One of the most common errors when planing is to create a gentle banana shape on one face – where the ends of the board end up thinner than the middle.

The cause of this problem resides both in you and in your tool. First off, divide the sole of your plane into two regions: The infeed side of the sole before the blade (the toe). And the outfeed side of the sole behind the blade (the heel). And remember this: The blade of your plane isn’t co-planar with the outfeed side of your handplane.

This feature makes it different than your power jointer. As a result, a handplane has more of a tendency to make bananas. (By the way, you can make bananas – and wedges – with a power jointer as well).

But I think the tool’s role in banana-making is a minor problem. The bigger problem is you and where you are putting pressure on the tool as you plane. Here’s how it’s supposed to work:

At the beginning of the cut, plant the toe of your tool firmly against the work. With the hand on the front knob, put all of your downward pressure right there. Your other hand (on the tote) should only push the tool forward.

As soon as the entire sole is on the work, you should shift your pressure: Use equal and forceful downward pressure with both of your hands.

As soon as the toe runs off the end of the board, release the pressure there but continue to exert downward and forward pressure at the tote.

This work, but it can be a trick to remember for beginning planers. It’s hard to get all your muscles lined up. So I tell them this simple mental trick: Just try your darndest to plane a big old hollow valley in each board by scooping out the middle.

Planing a hollow in this manner is almost impossible to do with a handplane that has a flat sole. So what you wind up with is a board that is fairly consistent in its thickness.

I cannot take credit for this mental trick, but I can’t remember who told it to me years ago. But works like crazy. And with that aspect of planing under control, you can then turn your attention to removing cupping and twisting in your boards.

— Christopher Schwarz

John is at it again.  We just finished a brutal month of traveling and teaching and John has got back in the shop!

There is a certain order or Karma to life, and when you violate this flow events let you know.  Like the time I saw this woman and said “when are you due” to wit she said, “I am not pregnant!”   Now the natural order would have flowed thus, a woman appears pregnant, you keep your mouth shut until she admits being pregnant, at which time you hesitantly congratulate her.

Anyway, I am hard at the Trestle Table and got the top supports fitted to the leg via a bridle joint.  When all looked great and fit perfectly I took the assembly apart and put the final touches to it with the jointer and smoother plane.  Can you guess what I wound up with?  Yep, my final touches with the jointer and smoother caused the perfect fit to become a 1/16^th gap!  I went out of order.  I should have made the leg complete then laid out the bridle joint.  Oh well, out of the Karma flow and back to plan B.

I learn through mistakes.  I could be in the minority here but when I mess something up, I remember why and am less likely to repeat it.  Like cutting on the wrong side of a line or jamming a perfectly sharp Barr chisel into my hand and cutting a tendon.  Chris and I have been on the road a lot last month and I have not been in the shop much.  The project shows my “learning” and I hope someday to make something without learning anything.

To fix the problem I re-sawed a ¼ inch piece of wood and glued it to the full length of one side of the leg.  After the glue up was dry, I snuck up on the fit.  It now looks like this.

Can you guess which side has the wood glued to it?  If you can, I will say that there is another learning experience in here.  If you see a small glue line it is a result of that part of the piece not being clamped down to the leg.  It could be that the piece was not flat or maybe the clamp is a bit off.  Nonetheless, next time I will ensure the “show” side has a seamless glue joint, and yes I am already fixing that nice nick off the bottom edge.  Fortunately this will be painted!

-John

This morning I processed the stock for 18 more sawbenches that we’ll build during the “All About Hand Tools” class I’m teaching this coming week at the Marc Adams School of Woodworking.

I feel a bit like a midwife on these days. I’ve helped build about 60 of these benches during the last few years, but I rarely get to see my babies after they leave the class.

But helping people cut more than 240 angled birdsmouth joints on the legs and 480 half-lap joints always inspires me to find ways to make this design more material-efficient, lightweight and strong.

