Tag Archives: Pipe related topic

Smoking under an umbrella

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Ugh, another rainy day in Vancouver. Not the normal drizzle that is pervasive throughout the winters around here, but a full downpour. It’s June 2 so summer weather should be happening. I should be wearing shorts and sandals not a sweater and slicker. But what can you do – weather is one of those things that you can complain about but not control. The complaint seems to accomplish nothing other than to make you miserable. So I picked up my umbrella – it does not often get used in the winter rains as a drizzle is manageable with a wide brimmed hat – and I headed out into the rain for my walk.

Before leaving the dry zone of my front porch and entering the downpour, I packed a pipe with some Dark Twist to smoke while I was on the walk. Smoking in the rain has always been something I have avoided for the most part. On occasion, I have turned my pipe upside down to keep it going in the drizzle and tried to enjoy the smoke but it was always a pain. This evening the umbrella was a godsend. The pipe would stay dry and keeping it going would be no trouble. I could smoke it right side up!! The umbrella formed a dome shaped smoking room around me that not only kept things dry but also created a zone that held the smoke around my head. If you can picture a person walking in a cloud of smoke you get the picture of the still air that held the smoke in place as I walked. I got to smell my own tobacco and live with the room note in a limited space.

I had avoided smoking with an umbrella in the past as it seemed like it would be just one more thing to hold onto while I was walking. I had all kind of discussions with myself about how I could not tamp or manage a lighter and a pipe and an umbrella at the same time, but this time I just did it. No excuses, no rationale. I made sure to fire the pipe and tamp and relight before I started on the walk and just figured I would deal with the issue of tamping and relighting should I need to when it occurred.

I started down the sidewalk walking under the trees, enjoying the smell of the tobacco and the surprising experience of a good smoke. The pipe did not go out nor did I need to tamp for awhile. I just enjoyed the moment of the smoke. It was almost like taking a mobile room with me. It was quiet with the pattering of rain on the umbrella. Traffic was at a minimum as it was after dinner. The light swish of cars going by a block away on the busy street near home was not an interruption. In the course of my walk I met an older woman (older is now a relative term for me in this 57th year!) who looked at the pipe and said how good it was to see someone smoking a pipe out and about! She said it brought back memories of her father and uncles who were all pipe smokers. She smiled as she walked by! Contentedly I walked on in the rain enjoying even more the solitude and pleasure of the pipe after that kind of comment.

None of the antis seemed to be about – I guess the rain must also be harmful to our health! As this was the case I walked through the neighbourhood park (illegal to smoke in the parks in Vancouver). The park is a great green space that takes up a square block in the centre of my neighbourhood. It is filled with large Chestnut, Oak, Fir, Pine, Cedar, Maple and Cherry trees. The grass is long as it has been too wet to mow and the smell of the rain is a pleasure in the park away from the street and the cars. I walked to the overhang at the school next to the park and set the umbrella down so I could tamp my pipe. I decided to just stay there in the dry space for a few moments and smoke my pipe while I watched the rain. It was as if I was the only one out walking this early evening.

I shook out my umbrella and then continued my walk. I finished my pipe under the umbrella as I walked home. It is amazing to me how the pipe gave me a different perspective and attitude toward the rain. It was far different than my usual whine about the rain and the damp and it being June!! I came home in good spirits and settled down with a good book knowing that I did not have work in the yard or garden this evening!

Seeing through the grime – a story told by an old pipe

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I had this story I had written sitting on the hard drive. I reworked it quite a bit the last two evenings and thought I would post it. In it I try to capture the old stories that I find in the estate pipes I seek to bring back to life. Thanks for reading it.

Awhile ago I was working on cleaning up an old estate pipe. I had purchased this old timer on eBay and when I came home from work one afternoon I found it had arrived in the mail. When I opened the box I could not believe my eyes. The pictures the seller posted on eBay did not begin to capture the sorry state of this poor pipe. It was a disaster – the bowl was caked to the point of not holding any more tobacco. I could barely fit a pencil in what remained of the tobacco chamber. The cake that filled the bowl was not the typical hard carbon but was crumbling and very soft. The stem would not fit all the way into the shank as both it and the inside of the shank were covered with tar and a white lime crust. The airflow on this poor old timer certainly must have been miniscule, but there was no way I was going to put this thing in my mouth to even blow on it. I found that once I removed the stem that it had the weirdest stinger apparatus I have ever seen that would have constricted the airflow even more. It was short, thick metal and absolutely crammed full of tars and unidentifiable tan chunks. I know, the word “chunks” does not help understand what I am talking about but I don’t know how else to describe the brown stuff that was thick and packed all over this stinger. The metal of the stinger was rough and appeared to be pitted or at least it had craters and crevices all over the sides and top of it. It was in truly sad shape. It certainly must have been a beautiful pipe when all this started. It was that hope of hidden beauty beneath the grime that drew me to this pipe and caused me to want to take a risk on cleaning and restoring it. On top of that was also the challenge of restoring what looked to be a hopeless cause.

