The Double Iron, Part 1

At the Lie-Nielsen Hand Tool Event in Covington last weekend, I was asked the same question over and over: "Aren't wooden planes normally single-iron planes?"

Well, yes and no.

Among contemporary, custom planemakers, I am the odd man out: I make double-iron planes, and virtually everyone else makes single iron planes. But 200 years ago, it was a different story. Double irons in the late 18th and early 19th centuries were so successful and popular with woodworkers that they drove single irons into relative obscurity.

In the 20th century, there was a gradual forgetting of the original purpose and function of the double iron, and double-iron planes came to be seen as cheap, mass-market planes, not as capable or as suited to fine work as single iron planes with thick irons, steep beds, and narrow mouths.

Fortunately, the early 21st century has seen a rediscovery and revival  of the double iron. Many woodworkers have discovered that with proper use of the double iron, a flea market Stanley or similar plane can perform on par with the finest custom planes, no modifications required.

In the remainder of this post, I'm going to explore the early history of the double iron, a subject many woodworkers are not acquainted with. Later posts will look at how the double iron fell from favor, and its recent resurgence. Buckle up; this is not a quick and easy read.

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The earliest documented reference to the double iron is in an advertisment placed in the Pennsylvania Chronicle, March 2-9, 1767, by Samuel Carruthers.

Here's a modern translation of the key sentence: "Also, double-iron planes, of recent construction, far exceeding any toothing planes or scrapers whatsoever, for cross-grained or curly lumber." In effect, Carruthers is claiming in 1767 that the double iron is the best solution for preventing tearout in difficult grain.

It's tempting to dismiss Carruthers's claim; after all, it was an ad! Fortunately, there are more impartial sources. In the Manuel du Tourneur (1792, 25 years after Carruthers), Salivet writes:

Finally, the double iron plane, its invention not very old, and apparently comes from the Germans, is none other than a tool in which two irons are put together back to back, but this double iron is bedded at a regular angle. The bottom iron, being very inclined takes a lot of the wood, like all planes and jointers, but in this mode it would tear out a lot if the shavings were to enter the throat at that angle. The bevel of the top iron, lifts the shaving and forces it from the inclination at which it was started. But the two irons must not be even; the bottom one should be a little bit ahead. The less the difference, the less tearout produced, to the point where one can plane oak branches, even almost green ones; this is the most difficult test that can be done, as nothing planes as badly as “log” wood. 

Salivet's description is important for a couple reasons. First, it describes how the double iron works: the cutting (or "bottom") iron would cause tearout, but the top iron (what we would call the "cap iron" or "chipbreaker") "lifts the shaving and forces it from the inclination at which it was started." In other words, it breaks the shaving at a more severe angle, hence the name "chipbreaker."

Second, Salivet describes the most important part of actually using a chipbreaker: "the less the difference, the less tearout produced." In other words, the smaller the distance between the cutting edge and the chipbreaker edge, the less tearout there will be.

A third source, and the most important one for me, comes from Peter Nicholson's The Mechanic's Companion. Nicholson was an amazing fellow. He came from humble origins and served a traditional apprenticeship as a cabinetmaker, but he later became an accomplished mathematician, architect, author, and teacher, all with virtually no formal training. Like Roubo, he was an intellectual who never forgot his roots as a working tradesman.

  The Mechanic's Companion has a publication date of 1831, but that is misleading. The book is a reprint of Mechanical Exercises, written in 1812, and reflects Nicholson's earlier experience as an apprentice and cabinetmaker. By 1792, he had already moved on from cabinetmaking to writing and teaching, so I am pretty certain the book primarily reflects his experiences in the 1780s, only twenty years or so after the Carruthers advertisment.

Concerning the double iron, Nicholson writes:

To prevent the iron from tearing the wood to cross-grained stuff, a cover is used with a reversed basil, and fastened by means of a screw. 

Remember, "stuff" is wood, and "basil" means bevel, so Nicholson is just saying that a chipbreaker will prevent tearout in wood with cranky grain. He continues:

The basil of the cover must be rounded, and not flat, as that of the iron is. The distance between the cutting edge of the iron, and the edge of the cover, depends altogether on the nature of the stuff. If the stuff is free, the edge of the cover may be set at a considerable distance, because the difficulty of pushing the plane forward becomes greater, as the edge of the cover is nearer the edge of the iron, and the contrary when more remote.

