattooist, I already carry a fair amount of tension through my neck and shoulders, and adding the weight of binoculars only made that worse. Over time it became something I noticed constantly rather than something I could forget about. Being a larger-chested woman also meant they never quite sat right, always slightly in the way.
The case brought its own set of issues. It was well made, but in practice it felt cumbersome. Designed to hang from the binoculars while in use, it added movement where you don’t want it, taking away from the steadiness needed to observe properly. The Velcro closure became the final frustration.
Out in the bush, animals are often used to the background noise of vehicles, but small, sharp human sounds can cut through that. The tear of Velcro, something we barely register day to day, suddenly feels loud. Too loud.
For a while, I worked around it. A blood group patch over the Velcro stopped it sticking, but left the case permanently open. More often than not, I ended up leaving it behind entirely.
It was during this time that I noticed Jason Ingamells’ setup. His case was simple, lightweight, and quiet. It wrapped around the binoculars neatly and opened quickly with soft press studs. Paired with a harness, it kept everything stable and accessible.
It was one of those moments where you see something and immediately recognise its value, not because it’s complicated, but because it works with the environment rather than against it.
Back in the UK, I swapped the neck strap for a harness, which solved part of the problem straight away. But something was still missing. The binoculars felt exposed, and I kept coming back to that simple, functional case I’d seen.
So the idea formed, not to copy it exactly, but to build something that met my own needs, shaped by the experience that had highlighted them in the first place.
Step 1 – The Idea
I kept it simple:
- Lightweight
- Sturdy
- Quiet to open
From there, it became a series of small decisions. How should it attach? Fixed or removable? Connected to the binoculars or the harness? Each question narrowing the path slightly.
Step 2 – Template Making
I started with paper, working through a series of shapes that would wrap around the binoculars. Some were straight, others curved or tapered, each one teaching me something about how the material might behave.
In the end, I settled on a cuff system that would sit directly on the binoculars themselves. After a bit of trial and error, I found a taper that allowed the joins to meet cleanly and be stitched with a neat finish.
The final design came down to three pieces. One main section and two smaller cuffs.
Step 3 – Choosing and Cutting the Leather
Material choice felt important. I wanted something that would hold up to use, but also something that felt right in the hand. There’s a certain character to well-used leather that seemed to suit the job.
I went with a mid-to-dark brown, 3mm vegetable-tanned leather. Thick enough to offer protection, but still flexible enough to work with.
Using the templates, I marked out and cut the three pieces.
Step 4 – Making the Decision
The main decision here was how to connect everything.
Rivets would have made it solid and permanent, but I kept coming back to the idea of flexibility. In the end, I chose press studs. Quiet, practical, and removable if needed.
I also decided to try a visible stitch I’d seen used on steering wheels. It felt fitting to leave it exposed, both as a feature and as part of the process.
Step 5 – Going for It
With everything marked out, I punched the holes, fitted the studs, and stitched the cuffs in place using a baseball-style stitch.
Once fitted to the binoculars, I added the outer case. Before fixing the final studs, I adjusted the binoculars to my preferred setting so they’d always be ready to use. I also allowed a little extra space to accommodate the eye cups when extended.
When it all came together, it held well. Four press studs were enough to secure everything, and the removable design made it easy to take on and off when needed.
Step 6 – The Close
This was where I allowed myself a small experiment.
Most cases open from the top down. Instead, I reversed it, so the bottom flap releases first. The idea being that as you reach down, you open the case and take hold of the binoculars in one movement.
It felt more natural in use, so I stuck with it.
For the finishing touches, I scored a simple border and stitched on a Woodland Ways leather patch that happened to fit just right.
Burnishing the edges is still on the list for another day.
I later put them to the test out in Kenya during the Maasai Warrior Expedition, where they performed exactly as I’d hoped, quiet, practical, and completely unobtrusive in use.
My Closing Thoughts
What started as a small frustration in the field turned into something far more useful back at the bench.
There’s a tendency, especially when learning a new skill, to make things for the sake of practice. And there’s value in that. But there’s a different kind of satisfaction in making something that comes directly from experience, shaped by real use and real need.
Time spent in the landscape has a way of refining what matters. It strips things back. You begin to notice what works, what doesn’t, and where small changes can make a difference.
This felt like a continuation of that process.
Not just learning to make, but learning to make with purpose.
