Journeyman's Journal

Lightening the workshop has been long overdue and I decided it was time to sell off the tools I do not need. The clutter had slowly built up over the years and I reached the point where I only wanted the essentials. I also let go of a large amount of timber that looks impressive but is not friendly to hand tools. American ash, red oak and similar species look beautiful in finished work but planing them is another story. When you are young and strong you treat it as a good workout. That is no longer the case for me and with ongoing back issues I simply cannot fight timbers that feel like stone.

I am not a woodworker who keeps a jointer tucked in the corner or a thicknesser ready to roll out. I have always worked with hand tools only and I have stayed true to that. I hand plane boards to thickness and I take rough sawn timber all the way to a finished surface using nothing but planes and scrapers. All of that puts real strain on the lower back and over time it has caught up with me which is one of the reasons I had to rethink what timbers I work with and what tools I keep.

When the cost of living went up I underestimated how much harder it would be to sell things, but they are moving slowly. Something I did not expect was how little interest there was in a rosewood mahogany industrial stain I tried to sell for years. I still have five litres left which is just over one gallon for readers in the United States.

I had gallons of the industrial stain made specifically for me and it never went off despite what some people think. The industrial version is nothing like the common off the shelf stain. Industrial stain is mixed to a formula, has stronger pigments and deeper penetration and is made for commercial finishing shops that need consistent performance. Off the shelf stain is thinned out, weaker in colour strength and produced for mass retail where cost and ease of use matter more than quality.

Stain can last a very long time if it is solvent based and kept sealed. Solvent based stains do not spoil the way water based products do. The pigments settle, the solvents separate and it may look unusable, but once mixed properly it returns to its original state. As long as the lid seals well and the container has not rusted through it remains usable for many years. Water based stains have a shorter life because bacteria and mould can form in the liquid, but industrial solvent based stain is far more stable.

Last night I tried the stain on a sample piece for a project and I expected it to look ordinary. I was wrong. It looked better than I imagined and I am relieved I did not sell what I had left. It reminded me of how easily people overlook good materials simply because they have never used them.

Clearing the workshop has made me more aware of what I actually use and what I was holding onto out of habit. Letting things go has also shown me that knowledge plays a major role in what people choose to buy. Some know exactly what they are looking for. Others walk past quality without realising it.

Sorting through everything has also made me think about how my work has changed. I do not work the way I did twenty years ago and there is no point pretending otherwise. My back limits what I can push through and the timbers I choose now have to make sense for the way I work. Once I accepted that it became easier to decide what stays and what goes.

The workshop feels calmer with less in it. There is more room to move and more room to think. What is left are the tools and materials that fit the way I work today. It feels like a step towards working with a bit more clarity and a bit less noise, and there is nothing wrong with that.

You do not have to look far to see how ridiculous timber prices have become. What used to be an affordable hobby is now something you really have to think twice about. For hobby woodworkers like you and soon myself to be, the cost of a few decent boards can easily rival the price of a good hand plane. It makes you stop and plan every project carefully because waste just is not an option anymore.

A lot of people like to blame it on transport costs or limited supply, but let us be honest, that is not the real story. There is no shortage of trees in Australia and the mills are still running. The problem is corporate control. Big companies have taken over the supply chain from start to finish. They have bought up smaller mills or forced them out, and with fewer suppliers left they can charge whatever they like. And they do.

This sort of manipulation is not limited to timber either. It is happening across the board. The world has become greedy. Corporations are driving up the cost of living while pretending it is all about inflation or supply issues. Sure, wages have gone up, but only on paper. The reality is most people are barely scraping by. A one bedroom apartment can cost around seven hundred dollars a week, and once you have paid rent there is almost nothing left for food, electricity, or anything else, let alone a few nice slabs of timber.

For many woodworkers that means adapting. Some are turning to recycled wood or salvaging pieces from old furniture and building sites. Others are experimenting with new species or milling their own logs when they can. It takes more time but it is satisfying work. There is something special about bringing life back into an old piece of wood that most people would have thrown away.

Maybe that is what is keeping woodworking alive. In a world ruled by greed and profit, this craft still gives you something real. The feel of a sharp chisel, the smell of fresh shavings, the rhythm of a hand plane, these are things money cannot buy.

So yes, timber is getting dearer, and everything else with it, but true woodworkers will not stop. We will adapt, just like we always have. Because at the end of the day, woodworking is not about what you can afford. It is about what you can create.

When the early settlers came from Europe, they brought with them a mindset shaped by scarcity. Europe had already been stripped bare of much of its ancient forests. Centuries of shipbuilding, heating, and farming had cleared vast stretches of oak, elm, and yew. By the time they crossed the oceans, the old growth that once blanketed Europe was mostly gone.

