Thread: Holtey Classic Hand Planes

Uh. Yeah. Just a tad pricy huh?

I'm sure they are very good, but 'that' good???

Over here I've seen planes go for over US$2,000. At least with a Holtey you get some fancy machining work on it. Japanese planes are just a hunk of wood and a couple bits of steel.

I guess it's a case of "Whatever the market will bear..."

There was a review of the Holtey in a recent AWR, priced at about $6k and didn't come up as well as the Veritas or LN.

Not as good eh??? well well well.

Originally Posted by Iain

There was a review of the Holtey in a recent AWR, priced at about $6k and didn't come up as well as the Veritas or LN.

Yes, and from memory I think they made the point that if you were goig to pay that much for it then perhaps you weren't going to use it anyway.

They do look nice though. It would be interesting to get a demographic of his market.

It would be interesting to get a demographic of his market

A few adjectives come to mind, none of them complimentary....

Originally Posted by silentC

A few adjectives come to mind, none of them complimentary....

Do any of them involve Latte moustaches??

P

All of them.

I'd rather have these:

http://www.andersonplanes.com/

They are meant to be used (and are).

Regards from Perth

Derek

His prices are certainly more realistic. I don't know though... I know taste is subjective and I realise that they are emulating a traditional style but I reckon they all look very pompous and fussy. A bit like an 18th century shoe. I'm sure they are great performers too but there's something about the appearance of a Bailey-style plane that says "this is a serious, hardworking tool with the focus on function".

Here we go, form vs. function again. It's all very impressive that they can peen metal dovetails and use bronze and solid steel and so on; but what advantage does such a plane have over a good old Stanley #5? At least, what advantage that warrants the price tag?

Here is a biography of the planemaker, Wayne Anderson, written by Chris Schwartz, one of the editors of Popular Woodworking. A very good read! (I'm sure Chris won't mind me reproducing it here).

Regards from Perth

Derek

As a way of introduction, below is the text to an article I wrote about Wayne Anderson for the Fine Tool Journal. If you have the opportunity, please do join us this evening at 9:30 p.m. Eastern (that's 8:30 p.m. Wayne-time). We'll be discussing hand plane nuts and bolts: mouths, bedding, lever caps, included angles, sole flatness and (as always) other stuff.

Note that some of things in the article have changed. Wayne now builds a lot more planes, and I've been using them longer.

Regards,

Chris

Wayne Anderson: Infills of a Different Breed

It’s a bit of a weird scene – part Paris fashion show and part down-home barbecue. A couple dozen tool collectors (and users) from the Midwest have gathered around a cabinetmaker’s bench that’s set up in an Illinois field and are chattering like old friends do. This gathering is the ninth meeting of what is affectionately called “Galootapalooza,” a summer event where old-tool enthusiasts get together to swap tall tales, tools, tricks of the trade and eat pork shoulder.

This year several of the guys have brought along infill planes made for them by Wayne Anderson, a mechanical designer from Elk River, Minn., who builds custom tools in his off hours. As the infills start to come out of boxes and bags and land on the bench, the talk subsides. And by the time there are more than a dozen of the planes on the bench, all you can hear is the birds and the wind blowing through the trees.

Someone steps forward and lines the planes up. Someone else lets out a low, wet and appreciative whistle. And then the cameras come out and people start to take pictures of the family reunion assembled on the benchtop.

One of those photographers is Anderson himself, who has flown in to Chicago for the event. Seeing all his tools together is a bit of a shock for him, too. The tools were assembled one-by-one in his basement and then sent out into the world. And now he can see all the double-dovetails, naval brass, ebony and lever caps he’s slaved over during the last three years.

What’s most striking about his tools is how they don’t look much like anyone else’s tools. Unlike many contemporary planemakers, Anderson doesn’t like to make copies of classic infill tools from Norris, Spiers, Mathison or Slater. Instead, Anderson’s keen eye and impressive collection of files create planes with fluid sidewalls, sculpted and scalloped wedges and details that are more often found on fine furniture than on tools.

“I was never one to copy a Norris or a Spiers,” Anderson says later that evening over a beer. “Those were the production planes of the era. I was never impressed with the style.”

So when Anderson set out to build hand planes he drew more on his artistic drive (which first blossomed in childhood) than he did on the traditional forms. But there is one strong similarity Anderson’s planes share with the old-school English tools. His planes work as well as any infill plane – vintage or modern – that I have ever used.