I carefully wiped the outside of the bowl with a damp rag to get some of the surface grime off. I wanted to see what the grain looked like underneath the grit. I carefully separated the stem from the shank and removed the stinger for a soak. I then used several reamers that I have to ream both the bowl and shank of the pipe. All of this was preliminary to the actual cleaning work. I wanted to be able to more knowledgeably assess the condition of the pipe under the years of grime. What a lot of carbon dust lay on the paper that I put on my work table. The grain did not look too bad. There was some interesting curly birdseye on one side and flame grain on the back and front of the bowl. A twisting grain flowed across both the bottom of the pipe and the shank. I turned the pipe over in my hands to inspect it for cracks. I have found that there are often cracks in pipes that have been smoked this hard. Surprisingly, there were none in this bowl at all. But this pipe had been smoked right through the bottom of the bowl – yes burned out. That would not surprise you if you had seen the condition of the pipe. But what made it surprising to me was that the bottom of the bowl had been plugged and repaired with a well worked briar plug. It had darkened but I could still see that it fit very snugly and carefully and showed some thoughtful work at the hands of a good repairman. All this caused me to reassess what I had originally concluded about the pipe and the piper who used to smoke it.

A pipe, that at first glance, appeared to have been “abused” this much, must have been ignored and not cared for by its owner. But I am not convinced of that verdict – in fact I was beginning to conclude just the opposite – it must have been a well loved and favourite pipe. The fact that it had obviously been smoked to the same point before in its life and then repaired with a well done plug and then smoked to the same point of cake again says a lot about what kind of pipe it must be and what kind of smoke it must have delivered to it owner. On the one hand, the original owner did not take care of his pipe in terms of daily maintenance and cleaning. I don’t think it had ever seen a pipe cleaner in all of its years. But on the other hand, he cared enough to take the time to have a well done plug put in the bottom of the bowl to fix the burn out and then smoked it again to this point a second or maybe a third or fourth time. That is the contradiction that exists when I look at a pipe like this. There is more to the story than initially meets the eye.

Only when it is stripped down and cleaned do I get a bit more of the story underneath all the surface grime. I think that the old fellow who must have owned this pipe would have been interesting to spend time with having a talk. I am certainly making an educated guess but I believe that this was a pipe that belonged to an old timer. By the looks of it, I would say it would have been disposed of with his other non-sellable or unwanted estate items. The fact is that if that was not true it would still be in his mouth. I would guess that he was a one pipe guy who refused to give up on an old friend and kept repairing and smoking his old buddy. Each problem that came up was a puzzle to be addressed and repaired before the pipe was returned to its smoking regimen. There is a silver band on the pipe that probably is original and matches the shape of other pipes like this one that I found on the web, but it is also engraved with what appeared to be initials – a monogram that possibly identified it as his. The band had turned around on the shank several times and had been obviously re-glued several times to keep it with the pipe. It was a not only a mark of ownership but of pride. It made me wonder if he had it engraved himself of if one of his children might have had it done as part of a very personal gift for “dad”. In the bottom of the bowl there remained a bit of old and very dry tobacco. The bowl had been smoked to that point and left. There is no way of knowing what the tobacco was as it was pretty well destroyed. But it was there and was crumbling with the cake in the bowl. It gave me pause to wonder what happened to the guy that made him stop at that point of the bowl and lay his pipe down.

As I moved to do the first stage of cleaning the stem I was amazed to see is that the stem was actually pristine under the grime. There were no tooth marks or bites on it. There was no sign of the kind of abuse that I have come to expect in this kind of pipe. Sure, the button was clogged and airway was almost solid with tars but there are no bite marks at all on the stem. There are no scratches and no problems that a good buffing and cleaning would not take away. That too tells me something of the old pipesmoker. He was not a clencher. He did not chomp on his bit. It was the original bit and it was in good shape under the grime. He was a man who held his pipe in his hand while he enjoyed the process of sipping the smoke. He was obviously one who was not to be hurried in his process and did not want to be bothered by anything that stopped the enjoyment of his pipe. I appreciate the care that he took to not bite the stem after having repaired many stems that have been marked by the fangs of the owner.