Arriving in the Americas and Australia, they saw endless forests and thought they had found an inexhaustible resource. They felled the trees with the same habits that had already destroyed their homeland, cutting without thought for renewal, burning without a plan for regrowth. Tree farming was unheard of. The concept of managing forests for future generations simply did not exist in their worldview.

What followed was predictable. The great stands of cedar, oak, and mahogany in North America, and the towering red gums, blackwoods, and huon pines of Australia, were taken until there were no giants left. Many species that once grew thick and wide have vanished entirely, and those that survive no longer reach the same size because they are cut before maturity.

The tragedy is that it was not ignorance alone, it was greed and a short-term way of thinking. Forests that took hundreds of years to form were erased in decades. We inherited their mistakes, but we can still learn from them. True respect for timber starts with understanding what it took to grow and what was lost to bring it into our hands.

Modern day tool makers mainly concentrate on hobbyists with very little knowledge about the craft. That’s not an insult, it’s just the truth of where the market has gone. Most modern plane buyers are not tradesmen or full-time users. They’re enthusiasts who might use a plane once or twice a week, and that’s perfectly fine. But tool makers design around that group, not around those who spend hours at the bench every day.

I agree that metals have come a long way, but the real question is how has any of this actually improved our craft? What benefit have we really gained?

We’ve been told that thicker irons were made to reduce chatter, but that’s just marketing talk. In truth, chatter rarely comes from a thin iron. It’s usually the result of poor bedding, a loose cap iron, or sloppy setup. What thicker irons and A2 steel really did was make sharpening slower and rule out oil stones for anyone who prefers them.

Then there’s the matter of weight. For hobbyists, a heavier plane might seem fine, but when you use one all day, it quickly becomes exhausting. Old Stanley planes were light, nimble, and easy to control. The modern premium planes, on the other hand, often feel clumsy and tiring, especially when you’re planing something like a raised panel.

Manufacturers love to say that the extra heft helps the plane glide through timber. That’s nonsense. If you need the weight to do the cutting, your iron’s blunt.

Yes, today’s planes are machined to high tolerances, and that’s impressive, but in practice, a well-tuned Stanley does the job better. It’s lighter, faster to sharpen, and more comfortable to use, exactly what a plane should be.

Tool makers love to use terms like precision machining and modern performance steel because it sells. But in the hands of someone who knows how to sharpen properly and set a cap iron correctly, an old Stanley will run circles around most modern planes. It’s not nostalgia, it’s experience. Those lighter, simpler designs were made by people who actually used them for a living, not by engineers trying to appeal to collectors.

The first person to bring this topic to light and reveal its bitter truth was Paul Sellers. I was one of his first opposers, mainly because I had just replaced all my old tools with Lie Nielsen and Veritas planes. My pride got in the way, and I hadn’t used the modern planes long enough to form an informed opinion. Looking back, my biggest mistake was selling my old Stanleys and Record planes. They weren’t in the best condition, but they still performed beautifully.

The truth is, the craft hasn’t improved because the tool itself didn’t need improving. What’s changed is the audience. Toolmakers now cater to people who admire tools more than they use them. And while there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s led to a generation of planes that look impressive on a bench but don’t necessarily work better in the wood.

So before anyone believes the hype about thicker irons and added weight, ask yourself: is it really an improvement or just another myth we’ve been sold?

The Roubo frame saw is one of those tools that reminds you how clever old designs really were. It’s a large hand-powered saw built for resawing timber, long before bandsaws and table saws were ever thought of. The name comes from André-Jacob Roubo, an 18th-century French cabinetmaker who wrote about it in his book L’Art du Menuisier.

The saw looks simple at first glance, a long, narrow blade stretched between two stout wooden arms with a crossbar joining them together. But when you use one, you realise how well balanced and efficient the design is. The frame keeps the blade under tension, so it runs straight and doesn’t buckle in the cut. You can tension it tighter than a normal hand saw, which makes a huge difference when ripping long boards down the middle.

The beauty of the Roubo saw is that it’s quiet, smooth, and surprisingly fast once you get into rhythm. It doesn’t fill the workshop with dust or noise, and you can actually feel what the wood is doing. The sawdust curls out gently instead of blasting everywhere. For anyone who enjoys hand tool woodworking, that sort of control is deeply satisfying.

