Trial By Hammer: Day 1

The front door of Mandala Creations, my bastion of forging for the next two weeks.


Today's introductions went something like this:

Andy, meet Power-hammer Stryker 165.

Power-hammer Stryker 165, meet Andy.

The pleasure of acquaintance was all mine. Up till now, I've only used a 50lb Little Giant Hammer, a hardy device fashioned in the 30's, but still forging true. However, using a modern powerhammer opened my eyes to the glossy world of piston-driven hammers. Chris owns two Power-hammers: an 88 and 165 (the numbers refer to the weight of the sledge. The machines are actually thousands of pounds), and I became intimately familiar with the quirks of these wonderfully mechanized crushers. The heavy 165 hammer is a paradox of material, function, and operation: it stands seven or eight feet tall, weighs an ungodly amount, FLATTENS huge chunks of metal, yet it can deliver light, feathered blows with finesse. It's almost as if the operator must be as subtle as the machine is powerful. Here's some lessons from our day of forging railing pickets:

1) Consistency. Keep blows evenly spaced, and with consistent power. Also, pull the hot metal under the sledge at an even rate, like a machine.

2) Relax. Don't fight the hammer. Gripping the tongs on the metal overly tight causes you to misread the metal's registry on the hammer.

3) Don't manhandle the hammer peddle. The difference between ponderous, heavy blows and light chamfering blows is infinitesimal. I've never felt so intimately connected to a machine. It's kind of... shall we say, mech-erotic? Sorry, that was weird.

4) DRINK TONS OF WATER. The temperature outside today was in the mid-90's, with gobs of humidity, and the shop was a good 15 degrees hotter at times with the forge going. I gulped down a gallon of water, but I still feel like didn't have an ounce of liquid in me. My piss wasn't just yellow; it was dark orange. Tomorrow, I'm bringing salt packets to keep my water down.

For dinner, I had a Stella Artois and a spectacular salad with goat cheese, brussel sprouts (I introduced Chris and Rowena to roasted sprouts), and myriad other delectable chunkies. Now, to bed. Tomorrow I meet the hammer again.



Thar she is, the 165.


Chamfering the edge of the railing pickets.



Chris is very, very talented with the power-hammer. It's a beautiful thing to watch.



Some forged pickets, before final finishing and polishing.



A decidedly sweaty me.

Everyone asks me if I've seen "The Wire"

After arriving in Baltimore, meeting Chris, Rowena (Chris’ girlfriend), and Pepper (his cat), I decided that I liked it here. Chris and I had a late lunch of guacamole slathered on garden-burgers. Afterwards, we braved downtown Baltimore, sidestepped a mugger getting pummeled by an undercover policeman, swaggered into the Belvedere, a prohibition-era speakeasy turned swanky bar, and ended the evening at The Brewer’s Art, a micro-brewery known for its face-slapping ales. At Chris’ behest, I had the oh-so-choice Resurrection Ale, a 7% masterpiece of light caramel and leathery musk. I have yet to sample their other drinkables. The current goal is to locate an “Eighty Shilling” beer, a Scottish invention that Chris loves.

Baltimore is in battle with itself, flexing it’s restorative muscles in some districts, and succumbing to squalor and crime in others. The transition zones are a surreal mix of stately brick, gothic industrial, and memories of past grandeur. Nowadays, hipster architects and designers are transforming old industrial buildings into expensive lofts and workspaces in a compelling mixture of archaic steel infrastructure, soot-stained brick, and clean, polished lines of glass and concrete. But again, it’s an uphill battle. In Baltimore, I get the sense that locals like it, but are still a little hesitant (embarrassed?) to tout their city to the world. As a result, folks seem humbly loyal to their town. I like that.

In contrast to downtown Baltimore, which is a mere five or six mile away, Chris’ neighborhood is the paragon of lush, turn-of-the-century New England suburbs. Old renovated colonials, brick cottages, and beautiful craftsman homes blend into the omnipresent crush of August greenery. Roads twist, connect, and end at odd times and angles, suggesting a distant past of city planning, and re-planning. You might say his neighborhood has character. His yard and surrounding property overflow with blackberries, tomatoes, kale, squash, basil, and countless other types of produce. We will be eating well these two weeks.