The cleanup was finished and the bowl was refinished and re-stained with a cherry stain to match the original colour of the pipe when it was made. The silver was polished and the stem was polished to a pristine black. The bowl was coated with a charcoal based coating to give it a bit of protection as I work to rebuild a hard cake in the bowl. I loaded a bowl of my favourite Virginia/Perique blend for the inaugural smoke. I chose a quiet spot to relax while I put the fire to the tobacco and sipped the smoke. The flame jumped to the tobacco and the smoke began to curl around the lip of the bowl and out the edges of my mouth as I puffed. Ahhh, now I had joined the ongoing story of this pipe to my own history. It smoked very well and delivered a cool flavourful smoke to the bottom of the bowl… I think next bowl I will remove that odd old stinger and see what I get from it. What a great pipe. I think I had begun to understand the charms of this old pipe. I tip my “new” pipe in quiet thanks to the old piper who had pointed the way to this well loved pipe.

Enjoying a Personal Moment of Liberty on Liberty Island

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Blog by Steve Laug

I just finished writing this reflection that I wanted to share here. As I am a resident of Canada my views may be skewed by my culture but I don’t think so… thanks for reading. I look forward to your responses.

The alarm went off at 6:00am – far too early that morning considering the short time we had spent in bed after enjoying the city the night before. My wife and I and two friends had rented a room at Hephzibah House, a restored brownstone retreat centre near Central Park in Manhattan. It was a dark and chilly November morning. I woke my wife; dressed and headed down for some coffee in the parlour to bring up to encourage her waking and getting ready. We were due to meet our friends downstairs to start the day of touring together. We needed the internal warmth and caffeine before we headed out to the subway so we took a second cup with us. We had bundled up in scarves, toques and winter coats because it was a chilly morning and we knew that we would be cold riding the ferry to Liberty Island and on to Ellis Island. I carried a satchel on my shoulder and in it along with the map, ferry tickets, and Metrocard subway passes was my pipe pouch, some 10 year old 5100, a lighter and tamper. I was intent on carrying out my plan – to smoke my pipe on Liberty Island in the shadow of the Statue of Liberty.

We walked the 4 blocks to the subway. Using the Metrocard we went down the stairs to the subway and quickly boarded the train. We exited the subway near Trinity Church and Wall Street and walked through Battery Park to join the line of those waiting to clear security and board the ferry. By 8am we were on the ferry ready for a 20 minute ride to the island. We found seats on the top deck and hunkered down into our warm coats ready to take pictures. The wind off the water was cold but we did not want to miss the full view of the city behind us and Liberty Island and Ellis Island ahead on the journey across the water. I took pictures as we left Manhattan and continued as we approached the island. Once the boat docked, we made our way along the walkway to a coffee shop and bought a hot coffee to sip while we walked around to a spot where we could sit and look at the Lady. She is far more massive than pictures can communicate. She weighs 450,000 pounds and stands 151 feet tall from the tips of her crown to the broken shackles at her feet. She is truly an amazing sight to behold.

We made our way to a place on the walkway where we could look up into her face and see the glory of the statue. We took some photos and just enjoyed the view. I decided that now was the time to fire up my pipe. The spot was perfect and the setting could not have been better. I sat down on the low wall out of the wind, opened my satchel and took out my pipe pouch. I unzipped it and took out my chosen pipe. I opened the pouch of aged 5100 and packed the pipe. I was savouring the moment as I packed it and checked it. I set it on fire with my lighter and puffed on the pipe to get things going. Once it was burning well I sat back and sipped the smoke. It was quiet even though there were a lot of people on the sidewalks. It is a place that seemed to evoke silence. I looked across at the Manhattan skyline taking in the tall buildings and the textures of the city. As I smoked my pipe it became obvious to me that the setting was a great place for reflection and introspection so I virtually disappeared into the smoke. My wife and the other couple who were with us were out of mind as I savoured this pipe moment. I love it when the pipe and smoke take me for a quiet trip outside of the event to a place deep within my own soul. I find it restful and exhilarating at the same time.