In the first sentence, Nicholson is simply saying that the front of the chipbreaker should be rounded, as in the photo at the top of this post, and not flat, the way a cutting iron's bevel is (and the way many modern "improved" chipbreakers are--a point I'll return to in a future post).

The rest of the passage is the Holy Grail. The distance between the cutting edge of the iron, and the edge of the cover, depends altogether on the nature of the stuff. In other words, the more difficult the grain is, the closer you need to set the chipbreaker to the edge. There's no fixed distance, e.g. .004" or whatever; it depends on the wood. If there is tearout, move the chipbreaker. That's all you need to know.

In the glossary of The Mechanic's Companion, Nicholson adds one more note on the double iron:

The double iron planes now in use, are a most complete remedy against cross-grained and curling stuff; the plane will nearly work as smooth against the grain as with it.

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 In the 20th century, it became common to view the chipbreaker as an unnecessary appendage, something that served merely to stiffen the cutter and prevent chatter. What the above sources show is that 18th century woodworkers emphatically did not see it that way. Rather, they saw the chipbreaker as a revolutionary technology that was more effective in combating tearout than any other method. As a result, double iron planes displaced single irons in the late 18th century almost as ruthlessly as the PC displaced the typewriter in the 20th.

In the next post, I'll look at how the understanding of the double iron changed over the 19th and 20th centuries.

Lie-Nielsen Hand Tool Event This Weekend

This weekend, I'll be demonstrating at the Lie Nielsen Hand Tool event in Covington, KY. Chris Schwarz's Lost Art Press will be there, along with many other great toolmakers (Raney Nelson, Conrad Sauer, and Caleb James, to name just a few). If you are coming to the show, stop by, say hi, and make some shavings!

What I've Been Up To

Well, it has been a long time since I've blogged. For anyone who's wondering where I've gone, I have a one-word answer: Instagram. Just as Video Killed the Radio Star, Instagram has been killing blogs right and left.

OK, perhaps I exaggerate just a bit. But there's no doubt that it is a lot easier to snap a quick picture and post it to Instagram with a caption, than it is to write a lengthy blog post. Which is too bad, because there's definitely a place for the longer-form, in-depth treatment that a blog can provide. And after I get past the next couple weeks of craziness, I'll try to crank out some more posts that I've been mulling over.

In the meantime, if you're interested in seeing the stuff I've posted on Instagram, just click on the "view on Instagram" badge in the upper-right corner of this page. Be sure to read the comments for some great conversations with a number of the leading planemakers of today, such as Caleb James, Oliver Sparks, Dan Schwank, Larry Williams, and more.

Meanwhile, here are some snapshots of what I've been up to.

I renovated my drill press:

Then I drove to Indiana and packed the car full of quartersawn beech.

Breakfast there requires two plates!

I made some smoothing planes:

And I'm finishing up some jack planes. Here are 3 mortises I chiseled out in one day. A recipe for sore muscles.

Next week I'm headed to the Lie-Nielsen/Lost Art Press event in Covington, KY. More details soon.

Housekeeping note and some recent work

When I started this blog several years ago, it was mostly just for fun, to keep a log of some projects for friends and family. Along the way, my compulsion for planemaking got the better of me, I started to sell some planes, and then I decided to make it an actual business, as I announced in my last post.

This leaves the blog in an awkward situation. On the one hand, I really don't like reading blogs that are just mouthpieces for someone's business. On the other hand, I can't pretend that it's just a hobbyist blog any more.

I think the solution is to be as transparent as possible about what I write and why I write it. Going forward, the blog will be a mix of things:

• Informational posts about planemaking techniques and methods. Notwithstanding the recent increase in online resources about planemaking, there's still a lot of ground to cover. I'm planning some posts on design and layout, float-making, and more.
• Photos of recent planes (as below). These may or may not be for sale, and sometimes they'll be planes used to make other planes. 
• Blatantly commercial announcements of products, prices, etc. I'll try to keep these to a merciful minimum.
• Personal projects: furniture, tools not connected with the business, etc.
• Other random stuff.

Hopefully, I can be clear about what is what, so casual readers won't feel like they're getting a sales pitch.

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Anyway, enough of that. Here are some pics of a try plane I completed today. Actually, it still needs some more finish--it's only got one coat of oil at the moment, but I was impatient to give it a test run and take some pictures. I had a feeling this would be a special one, and I wasn't wrong…

I built the plane for my own personal use, and to have a demonstration plane at woodworking shows (I'm going to start showing my planes at some shows, starting with Lie Nielsen hand tool events next month). Its 23" long with a 2 1/2" Butcher iron. American quartersawn beech with a cocobolo strike button.

