Japanese planes and the surface they promised to give. That is the goal. The shimmering hand-wrought surface that only a cutting iron in a handplane can give. I am hanging on for this, as it fits my need to put clear blue water between my furniture and the robot-driven, manufactured surface. That routine, intimidating perfection of industry that surrounds us. I wanted a human, imperfect surface, a surface that reminded us of the skilled hand struggling for perfection and failing. I wanted failure.
So I have bought this impressive piece of Japanese steel, but I have also in the process acquired an eBay habit that is disturbing my wife and children.
“Dad, why are you on the laptop during dinner?”
“You tell us to put the mobile phones away at the table.”
“And what is a snipe bid?”
I bought not only the old handmade plane iron and accompanying back iron, but also a couple of other planes. The more I got into this, the more I found I did not know about these planes.
When the blade arrived wit as beautifully wrapped and presented as the Japanese do with all their things. But it needed some work as rust and time had taken its toll. So I set to work on the back of the blade first.
I started with a #230-grit diamond plate. This is a coarse surface and, combined with Trend Lapping Fluid, is an effective way of removing a lot of metal fast. The other benefit is the metal plate itself is pretty flat so we are working toward a constant flat target.
Diamond plates are an expensive way of doing this. This one cost me nearly £25 and is no longer as coarse and effective. Bigger, more expensive plates are, in our experience, just as short-lived. Another way of doing this is a granite slab with #180-grit wet/dry sandpaper; we use this to keep stones flat.
I think I spent a good couple of hours getting hot, wet and dirty doing this. The black stuff that comes off the blade is an indication that the abrasive is working, and the slowness is an indication this blade is hard steel and that the blacksmith knew what he was doing.
What I am hoping is that some of the Samurai sword making history will have rubbed off on my plane iron. “Tamahagane” or “jewel steel” is the name of the steel they used to make swords. The process of hammering and folding, creating a supremely sharp edge with the contrasting quality of toughness. The kind of edge that would cut through three bodies at a time. Mmmm…
It was the hammering under heat, the forging, that makes steel better for us woodies – the time-consuming hammering that gets left out of most modern tool steel production. It makes a finer grain, sharper, edge-holding steel. I have seen and appreciated this during the past 30 years I have been using Japanese chisels.
That plane iron back was hard as blazes. The hollow that is worked into the back of all Japanese tools to save us time in getting that blade flat was being slowly removed by my flattening efforts. The pitting from the rust was pretty deep. If you can, avoid rust-pitted blades; they may be cheap on eBay, but you pay for that neglect.
I tested my diamond-stoned surface on a series of Japanese waterstones: #330-grit green to take out the lines of the diamond plate, #800 to take out the lines of the #330, then #3000 natural waterstone (not synthetic), then #6000-grit gold polishing stone, finishing with a #10,000 natural waterstone. I will why the natural waterstones soon. All of these stones are kept flat religiously with our system of using #180-grit wet/dry sandpaper on a granite slab after every use.
This flat business is pretty dull, but you only do it once. Your shiny, mirror-like blade back then only ever touches your finest stone. All this as it is necessary to get your blade in REALLY close contact with that #10,000 grit polishing stone right at the cutting edge.
With the exhibit of the Studley Tool Chest and Workbench only nine months away (May 15-17, 2015, in Cedar Rapids, Iowa), I find myself fielding a lot of similar questions in email and conversations. So I took the time to create at Frequently Asked Questions compilation that I will put up on the website www.studleytoolchest.com (where you can get tickets) after this blog post at LAP runs its course.
— Don Williams
How did the exhibit for the Studley Tool Chest come about?
Two years ago while studying the chest in person for the forthcoming book “Virtuoso,” I interviewed the owner for background material for the manuscript. At one point I asked, “Do you ever think about exhibiting the chest?” He smiled and just said, “I probably should, shouldn’t I?” A year later we spoke again and he agreed for me to do it.
Why is the exhibit in Cedar Rapids, Iowa?
For starters, one of the requirements by the owner was that the exhibit, “Be nowhere close to where I live.” Cedar Rapids fits that description pretty well. Plus, when I visited Jameel and Father John Abraham after Handworks in May 2013, we were just brainstorming and agreed that they needed to organize Handworks II, and having a Studley Exhibit in Cedar Rapids concurrent with Handworks II (only 20 miles away in the Amana Colonies) would be a great idea.
Did you consider any other site for the exhibit? I mean, I’d never even heard of Cedar Rapids before.