My wife and our friends continued to take pictures and walk around the area while I sat and enjoyed my pipe. I was content to just sit and smoke while I looked up at the statue and out across the water to the gap left by the Twin Towers. The sunshine took a bit of the chill out of the air and warmed me. The warm bowl of tobacco in my hand kept my hands warm as well. What a great place to enjoy a pipe. The day was perfect and the air was clear. The view on the horizon and on the island itself was stellar. It could not get much better.

My reflection led me to thinking long and hard about the freedom that I so often take for granted as a citizen of the west and that I also so easily abandon passively without voicing a complaint or concern. For example, the right to sit and smoke my pipe in public is dramatically changing. It is being taken away piece by piece with precision by the vocal anti-smoking advocates. They have declared their role to act as my conscience and defined my pleasure a vice. They argue emphatically that it should not be allowed for anyone anywhere at any time to smoke in public. In Vancouver, British Columbia, where I live, just a few years ago they made all pubs and public places non-smoking. This was quickly followed by declaring outdoor patios at restaurants and pubs also non-smoking citing safety concerns for wait staff regarding second hand smoke. Soon it became illegal to smoke anywhere near a door or air intake vent, removing most of the places that smokers gathered outside their workplaces. The next blow came last year when they made it illegal to smoke in outdoor public space such as parks and beaches. They cinched the knot even tighter for smokers when they declared it illegal to smoke in a car when there are children present. They are systematically working to make my home city “smoke-free”.

All of this went through my mind as I sat under the shadow of Lady Liberty that morning. My wife says I am being paranoid when I share with her about such things, but I find myself unable to not feel a bit paranoid about them. We tend to suffer from the “frog in the kettle” syndrome. Like the frog in the pan of water on the stove, we do not notice that the heat is gradually being increased and we sit passively while we slowly are being cooked. The gradual erosion of our freedom takes us further into a nanny state that decides what is lawful for us. I find it frustratingly hard to know what to do with this issue. I write and protest but the law marches on. I now personally am employing a more passive aggressive approach and purposefully, publicly smoking my pipe in each place it is not allowed. Hopefully I will get caught and get to speak my mind. Anyway, back to NYC.

It was only I later that I found out that New York City was moving in the same direction. We found no pubs or restaurants that allowed smoking. I am also quite certain that I was breaking some law about smoking a pipe in public when I enjoyed the pipe on Liberty Island. But I savoured the moment knowing that it would probably never happen again for me. I sat on the wall and enjoyed my pipe for probably a half an hour and then continued to puff on it as I wandered around the park taking in the trees that cold, clear and sunny New York morning. It was just about perfect. You know, the amazing thing to me was that no one commented on my pipe. No one expressed either negative or positive sentiments. No one walked by holding their noses or rolling their eyes with disgust at my “filthy” habit and no one commenting on memories of dear ones who used to smoke a pipe in times gone by. It was as if I was invisible to them for the time or maybe I was just oblivious to their responses as I lived in the solitary moment delivered by a good pipe and tobacco to the pipeman whenever he lights the fragrant leaf for a settled bowl.

Memories of that first pipe

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I still remember the day when I first started smoking a pipe. I was 16 years old and had friends who smoked cigarettes all the time. But those never interested me the way a pipe did. I was employed as a waiter at a local hotel and restaurant. Each shift we were given break times where everyone grabbed a drink and a smoke in the hallway away from the customers. Those were the days where employers provided a place for their staff to smoke. It even had a big black ashtray and nice chairs to sit and rest a bit. It was a perfect time and place for a young man to learn to smoke a pipe.

I had a regular customer I waited on who smoked a pipe after each meal I served him. I can see him to this day, pushing back his chair and packing his pipe and then lighting it with a silver Dunhill lighter as I cleared his table. He would sit and enjoy the smoke and order a scotch to complete his dinner. I can still smell the smoke in my memory and the smells were delightful. His pipe smoking brought to mind my uncle Gene and his pipe. I loved my uncle and I loved the smell of his pipe. So the time, the place, the tutors all combined to open the world of pipe smoking for me.

I remember leaving work on my dinner break that evening and driving across the river to a Rexall Drugstore on Shoup and A Street to pick up my first pipe, a lighter and some tobacco. I took my time looking at the pipes on display and chose a nice Medico briar – a matte finish straight Dublin, no shiny flashy pipe for me. I believe that it was actually sandblasted and stained an oxblood colour (it is gone now and how that happened is a story for another time). The lighter was a disposable Bic and the tobacco was Borkum Riff Whiskey Soaked. I carried my new treasures back to the car and sat fondling them for quite awhile before heading back to work.