The first version of this sawbench used twice as much material and took twice as long to construct. The lessons buried in that design (drawboring and wedging tenons) were the driving factors in its beefy-osity. Today I’ve got this design pared down to where I can build a sawbench in about three hours using hand joinery alone.

In addition to making these quick to build, I’ve also put the suckers on a diet. To build 20 sawbenches, I need only seven 2 x 12 x 10’s and five 2 x 8 x 12’s. And the leftover waste from ripping and crosscutting all that stock won’t fill an office wastebasket.    

But I’m still not satisfied.

I hate the screws we use to join the legs and stretchers. So today I started planning out Sawbench 4.0 as I ripped the 80 legs. My new sawbench design will use a half-lapped dovetail to join the legs, top and stretchers.

Sure, it sounds intimidating, but once you learn to saw to a line, it doesn’t matter what angle that line is. All angles are the same to a handsaw.

So now I’ve got my Honda piled up with Southern yellow pine (Kentucky’s tropical softwood), and I can turn my attention to other things – like worrying that the next Frank Klausz is registered for this class that starts Monday, and I’m going to look like an idiot.

This, of course, is still better than my dreams of showing up naked to high school French class.

— Christopher Schwarz

Kevin Drake was a drummer turned computer programmer turned furniture-maker, and in 2001 he got so aggravated with his marking gauge that he threw it into the street.

The good news was that Kevin saw the solution to his problem in a book by Jim Kingshott, "Making and Modifying Woodworking Tools." Kingshott had a marking gauge in that book that you could micro-adjust, and Kevin wanted it.

The bad news was that you couldn't buy it. Kingshott's had been made by a metalworker.

So Kevin was aggravated.

Sometime after that he saw an ad in the newspaper for a guy who was selling woodworking machines. Kevin needed some machines because he had sold his when he moved out to Ft. Bragg, Calif., to attend the woodworking program at the College of the Redwoods under James Krenov.

He went and saw the guy with the machines; and though the guy didn't have any machines that Kevin was interested in, Kevin found out he was a metalworker. So Kevin brought him a copy of Kingshott's book.

"Can you make this?" Kevin asked. He could, and a few days later Kevin had a working version of the marking gauge he'd always wanted.

"I liked it for about an hour and a half," Kevin said. "Then I saw it had a major limitation. So I redesigned it (the gauge), and the guy made me one of those."

That was the first Tite-Mark gauge. Kevin liked it so much that he had the guy make him 30 more, which he sold to summer students at the college.

"Then I asked him to make me 100 more," Kevin said, "and he told me to get the hell out."

The metalworker put Kevin in touch with a student who did this sort of work, and the business Glen-Drake Toolworks was born. (By the way, "Glen" is Kevin's middle name.)

Now the parts are made on precision CNC equipment in Northern California for Kevin. Then Kevin tunes up the parts, assembles the tools and ships them out to customers. Since he invented the Tite-Mark, he's made and sold about 10,000 of them.

For those of you who have been ignoring my writing for the last 12 years, the Tite-Mark gauge is my favorite. No waffling. No equivocation. I knew it from the first moment I picked up the tool, and I feel just as strongly today.

And I know that at least one other person agrees with me (and I'd love to meet them someday). You see, I've only had three tools stolen from me in the last 12 years. One was a Wayne Anderson plane that someone snitched from a show at Ft. Washington, Pa. A second was a plane hammer from Glen-Drake. And the third was my first Tite-Mark.

— Christopher Schwarz

As I consumed Jonathan Hale’s book “The Old Way of Seeing” about 11 years ago, I could feel the excitement and tension twisting in my gut. This was the book that finally was going to show me the secrets to designing well-proportioned furniture.

It was all there. All the famous formulas: The Golden Section (sometimes called the Golden Mean or the Golden Rectangle), the Hambridge Progression, the Fibonacci Series and even some discussion of the mysterious “column orders.”

