Pine Mountain still doesn't suck.

Unless, of course, some hippy has a birthday and decides to invite ALL of his friends to Pine Mountain, complete with generators, guitars, lights, and bongo drums. Yes, you're reading me right: there was a veritable Woodstock in my favorite "pristine" Ojai camping and climbing area. Mary, Dale, and I fled to Enlightenment Ridge with our tent and shared a site with some equally embittered Aussies named Anthony and Nadine.

This was Dale's first camping trip. He performed admirably, and took three dumps in the space of twenty minutes. I do that too when I'm excited.

I was feeling flat from an extremely difficult work week, both physically and mentally, but I did manage to climb a bunch of good problems, including some old favorites like Mystical Steps Towards Deathless Superconsciousness (V6), Dissing Euros (V6), Clawing at the Walls sit-start (V7/8), 911 (V8), and Campus Direct (V6). I initiated this year's token obsession by working the opening moves of Whiplash (V11), just to get the sequence in my head—and so I can perfectly replicate the line on my garage Woody, which is almost exactly the length and pitch of Whiplash.

Good times, and it all ended with an succulent Lamb burrito from Red Barn Liquor Store. Oh, and there were no flies whatsoever (at Pine Mountain, not Red Barn).

Get stoked: The Playground

While most of my climbing compatriots look hither and thither to distant climbing meccas (think: Bishop; Yosemite; Needles; Suicide; etc.), I am utterly stoked and satisfied to climb locally this summer. Enter yet another crag that Santa Barbara climbers sort of forgot, the holy-grail of local sandstone sport-climbing: The Playground. Most Santa Barbarians know this place as a labyrinthine jumble of huge boulders cascading down the slopes of the coastal range, and only the more adventurous hikers, hippies, and soused frat boys have explored its passages. Even local climbers have, as of late, passed this place up for the nearby bouldering locales of the Brickyard and Lizard's Mouth.

Unless you were Steve Edwards and Co. in the nineties. Mr. Edwards spearheaded a highly motivated—and, to this climber, visionary—movement to clean, bolt, and climb numerous routes up the strange formations of The Playground. There are currently numerous projects that have not been finished, including a solid handful of truly hard projects in the 5.13 range. While I have only touched a smidgen of these beauties with my not-yet-strong-enough fingers, I am stoked, smiling, and slobberingly excited. Jake, Bernd, Andre, Adam, Jasmine, and my lovely wife have all accompanied me on recent trips, and everyone has left tired and satisfied.

Just like how you feel when leaving Old Country Buffet—only better.


Me shouldering in to the crux of The Green Room, 5.13b. This line is one of many desperate projects for the summer.


I don't know how hard this puppy is, but the above picture chronicles what it feels like to dyno off of two monos. In a word, wonderful.


Jake clipping the second bolt on the mono-route (which we think is called Showgirls, 5.12c). This is Jake's third lead. Ever.


Mary strolling up a beautiful face-climb at the Little Lebowski Urban Achievers area of The Playground.

Chris and Rowena

Chris dunks his head in a Mission Creek waterfall.


The months since my internship in Baltimore have rolled by exceptionally fast, and a lot of water has gone under the bridge since then--not the least of which is my marriage, and subsequent move to Santa Ynez. Still, the memories of those humid evenings in Baltimore--languid, but for the shrill cicada and crickets--are vivid in my mind. I can still taste that first sip of post-forging beer, unimaginably cold, a thrill to my mouth. And I have many fond recollections of Chris and Rowena, the three of us crammed in their small kitchen, trying to cook apace with the influx of the August tomato crop. For the record, there's nothing like seasonal produce on the East Coast. To be sure, I missed Chris and Rowena's easy-going manner and quick laughter, and Chris--avid collecter of flight-miles that he is--decided that eight months was too long a hiatus, so he and Rowena winged it to the West Coast for a week of visiting.

It was fun to be the host to someone who has hosted my callow abilities, frequent questions, and mishaps as a blacksmith. I cooked my patoosie off and hammered out some exceptional fresh garlic-dill bread (I'm proud of my bread), Dutch Oven stew cooked in a campfire, cornbread, soups, salads, and a bevy of other consumables. Dishes piled commensurately.

Here's Chris, Rowena, and their friend (joyously, now my friend as well) Orit Yanai. She lives in San Francisco and, to quote her website (http://www.orityanai.com/), specializes in "high-end, Old World wall finishes, focusing on earth plasters." Her dry-but-welcoming wit was all the rage during a legendary game of Balderdash.


On Sunday, Chris, Rowena, and I (Mary lounged at home this time) went hiking and swimming at Red Rock. See the top of the centrally situated rock-tower? That is a terrifyingly high perch for jumping in to the water, and the site of many a poor decision by sundry frat boys with beers.