Making one is a project in itself. The frame is usually hardwood, something strong and stable like beech, oak, or even spotted gum. The blade can be bought from a few tool suppliers overseas, or made from bandsaw stock if you’re handy with metalwork. The key is to file and set the teeth for ripping, not crosscutting, and to keep them evenly jointed. It’s worth the effort because once it’s tuned properly, it tracks beautifully and cuts true.

Using a Roubo saw teaches patience and accuracy. You can’t rush it. You learn to read the grain and keep your body lined up with the cut. It’s physical work, but in a good way, the kind that connects you to the material and makes you appreciate the craft. Many woodworkers build one not because they need to, but because they want to experience that connection.

For anyone who works mostly by hand, the Roubo frame saw fills an important gap between a panel saw and a bandsaw. It allows you to take thick boards and create thinner stock for box sides, drawer parts, or even veneer. It’s slow compared to a machine, but it’s also quiet, affordable, and completely under your control.

That’s what I like most about it. The Roubo frame saw isn’t just another tool, it’s a reminder that you don’t need electricity to do serious work. You just need sharp teeth, a steady hand, and a bit of patience.

When I mentioned sharp teeth I meant that’s what really gives this saw its speed. When I first bought the Roubo saw from Blackburn Tools I paid Chris to sharpen it for me. Since I had never owned a saw of that size before I had no idea what sharp should feel like. The teeth were massive and felt sharp to the touch but that might have just been because of their size.

I built a temporary frame out of pine which I am still using by the way and couldn’t wait to try it out. Truth be told I was disappointed. It took me nearly half an hour to resaw a board only about 20 inches long and by the end I was puffed out. Still none the wiser I figured I had fallen for it again, all the hype, and I was no better off than with a regular panel saw. I only reached for it when I absolutely had to.

Quite a bit of time went by and every now and then I would glance at that 400 dollars hanging on the wall collecting dust. Eventually I decided enough was enough and I would sharpen the teeth myself. I pulled it apart and clamped the blade in the saw vice.

I pulled out my file which had never been used and sharpened every tooth with a zero rake making it an aggressive saw.

The setup is really important. First, the blade needs to be centred in the frame and perfectly straight. To centre it, make sure the distance between the blade and both arms is equal. When the spacing is the same on both sides, the blade is properly centred.

Make sure the blade is perfectly straight like an arrow to ensure accurate sawing.

Next, when you tighten the blade, it should have a deflection of about 1/16 of an inch and no more.

Do a pluck test. The blade should give a low, clear ring, not shrill and not dead.

When sawing, it should track straight with no chatter, and the teeth should bite evenly. Over tensioning increases the risk of blade breakage or stressing the frame. On the other hand, if the blade is under tension and moves about 1/8 of an inch (3 mm), the cut will wander.

That’s all there is to it. Once everything was set up, I put it to the test and was very surprised at how fast it cut. I was taking an inch on every stroke, but it wasn’t easy until I got the hang of it. With the saw’s zero-degree rake, it is very aggressive.

That means the saw will catch if you’re not careful. I had to lift it slightly, kiss the surface, and ease into the cut. Before long, I got the hang of it and cut my resawing time from 30 minutes down to 5 minutes. It’s a total game changer and any desire to buy a bandsaw has completely vanished. Chances are Chris never actually sharpened those teeth. I don’t know if I’ll ever find out and, to be honest, I really don’t care anymore.

Using the Roubo frame saw has reminded me why hand tools still have a place in a modern workshop. There is a rhythm and satisfaction in working with a tool that responds directly to your hand, a connection you do not get with machines. It is not just about speed or efficiency it is about the joy of mastering the craft and taking pride in every cut. This saw has earned its spot in my workshop and I know it will be a companion for many projects to come.

Staining wood is one of those simple yet rewarding parts of woodworking. It brings out the grain, gives depth to the surface, and lets the natural character of the timber speak. Whether you are working on a small jewellery box or a larger cabinet, how you apply stain makes all the difference in the final look.

The first thing to remember is that stain is not paint. It does not sit on top of the wood. It soaks into the fibres, adding colour while still allowing the grain to show through. Because of that, surface preparation is everything. If the wood is not sanded evenly, the stain will soak in unevenly too, leaving darker patches that are hard to fix later.

Before applying any colour, I like to wipe the surface with a damp cloth to raise the grain. Once it is dry, a light pass with fine sandpaper smooths it again. This helps avoid that slightly rough feel that can appear after staining.

When it comes to applying the stain, I prefer using both a brush and a rag. A brush can reach into corners and allows me to lay down an even, heavier coat, something a rag cannot quite manage. It also helps me achieve the colour I want faster. Once brushed on, I wipe back the excess with a clean rag to even out the tone and control the depth of colour. Always work with the grain and avoid letting the stain pool in one area.