I’m not alone in my assessment. Ralph Brendler, one of the ringleaders of the Internet-based e-mail list called “oldtools,” owns a few of Anderson’s planes that he uses regularly.

“If I had my druthers, every plane in my cabinet would be from Wayne,” Brendler says. “The miter plane he built me so far exceeded my expectations. I was just stunned when I opened the box…. My jaw hit the floor.”

Part 2

Anderson Planes on the Job
For the last four months I’ve been using one of Wayne Anderson’s improved miter planes as a daily worker in my shop – primarily as a smoothing plane, but also as a block plane end even to shoot the occasional miter. I’m of the mind that these so-called “miter planes” weren’t actually used much for mitering by 17th and 18th century craftsmen, but that’s a topic I’m planning to explore thoroughly in a future column.

My Anderson plane is an excellent worker. When the tool first showed up in my office I was a bit intimidated about using it, covering it with fingerprints and dinging the gorgeously shaped ebony infills. But the plane simply begs to be used, and after 30 minutes of admiring Anderson’s workmanship I took the plane to the shop to sharpen the A2 iron and put the tool to work.

From a working perspective, Anderson clearly understands plane mechanics. The bed is perfectly true and in the same plane as the section of the steel sole leading up to the mouth. The bed is, in fact, as finely finished as the rest of the wood in the plane. With some infill planes, the wood can shrink enough over time to disrupt the perfect bedding provided by the wood and sole. Anderson uses exceptionally stable wood (ebony in many cases) that has been kiln-dried and then allowed to stabilize in his shop. (Of course, you can always file an infill bed flat if the wood moves – I’ve done it myself to a couple vintage planes.) As delivered, the sole is dead flat within .0015” across its width and length.

The A2 iron in my plane is from the shop of toolmaker Vlad Spehar, though Anderson also uses irons from other makers, including Thomas Lie-Nielsen. (For smoothing planes with adjusters, Anderson generally uses Norris-style adjusters from Bob Howard at St. James Bay Tool Co.)

The iron drops smartly into place in the bed, like it was made to sit there. I cinch up the lever cap and then tap the snecked iron a bit with a hammer to center the iron in the mouth and get it projecting just right. The iron responds exactly as it’s supposed to, a testament to the care taken with construction.

I pull a board of curly maple out of the rack – a scrap from a contemporary dresser I built long ago. I keep this board around because it’s a good test bed for new planes that come into the shop. The grain of this board changes direction a couple times and the curl is prominent. It’s a tough board for many planes to surface without tear-out.

But not the Anderson plane. I start with a light cut and take some sub-.001” shavings and the plane performs flawlessly. But perhaps even more telling is how well the plane handles the board as I increase the projection of the cutter to take a .007”-thick shaving. The plane remains in control, the iron refuses to chatter and the board is clear of tear-out. I put down the tool and wonder what sort of person can make a tool that looks this good and performs so well.

From Weaponry to Woodworking
Anderson’s father and grandfather were Chevy dealers in his hometown, but Anderson, 52, was destined to work with a different kind of iron. As a child he was a sketcher and a sculptor. He considered majoring in art in college, but changed his mind.

“I quickly realized that there’s a reason for the term ‘starving artist,’” he says.

So he turned his attention to mechanical design. He never made it past the first year of college and then spent three years in a machine shop and then three more years in a metal fabrication shop for an electric utility. Anderson now works as a mechanical designer. For 11 years he worked for Caterpillar, and for the last three-and-a-half years he’s been working for United Defense, a defense contractor (right now he’s working on a large gun for the Navy).

“I do a lot of virtual design on computer – not with my hands,” Anderson says. “I suppose it (planemaking) is the antithesis of what I do. I have to be making something with my hands.”

That affection for handwork first lead Anderson into a woodworking hobby. He and an engineer friend would haunt the local woodworking supply stores. One day Anderson was in a used tool store where they had a few copies of the now-famous poster of the H.O. Studley tool chest.

“I found myself riveted to that image,” he says. “Something clicked. And I decided to amass a small collection of vintage tools.” So he began buying old tools (he’s now holds the title of director of area A for the Mid-West Tool Collectors Assn.). One day Anderson read a story about British infill maker Bill Carter. Intrigued, so he decided to make an improved miter plane for himself.

