Cookies, tea, and steel ;-9

 A shitty day at work. An extremely shitty day at work. One of these days when you start to believe what your "fellow humans" tell you that you are. So, what to do? Off with me to the bus that´s bound for the countryside, bound for the woods. Walking through the green, feeling the earth underneath my feet, my disgust was immediately replaced by a sense of puzzlement. What the f*** do we think we are up to? What is it that is truly better than nature? Why do we still assume we are the crown of creation? Everything was like it always were, but there, in the ground, I immediately found this heart-shaped piece of bloomery steel that had waited there for hundreds of years, weathered and worn by the soil, rusted, pitted and torn. It told a tale to me.

 It was sometimes raining, sometimes the sun came out... but in the halls of the forest it mattered little. There was a serenity again under the stems and trunks of trees, that simply soothed my soul. Then it is that thought subsides; then it is my soul is soothed.

Vibrant was the light that fell through leaves still green; still it is summer, but all too soon it will all be gone. The season is rising in the heart of the soul. Not the season we mark in a calendar, a season well marked out and calculated, but something deeper and wilder than thought, something that is rising now with the mist, silently, and somewhat eerily. It is autumn, and it flourishes and blooms in the mycel of mushrooms and the reddening of leaves.

 It prospers in a quality of light and a musky scent...

 It moves like the ripples in a root; like the grain in the wood. Damascus steel knows it; it sings of autumn.

 Silence; solitude...

There it is I grow. There it is I must not grow.

 ...

 Over old hills the clouds drove by like flocks of wicked dragons; wind was singing loudly in the treetops.

 And layer upon layer of the world of man was peeled off of my soul revealing that, what I really am and always will be.

 Not the mushroom, rotting and pitted...

 Not even the path through the woods.

 But all and everything.

 More profanely spoken, I got myself some ´shrooms for stew.

 And then, by an old cabin, I sat down and had a cuppa tea and a coconut cookie. It was a feast all for myself, in the silence and the solitude of my beloved woods, cradled by the song of the wind and the water.

 Sometimes I find it hard to tell, and feel like I would not care to bother anymore; the wind has no words, but tells every secret there is. The water murmurs in the stream and sings all the songs one could dream up. Why then should I still talk to humans? Even friends and lovers cannot understand me. Noone can, but still I keep talking gibberish that does not fill the bill, does not hit the mark, as one might want to say - but still I keep talking. I sometimes ask myself if this is depression... but on the other hand, I sleep most sound and well, and I do not feel sad apart from the usual sadness everyone has. As long as I am in the woods, I am even happy as one can possibly be. It is not that, it is something else. It is at the same time far more complicated and far more simple than we humans think. Our human world is a laughing matter for it. We are definitely not the crown of creation, we are weird, a shaved ape playing at being god. But I do not want to evangelize anyone. I would not bother. No human being, including myself, is worth a fuss.  

 For words like value and worth are just that: Words. It is not what there really is. There is a language behind any language, a language without words. The trees know it, the sun, the wind, the rain. The squirrell, the hare, the fox and the wolf. All of them still know it.

 I followed the whispers through the thicket, along trails seldom trodden....

 Over hill and dale I walked.

 And found some spring steel, lying ancient and forgotten in the soil.

Yeah, it is junk lying in the forest, but to me it conveys meaning. Sometimes, when I read "Game of Thrones" and the author talks about "valyrian steel" or "dragon glass" someone finds in the woods I am absolutely laughing my head off. For things like these happen to me in actual. The average reader of this novel would not even be able to recognize it. It´s junk to them. It does not convey meaning to them. They buy pink fluffy unicorns and GoT merchandise in order to compensate for their loss; the loss of magic and meaning and a connection to the world. But without the loss of words you cannot feel the magic... without magic, steel or even tea and cookies in the woods will not convey meaning to anyone.

Without meaning, our world will die.

The knife that happened... ;-)

 This is yet another tall Fimbulmyrk tale... but i daresay you´re accustomed to weird stuff like this by now. There are a lot of extremely weird coincidences in my life indeed... it all started with a hike from the bus stop  to the ironforge. I had a schedule what I had to make or what I at least planned to make. On the way I first encountered something. At first I thought it were a stray dog, but as I came closer I saw it was a fox, only that it was a blonde one. It was by absolute coincidence that I followed him for quite some time, until he made his merry way into the thicket.

I want to make sure you understand that I am not saying that this event had anything to do with what happened next. It is linked to the other event by mere coincidence of course. Or not at all. Near Gut Ahlhausen, the manor in the neighbourhood of the ironforge, I found a right treasure hoard of bloomery steel, among which there also was an ingot of already refined steel. It turned out to have an estimated carbon content of about 0,5-0,7%, and I could not resist probing it by forging a blade from it.