Here I'm making the handles for the boiler doors by upsetting a rod of solid 3/4 roundstock. In this case, upsetting gives the metal a subtle bulged look.
First, I heat a short section on the end.


Then I place the end on the anvil, try to keep things vertically aligned, and hammer from the top. The cooled and harder metal at the top of the rod "smushes" the softer and hotter metal at the bottom.


The final look, before wire-brushing and finishing. Simple, but attractive nonetheless.



Pre-summer bouldering sessions continue to abound. With all the superlative summer trip ideas dancing around in my head and the massive, monolithic stones I intend to grapple with, bouldering provides ample distraction from antsy nerves--and keeps the fingies strong. Jake Novotny, a moto-cross rider from Lake Tahoe and a burly climber, has joined me on a number of occasions. He and I both sent the hard sit-start problem on the back of the boulder, calling it V8. Please: if you're in the area, climb it and tell me what you think. Left hand starts on a good crimp/edge, and right hand snags a cool three-finger divot. Paste your feet on to the nothingness below, then throw your right hand to the hueco. Brilliant.

Jake sets up...


Jake throws.

Frustration, followed by success, followed by more frustration.

Climbing my stress away.


While Dan and I are excited to move our shop, we are currently embroiled in a frustrating setback. The City of Santa Barbara, flexing its bullying, bureaucratic muscles, has demanded to re-review the permitting process for the property. What does this mean? Delay. You can bet The City of SB has some mid-level hack slowly meandering through a mire of red-tape and interminable paperwork, and you can also bet that none of our questions will be answered without an absurd domnino-effect of "let me ask my superiors..." This is an outrage. The good news is the landlady loves us, and can't wait to rent the space to our business. We just have to sit on our hands till the permitting nonsense subsides. I feel like spilling hot coffee on the collective crotches of those working at City Planning.



Speaking of debacles, I recently accomplished a bouldering problem (which I'm calling "The Seven Year Debacle") at the Westmont College boulder. It starts at the lower right-hand side of the above-picture arete and consists of a stupid-hard throw to a three-finger pocket at the upper left-hand side of the rock (Keith, if you're reading this, you may remember the hold). I don't usually blame the difficulty of problems on a climber's reach, but the sequence demanded a highly idiosyncratic jumble of technique that has evaded me since my college days. To be sure, I haven't obsessed over this problem in a constanst fashion (I don't climb at Westmont very often), but whenever I happened by my alma mater over the last seven years, shoes and chalk in hand, this little line humbled me. When I finally did the moves, they felt only moderately hard, not seven-year-project hard (hence the name "The Seven Year Debacle").

I've also climbed a few other outstanding projects on the Westmont Boulder, some of them quite hard, all of them brilliant. With the help of local climber/surfer/skater/free-spirit Rusty Jaeger, and a few other enthused folk, we plan to continue this little renaissance of climbing joie de vivre--provided that Westmont Public Safety doesn't kick us off the campus.


In the meantime, work continues to occupy my time in a favorable manner. Here is a little blow-by-blow from yesterday's session in the shop:

Dan grinds the finish on an entry-way table. The look of the piece is an interesting cross between industrial and neo-classical.


SB Forge and Iron has a few signature styles, and one of my favorite is the turn-of-the-century industrial aesthetic. Here are some "boiler doors" that showcase the particularly clean lines, functional elegance, and raw strength of the machinery of yesterear. Machinery from the 1900's has a strange--even sexy--appeal to me. Yeah, I said that...


I built a metal jamb for the doors.


In order the assemble the hardware for the piece, which will be friggin' awesome (more later on the hardware), I wanted to retain the cool anachronistic look of rivets stitching together the steel belly of a monolithic sea cruiser from 1890--on a smaller scale, of course. Luckily, I had threaded some actual rivets on a different project a few years ago, and I had extras. Imgagine my joy! Threaded rivets!


Machining the hardware for the doors. I will post photos of the finished assembly.

Welcome back, me

Nothing happens after six in Santa Ynez. Shops close their doors. Families retreat to sundry domestic activities like barbecuing, bocce ball, and walking their dogs. Chickens, cows, and feral cats hold court in a constant soundtrack befitting their various calls. Cows and cats don't bother me. Chickens (and roosters), on the other hand, are death for sleeping with the window open; by 4:30 a.m. they are roused, rowdy, and cackling away. Perhaps I'm more of a city-boy than I thought.

Mary and I have about four months of marriage under our belt, and about twice that amount living in the Santa Ynez Valley. Commuting continues for each of us: I to the South, she to the North. Her job continues to be exceptionally tough, and I'm amazed at her resilience. She works harder than anyone I know, and all I can do is cook dinner for her, administer back-rubs, and pick out cheesy movies to make her laugh.