I served my customer their meals and drinks and waited with growing anticipation for my first break. I would not say I was patient because actually I was not. I wanted to try break out my new pipe and try it now! When the break time finally came I went back to the smoking hallway, opened the packaging of the new pipe and blew air through it and enjoyed the feel and weight of it in my hand and mouth. I peeled the tape off the pouch of Borkum Riff and opened it. I inhaled the fresh smells and felt very “adult”. I stuffed the bowl of the pipe with tobacco to the brim. I had no clue what I was doing and I packed it so tight there was not much draw. But hey, what did I know. I tried to light the thing but could not keep it going. It was like sucking air through a coffee stirrer. I spent most of that break trying to light my new pipe. I ended up not smoking a bowl at all that time around. I emptied the tobacco out and tried it again… still too tight. Break was over, I had not smoked my pipe yet and I was a frustrated.

The later dinner crowd came in and my pipe smoking customer arrived. I served him his meal and he ate a leisurely dinner. He ordered his scotch and while he was waiting pulled out his pipe and a tin of tobacco. My eyes lit up as I watched him. Maybe I could ask him for help; at the very least I could watch how he went about packing his pipe and learn that way. The dinner hour was over and the restaurant was pretty empty. I watched as he loaded his pipe but could no help but politely interrupt him to ask for his help with my new pipe. He took my pipe his hands like it was a precious thing. Looking back I realize how kind he was. He smoked Dunhill pipes and Dunhill tobacco, but he never batted an eye at my “cheap” pipe and drugstore tobacco. He handed it back to me and agreed to help me out. He took out his pipe and had me hold mine then we both packed them at the same time. He had a great teaching method. He had me put the amount of tobacco needed for a bowl on a paper napkin. We each took the same amount of tobacco. Then he showed me how to pack the bowl in thirds with each one packed a bit more firmly. We lit our lighters and we gave it what he called a charring light and then tamped and did a second light. I saw that I needed to pick up a tamper, but even as I thought about it, he reached into his pocket and handed me a pipe nail. He pulled out a chair and had me join him. He told me to suck gently and take my time so as not to singe my tongue. I tried and succeeded in at least smoking the whole bowl with him. Many lights and relights later, my bowl was finished far before his was. I thanked him profusely for teaching me how to pack a pipe. He laughed and encouraged me to keep practicing.

As I cleared his last dinner items away I remember that he winked at me and told me not to drink any alcohol or carbonated beverages as it would cause me a bit of pain. He seemed to know that I had singed my tongue and was suffering a good case of tongue bite. He recommended apple juice or a cup of tea as a soothing drink to ease the discomfort. I thanked him again. I finished my shift for the night and sat down for a second bowl in my pipe. I packed it right this time first try. I fired it up and used his nail to tamp it. It burned my tongue like the dickens. My tongue felt like raw meat. I wanted to lay the pipe down but persevered until the bowl was finished. I may not have been the brightest young pipeman but I was committed. Over the next days I worked with that pipe and practiced smoking slowly. The tongue bite healed and lessened. I was well on the road to being a pipe smoker, not a small feat when you consider what I was smoking!

I have never forgotten that old gentleman who initiated me into the art of being a pipeman. The memory of his kindness is what keeps me passing on the same to other new pipe smokers. I do so with care packages of refurbished pipes and samples of tobacco as well as lessons on how to pack that first bowl. The pipe nail he gifted me is still in my cabinet… I think(I say I “think” because over the years I have handed out dozens of them and may well have given away the original). I continued to smoke that Medico for the next couple of years and it became a well seasoned pipe. I soon added several other pipes to my bag and I was on my way to building a collection. Somehow though, during university years my pipes lay idle. I have no real idea why that was as I look back. There was no real reason for it. Maybe as I think about it something will trigger my memory and later it could be the reason for another story. But I do know that I did not pick them up again until the morning my first daughter was born some seven or eight years later. I have no idea what happened to that old Medico and the other pipes. It may well be sitting in a cupboard in my parents’ house. However, the lessons learned from my old friend made the next time I picked up the pipe much more enjoyable.

Good hunting – estate pipes

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I wrote this about one of my walk about hunts for estate pipes. Thought I would share it here.