Now this is a very special event to me, and a very special steel. It was a bit like a belated birthday present. All you faithful readers of my blog are well acquainted to the fact that I am questing and researching on a local variety of rondel knife, the "Brakkersfelders Knopmetz" of old hanse provenience. And my research up to date has made it very plausible that this steel was - amongst other places - refined at the site of our ironforge. I state that due to the research I have made in the Civil Archive of the town of Breckerfeld and the Ennepetal Ironforge Chronicle from 1592 (fragment). The Manor of Ahlhausen was the property of the Duke of Bönen, who in that period of time also was patron of the ironforge. I found the bloomery steel on an ancient trail leading from the ironforge to the manor. So I was very excited that the steel I found is most plausibly the legendary steel from which the Brakkersfelders Knopmetz was made from!

And I could not resist forging an utility blade from it to test it and its properties. As I said, the spark analysis offeres clue that there was roundabout 0,5%-0,7% carbon in it. The steel, although wrought, reacted quite nicely to the forging process, with a temperature window from 900-1100°C. It offered a strange resistance to the hammer, an indication of high ductility. In the forging process there was one layer coming off, which I rewelded in the forge using Borax as flux. It welded very nicely and evenly, even if it was done the dirty way with no grinding beforehand.

 It did not move that well under the hammer, too. Annealing after the forging process was done in 8 cycles, bringing it up to dull orange and letting it cool besides the forge and then at room temperature, which then was about 25°C. After achieving a softness that made it possible to work it with a file easily, it was ground. Forging to final shape, by the way, had been done nearly 90% beforehand, so little grinding was required. Then I did a probing quench in lard with additional tempering from the heat in the spine and some heating over the open forge, until a blue hue was achieved. This turned out to be too much, so I repeated the quench and just tempered to a golden hue. The blade appeared too soft afterwards still (testing by slamming it edge first into mild steel rods).

 So I annealed it once again, and, gathering my resolve, did a selective water quench, first with a long temper to a blue hue, then again to a golden hue.

 Afterwards the blade still dented when I slammed it into iron rods. A file was able to take off shavings, not as easily as before, but still far too easy.

Bummer, I thought, you have messed that one up and was right mad with myself for that.

48h later I tested again. Still denting on steel rods, but now it chops stag antler without denting, carves the spine of selectively tempered spring steel knives, and the file slides off with the minutest of shavings. A knife of defined 58HRC can carve the edge of the knife, but a Karesuando blade of 12C27 with an estimated hardness of 57HRC just slips off. Blimey, what´s that, I said, and tried to carve the 58HRC blades edge... and it bit. From all I can know I would estimate it to 54-56HRC, but that last feature simply is not logical. My theory is that the blade is not that hard, but makes up for what it lacks in hardness in tensile strength and ductility. The fact that it dents on iron rods but chops stag antler and carves spring steel could maybe be explained by the composite nature of wrought iron. Some areas dent, others do not. It´s not a homogenous material after all! Bending it to 15° showed no adverse effects, slamming it tip first into hardwood and levering it out bent the first millimeter of the tip, but left the knife unaffected otherwise.

Be it as it may, for a 16th century steel this would have been state of the art.

Now I have made a big fuss in the beginning of this article by saying that there was just a coincidence, and the events are not linked to each other, and from a logical point of view, this cannot be supported. But then I can say I have never searched and researched consciously for that steel. It just came to be. It just happened. Word led me from word to word, deed led me from deed to deed. It has been a fairy tale so far, and it still is. And in this fairy tale there´s another story that goes like this:

"once upon a time, in a land far away and around the next corner..."

It just happened. t occured to me. Again, and I like it. ;-)

We are told a lot of lies these days. I daresay I´ll stick to my fairy tales more from now on... ;-)

Oh the loot! ;-) Or: The adventure of steel processing

I went foraging for steel again in my local woods, and was stunned to find a treasure hoard again. As you say-one man´s trash is another one´s treasure. In this case it applies in the truest sense of the word. A lot of the steel I keep finding there is ancient crucible or extremely high carbon tool steel or saw steel. I found a chisel with a kind of octagonal shape, and having already processed one of those, I strongly suspect it is made of a very funny kind of steel. Spark analysis on the Sica blade showed dark-red, almost invisible sparks-but with bright-white sparks at the end, and, compared to file and spring steel, very funny shapes. Fact is, I can´t make heads nor tails out of it. Might be Tungsten in it or any such like, but what matters most to me is that the blade I forged from it keeps to a good temper with a very fine grain and a high amount of flexibility. So I look forward to the next.

Yeah, I know. I might not be that good with metallurgical theory. I make knives that have to work, and if I want to work with stainless or other stuff I should know my theory better. Yeah, I know, but DO I? Do I have to?

I have to admit that a lot of my tempering is done very intuitively. Of course, sometimes I get it wrong and have to do it all over again or worse yet, the knife breaks when testing. But, honestly, the last time I broke a knife is 3 years ago, and I have made a lot of them in the meantime, and the times when I get it wrong (with steel utterly unknown to me) I can count on three fingers.