As for my job? Let me begin with this:

It is time for Dan and I to take our rightful place among the hallowed passages of the Funk Zone, Santa Barbara's bastion of corrugated metal, questionable zoning, and industrial goings-on. Basically, a working artist's utopia. After a maelstrom year of huge art installations (see older posts regarding the City Bronze project), child-rearing (not mine, Dan's), and my marriage, Dan and I decided it was time to move in to a larger, more visible shop-space. Sure, we loved the fact that we could ride dirt-bikes at our old location. The weekly bobcat sightings were also nice. I don't even need to mention the boon of avocado trees at your shop door. But bucolic setting notwithstanding, the space was exposed to the elements, small, dubiously legal, and precariously situated in a box canyon (read: forging=possible wildfire=screwed).

So say hello to 118 Gray St.

It's just around the corner from some hipster wineries and furniture stores, and distractingly juxtaposed to the ocean. I like to tell Dan that it's a stone throw from the ultimate in commercial visibility (State Street), but far enough away to do what you want and not be hassled--not that we EVER do anything reprehensible. Still I like the idea that I can build a catapult, trebuchet, or ballista and not field probing questions. Of course, the main thrust of this new shop is to up the production ability of Santa Barbara Forge and Iron. We are so, so pumped. Moving will occur all this week, and into the next. Call me if you want to help.

Farewell, old shop. Your pastoral vibe will abide in memory.


Here are some recreationally-themed photos.


Little Egypt is a spectacular alpine cragging area outside Bishop.



I love the Brickyard, our local bouldering stronghold



Crimps on a classic.



Mary balances her way up Smooth Criminal.

A whole lotta BRONZE

Finally, after months of sundry forms of parlay, negotiation, emails, phone calls, and more emails, Dan and I started work on the West Beach art installation. Fabrication began at the end of August, right after my apprenticeship in Baltimore, and ever since I've been immersed in all things bronze. The peculiarities of this metal both compel the eye and challenge the brain. When cold, bronze is easy. When forging, however, bronze has a narrow range of "workable" temperatures, and if you get it too hot, it literally burns up. Luckily, we haven't done much forging—just lots of cold-bending on the Hossfeld.

At the end of the day, I smell like bronze. I kind of like it.

Here's some images of the "swimmers" near Los Banos pool. Note the picture of the plan-sheet: the dude looks fairly Soviet in demeanor. Probably just intimations of Communism from the designer. Artists are all Commies, anyway.

A whole lotta pictures:

This blog entry may be entering the realm of esoterica (wait, I'm a blacksmith...), but I'm posting a lot of pictures that detail tools, certain processes, machinery, and shop-layout. If this kind of stuff isn't interesting to you, then I'm sorry, but I think everything that I'm doing in regards to blacksmithing rocks. Tools are a big part of what I do. Therefore, tools rock. Especially big tools. Still, as far as I get away from traditional hand hammering, it all comes back to one's ability to see lines, understand light and shadow, and make machines do what your mind and eye desires. Ultimately, machines do nothing unless you direct them. I like that—it puts volition in to the mix. Enjoy!

The Treadle hammer. Awesome for precision hot-cutting, punching, or for when you need a very accurate and controlled application of hammering force. Basically, a very strong third arm. I'm building one ASAP.


The foot pedal.


The strike plate, a 1" piece of mild steel. I suppose you could use Aluminum as well.


Samuel Yellin original drawing. I revere this man. He was a master, and his empire of metal is worth looking in to.


His initials.


The spring-swage rack. Amazing amount of dies here.


Close up of the 7/8" spring-swage. This goes under the powerhammer.


Close-up of the 7/8" spring-swage.


Here I am, powerhammering the pipe from 1" to 7/8".


How does one powerhammer pipe without it collapsing, you ask? Fill the pipe with sand, weld the ends shut, forge to desired shape, then cut off the ends and dump out the sand.


Here's the beginning stages of me forging an escutcheon (the little decorative thingy that connects a chandelier or lighting fixture to the cieling). I start by laying out a piece of 1/4" metal on a big swage block, over the 3" bowl depression.


Apply heat with a torch.


Start hammering with crowned end of planishing hammer. Start in middle of bowl and work out from there in concentric circles The learning curve gets steepens from here. You have to be able to see, as Chris says, "line and shadow".


More hammering and sighting.


Here's the product, semi-finished. I still have to hot-cut the outline around the bowl and all that good stuff.



A hot-cutting chisel under the Treadle Hammer.


A number of cool dies for the hydraulic press. We use these to decorate, texture, or otherwise shape the things like drawer-pulls or bolt-heads.









The local climbing gym. I climbed here a few times, but I barely had any energy to pull on holds.


I'm going to miss Baltimore alleyways.


Here's some shots of a chandelier we made. Fitting the metal arms to the alabaster bowl was extremely hard and time-consuming.