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I Forge Iron

Hardpan

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    Smack-Dab in the Middle of California's Central Valley

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    rocko93638@yahoo.com

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  1. Well nuts... Checked online and it seems that TSC doesn't sell it out here on the "left coast." I'll stop in at the local and see if they can order it... but I suspect it may not be "green" enough. Hope I'm wrong!
  2. Very, very cool! Did you do much grinding/filing to get the blade's final shape... or mostly done with hammer?
  3. Ha! The Champion 400 was stiff... VERY stiff. Removed the cover, bathed the gears in ATF, and she's SO smooth now... let go, and the handle will find bottom. ;) Knowing that it had been sitting for over 50 years, I yam pleased. :) Pictures on the "Champion 400 Blower Mount" thread.
  4. Oh heck... ATF is cheap enough and available; just curious about the MMO, since I do believe I already have a jug of the stuff...
  5. So... just getting the ancient Champion back into service ~ she seems to work well, but a tiny bit stiff (who wouldn't be after being ignored in a corner of the barn for fifty years or so? :rolleyes: ). And wondering... any thoughts on using MMO (Marvel Mystery Oil) to lube the thing? Don't tend to keep ATF on hand - no vehicles with AT's!
  6. Most excellent, guys! And inspirational! My son, Sassparilla Kid, followed your lead ~ after many decades our Champion has a new life! ^_^
  7. John, shoot me an email address and I'll send you a PDF of the "Leader's Guide:" [ rocko93638@yahoo.com ] By the way... the most popular Camporee of the last ten decade was about three years ago ~ the theme was "The Zombie Apocalypse." What a hoot! :lol: And thanks to all for the suggestions. Good stuff here! :)
  8. Howdy, All! Needing some simple project suggestions ~ with an emphasis on “simple!” Second weekend of October the local Boy Scouts will be attending a 3-day Camporee, with post-Apocalypse theme (check out the patch below!) focused on getting along in a primitive environment after the demise of civilization. There will be exercises, demonstrations, and competitions on survival stuff, with an emphasis on creativity and “re-purposing,” or re-using or re-fabricating stuff in ways other than intended. Unfortunately, our resident ‘smith has been called away that weekend to ride herd on a bunch of Sea Cadets for San Francisco’s Fleet Week. And he has asked that most novice of novices – ME - to cover for him… :huh: So my request: Simple project ideas that I can have a bunch of Boy Scouts knock out in short order with minimal work and tools... we’ll have on hand a forge, anvil, hammers, vise, various tongs, wrenches, files and wire brushes, quench bucket… and of course aprons, gloves, and goggles. Mr McPherson...? :Rolleyes: Thankee kindly! ^_^
  9. Thomas, that's the basic plan, except I figured to do it with metal - like the one I borrowed from a buddy (picture below). Gonna need a lighter stump for travellin', though. ^_^ Okay... dumb question, but... is the ring that objectionable...? :huh:
  10. Boy, talk about a non sequitur! Har!! :lol: Alrighty then... even better than a catchy jingle ~ remember the mynah bird's background music from the old cartoons...? Everyone "of an age" can remember the cartoon, but try to dig up the tune. ;) Hint: Mendelsohn's "Fingal's Cave Overture." Mynah Bird Guaranteed you'll have it stuck in your head for the rest of the afternoon... and likely you'll curse me for it. ^_^ :lol: Dangit... I gotta get to work on my blower stand. There's iron to beat on! B)
  11. Hey, Frosty! Yep... that's the boy ~ tall and slender. Unfortunately, the "tall and slender" gene skipped me. Yeah, I'm sure that eucalyptus* oughtta do! Thinkin' we'll run a couple straps around it to prevent splitting. hmmm.... thought about pouring some resin into the existing cracks, but it's already DANGED heavy! I'm guessin' about 250 lbs or so. * 'Bout fifteen years ago or so somebody on a local radio station called it "Yew-CAL-a-PEE-tus." like a bad song that's stuck in my head; the kid and I have called it that ever since. And by the way - thanks for the comment on my story... I have a bunch of 'em! ^_^ Life's been innerestin'.... :rolleyes:
  12. My son Ryan, aka "Sassparilla Kid," works on a large ranch. So this morning I sent him a text: 'Ry, can you procure a stump 21" - 23" tall and maybe 15" or so in diameter?' He sends this response: "Come pick one" with the first picture below (the remains of a eucalyptus that came down probably 40 years ago... definitely well seasoned...) The other pictures are the result. Now to secure the puppy... :)
  13. Well alrighty then....! :rolleyes: 'Tis a pleasure meetin' you gents... and thank yew! And as requested, see below and make it 1,001! ^_^ My Mousehole, and the actualy hunk o' rail and single jack from the story.... thirty years later. :)