I do not want to brag about my oh-so-extraterrestrial capabilities in bladesmithing, because I am not that good. What I want to say is, that it is possible. I forged a blade out of 440C intuitively and it stood up to some severe pounding while keeping an edge well. I daresay that´s what it´s all about. To be honest, I thrive on the adventure. There is something very archaic about bladesmithing and I find it more intelligible when you do it intuitively. It is like getting to know the NAME of iron. Not just the word, but what it really means, if that makes any sense. It is like I can tell you the word blue, but you have to feel it to know the blue sky on a warm summer´s day.

Patrick Rothfuss in his novel "The Wise Man´s Fear" (which I strongly recommend!) tells the story of a teacher of the arcane teaching "names". Not what we commonly think, but the actual names, not the sign, but the meaning, if you get my erm... meaning;-). He states that he will throw a stone at a given time with a given force and asks his pupils to calculate where the stone will fall down. Several well- educated people then start to make calculations, drawing diagrams and the like. When time is out, the teacher just opens the door and calls on a messenger boy, and without further notice, throws the stone. and the boy catches it on an instinct.

I know a lot of accomplished blade- and blacksmiths who make great knives, strictly according to the book of rules. Some make very durable knives, but some don´t.

And then I know several old Russian blacksmiths. One of them even could up until recently not read the newspaper or write his own name. He uses scrap steel, even rebar for his knives, and they are standing up to an abnormal degree of abuse with amazing edge-holding capacity. Viktor used rebar, too, and mild steel, and scrap and junk steel to amazing effect, too. They taught me one thing: That there IS the name of iron. You could put a piece of rust-pitted steel into their hands, and just by touching it they knew what to do. When asked, they failed to give a satisfying answer and just said that it had to be that way. Mielenko knew his numbers well, but was capable to tell the carbon content by the sound the steel made on the anvil, by weight and resistance alone. None of his knives, he told me, has ever failed.

I am a poet. A lunatic, if you so will, beloved of the moon. I tell a lot of crazy tales. Only on a secondary level am I a blacksmith, bladesmith or even bushcrafter. Might be it is like a kid once told me that in a different world or different time I´d be called a wizard. I like that, of course, but we live in 2016, and the world's not at all a place for wizards or warriors or even blacksmiths.

I have been on this path for a long, long time now. I know the wind and what lies therein. I know the sun and the moon and the stars and I love them. I love the earth and the trees. I listen to creeks and the murmur of the wind in the "soft, round tops of the pines and firs". They tell me of another world, a world of meaning, without signs, but names to be learned.

And with each piece of iron I find in the woods, I tell a new story, and learn the name of iron and fire. My knives are always more than just a blade and a "been there, done that", at least to me. It is not just a thing you covet and because you can´t afford it, you make it yourself. Their names are an armour I wear in the everyday mayhem of our world, even if their blades lie in my drawers. They are the gift of the woods, tormented by man and crooked and weird and powerful. Beyond the dream road through the wood of steel - lord of the forest makes love to his goddess; beautiful is the image of the moon in the water (to corrupt this famous Bujinkan meme;-)).

Every time when I go foraging for steel then, it is a kind of spiritual experience. It is an initiation as well as a lesson in humility. When you find, you find. If not, you find not. But if you do it according to the meaning of it all, chance is, you will find a treasure.

Finds from the master cutlers of Yore

Just a short bimble away from my home there is a garbage treasure trove, and there is not one hike I return from without a bag full of treasure. This time it was particularily stunning. I found a whetstone of exactly the right grain, and three ingots of crucible steel. I have yet to learn how to process it, but you can bet on it-I will learn. I have enough now to start experimenting with it.

For a history of the steel finds and cutlery, look here.

The new bullies on the block;-)-the folks from Ahlhauser Hammer Smithy!

It was some time ago when Mike and Diana dropped by the Bethaus smithy to do some forging with their little one and having a go. It was right fun to work with them, for especially Mike is an accomplished blacksmith himself. We the talked about some plans of theirs to revive an old smithy in the Ennepetal that - alas - burned down some time ago. Now there´s a club to sponsor its revival, and Diana wrote the other day for me to announce they are now online. And here comes the link:

http://fv-ahlhauser-hammer-e-v.webnode.com/uber-uns/

I want to give you some personal ins and outs about this smithy. It is one of the old smithies in the Ennepe valley, an old site of many smithing manufactories, and one of the last upholders of regional smithing traditions. Scythes, machetes and farming tools as knives also were made there. It stands in line with the Krenzer Hammer, another manufactory looking back on a long tradition. The valley is also deeply molded
by blacksmithing and metallurgy. Even the trees tell a tale of a long tradition of crop-change farming, charcoaling and bloomery. In many places you can find slag heaps, the so - called "Sinnerhoopen" and iron oxides and ore which hint to the smelting of the legendary steel for the "Brackersfelder Knopmetz". The smithy burned down some time ago, and those folks are now faced with the challenge to start with zero to rebuild a tradition. It is a very great thing, because this can  establish a new tradition. I will contribute as much as I can, and might be the "Brackersfelder Knopmetz" will come to life in their smithy... we will see what the future brings. For now I am quite enthused.

If you could find it in you (or your purse) to contribute to their work, please contact them via their homepage. Thank you!