It was a beautiful sunny autumn day in Southern Alberta. It was fall, crisp and clear. The fall colours were in full glory. Leaves crunched under foot and swirled on the breeze as I walked down the sidewalks. In the city of Lethbridge, Alberta (city is a bit of overstatement) I sat at the local Tim Horton’s shop (a donut and coffee shop for those who are not Canadians). I sat looking out the window enjoying the morning. A couple of antique shops had caught my eye earlier that morning when I had taken a meandering stroll with a pipe. It was still early and they would not open for awhile yet, so I leisurely sipped my coffee and dreamed of what I might find behind the windows and locked doors of those shops. I had scoped them out with my nose pressed against the glass. I had seen in one of them a pipe rack or two on a shelf near the door. The other was a bit more mysterious and less organized. They both looked hopeful to me. I wondered what treasures I would find once they opened. Would there be some Dunhill’s, some Larson’s, old Comoy’s or GBDs? Always the hunt and the wait are things that leave me budding with optimistic (and I suppose naive) hope that a real treasure would await me. Would I find a new lighter or some tampers to add to the collection at home? It is always fun to travel through the shops in my mind before actually going through the door.

Ahhh. Coffee is finished and the first shop is opening its doors. I am off for the hunt! I go through the door and wind through the shop. I walk down the aisles to eliminate any hidden finds before I check the ones by the door. There is nothing here so far. I know there is a rack or two by the door but I want to finish the back first and then work through that rack. I find some cracked and sad old Grabows, a beat up old Yellow Bowl, some pipe reamers, a few dilapidated pipe cleaners and some old racks that do not grab my attention. I move through the rest of the shop and come on the racks by the door. I work through the pipes in the rack and check out the finds there. There is nothing that grabs me or begs to be taken home jumping from the racks. There are some older Grabows, pretty sad shape. There is an older GBD that is really caked and damaged with a crack bowl and shank. I look at the prices and am amazed at the nerve of a seller to ask the kind of money they want for these poor old fellows. I ask the clerk for the best price and find they are willing to knock off $5. The remaining $25 per pipe mark is still far too pricey for what the pipes are, so I walk away. I leave the shop and head next door to the second shop. It is still closed so I wander down the street wondering if the day is going to be a bust in terms of pipe finds. I visit a couple of used furniture shops and thrift shops and find nothing.

Finally I make my way back to the other antique shop. The door is open and the owner is outside having a smoke. Hmmm, that could be promising maybe there will be something here. At least they are not antis! I wander in and immediately come upon a rack with three pipes. Nothing stunning but very interesting just the same. One is an older SC Pipe, made in Canada by the Paradis Bros. in Montreal. The second one is no name Italian in pretty rough shape and the third is an old Brigham two dot. As I am checking out the stems, shanks, bowls etc. for viability the owner comes up and we strike up a conversation. He asks me what I am doing with old pipes. I tell him of my hobby of cleaning, restoring and smoking the old timers. He is pretty interested. He calls his wife over and asks her whether she remembers where he had put some other pipes from the shop. He asked her if they were here or at their home. She sends him to the back room and I go back to work through the threesome in this rack.

I hear the owner in the back room and shortly he comes out carrying a large bucket of pipes. I feel a wave of excitement move over me as I look at his bucket. I leave the pipe rack and make my way to a table where he puts the bucket and pours out his loot. Wow. There are a lot of pipes there – probably about 50 of them – really an amazing lot. Mostly junk by the looks of the pile but worth the time. This is the joy of the hunt that I so love. To me there is nothing like just digging through old briar, looking at the stampings and shapes, getting a feel for the haul and separating them into piles that demand further attention and those that are disposable. I love the task of digging through the pile of old clutter, dirty pipes, various pieces and stems and bowls and seeing what I can salvage. Sure enough I find quite a few. I am working through the first sort and feeling the excitement rise in me. I put the ones for a third look in a pile and return the rejects to the bucket. These rejects just do not catch my eye or interest. They might have some cracks in the shanks or bowls and just are not worth this cut. The remaining lot is five pipes – a Comoy’s Guildhall pipe, SC Bent egg, a GBD Billiard, a Old Pal pot, a Golden Arrow London Pipe Lumberman made by Comoys. They were filthy and grimy. Grain was relatively invisible. An utter mess, which made me realize that I was probably in for a good deal.