The quartersawn grain on this piece of beech is really something. It almost looks like little beads of water.

The next shot looks staged, like I'm holding the shaving up with my other hand, but I'm not. The combination of a well-tuned cap iron, set the right distance from the cutting edge, along with an appropriate depth of cut, makes the shavings shoot straight out of the escapement. I remember when it was common wisdom that cap irons cause wooden planes to clog. Used incorrectly, they certainly can, but used right, they eject the shavings with marvelous efficiency.

The surface left by the plane is quite nice; here it is on some quartersawn beech (what else?)

Can't have a plane photo session without the obligatory pile of shavings!

Hope you enjoyed it, and thanks for looking.

The Traditional Double-Iron Wooden Plane is Back

In 1926 the last American wooden plane factory, The Sandusky Tool Company, closed its doors. Since that date, traditional double-iron woodies, to the best of my knowledge, have not been commercially made in North America. Today I'm taking a big step toward addressing that unfortunate shortfall with the official formation of Voigt Planes. 

I started making planes almost 15 years ago. My earliest efforts were laminated planes, but I soon gravitated towards more traditional designs. My planes are loosely based on those in the Seaton tool chest and other late 18th-century/early 19th-century planes. They are bespoke planes, made one at a time in my small workshop. A few basic power tools are used for rough dimensioning, but for the most part these planes are made by hand: Finished surfaces are produced with chisels, planes, gouges, floats, and rasps.

What follows is some information about the design and construction of my planes, what planes are available right now, and timelines for additional orders.

The Cutting Irons

One of the biggest obstacles to making traditional planes is finding appropriate irons. My search ended when Rob Lee of Lee Valley, the eminent Canadian woodworking manufacturer, agreed to make tapered, slotted irons to my exact specifications. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Rob, and to his R&D director Rick Blaicklock.

The dimensions of these irons are closely based on those of typical 19th-century irons: They taper from approximately 3/16" at the cutting edge to 3/32" at the top.

The irons are O1 high-carbon tool steel, hardened to 58-60 RC. They take and hold a wonderful edge. They come with a 25° primary bevel, then I flatten the backs add a very small 30° secondary bevel. These irons are ready to work, right out of the box.

The Cap Irons

 

My cap irons (or chipbreakers, if you prefer) are unlike any other on the market today. Most modern cap irons have a bend in the middle and a single flat bevel. My cap irons, like all 18th- and 19th-century cap irons, hook sharply at the bottom and are gracefully curved to facilitate shaving escapement. These cap irons are made in-house.

The Wooden Stock

 

Like most traditional planes of the last 300 years, mine are made of quartersawn beech. The bark side is normally oriented down, though I will occasionally make exceptions to this rule as the situation warrants. If the grain slopes, it typically slopes from toe to heel.

 The Mortise and Escapement

 

The earliest double-iron planes had elegant, efficient mortises and escapements that required a great deal of labor-intensive handwork to produce. Later 19th-century planes were often made more cheaply, in large factories that used unskilled labor. My planes return to the older method of construction.

 

 Finishing Touches 

 

My planes feature the traditional finish details of period planes: Bold long chamfers, stopped chamfers, and gouge cuts. When the plane is done, I test it thoroughly, finish it with oil and wax, test it again, and send it out into the world.

What's Available Now

Right now, I have a batch of coffin smoothers available for purchase. Please visit the "planes" page on my website for a description and pricing information.

When this batch is gone, and for all other models (jack planes, try planes, etc.), I'm currently anticipating four to five months to fill new orders. This isn't a cheesy, infomercial attempt to get you to buy right now: it's just the way it is, and has more to do with supply lines than anything else.  As time goes on and work flow becomes more predictable things may change, but right now that's where we are. If you are interested in ordering a plane, use the email link in the upper right corner of this post. Feel free to also visit the "how to order" page on the website for more information.

For a couple of years now, I've made planes for customers on a part-time, informal basis, strictly by word of mouth. The new website is part of an effort to take this business to the next level, and to reestablish the traditional double iron wooden plane as a viable option for hand tool woodworkers. I can't predict where this is going, but I plan to enjoy the journey.

If you have thoughts or suggestions, feel free to leave a comment, and thanks for looking.