  14. Last week I finally found my very first "real" anvil, a 1911 vintage Mousehole. But I've been looking for a LONG time. That said, my apologies for the length of this post, but I thought someone might find some amusment in the story of my first attempt... DEAD CATS and ANVILS Nineteen Eighty-Four. George Orwell's predictions notwithstanding, life was good. It was the period between carefree youth and the responsibilities of family. Well, for me anyway; I extended the "carefree youth" part as long as I could, despite the supposedly best intentions of my closest friends: "Rocko, Ol' Linda Quince is unattached, and we thought you might like her, and..." "Nope! Sorry, I just ain't available. Duck season starts in two weeks!" "Hey Rocko... duck season's over, and the missus was thinkin' of innerducin' you to her cousin Bren-..." "Sorry, gettin' ready for trout season. Gonna do a winter backpackin' trip into Wheeler Lake..." So there I was, having proteced my "single" status into my early 30's, and sharing a house in San Leandro with my Uncle Nat. I had a fairly new job working for a bank in San Francisco, and kept busy and out of trouble between "seasons" by focusing on work. Well... sorta kept out of trouble. But we all know how sometimes, despite our best intentions... As I recall, it was late one Friday afternoon at the end of a very, very busy but productive week at work. I was on my way home, lookin' forward to a lazy weekend with nothing more strenuous planned than spending an afternoon shooting up at the Chabot Gun Club. Still in my suit and clutching my leather briefcase, I was standing near the door of the BART train as it neared the San Leandro station. A cool experience, gazing lazily out the window as the train sailed along the aerial section of track, with no visible side rails, giving the impression of being a large bird flying onto a perch. As we approached the station, I looked down and was immediately captured by the endeavors of a crew of railroad workers. Evidently, they had been replacing sections of the Southern Pacific track, which ran parallel to the BART line above. As I studied the right-of-way below I noted several lengths of rail scraps, ranging from several inches to several yards in length. "O, Boy!" I thought... "This is too cool! I could really use a chunk of that ol' rail... it'd make a right dandy small anvil!" Excited, I disembarked and exited the station, and soon found Roscoe, my then still new, sparkling white Ford Ranger. I unlocked the door, stripped off my coat and tossed it onto the seat, followed by my briefcase. I hopped in, and drove 'round to the area where I thought I'd seen some of those pieces of rail. I parked, walked toward the tracks, and was immediately rewarded with the finding of a chunk of rail about 17" long. Lifting it carefully to avoid damaging my slacks or necktie, I soon "thumped" it into the back of my li'l truck and headed for home, just happy as a lark at my good fortune. Sometime later, as I was puttin' the finishing touches on dinner, Nat comes wanderin' in. "Hey! Where'd you get that cool piece of rail that was in the back of your truck? And by the way, I took it out for ya!" I told 'im, and he asked if there were any other pieces... "'Cuz I'd sure like one too!" I said that I’d seen several more, and we decided to take a trip back over to the tracks and collect one or two more some time after dinner. Well, by the time supper was over and the kitchen shoveled clear it was quite dark. Surely not a problem, as I remembered exactly where the rail chunks had been scattered, so Nat and I piled into the Ranger and off we went. Ten minutes later found us wandering about the right-of-way with flashlights. And darn… not a bit of loose rail to be seen! We searched well; found a couple of bent spikes, a magnetic “rail thermometer” that had been dropped, and even an ancient, rusty and wobbly-handled single-jack that had been abandoned at some time in the not-so-recent past… but no rail scraps. Oh darn… “Okay – let’s check the other end!” We jumped back into Roscoe and drove ‘bout 150 yard north. Got out, looked around a bit, and still nothing. Well double darn! “Okay… one more try! This time we’ll look ‘bout halfway between where we are and where we started!” After moving and again coming up empty-handed, we decided to call it a night and admit that other folks had gotten there first and cleaned out the “stash.” We picked our way over the open ground back to the Ranger, settled in and buckled up. I was just about to turn the key, when I heard it – sirens! “Hey, Nat! Do ya hear that? Sumpin’s goin’ on!” “Yeah… I wonder what! Hey, look! It’s a police car!” I looked in the direction he was pointing, and sure ‘nuff, there were red and blue blinkies off to the west, headed east on Estudillo Avenue. “And look there! More!” he blurted, pointing eastward. Indeed, there was a second car racing west on Estudillo! “Omigosh! There must be something REALLY big happening! Mebbe a gang battle or something! Or a big robbery and they’re chasing the crooks!” Then a flash in my rearview mirror caught my eye… “Nat! There’s more back there on Davis! We better just sit here for a minnit ‘til they get where