Originally I scouted out the Rural Masonic Lodge in Quincy, Mass., because it was the home Lodge to Henry O. Studley. I even visited there last fall to explore the possibility. Four days later a catastrophic fire gutted the building, so that option was no longer on the table. The Scottish Rite Temple in Cedar Rapids is a spectacular site, and it will be the perfect venue. It was important to my vision to place the exhibit in an elegant Masonic building and one where the exhibit could be featured, not simply lost into a maze of a mega-programming institution. In the end I did not consider a huge city because I dislike cities. Well, I did think about Cincinnati, but is it really a city? Isn’t it more like a big town?
Why is the exhibit only three days long?
Much of that is simple practicality. My agreement with the chest’s owner requires me to be on-site with the exhibit all the time it is open to the public. Three days of the exhibit (plus at least three days of packing, shipping and installation on either side) was about all I think I could take. Besides, the host site is a busy place and I did not want to take a chance on not being able to have the exhibit there.
Are there any plans to extend the exhibit, or put it someplace closer to civilization if I can’t make it to Cedar Rapids for those three days?
No.
Why are tickets so expensive?
The answer is fairly straightforward. First, if you think the ticket price ($25) is high I guess you have never been to a good play or the ballet, or a ballgame (even minor league games cost more, once you factor in everything). Second, the ticket price is in fact a bare-bones reflection of the project’s budget. Feel free to price out the cost of a secured transport service to move around a collection like this, or the cost of insuring The Studley Tool Chest, or the fabrication of exhibit cases and platforms, or the rental and security of a prominent public building, or the theatrical lighting necessary… Best outcome? Every single ticket sells, and I will only be out almost a thousand hours donated for this labor of love. I would do this again in a heartbeat. Third, I wanted to make sure the visitor’s experience was amazing. Hence, the very few number of visitor slots.
What do you mean, “visitor experience” and “low visitor slots?”
My concept for this was to allow each visitor to get an in-depth exposure to the chest. So the exhibit will be quite spare, only four or five artifact stations, and each visitor will be in a 50-person group and spend 50 uninterrupted minutes with the exhibit. The docents and I will make sure everyone gets their turn to get as close as possible to the cabinet (about 4” to 6”). At the end of the 50 minutes each group will be ushered out and the Plexiglas vitrine housing the tool cabinet will be cleaned to remove any fingerprints, nose imprints and drool, so everything will be perfect for the next group.
Couldn’t you get some corporate sponsors to help cut the costs?
I did check into that, but the initial inquiries and responses led me to believe it was not a fruitful path. So I decided to take personal financial risk and pay for it entirely out of my own pocket.
So nobody is helping you?
A great many people have volunteered to help in ways large and small, ranging from web site development and maintenance, serving as docents, packing and setup/take-down crews. All tolled there are more than two dozen people involved, and all are donating their time and (for the most part) their out-of-pocket expenses.
Will you be mailing me my tickets?
No. The ticket purchases are recorded electronically. I will print the entire list out, then check you off the list and hand you your timed ticket when you check in at the Scottish Rite Temple. You will show it at the door of the exhibit hall and be ushered in. Just to make sure, it would be a good idea to bring your PayPal receipt with you just in case we miss something.
For most people, the phrase “tropical hardwoods” conjures up a fuzzy image of some faraway jungle-like scene, in sort of the way that we understand the origin of the food in our supermarkets (hint: it does not come prepackaged). In reality, of course, the tropics are a complex and diverse network of environments, and any specific wood that we might use comes from a similarly specific habitat. I recently returned from a trip to Peru, where I was able to photograph some of these habitats (some of the photos are from earlier trips to other areas in the New World tropics).
What I write about here is New World-specific, but is analogous in a general way to the African and Australasian tropics as well. The primary distinction is that the Neotropics are dominated by two geophysical features not found in the Old World: the Andes and the Amazon basin.
The climate of any particular region in the Neotropics is largely governed by two factors, rainfall and elevation (which in turn dictates temperatures). Rainfall generally increases from west to east, with western zones being somewhat to very dry, and with a distinct wet/dry season, and eastern zones being far more humid (and where “dry season” means “doesn’t necessarily rain every single day”). The extreme topography of the Andes creates numerous small-scale “mesohabitats,” and many species of flora and fauna are thus restricted to surprisingly small ranges. An example of this is the valley of the Río Marañon, which in some places is over twice as deep as the Grand Canyon. The valley is so deep, and the surrounding mountains create such a large rain-shadow effect, that the climate on the east slope of the valley is dramatically different from that on the west slope, only a few miles away.