Sculpting the Heel of a Coffin Smoother

One of the most enjoyable parts of making a coffin smoother is shaping the heel. I favor the design popularized by Old Street Tool (formerly Clark & Williams), a design that is modeled on early 19th century examples. Other traditional planemakers, such as Caleb James, also use this form. The combination of sculptural curves and hard lines is both attractive and functional. A lot of modern, Krenov-style wooden planes have heels that look like the back of race cars, with no hard edges. It's an attractive look, and it's probably quick and easy to shape on a belt sander, but edges serve an important purpose--they orient the hand and prevent slipping.

So here's a little bit about how I shape the heel. I'm not sure if this is how other folks do it, but this way works well for me.

The first step is to make the stopped chamfers and gouge cuts, exactly as I make them on the front of the plane. Even though 90% of the chamfers are obliterated in the next step, I still have to make them in order to lay things out properly.

The next, and probably most important step, is to lay out the four arcs. There is one on the heel, which is set about 3/8" below the top of the plane, so that the top of the arc is level with the long chamfers.

There is one on the top of the plane, also offset about 3/8".

 And there is one on each side, connecting the long and stopped chamfers.

Then I go at it with chisel and mallet. A lot of people might be tempted to reach for a rasp at this point, but a chisel is far faster, and your rasps will last longer if you don't do unnecessary hogging with them. I knock off big slices at about a 45° angle, then pare more carefully to follow the curve. I try stay about 1/8" or a little less from the layout lines. When I'm done, it's ugly but about 90% of the material has been removed.

Next, I use a coarse rasp to remove the facets and get to within a 1/16" of the layout lines. One of these days, I am going to leave a plane in this state. I really like the rough, visceral texture.

After the coarse rasp, I move to my finest rasp, which is sort of a medium-fine rasp, nothing special. This removes the deep scratches and gets me within about 1/64" of the layout lines.

 

At this point, the ideal tool would be a super fine-grained rasp from Auriou or Liogier, but lacking that, I move to 150-grit sandpaper. I try to do as little sanding on a plane as possible, but this is one place where it's hard to avoid. I'm very careful about sanding right up to, but not over, the lines. I'll then follow the 150-grit with a few passes of 220-grit.

Add a coat of finish, and it's done!

Thanks for looking!

Some Alsatian Tools and Furniture

Recently, my wife and I spent a few days in Alsace. One of the highlights was a trip to the wine village of Mittelbergheim. We were there for the wine and scenery, but there was an unexpected detour when we walked past this sign:

Note the horned plane, symbol of a joiner (or menuiserie in French). We poked our heads in and asked if we could look around. Instead, we got a 40 minute tour of the shop from Henri, the owner (sadly, I did not get a picture of him).

Most of the shop was given over to production power tools (a fact that seemed to sadden Henri--he said it was no fun any more), but there were a few hand tool highlights. Here's an old bench:

This bench is Continental-style, with recessed base and tool tray, but it has a leg vise, more characteristic of French benches. The other benches in the shop had shoulder vises. When I asked Henri about this, he said "well, we were three times part of Germany."

At one point, I noticed an old horned smoother and asked Henri about it. We briefly discussed handplanes, and a few minutes later, he gave me one! What a wonderful gift!

The most interesting thing about this plane is the French-style double iron, which uses a complicated screw mechanism to regulate the distance between chipbreaker and iron. I've seen pictures of these irons, but never expected to own one.

Interestingly, the chipbreaker does not clamp to the iron; it just nestles in the chipbreaker slot. There is a little "nipple" at the top of the slot that fits into a detente in the top of the screw. The mechanism is quite precise: I would guess there is only about .003" worth of play.

The same family also ran a cabinet-making shop (or ebenisterie). They sold very stylish modern furniture. I quite like this chair:

They also had a small museum dedicated to traditional tools. Most interesting were four display boards of various hand tools. First, menuiserie:

Then ebeniste:

Then charpentier (carpenter):

And finally tonnelier (cooper).

There was a great wheel lathe:

And an enormous cooper's plane.

The cutting iron of the cooper's plane was huge, more than 6" wide (my shoe conveniently shows the scale).

Finally, here's a Rouboesque frame saw, with sister-in-law and wife:

While visiting several of the town's wineries, I noticed that they all had the same style of chairs. Apparently, these are traditional Alsatian chairs.

What is really interesting about these is the joinery. Christopher Schwarz has recently written about the use of sliding dovetail battens in medieval furniture. These chairs combine the battens with a wedged tenons to secure the back to the seat.

The tenon on the bottom of the chair back goes through both the seat and the sliding battens, and is wedged in place with a key.

All in all, it was a pretty fascinating day. And the wine was yummy too!