they’re going… sure don’t wanna be in their way!” The suddenly, the unthinkable happened. The two police cars on Estudillo both turned onto the frontage road we were parked on. At about the same instant, the car behind us also turned onto our road! Uh oh…. To our utmost astonishment, the car from behind raced to a screeching halt behind my little truck. One of the police cars ahead of us did the same, all lights on us including high beams, and stopped nose-to-nose with Roscoe. And the third car did an amazing four-wheel drift and stopped T-boned to my door. We were surrounded! I heard a tiny gasping, swallowing sound next to me, and took a quick glance toward Nat. The poor fella was pasty white (which did not look good at all with his Hispanic complexion), he had just broken into a cold sweat, and was beginning to tremble and stammer… “Uh… Nat… ya better let me do the talkin’” I said. Two police officers got out of their cars and walked up to me; the third stayed back “covering” his pards. In addition to their car lights, the two had their Mag-Lights focused on my face, fairly blinding me. I squinted, shielded my watery eyes as much as I dared, and blurted “Oh, Officers! Thank GOD you’re here!” Huh? The two exchanged a look, and one of the officers – a downright cute female, if I’m allowed to notice such things – responded “You’re glad we’re here? And why are you glad we’re here??” They say that stress can lead to creative thinking, and I was feelin’ a mite stressed, so I gave it my best: “Oh, Officer! It was just AWFUL! Just about the most horrible thing I’ve EVER seen! Just AWFUL” “Mister… try to calm down. What was ‘awful?’ Tell us what happened!” Meanwhile, the third officer had come closer, evidently quite interested in the goings-on. “Well, Nat and I –“ (I stole a glance at Nat, who wore an expression as if he’d just crawled off a roller-coaster after eating a bowl of chili) “… Nat and I had gone over to visit his work buddy Bob, who lives off Davis over there… Well, Bob wasn’t home, so we were coming back this way when suddenly this poor cat decided to try to dash across the road right in front of us! I tried to miss him, but I couldn’t… and it was just HORRID! The poor thing! The front tire went ‘Thump!’ across ‘im and we felt ‘im bounce off the underside of the truck. I hit my brakes hard… and looked back and the poor thing went running across the road toward the tracks… his tail was whipping ‘round like a propeller and he was screaming somethin’ terrible! “So we’ve been trying to find the creature… he’s hurt bad, I just know he is! He needs help somethin’ awful! And I feel just terrible about it!! I didn’t mean to hit ‘im, honest!” One of the cops shined his light into Nat’s face, and his sickened expression served quite well to give a generous level of credence to my story… “Well… what did this cat look like?” “He was black and white!” I said, and gave them a description of Manchas, Nat’s own cat. One of the male officers looked at Nat, and asked if he saw the cat too and if that’s what he looked like. Nat, looking ill, nodded and stammered out another detail or two. About fifteen minutes later, the officers returned from a fairly thorough search of the tracks and stacks of ties. “We couldn’t’ find the cat” one of ‘em announced. “Maybe he wasn’t hurt as bad as you thought…?” “Oh, I’m really sure he was hurt bad!” I said. “If you’d heard the poor thing scream…” The other male officer dropped to the pavement and wriggled under my truck. After a few minutes he emerged and said “Well… I couldn’t see any blood or fur, so we’ll hope he’s not too badly injured. Maybe he was just scared! Yeah… that’s it… a scared cat will scream too, ya know!” The cute female officer then suggested, “Look, guys, tell ya what. Why don’t you fellas go on home and try to relax, and hope for the best. We’ll make a point to drive through here a couple times more tonight and keep an eye out for the poor kitty… but don’t worry! I’m really sure he’ll be just fine!” “Oh, are you sure, Officer?” “Yes, I’m sure. Go on home now, maybe have a glass of wine or something to help you relax. And thank you for being such good citizens! Most folks would’ve just kept on going!” “Okay… Thank you, Officers. You can’t know how much this means to us…” A few cordial good-nights and grateful waves, and we were off. Not a word was said on the drive home. When we arrived, Nat looked at me, eyes wide, and mumbled “I think I’m gonna go to bed.” Then, as his face slowly cracked into a wide grin, he chuckled and shook his head, and wandered off. Two or three times before he dozed off, I heard sudden outbursts of guffaws from his room. He didn’t get his anvil, but he certainly had an adventure. Nat is no longer with us. But thirty years later, MY “rail anvil” still serves me well. * * * * *
  15. I've been pondering using copper rivets in a hanging pot rack ~ the contrast is an appealing thought. As far as dry... hmm... wonder how many decades it'd take the steam from cooking to cause the galvanic self-destruction... :rolleyes:
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