I’m stoked to start work. Chris has a precise and articulate vision of his role as an artist-blacksmith, and I can’t wait to see how that role manifests itself in his work.

Complicated scroll-work with copper backing.


Chris employs very clean joinery in his work.


The deck. I read here, eat here, and relax here. Evenings are best.


This is Pepper the cat.

Things I Will Think About Doing Whilst Sitting In An Airport But Never Actually Do:

—Make a coffee-table book of airport carpet patterns.
—Drink a cup of glitter.

We're moving?

Mary just got a job in Guadalupe, which is North County (that's everything NORTH of Gaviota, for all you not-in-the-know folks). Besides providing a steady income, great work environment, and the knowledge that she obtained a job in the shittiest economy on record for California, this job requires Mary to commute 1.5 hours from Carpinteria to Guadalupe. Decidedly awful. We are, therefore, contemplating a move to The Valley.

Perhaps I'm romanticizing things a bit, but the Santa Ynez Valley is one of my favorite locales in California. There's endless rolling hills, covered in lustrous grapes, grass, and gnarled oak trees, and the pace of life is kicked down a notch from kinetic Santa Barbara. In the current summer heat, the air feels heavy with dry grass aromas, herbs, and eucalyptus. In the pictures, there's a fire near New Cuyama, so that's why all sun has that el fin del mundo look. Last Wednesday, we barbecued at Justin's house in Los Alamos—perhaps the most parochial of the Valley towns—and proved to the world that radicchio-bacon salad, medium-rare tri tip, rosemary encrusted potatoes, and garlic bread are good to eat.

Seriously.

And they're even better with a Dierburg 06' Chard, Tyler 06' Pinot, and a bitchin' Sancerre.

Baltimore Blacksmithing Vacation

I'm back.

Of course, I never left, but I have a litany of excuses for not posting, such as becoming an uncle, driving my fiancee back from Indiana, and running my business. Good, consuming stuff.

I'm heading to Baltimore in a few weeks to work with Chris Gavin, a highly accomplished Artist-Blacksmith whose work I admire. I'm apprenticing under his tutelage for a solid two weeks, and hopefully I'll garner some ability, ideas, and enthusiasm for my peculiarly niche profession. I'll be climbing at Baltimore-area climbing gyms (some of which are stinking amazing), and running a shit-ton, so hopefully I'll be in spitting-distance of my new goal: THE BUENA VISTA PROJECT (see earlier post). Mark Seelos and I did some in-depth scouting the other day, and it looked definitively possible to link sections together, even the more improbable cruxes. I've been bouldering quite a bit, so my fingies are feeling tough, even though my endurance probably isn't that great. The BVP is that long, however, so I'm going to favor power over endurance.

The line is so, so inspiring. At least to me.

NoiseTrade Widget

Once again, Pine Mountain.

Pine Mountain: Santa Barbara's hidden gem of paradisiacal high-altitude bouldering. I love this place, but for some reason, my last visit was a calendar year ago, when Mary was still here. I don't know why I've been so remiss. The rock, views, temps, and vibe are all fab. Even the pit toilets weren't too bad this time around. Aaron and I met up with Marcela, Elijah, and a crew of assorted SLO climbers, then pulled down at Happy Hunting Grounds till our tips bled. Aaron and I had limited time, so we didn't rest at all and cranked as hard as we could for a solid four hours, resulting in some good sends, some frustrating shut-downs, and a wealth of material to return to.

I climbed okay, considering this was my fourth day of bouldering this week, and my fingies were starting to feel dysfunctional. Still, I managed to pull off sends of Mayday (V7), Gyroscope (graded V8), Dissing Euros (V6), Skydiving (V5), Surrounded By Fish (V5... one of the stupidest problems I've ever done at PM), and a slew of other great problems.

Here's to next time.