Puna grassland at ca. 4600m (15,000ft) – the peaks in the background are nearly 6000m (19,000ft); near Abra Ticlio, Río Rimac drainage, Lima, Peru
Starting from the top: At the very highest elevations, above the snow line at approximately 5000m (16,000ft), there is no vegetation whatsoever. Immediately below that is the puna (dry western slopes) and páramo (wet eastern slopes). The air is always cool here, and it frequently dips below freezing at night. The temperature extremes and the lack of oxygen mean that the primary vegetation is bunchgrasses and small shrubs; the only trees are various species of Polylepis (there is no English name that I’m aware of; the most common Spanish name is queñoa, which looks like it is probably derived from a Quechua word).
Polylepis sp., probably P. incana or P. subsericans, at ca. 3400m (11,000ft); Río Rimac drainage, Lima, Peru
Polylepis is heavily exploited for firewood and for small items like tool handles. There are reports that it has been used in furniture making, but I haven’t seen any examples. I would guess from the looks of the trees that the wood is highly twisted and contorted. Overall, the puna habitat is surprisingly similar to that of the coastal chaparral in California, with many of the same kinds of plants: bunchgrasses, Baccharis and Lupinus shrubs, but with coast live oak (Quercus agrifolia) taking the place of Polylepis there.
Dry puna at 3600m (12,000ft) – you can see the beginnings of the cloud forest forming in the protected canyons; near Abra Calla Calla, Río Marañon drainage, Cajamarca, Peru
Below about 3700m (12,000ft), we start seeing signs of real forest. This is the beginning of the cloud forest that you’ve probably heard of. Even on the “dry” slopes the cloud forest is actually wet, but from fog more than from precipitation. Trees in the cloud forest are heavily festooned with bromeliads and lichens. The average tree is relatively small, but there are occasionally some giants. While the cloud forests are heavily exploited locally, very little of the wood is exported, and the local names are ones you’ve never heard of. I think this is because the extremely steep terrain combined with the relative sparseness of valuable trees makes any kind of commercial harvest impractical.
Cloud forest at 2400m (8,000ft) – everything is covered by epiphytes (even people, if they stand still too long); Abra Patricia reserve, Río Utcubamba drainage, Amazonas, PeruCloud forest microcosm at Abra Patricia – the orchid blossoms are about 10mm (3/8″) across; Río Utcubamba drainage, Amazonas, Peru
Woods of interest that come from the lower elevations of the cloud forests include Andean walnut (Juglans neotropica), an endangered species that is protected but still at risk because its wood is nearly indistinguishable from that of the more common Peruvian walnut (J. boliviana), and Spanish-cedar (Cedrela odorata). Some species of ipê (Hadroanthus sp., especially H. serratifolius, yellow ipê or lapacho) are also found here, although they are typically found in drier habitats.
Andean walnut (Juglans neotropica) growing along the Río Utcubamba near Leymebamba, about 45cm (18″) DBH; Río Utcubamba drainage, Amazonas, Peru
As we move further downslope into the foothill region (below about 1500m/5000ft), we start to see some dramatic differences between the dry and wet habitats. The dry zone becomes thorn forest; everything is covered with thorns to protect against browsing by herbivores. Thorn forest is very reminiscent of the Lower Rio Grande Valley in Texas. Although the trees are small, this is where some of the most valuable highly-figured woods come from, including cocobolo (Dalbergia retusa), ziricote (Cordia dodecandra) and bocote (several Cordia species).
Dry thorn forest at ca. 1200m (4,000ft); near Jaen, Río Marañon drainage, Cajamarca, PeruFoothill forest at ca. 700m (2,300ft); Braulio Carillo National Park, Río Sarapiquí drainage, Heredia, Costa Rica
The wetter slopes become dominated by numerous species of fig (Ficus sp.). Unfortunately from a woodworking point of view, the wood of most figs is soft and non-durable. To top it off, the latex exuded by the bark (a defense against insects) quite literally gums up the works when it is heated by the friction of cutting. You are also likely to see balsa (Ochroma pyramidale) here, especially as a fast-growing pioneer tree in disturbed areas.
This is also where that most important of drug plants, Coffea arabica, is cultivated.