I worked through the five that I had set aside a second time in the light. I wet my finger and highlighted the grain to see what was under the grime. I checked the shanks and rims for char and burn. I looked for gnawing at the mouthpiece and cracks in them as well. I wondered about the prices and what I could get the lot for. I called the owner over. He smiled as he saw my work. His first words were to offer the whole lot. A bucket of pipes for $50 cash would make the bucket mine. I have to tell you, at first the joy of the hunt caught me, I wanted it all – a price of $50, Canadian no less, for the lot had my wallet virtually leaping out of my pocket. I thought about it. Oh the stories that these pipes could tell and that I could make them tell. The mysteries that lay beneath the grime. I wanted them all for sure. Then my more rational and logical side kicked in as I realized I would never get the lot on the airplane and carried home. I envisioned explaining to airport security why I was carrying a bucket of pipes on their plane. It was tough to work through this process. I argued with myself and finally asked the fellow about the price for the five of them. He scratched his scrubby beard (I can say that because I have a long one). He looked at me and asked if I was sure I did not want the lot. I hemmed and hahed then said no and he said the price was $5 each… I quickly settled up before the price changed. I made my way outdoors with my treasures and headed to the airport.

Since then I have had all kinds of thoughts about the ones I left in the bucket. I think of creative ways I could have gotten them home. I thought of shipping them to myself, of bussing them to my home by Greyhound. I even thought of calling my friend in Lethbridge and having him pick them up and ship them to me. But the fact is that the bucket of pipes is still sitting in that little shop in Lethbridge, Alberta. Maybe they will be there the next time I visit. Or maybe one of you will stumble upon the shop there and have the same joy of discovery as you gingerly and excitedly paw through the lot. If you get there and pick up the lot be sure to let us know…. some of us are interested!

Chillin with a pipe

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This is another piece I wrote. It was born during a stressful time in my life. The pipe is a necessary piece of the solace I find in times like this.

Over the past days I have had multiple reasons to reflect on the necessity of just “chillin”, stopping and not allowing the franticness of others and the problems that they so often seem to put on me get the best of me. I am reminded of the importance of just taking time to pick up my pipe and relax. Too often these days it seems to me, I let others move or manipulate me with their urgency, to get frustrated or anxious, or angry; to take up defence or offense and speak out; to get sucked into the schemes or plans whose ends are somehow assumed to be hidden. It is in those moments that I remember why I am a pipe smoker.

I take out my pouch or tin; quietly and slowly load a bowl. I say slowly because you cannot do it quickly and get it done well. You have to work a nice knot of tobacco into the bowl in such a way as to enable a good burn. Even that process slows the pace and makes you breathe a bit more slowly. I take a deep breath and slowly inhale, letting the magic of the moment, the stuffing of the bowl, the feel or look of the pipe in hand, the feel of tobacco whatever its cut, its unlit smell, the pungency of a good Virginia pouring out of the tin, just take over. My breathing becomes more relaxed and measured, my vision and thoughts more focused as I pack the bowl of the pipe I have picked from my rack.

I don’t understand how, but it is a fact that the issues and troubles come into perspective as I quietly work over them a bit removed from their urgency. I am able by the pipe, to slowly turn them in my mind instead of just reacting in knee jerk fashion. Ahhh, the wonder of the reflective time taken in packing a bowl, the anticipation of the smoke and then finally the smoke itself. From the strike of the first match and the initial flame that passes over the tobacco, from the feel of the first rush of flavour in my mouth and on my tongue to seeing the gentle smoke blow across the porch or room, I can step away for a brief respite from whatever others put on me or whatever I choose to take on and remember that it too will pass. Things really are all right with my world.

When I forget this magic of my pipe, I am quickly and thoughtlessly sucked into the urgency of others complaints and concerns. I cease to be any help at all as their issues rapidly escalate into my own. A long time ago on the streets I learned from an old friend a piece of wisdom that too readily slips away. He said something like this: “I like helping folks with problems, so in the course of our relationship if ever I allow your issues, problems or concerns to become mine, I can no longer help you — because now you don’t have a problem anymore…. it is now mine.”

For me the pipe gives me the freedom to keep remembering the wisdom of my old friend. As I light my bowl I am given the space to keep my distance from issues and not personalize them. When I do this I am given the rare privilege of standing apart from the problem or issue of my life and viewing it as a casual observer for a bit. I get to take time to mull over thoughts with a pipe and bowl. I can be thoughtful and less prone to jump to conclusions and take offence. That is the wonder of the pipe for me. It is a means of separating myself from my life and its constant influences and turbulence. It creates a zone of space where I can turn things over slowly in my head and look at it dispassionately just for a bit… perhaps as it has happened many times in the past, a solution will walk out of the smoke for me. Time for a bowl… cheers

Why I Buy Old Estate Pipes

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Blog by Steve Laug

For some the idea of putting someone else’s pipe in their mouth is repugnant and therefore something they would never do. For others the building of their own story around a specific pipe is what keeps them from buying previously owned pipes. For me both of those thoughts do not negate the pleasure I get from estate pipes.