Perhaps I should never have finished reading Hale’s book. Because somewhere in the second half, Hale makes a passionate argument that following these formulas will not make you a better designer. Instead, they likely will crowbar your work into unnatural forms that will appear forced or bogus.

Instead, we should design like the mechanics and builders of the 18th and early 19th century did (Hale contends that decent architecture ended about 1830). That is: We should be aware of these formulas, but not use them as tools. The formulas describe the patterns found in nature. So our designs will be better off if we draw and build things from nature and from our gut. Oh, and symmetry is overrated.

This week I’m in the shop building a pair of early 18th-century-style wall cupboards. The doors are based off a piece that came from historian Wallace Nutting’s furniture collection. The carcases and mouldings are based on pieces that I saw this fall at Winterthur. But the piece isn’t a copy. I’ve fiddled with it far too much. So whether the piece fails or not is really my fault.

As I was preparing to build the piece, I mocked up the elevation in Foamular insulating foam and made some significant changes, including beefing up the width of the face frame’s stiles to make room for the rattail hinges now lying on my bench.

They weren’t large alterations, but the piece sure looked different. I thought it might be a trick of the CAD drawing because the new mock-up looked great. But to be sure, I wanted to see if I’d made the horizontal dimension too expansive, even though I’d also increased the height to compensate.

So I checked the ratio of the old design vs. the new. And that’s when I got a little shock. The cupboard’s overall dimensions, 36-7/8” high x 23-1/8” wide, are a near perfect and spontaneous Golden Rectangle. It took 11 years, Mr. Hale, but I think I’m finally getting it.

— Christopher Schwarz

Another entry from my apprentice John who continues on the Trestle Table project when not on the road.

So I was in the check out at the market with a live lobster in a bag and a half gallon of gin.  I looked at the check out person and said "one of us isn't going to make it through the night". She gave me a look. Yesterday, I got the same look from my wife. I was looking at a plane iron with a magnifying glass talking to myself about 1,000 grit scratches when I noticed she was looking at me.

Let me explain. I was helping at a recent class being taught by Chris and Tom Lie-Nielsen at Marc Adams School of woodworking. Chris was talking about sharpening and said that sharpening is really about seeing. As he went through the various grit stones he was using he held the iron up to the light and moved it around to see the edge. He said he could still see some 1,000 grit scratches in it.

I thought about that and decided to really try to concentrate on seeing the edge as I sharpen. To help see the difference in the scratches I changed stroke direction when I changed grits. I tilted the edge to the light and I could really see coarse scratches left in the iron after using the 1,000 grit stone. It’s like I snatched the jewelers loop out of the Master’s hand and can now sharpen my own plane. These scratches needed to come out on the 4,000 grit stone before going to the 8,000 for polish. In the past I would not have taken the time to concentrate on the edge and would have switched grits sooner resulting in an inferior polish on the edge. It also causes sharpening to take longer since I would have been polishing 1,000 grit scratches instead of polishing 4,000 grit scratches, which is a lot easier to do.

The sequence to sharpening is to take the tool from a grinder to a 1,000 grit stone for edge shaping. Stay on the 1,000 as long as it takes to get a wire edge on the back side of the tool (the back side must also be flat and polished. That means going through the same sequence but you only need to do this once). Then to the 4,000 grit, which is used to remove the 1,000 grit scratches and then to polish on an 8,000. That is it. I am sharpening two tools for the first time today. It took four strokes to get a wire edge on the 1,000 grit, approx six strokes on the 4,000 and between 3 and 6 on the 8,000. Then turn the iron over and carefully slide the wire edge onto the 8,000 grit stone to remove the wire edge.

So if you want to make an impression try the lobster and gin trick, or grab a magnifying glass and see if you can see the scratches.

— John Hoffman

Though I liked high school as much as a three-year-long colonoscopy, there are sometimes when it takes a high school teacher to teach you something.

In this case, it was a high school physics teacher who taught me an important lesson about tenon saws. Here’s the story.