Latex exuding from a fresh wound in a fig branch (I wonder how that wound got there?); semi-dry foothill forest near Moyobamba, Río Mayo drainage, San Martin, Peru
In the foothills, we begin to see many of the woods that are available commercially in quantity, although they don’t grow as large here as they do in the lowlands. The lowlands (below about 500m/1500ft) are broadly divided into terra firme (forest that normally does not flood) and várzea (forest that is flooded for a significant portion of the year). Várzea forest is generally not a source of commercial timber, but Spanish-cedar does grow there, and it is also home to that second-most-important of drug plants, Theobroma cacao. Terra firme forest is where we find the true forest giants, trees like big-leaf mahogany (Swietenia macrophylla), cumaru (Dipteryx odorata) and purpleheart (Peltogyne sp.).
Terra firme forest; near Pantiacolla lodge, Río Madre de Dios drainage, Madre de Dios, Peru
Two other Neotropic habitats that don’t fall into the high-to-low elevational sequence are worthy of mention: First up is the Pantanal, a unique wetland habitat in Brazil. Flooded for much of the year, it is mostly grassland, with trees growing on small “islands,” much like the mahogany hammocks of the Florida Everglades. Here and in the adjoining cerrado (a mixed grassland/shrubland savannah) is where most of the species of Hadroanthus commercially harvested and sold as ipê are found. Second, the Atlantic coastal forest of Brazil is one of the most seriously endangered of tropical habitats, and is where two of the rarest woods, pernambuco (Caesalpinia echinata) and Brazilian rosewood (Dalbergia nigra) occur.
Pink ipê (Handroanthus impetiginosus); Passo da Ema lodge, Pantanal, Matto Grosso, BrazilDeforestation in action – five years ago, this was all intact cloud forest; hillside near Laguna Pomacocha, Río Utcubamba drainage, Amazonas, Peru
Is a sustainable tropical forestry possible? In principle, yes. But there are serious obstacles. As many suppliers of tropical hardwoods point out, agriculture does far more damage to tropical forests than does logging. While this is generally true, it’s also misleading. Logging, along with other non-agricultural activities such as petroleum mining, requires roads. And any road in the tropics becomes, in effect, an invitation to would-be poachers and others to exploit the land. Without controls in place to protect lands after logging has taken place, they quickly becomes yet more cattle pasture or palm oil plantations.
Marvellous Spatuletail (Loddigesia mirabilis) with Sparkling Violetear (Colibri coruscans) in the background; Huembo reserve, Río Utcubamba drainage, Amazonas, Peru
ADDENDUM: As you have probably guessed, I didn’t travel to Peru just to take photos of trees. The primary purpose of our trips to the tropics (22 at last count) is to see birds. The same geological forces that lead to enormous diversity of flora do the same for fauna, and many species of birds are limited to relatively tiny ranges. The Marvellous Spatuletail shown here is restricted to the eastern slope of the Río Utcubamba watershed, 2100-2900m (7000-9000ft) elevation. The theoretical range is about 600 square miles, but for whatever reason the birds occupy only a fraction of that; the total population is believed to be fewer than 1000 individuals.
– Steve Schafer
EDIT: Finally figured out how to enable comments… –SS
Jeff Burks has written here several times about the drinking habits of 17th- and 18th-century woodworkers viz. they used to work like the devil all day and then spend all of their hard-earned largesse on gin (known as “mother’s ruin” here in the old country). Workshops typically set up a system of penalties for unsuspecting apprentices to generate alcohol for the journeymen.
It should not have been a surprise that when students joined Chris for the first New English Workshop course the evenings were, in short, a mess; our group of budding anarchists simply reverted to 17th-century type. They worked like the clappers and then went nuts every night.
Inevitably talk turned to differences between U.S. (i.e. damned colonial) and The Queen’s English. It all started innocently enough with the usual woodworking terms: English “timber” being U.S.’s “lumber,” the English cutting “rebates” whilst Americans cut “rabbets” (though there is evidence that “rebate” was originally pronounced “rabbet” here in dear old Blighty). Then we moved onto the more general terms like “chips” in the UK being “French fries” in the U.S., pedestrians getting hit with the hood of the car in America whereas we run them over by hitting them with the bonnet. You get the picture.
I can’t remember who mentioned it in the deepening alcohol-induced haze but somehow the word “chub” came up, and Chris and another American plain flat out snorted their (warm) beer through their noses. So for the next 5 minutes:
Americans: Hooting with laughter.
English: Staring in shock, bemused.
We managed, eventually, to get out of them that in America a chub (chubb?) is a semi-erect willie, whereas in civilised parts of the English speaking world it is a fish or a brand of lock. I’m serious: Englishmen everywhere lock up their homes with a large Chubb at night and fine upstanding Englishmen spend long hours on riverbanks here trying to catch the biggest chub they can….