Different timbers take stain differently. Open-grained woods like oak or ash absorb stain readily, while Australian timbers have their own quirks. Tasmanian oak, for example, is a medium-density hardwood with a fairly even texture and straight grain, so it can take stain quite evenly if it is sanded properly. However, because it can contain both open and slightly interlocked grain depending on the piece, you can occasionally get mild blotching, not as bad as pine, but it can happen on unevenly sanded surfaces.

Jarrah, on the other hand, is a very dense and oily hardwood with a deep natural reddish tone. It does not blotch much, but it tends to resist stain absorption altogether. The stain will darken the surface a little, but it does not penetrate deeply. Sometimes the result looks patchy simply because the surface does not take the stain evenly, especially if the grain direction shifts or if the pores are closed from over-sanding.

Then there is blackwood, another dense Australian hardwood, but one that takes stain quite nicely if handled carefully. Its interlocked grain can catch light beautifully, and staining can make that depth stand out even more. Still, it is best to test on an offcut before committing, because small variations in grain structure can affect how evenly the colour takes.

A thin coat of shellac or sanding sealer can help control absorption and produce a smoother tone, especially on mixed-grain surfaces. Testing on a scrap piece from the same board is always worth the effort.

And to clear up a common misconception, stain absolutely does change the colour of the wood. It soaks into the surface fibres, adding pigment or dye that shifts the tone, often quite dramatically. Pine, for example, can go from pale yellow to a deep rosewood or mahogany shade with just one coat. The important thing is that the stain does not hide the grain like paint does. Instead, it colours the fibres while keeping the natural figure visible. That is why stain is so effective at bringing out depth and warmth while still letting the timber look like timber.

Once the stain has dried, I usually give it a light rub with 0000 steel wool or fine paper before applying a clear finish. Oil, shellac, or varnish will all bring out different warmth in the colour. Oil deepens it, shellac adds glow, and varnish gives it strength.

There is something deeply satisfying in watching the colour settle and the grain come alive. Done right, staining does not just show the wood, it transforms it.

mantle clock

I finished a mantle clock a few days ago. Between the resawing, planing to thickness, re-planing for a smooth surface, all the hand joinery, and the finishing work, it took about 14 hours to build. Even I was impressed with that time.

I had to spread those 14 hours over several days because of my back acting up and other life commitments. While I spend 99% of my time in the workshop, there’s still life outside it that needs my attention.

I’ve been thinking about making a video of the next clock build. Instead of doing a series, I might make one complete video divided into short sections, not showing every step in real time, but more like the style you see on Instagram. The only difference is, I don’t have mountains or acres of land in the background.

Anyway, I just wanted to share my latest build with you. Let me know what you think.

Glue extractors at Young & Co., Bermondsey, England, circa 1905

Short answer upfront. 250 bloom became the everyday shop standard because it was a practical, widely produced and widely stocked grade that balanced working time, tack and speed of set. 192 bloom was and is favoured for veneering and fine work because it stays workable longer and dries to a slightly more forgiving film. Gram strength measures gel strength not adhesive ultimate strength. If two joints contain the same amount of dry glue the final bond strength is largely similar. What changes most is handling, pot behaviour and how the cured glue film behaves mechanically.

Gram strength is the result of the Bloom gel test. The test measures how firm a standard gel of glue is by recording how many grams of force it takes to depress a standard plunger. That figure correlates with the average molecular weight of the collagen chains in the glue and with how the glue behaves in the pot.

Higher bloom numbers mean the gel is firmer and the glue tends to set faster and feel “stiffer” when it is gelled. Lower bloom numbers mean a softer gel, longer open time and a film that is a little more flexible once fully dry.

It is very natural to assume that a higher gram number equals a stronger glue but that assumption confuses gel strength with adhesive bond strength. Gel strength is about how the glue behaves in the pot and in its undisturbed gel form. It does not directly tell you the strength of a well executed joint when the same amount of dry glue is present.

Practical tests and the experience of makers show that when joints are prepared and clamped correctly and when the dry glue content is roughly equal, the ultimate bond strength does not scale directly with bloom. The differences makers notice are working time, tack and cured film behaviour rather than a clear superiority in tensile or shear strength.

The dominance of a midrange grade such as 250 bloom came from supply and shop practice rather than from a formal demonstration that it was stronger. Industrial and regional glue mills made a small set of grades and merchants stocked what was available. A versatile, midrange product sold in volume and became the default everyday glue for joinery, cabinetmaking and general shop use.