“I call it ‘plane-a-saurus,’” Anderson says with a laugh. “It had 3/16”-thick sides and a 1/4” bottom. It’s butt-ugly, but it functions well. It’s like your kid’s artwork. It’s not worth a nickel, but you wouldn’t sell it for a million bucks.”

Anderson made more planes (lots more) and started posting pictures of them on the Internet. People began to take notice and ask Anderson to make planes for them. Today he spends about three hours each weekday in the shop and as many as 14 to 16 hours a day on weekends – yard work permitting. He has aspirations to turn planemaking into his full-time job.

He’s willing to try new forms, take risks and even throw the occasional experiment into the garbage. He’s built an infill toothing plane (the first one I’ve ever seen). He’s also built an astonishing low-angle jack plane that has an ingenious way of removing the iron. And then there’s a shoulder plane he built that has brass sidewalls wrapped by steel ones on the outside – a real looker.

A Hand-made Tool
A typical Anderson infill plane is created mostly by hand. He begins by roughing out the dovetails and the shapes of the sidewalls on a metal-cutting band saw, but the final shapes are achieved by hand-filing. The same goes with the wooden infills. Though he may size the wood to rough shape on his band saw, all of the finished work is accomplished by hand.

At any given time, Anderson will have 75 different full-size files and another 75 needle files of all shapes and sizes, which handle all the intricate shapes of the wood and brass in Anderson’s designs.

One of the most astonishing details is the brass cove moulding on the toe of the miter plane he built for Brendler. The cove marks the transition between the curved front of the plane’s brass body and the steel sole. Anderson makes it sound like simple work. After roughing out the shape on a piece of flat brass, he refined the cove with files and then relieved the backside of the brass to prepare it for bending. This process, which is much like kerf-bending in furniture-work, ensures the front will bend over a form without creating ugly folds in the toe-piece.

Anderson is equally skilled with shaping wood. One of his recent low-angle chariot planes has a wedge that resembles a traditional shell carving. At first it seems a showy detail that would make the plane difficult to grasp, but that assumption turns out to be dead wrong. Because of the shell carving the plane fits just right in the hand. The recesses of the shell help you control the tool without using an iron grip. And the plane takes full-width end-grain shavings with ease from hard woods such as birch.

One of the pleasures of handling an Anderson plane is being able take in the small touches throughout the tool. Anderson works to a very high level of fit and finish, but there are still subtle marks of the maker. Deep in a recess you can see the subtle scratch of a file. Look closely at the sole plate of one of his miter planes and you can see how they are built from two pieces of steel and joined at the mouth.

The work is even more impressive when you take into consideration how reasonable Anderson’s rates are compared to buying high-end vintage tools. An Anderson plane costs between $80 and $100 per inch of length – my 9” miter cost $900 (there are some upcharges for certain woods and details). A vintage pre-war Norris A5 will set you back at least that much (probably more) and may require some serious tweaking before it can cut wood.

Some people have wondered how Anderson can charge so little for this level of work, while others contend – of course – that his tools cost too much. Anderson himself isn’t worked up about the economics of the business. He sets his prices so he can build what he wants and stay busy – without pushing the price outside of the realm of a serious user.

“These are user planes,” he says, tapping the table for emphasis. “It’s a tool. Take it into the shop and use it.”

I’m a believer. My Anderson plane has become one of my favorite tools. I’ve made a place for it in my tool cabinet right below my Lie-Nielsen No. 62 low-angle jack and next to my Preston bullnose plane.

The miter plane’s brass sidewalls are now developing a nice patina, and the front bun has a small ding from my wedding ring. I think it looks better (and works better) after every project I use it on. And after another 12 months of hard use it’s going to be ready for a trot down the cabinetmaker’s bench at the next Galootapalooza event in 2005.

— Christopher Schwarz

Anderson Planes
www.andersonplanes.com

Yes, I can definitely admire the handwork, although I don't particularly like the look of them. I suppose if you have the money and would like something that performs well and also is aesthetically pleasing, then what's wrong with it. I certainly wouldn't spend thousands on a plane, no matter how good it is. $100 per inch is not too bad, although still a bit pricey for my budget.

What are the benefits, if any, of an infill plane over a bailey-style plane? I always believed that these were a progression from wood to metal, where the metal sole was added to extend the life of the sole and finally the metal replaced the wood altogether. Of interest to enthusiasts and collectors but not necessarily better than a similar quality all-steel plane.