But then in the U.S. if you have a “semi” you are driving an articulated truck, whereas here in the UK you have a semi-erect johnson… Result:
English: Hooting with laughter.
Americans: Staring in shock, bemused.
But then there are always going be differences: In America “Hooters” is a chain of family restaurants with a friendly owl as its mascot. We also have “Hooters” in the UK but this is dirty, salty, saucy Edinburgh Hooters that has naked ladies of the pole writhing barely inches above your burger and chips. (If my better half is reading this, I heard that on BBC Radio 4, I swear.)
So, thanks to the power of alcohol we established each evening that The Special Relationship is alive and well. Our sorry anarchic crew would then troop into the workshop each morning, scarf down a litre (about a quart) of water and crack on banging out tails in time to the jackhammer pounding in their head. But then on a course where everyone got their bottom ripped French style (see photo above) at least once isn’t a special relationship just what you need?
Editor’s note: Craftsman David Savage has kindly agreed to post here a series of articles on setting up and using Japanese planes, all told from the perspective of a skilled (very skilled, actually) Western woodworker who demands a high level of performance from his tools.
A sharpened steel wedge in a block of wood that will, when set up right, pull off gossamer shavings leaving a polished finish straight off the tool. That is where we are going.
I am to take you on a journey. A journey into a way of working with wood that may change the way I shine pieces of furniture. It may work, it may not; artists are used to taking this kind of risk, accepting that more than half of our daft ideas are just that, daft ideas. But this time you will come with me. I will report periodically on what I have learned, and share it with you; if it’s a failure, that too I will share.
Way back in the 1970s, Japanese tools came, along with James Krenov, into the lives of many British woodworkers. I picked up, used and reviewed Japanese chisels. What I learned about Japanese tools in 1980 I learned from an American monthly newsletter called “Mahogany Masterpieces.” I learned about the forging process involved in creating a high-quality blade. This was a development from the Japanese Samurai sword-making history – super-sharp edges that could chop through three bodies at one blow….
What they created for us was a supremely sharp and hard-wearing edge. Made of two steels, a hard steel at the cutting edge, with a backing of softer steel. The hard steel itself had been forged. That is, it had been put into a hot forge, made a red and then beaten with a hammer. This forging process not only changes the shape of the steel, but it changes its structure. Steel has a structure a little like long-grain rice. When it is beaten and hammered, those long grains align and form a narrower, tighter structure. This is why these edges are capable of becoming sharper.
This forged cutting-edge is then laminated to a softer backing steel to make sharpening easier and to make the blade accept shock. The laminating is done in the hot forge and results in the best cutting edges a woodworker can get hold of.
I have known this for years and benefited from using great “Ouchi” chisels for the last 30 years. But I never messed about with planes until now.
Japanese planes were tricky. There was a mystery to setting them up that was not so easily unraveled in the days before World Wide Web. And, after all, we were having enough of a problem setting up our Western planes. Japanese planes needed very careful setting up; the blade never fitted the body, and the bodies needed to have convex bases to function and you pulled the damn things not pushed them. So why bother?
But these hand planes are sublimely simple and very sophisticated. A sharpened steel wedge in a block of wood that will, when set up right, pull off gossamer shavings leaving a polished finish straight off the tool. That polished surface, that handmade shine, THAT is what I want! Something elemental that cannot be put there with plastic polishes. That, combined with CAD development, a three-dimensional printer and a CNC machine will, I hope, take my furniture to places I have yet to see.
So why are you always on that laptop Carol asks? The truth is that eBay to a newcomer can become quite a distraction. I have, after hours of research, bought an antique Japanese plane iron. I was quite startled when my bid was accepted at £23.30. My bid was £11 and my reserve £30 and it all happened in the last 20 seconds! I admit to being no eBay Warrior, but I enjoyed the tussle so much that another Kanna, for that is the proper term for a Japanese plane and blade, will be arriving soon. Just don’t tell Carol.
When it arrived, I was like a child at Christmas tearing open the package; I can’t remember getting this excited by tools for more than 30 years. I was stunned by how heavy and elemental these two bits of metal were. Clearly a skilled person had invested hours into their existence and other skilled hands had used them perhaps for 30 or 40 years. Half the life of the blade was still there, and I plan to use what remains of it.
Next I will tell about flattening and restoring this blade to sharpness and finding a body to fit it to. Apparently for each blade there will be 10 bodies, all of them dead.