Veneering and marquetry are specialist tasks. They need longer open time, gentler tack and a less brittle cured film. Softer glues were therefore preferred by veneer fitters. That practical division of labour and supply is why you see 192 bloom repeatedly recommended for veneer work while a midrange grade was the general shop staple.

Bloom gelometer patent drawing, 1925, showing apparatus to measure gel strength of glue

You will not find many 19th century adverts or catalogue entries that use numbers such as 192 or 250. The Bloom gelometer test and the numerical bloom scale were developed in the 20th century. In the 19th century makers spoke in different terms. They named glues by their raw material, by trade names, by intended use or by how a glue behaved in the pot.

Large glue works were already in place in the 19th century and they supplied tanneries, bookbinders, cabinet shops and other trades. Those works produced a limited palette of grades. Shops therefore used whatever general purpose stock their local mills supplied. Over time one of those midrange grades acted as the practical standard even if it was not labelled with a bloom number.

The Bloom gel strength test and the Bloom machine were introduced in the early 20th century and the numerical labels we use today start appearing reliably after that. Once the test existed suppliers and technical writers began to express those midrange and softer grades in numbers such as 250 and 192.

Manufacturers and trade literature of the mid century show the same pattern we see in modern writing. The midrange bloom was treated as the general purpose product while lower bloom grades were recommended for veneering, marquetry and other tasks that benefit from longer open time and a less brittle cured film.

A typical industry narrative in the early 20th century explains how standardisation emerged, and later supplier catalogues and technical bulletins use the bloom numbers to recommend which grade to use for a given task.

What I recommend

If you need one glue for everyday joinery choose a midrange bloom around 250. It is a practical compromise that historically served as the shop standard because it works for many tasks.

If you veneer, do marquetry or work on instrument tops choose a softer grade such as 192. You will get longer open time and a slightly more forgiving cured film.

Laying veneer with glue in place before clamping — longer open time helps you adjust and seat the veneer fully before the glue begins to stiffen.

If ultimate joint strength in an ideal test is your only concern the bloom number is not the decisive factor. Control the amount of dry glue left in the joint, prepare and fit the joint well, and clamp correctly.

Remember that both low and high bloom hide glues are brittle compared to many modern synthetic adhesives. Use hide glue when you need the specific advantages it offers for restoration, reversibility and working practice.

Luthiers and restorers choose bloom numbers for handling reasons. For example a luthier might pick a lower bloom for a top joint and a higher bloom for quick tacking of small parts.

Luthier’s workshop showing workbench, partially-built guitars and tools — a glimpse of where glue strength, handling and fit really matter

YouTube is a fantastic place to learn woodworking. Free lessons, tool reviews and clever tips have helped thousands of people pick up a saw or plane for the first time. Beginner friendly content matters because no one is born knowing how to square a board or sharpen a chisel.

But there is a catch. More and more creators are chasing the same audience of newcomers. Their channels are filled with “Five Easy Projects for Starters” and “Essential Tools for Day One.” It makes sense from a business perspective because videos aimed at beginners draw the widest net, bring in more clicks and keep the ad revenue flowing.

The problem is that woodworking does not end after you learn to cut a straight line. It is a craft that can take a lifetime to master. When channels focus only on first steps content they stop challenging viewers and themselves. Viewers who are ready to tackle complex joinery, hand tool mastery or fine furniture construction have fewer resources to grow. Experienced woodworkers either tune out or keep rewatching the same introductory advice packaged with a different thumbnail.

This race for easy traffic also shapes the projects shown on camera. Instead of exploring bold designs or traditional techniques many creators repeat simple builds that can be filmed and monetised quickly. The craft risks being treated as a trend rather than an art.

Beginner content will always have its place. Everyone needs a starting point. But a healthy woodworking community thrives on depth. We need videos that shows the thinking behind a complex cabinet. How to construct a high boy entirely by hand without using machinery. How to carve the ornamental details that adorn the cabinet. How to interpret complex, fully detailed plans instead of relying on simplified beginner drawings. Learn to read and understand every component of a plan. How to prepare your own varnish from scratch. How to craft the specific tools required for a project rather than simply buying them.These projects inspire newcomers to keep learning and give seasoned makers something to strive toward.

If you create woodworking videos consider mixing it up. Teach a skill that took you years to perfect. Share the mistakes and the slow victories. Your audience might be smaller at first but you will be feeding the craft rather than the algorithm and that is what keeps woodworking alive.

I built this ramped shooting board by hand using hardwood offcuts. In this video, I go over the build, why I made it ramped, and what planes it’s made for. Simple, practical, and made using only hand tools.