Isarn Project

Some friends and I have been planning a collaborative project for some time now, and it is finally time to put pen to paper and begin the first steps towards a unique journey through cultural history. The idea is to all create pieces of a culture using traditional craftsmanship, starting with a map (that I will draw), and then forge/craft pieces of the heritage relating to that region such as axes, tool chests, locks, knives, etc. I will be doing the maps all by hand with quill and ink on either parchment or hand made paper. Having never mapped with a quill before, I thought I would take the time to practise before doing anything really time consuming and meant for distribution. Although the ink I used was supposed to be waterproof, it was not, so the sealing of the paper resulted in quite a bit of smearing, so I will be getting a different type next time.

This began, as I usually do, with a general, low detail pencil drawing to work out what it will look like and make any small adjustments before using the ink.

The elder futhark runes simply read 'Isarn Project' spelled phonetically, as would have been done back in that Age.

Being left handed makes me take much more caution and consideration to what I am doing, an more than once I lost sight of how long it takes ink to dry. Fortunately, the smudges were in places where I could mostly hide them behind fresh ink.

The level of detail possible with a quill is astounding, although it is difficult at times to prevent lines from bleeding together or drawing excess ink out through surface tension.

My goal with this piece was not necessarily to make a map, but to survey all the different elements I use in cartography and see the differences between the techniques I used in the past and how they changed with a quill in hand.

Because it takes so long for the ink to dry and I do not have a sand jar (yet), I had to draw this over the course of several days, taking sections at a time and working right to left so as to avoid destroying everything I just drew.

Some things, like mountains and the shoreline are easier with a quill, while others, like forests and cities/buildings are far more difficult. This has certainly been a learning process, there is no doubt about that.

Contrary to most popular literature, there is a very low risk of errant droplets or splatters landing on the paper. Perhaps with a cut feather quill it would be different, but this steel nib from Italy when my folks travelled there a few months back is very clean and smooth.

In the trees is where the lines were most likely to bleed together. When dipping the quill back into the ink, the first few strokes are much thicker, and as a result the tiny circle tree shapes close into black dots unless extreme care is taken to avoid drawing lines next to each other for a few seconds.

And finally the finished piece. This is before the paper was sealed. Nothing spectacular, but an eye opening experience.

Despite the claims that this ink was waterproof and permanent, it was obviously not. Most notably along the left coastline and trees, the ink began to bleed and smear. It is, unfortunately, one of those learning points that comes when it is too late to do anything about it. I will be replacing my generic ink that I found in the attic a few months back with India ink, which I trust well above this to perform and dry permanently.

Quick and Dirty Serving Jig

Back when I made my first bowstring, I also made a serving jig. For those of you who do not know what that is, serving is the thin thread that 'serves' the string, protecting it from wear where the arrow nocks and where the string would hit an arm guard. The jig that spins the serving around the string is quite simple in principle, and for some reason sells for around $20.00. Aside from not wanting to wait and pay for shipping, that is absurd to me (and it should be to you, too).

To make your own, all you need are the following: a piece of scrap sheet metal, mine was brass and about 12cm x 2cm x 16 gauge. Anything will do, as long as you can hammer it and it is not unreasonable (use your judgement); a bolt a little longer than your serving spool and slightly smaller diameter; a matching nut; and two washers (not critical).

Find the centre of the rectangle of sheet metal and hammer a ridge across the width of it. This will be where the bowstring sits while you serve the string. I did this by clamping a chisel in a vice and hammering on either side of the tip, but you can place the metal on a piece of wood and hammer it in with an old flathead screwdriver. Next, find the centre of the ~2cm width inside the newly hammered ridgeline and punch a hole through it with a nail or screw, making sure to go through the INSIDE of the trough. If you are confused, look at the above picture. The divot goes towards the inside of the ] shape, and the hole started on the outside. The reason for this is, unless you spend a lot of time filing down and sanding the shavings on the back side of the hole, it will rip your bowstring apart.

Now measure the length of your spool and find the centre of that. Use that distance and bend a right angle on the sheet metal on either side of the centreline and hole, as shown above. Finish off the jig by punching two more holes, one in each end. I rounded off the ends of my jig purely for aesthetics. Make sure the new holes are large enough for the bold to slide through.

Insert the spool in the jig and slide the bolt through both holes and the shaft of the spool. I used a wingnut because it gives me more control. Tighten down the bold just enough that the weight of the jig does not allow the string to unwind when you hold it by the loose end. If it was not obvious already, you put the end of the string through the hole in the divot you hammered in earlier. This keeps the string in the same place where it meets the bowstring.

For more on the use of the serving jig, check out the tutorial on a simple bowstring.

Backpacking in the Adirondacks

There exists in the world a lure that cannot be satisfied by the ways of technology, which must be seen from the wilds of nature and heard through the depths of tranquillity, vice the emptiness remains. Along the open road this journey began into the High Peaks of the Adirondack Mountains. Two days of backpacking through the forests and peaks to the summit of Mount Marcy and back around the valleys beyond awaited with the mist of a cool morning.

The five of us standing outside the Marcy Dam with a clear view to the distant peak we were about to climb.

There is something about the mountain lakes and verdant foliage covering the slopes that, however many times I see it, never fails to hold my captivation. The feeling of standing there was surreal, and even many hours gone does not cease to hold that feeling.

Midway to the summit, the Indian Falls sit atop a massive slab of rock with a view of Algonquin Mountain in the middle flanked by its sister peaks.

All over the mountainside, these purple flowers grow by their lonesome or in clusters, standing out against the greens and yellows and browns with their vibrant hue.

On the trail to the summit, cairns mark the path built by hikers over the years. Piles of rock, there is something inexplicable about them that portrays the utterly placid stature of the mountains and the harmonic balance between man and nature. For decades, they will stand to endure the wind and rain without toppling, and when that day comes, someone will begin to rebuild them to be larger and stronger than before. Both a physical and symbolic guide from the past generations to the new of what challenges await.

Thus marks the summit of Mt. Marcy. Scores of peaks outline the horizon through the summoning clouds of an afternoon thunderstorm, none of which climb to her heights. Of the 46 High Peaks, Mt. Marcy is the highest, and provides a breathtaking view in every direction of the rolling valleys and lush forests.

Well above the treeline, only grasses and lichen grow at the summit.

Lake Tear of the Clouds is, in a basin on the slopes of Marcy, the highest altitude lake in the state of New York. Fed by the cool mountain streams, it is a welcome solace from the steep, rocky descent.

Moss carvings on a river rock

Along a lower lakefront, boardwalks and stairways guide the trail through the rocks towards Avalanche Pass, a sharp crack in the mountains where the land fell away long ago.

At the river crossings, the forests give way to pillars of balancing rocks, like smaller cairns with an equal tranquillity to their stature. Through over 5,000 feet of elevation gain and three hours of pouring rain in the evening, a dinner of rice, lake water and various meats cooked in the rain, and one of the most spectacular two days of scenery I have ever seen, Mount Marcy was my first of the 46 High Peaks, and will certainly not be the last.