For the last few years, I’ve been trying to explain to people how a freakishly huge tenon saw is actually easier to balance on your work (no matter what the size of your work) than a smaller tenon saw or sash saw.

“It’s the higher center of gravity,” I implored to a room full of blank stares. “It’s higher – that gravity thing – so it’s… easier. You know?”

This is a truth I know in my gut. The Wenzloff & Sons Kenyon-style tenon saw I’ve been using for the last couple years is a breeze to balance. This is despite the fact that the blade is 19” long and it feels like there is almost 6” of blade under the huge and heavy brass back. When you see this saw, your first instinct is to think: That saw is going to tip and stagger like Gunsmoke’s “Festus.”

But once you try this saw, you think differently.

But try explaining that to people. After my feeble attempt, a high school physics teacher jumped into the conversation. He said this is easy to explain: Try balancing a broom up in the air on a few fingers. If you have the bristles on your hand, it’s harder to balance the broom than if you have the bristles in the air.

This, he explained, is why the big tenon saw is easier to balance in the air. Having the weight up in the air makes it easier for you to sense if the saw is out of balance and to make corrections. This, I concluded, is a brilliant explanation.

Back in our shop in Cincinnati I tried this experiment with our shop broom. It really was easier to balance it with the bristles in the air.

So I used this analogy last weekend to explain the tenon saw to a group of 40 or so woodworkers. To demonstrate, I looked around for a broom. No luck. So I picked up my Warrington hammer to show them how this works.

First I put the hammer head in my palm and showed how shaky it was. Then I balanced it with the head in the air. And my precious and very early Warrington hammer plunged to the concrete floor.

Dang. I still dislike school.

— Christopher Schwarz

This is another entry from John who is referring to his previous post Titled "First Class Practice"

As you recall I am making the base of the Trestle Table and am in the process of making notches in two members so when they are glued together I will have a mortise.  After sawing into the waste a number of times, I removed it by hitting it with a hammer.  A good Maydole hammer no doubt, but any hammer will do.  Here is what the joint looked like.  Not only doesn't this look nice but I don't think I am going to get a good glue joint.

So I took out my Stanley vintage router plane and went to work.  Here is the result!




See how much tearout there is on the near-right side?  And this was one of the best examples.  I was planing directly across the grain and boy did I make a mess.  I learned that I could avoid this by canting the plane and paying close attention to the wood that made contact with the iron.  It was kind of like saddling an Elm chair seat with an Inshave.  If I continued to make angle adjustments I could get a good result.  I also used the two top sides of the work as a reference for the sole of the router plane.

I had to adjust the depth a bit deeper than intended but this is the final result.  You can still see where  big area of tearout was, but this will make a good glue joint.




For explanation purposes here is how I used the sole of the router plane on the work.




John

Now that shop class is as common in high schools as poodle skirts, lots of woodworkers worry about passing on our enthusiasm for the craft to the next generation. In my house, I’ve started treating my kids more like apprentices, and it seems to be working.

They help clean the shop. They assist me on projects at assembly time. They can work on their own projects on the side when I don’t need them. And – here’s the odd part – I pay them (a pittance) for their help and swear them to secrecy on the “arts and mysteries” of the craft.

This weekend has been a perfect example. I assembled a large run of shelving that I plan to install in the recipient’s home this week. There was a lot of tedious gluing, clamping and clean-up work involved, so I hired 7-year-old Katy to help.

First, I showed her the “secret” to making the lacquer finish perfectly smooth to the touch – a folded up brown paper bag. We rubbed all the surfaces vigorously, which knocked down any surface imperfections without cutting through the film finish. Katy did the shelves; I did the uprights.

“Cool,” she said. “It works!”

As we were bagging the lacquer, both of us noticed that there were some small dings and scratches in the color. This is was the result of the parts getting moved around more than I like. So I swore Katy to secrecy again and introduced her to the mystery of stain pens. In this case, the best match wasn’t one of my stain pens (which I keep hidden away), it was a black Sharpie marker.

