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They say the things that happen when you're a kid stick with you, and I agree. That's why I like hand planes so much. Back some time in the early 1970s, I was a boy hunting for treasure in the woodshed of our Georgian Bay family cottage when I lifted the lid on a WWII ammunition box buried in a corner. (Despite my beard, wedding ring and parental responsibilities, I'm still a boy, though most people take some convincing.) The box held tools owned by a great uncle who'd built our summer place as his home in the 1920s. And even though I never met the man, his reputation had taken on mythical proportions for me. And here were his tools.
The first one I grabbed was a small, wooden hand plane, quickly discovering that hand planes don't work. I slid it along a piece of wood, and nothing happened. It must be broken, I thought, though I was interested enough to seek a second opinion. And my grandfather was there to offer it. The combination of wood, tools and a grandfather who knew what to do with them is a thing that can do any child a great deal of good. It did for me, anyway. I spent the rest of my time during that cottage trip, and many afterwards, planing every piece of wood I could fit into a vice. Grandpa showed me how to move the blade in or out by tapping the wooden plane body in just the right spot. He drew angled pencil lines on my work pieces to highlight which way the grain ran, and how this led to smooth or rough planing results, depending on the direction the tool was pushed. He sharpened the blade on a whet stone so it would do my bidding more obediently. And, probably without realizing it, awakened in me a lifelong love of wood, old things and the value of taking time to do things right. Where would I be without him?
The metal plane you see here isn't that first one I used, but it did belong to Grandpa and it's the one I use most often today. It never saw much use in the last few years before he passed it on to me, and as with all tools that aren't used, it needed work. |
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The main reason hand planes have fallen out of favor lately is that they need constant attention to make them perform. Even brand new, it takes effort to get a plane to do what it's supposed to. And as the world becomes more of a plug-and-play proposition, anything that requires effort to master seems like drudgery. Too bad, really. Life offers a lot of fulfillment hidden under a thin veneer of drudgery.
There are several things you need to do to tame a hand plane, and it would take more space than I have here to tell you about them all. One pivotal issue, as you'd guess, is creating an ultra-sharp edge on the blade. If it can't shave hair cleanly, then a plane blade is dull. I use a buffing wheel to keep all my edge tools sharp, and if you'd like to receive an emailed article on the subject, just let me know.
The bottom of the plane (called the sole), must also be flat and smooth. You'd think they could do that for you at the factory, but apparently not at the same time as turning a profit. And the internal part of a plane that directs the travel of shavings (called the chip breaker) should be polished like a mirror for best behavior. That's another job that's up to you.
If you want to have some fun with a hand plane at it best, then you need technical help. And the best book I've seen on tuning hand planes for peak performance was first published in 1985 by The Taunton Press.
Fine Woodworking On Planes and Chisels
ISBN# 0-918804-28-0
is still available in stores, and on the Internet at http://www.taunton.com/books
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