I too enjoy buying a new pipe and then choosing the tobacco to christen it with as I work on my own story with this pipe. Though some do not like the process of breaking in a pipe, I find that I like the virgin first smoke in a new piece of briar. I love building the stories of when and how and with whom I smoked the pipe. I love thinking through why I purchased this one pipe and what it was that drew me to it. I enjoy the process of working with the carver or artisan as the pipe is born. The events and the place add dimensions to the smoke for me. It is not just a disconnected piece of wood for me. It comes dressed in a story.

The same can be said of an estate pipe. The reason I buy estates is not just for the good deal on old briar but because of the stories that are associated with them. As I smoke this pipe after it is cleaned the place and the time I found the old pipe is a part of the thinking in my mind. I remember what it was that drew me to it and where I was when I bought it. I remember who was with me and what we were doing. I always try to research as much information and the story attached to the pipe as I can. That information may be merely some data on a previous owner, or maybe just a time period. But sometimes I get the full blown story from the seller. I find out who used to own it and what they were like. I find out their tobacco likes and dislikes, not only form the story but from the ghosts in the old pipe. I can tell a lot about the pipe by the state it is in when I bought it. If it tarred and thickly caked and the stem is discoloured and has few bite marks I can see that the previous owner loved this pipe and obviously it smoked well enough to make them keep coming back to it. Often there is a bit of tobacco still in the bowl as if the person laid it down for a moment and never got back to it – kind of like I do sometimes when I get called away after just loading a pipe. There is much more that can be learned just by looking at the pipe as you handle it and clean it.

When I have exhausted the information that is available to me through the seller and through my observations I am still not finished with the story of the estate pipe in my hands. Then I use my imagination to help me put the pipe in its time and in the hands of the person who bought it. I picture their smoke as they pack the pipe with the chosen tobacco. I picture the setting of the smoke and even try to imagine what they were thinking when they chose the pipe for the first time in the shop. I know this is esoteric stuff but it is the stuff of a good story for me. It adds colour to the object in my hand. After all, this pipe comes to me with a history and to some degree I want to honour that history and enjoy it in the process.

To this data, real and imagined, this story I add my own new stories. I join a line of folks who have held this pipe and cherished it over the years. I know full well and appreciate that someone will follow me in that line and add their own stories to the ongoing life of this briar. As it has outlived its first owner I know it will outlive me. I wish at times that the old pipe could talk and tell me the stories it knows and holds. I wish it could speak of the quiet conversations with its previous owner. I wish that I could travel back and have a smoke with the previous owner and listen to their full stories. I wish also that I could jump ahead and give that info to the person who gets the pipe from me. All of that contributes to the joy of the old pipe for me. The hunt for the perfect estate pipe is good. The restoration and resurrection of old briar is good. The rekindling of fire to the tobacco in the old bowl is good. The patina and feel of old wood is good. But it is the story of the pipe, the mystery and the history that grabs me and keeps me on the hunt.

As I close these thoughts I want to use one of my finds, one of the old ones I got on the hunt. It is an Altesse Genuine Briar (with a real amber stem). I know the pipe comes from the era of the 30’s. It rests in a snake skin case that is in pretty good shape. The pipe bowl is out of round yet the overall care taken of this pipe speaks a wealth to me. Its previous owner loved this pipe. It is well smoked and well cared for. When I bought it from the antique dealer it still had a bowl load of tobacco in it. It was unsmoked tobacco so I imagine the owner loaded the bowl and somehow never got back to it. His heirs sold the pipe to a traveling antique dealer who sold it to the one I bought it from. Nowhere in the process did the bowl get dumped. It was hardened and dried out tobacco to be sure… but what must have happened to that old fellow who cherished this pipe that he did not light that bowl?? The thought of it makes me wonder. So when I cleaned it up and reloaded the bowl I raised it in his honour and said cheers old fellow. Here’s to the bowl you did not get to finish!! Enjoy the smell of your pipe as the smoke wafts your direction.

…. I know this sounds cheesy but hey… cheesy is my prerogative! Just an example of what draws me to preowned briar! Here’s to your pipes! Cheers