In fact, Katy became incredulous when I took her picture at work with the marker.

“What if someone sees the picture and figures out our secret?” she asked. “Then they’ll know!”

Then we glued up the shelves. I applied the glue. Katy added the Dominos. We both applied the clamps and cleaned the glue squeeze-out. Assembly can be stressful for me, but Katy’s amazement at how the project came together kept my anxiety in check.

We did four major glue-ups this weekend, and by the fourth one, Katy dove into the work like she had been doing it all her life. I wonder if learning woodworking is like learning a foreign language – it might be easier when you are young.

As I added the kicks to the cabinet, Katy worked at the bench at her own project – she’s transforming my discarded shop jigs for this shelving project into a wooden alligator.

Then I paid her (about $1 an hour for the shop time) and I asked her if she’d come along on the installation next week. With hesitation, she said: “Yes! Hurray!”

Next step: Getting the apprentices to fetch the small beer for the master.

— Christopher Schwarz

Somehow, during the course of about five years, I became a math dolt. When I left high school, my SAT scores for math were near perfect – far higher than my verbal score.

But after four years of studying intransitive verbs, subjunctive mood and zeugmas, my math skills withered to the point where – no lie – I couldn’t figure out the formula for the perimeter of a pentagon during a college class we all called “Math for Trees.” My wife still mocks me for this.

So I’ve always been at a loss to explain to readers the different curve required on the blade of a bevel-up smoothing plane vs. the curve required for a bevel-down smoothing plane.

The brain-dolt answer was always: The bevel-up planes require more curve to take the same shaving as a bevel-down smoothing plane. But that was about as good as my explanation got.

A couple weekends ago, David Powell explained the math to me during a presentation at the Northeastern Woodworkers Association’s Woodworkers Showcase. I retained the explanation and formula only until the next morning. (Honest: I had only one beer that night. Perhaps is was the lamb korma.)

In any case, I took notes during the presentation that are useful for the shop. If anyone wants the formulas, you can probably ask Powell himself. Powell was the founder of Diamond Machining Technology (DMT) and is now the maker of the Odate Crowning Plates. The plates are diamond stones with a curve built into them so you don’t have to use finger pressure to create the curve on the blade.

Powell’s numbers assume that the iron has a curve created by one of his diamond crowning plates. The plates are dished to mimic a 37-1/2’-radius circle. Powell’s numbers also assume you are using 90 percent of the iron of the tool during the cut.

So here goes: A bevel-down No. 4 handplane with a 2”-wide iron that is bedded at 45° will take a .002”-thick shaving if it has an iron that is sharpened with the Odate crowning plate.

Now let’s take a bevel-up low-angle block plane with its 1-3/8”-wide iron bedded at 12° and the iron sharpened at 25° (the angle of attack is therefore 37°). Powell says this plane will take a .0005”-thick shaving if you use 90 percent of the iron in the cut.

How about the very popular bevel-up jack plane? It has a 2-1/8”-wide iron and also is bedded bevel-up at 12°. If you have a 25° bevel sharpened on the iron, it will take a .0008”-thick cut. If you have a 38° bevel sharpened on the iron, the plane will take a .0006”-thick cut. And if you have a 50° bevel sharpened on the iron, the plane will take a .0004”-thick cut.

While these numbers don’t tell you how much extra pressure to put at the corners of your iron to make that extra curve, there is a good piece of data here. And here it is: Use the same curve for all your smoothing planes.

A plane bedded at 45° is best suited for mild woods. So its .002”-thick shaving is about right.

Planes bedded at higher angles are used for curly, exotic or just grumpy woods. So the best strategy is to take a thinner shaving (thinner shavings help reduce tear-out in my experience). So a shaving thinner than .001” is an excellent choice. And that’s exactly what you’ll get with a high pitch.

So all that math boiled down to this: Don’t bother with the math. Just stick with the same curve for bevel-up or bevel-down and you’ll be OK.

— Christopher Schwarz