K
klause
Guest
So, Monday there was a knock on the door, and, after the usual scuffle with two postman hating mutts, I was handed a package, plus insurance renewal notice. Notice went on the fire, as I considered who the heck was sending me a package - I wasn't expecting anything. Obviously, the solution was to open it and find out. So, I put it down and mooched off to the kitchen to make a pot of tea and plan the days activities.
A little while later, I returned to the parcel and opened it. BAM!!!! My Briar Spirit pipe had arrived. I wasn't expecting it as the post here makes a slow boat to china look like a rocket express. I was pencilling in sometime next week for holding this pipe.
Inside was a note from the creator (cheers, Kirk), and a magnificent piece of briar. I carefully lifted it out of the box and walked over to the window (eyesight not what it used to be - damnit).
I slowly sucked air through my teeth as I examined this object, slowly rotating it in my hands, looking at it from every angle. This thing is BIG. My hands are big, but looked like children's wrapped around this pipe. It is huge. But, perfectly proportioned.
The stain is dark, which really suits the size and shape. Not usually my preference, but on this pipe it is so right - nothing else would work. It doesn't hide the grain, but allows it to show through, and what grain - magnificent straight grain at the front of the bowl. How do you do that, Kirk? Such a dark stain that has a deep lustrousness, through which you can see every bit of the wood beneath? No flaws, no pits, no fills, just beautiful wood, with drop dead gorgeous plateaux.
It feels so good in the hand, and fits so comfortably in my paw, either paw. It's just right, a pipe made for holding, for feeling in the hand, for fondling as you smoke. And, just as well,because this is not a pipe to clench, unless you have the teeth and jaw of a medieval war horse. This would upset your equilibrium and see you planting your face in the ground in front of you if you tried to clench. But, that's not the way I roll. I sit. I ponder. I sip the pipe, I hold the pipe. I examine the pipe. I ponder some more. And this is the pipe to do that with.
If I were to try to clench I would be biting on the most beautiful stem I have seen on a pipe, ever. Period. The stem seems to grow out of the shank. It flows naturally and perfectly, and bends gracefully to the perfect sipping position for holding the pipe in hand. The joint at shank and stem could be something mentioned in a Tolkien book as having been created by elves, or the dwarfs of Moria. There is no visible crack, or joint to feel, so smooth is the transition, so perfectly is the stem fitted and shaped to the pipe. The only way to tell where this thing joins the briar is by the line visible through the stem. But even this is a pleasure to behold, as it seems that the darkness of the briar is turning to a plume of dark smoke and twisting it's wispy way along the stem. Hold it to the light and it's like looking at a magical marble in the school playground many decades ago, and wondering how they did this.........all leading to the button. And, it is a manly button, but feels so right. And the draw through that button and stem is so free, so sweet, like breathing deep after flinging the windows open on a fresh spring morning. This is no delicate stem. This is a stem that could be used as a handle as you swing the pipe to subdue small mammals, before resuming the smoke with no ill effects to the pipe or stem. But it is a thing of beauty in its wide sweeping grace. It is the big, graceful heavyweight boxer to the lithe Russian gymnast that is a lesser, more delicate pipe like some of my Celius Fantasies. This is not a criticism, this is as it should be.
So much for the externals, but what of the chamber, where the action is going to happen? Narrow, deep, and perfectly straight, going deep, deep into the briar. I have to angle the pipe in the light of the window to see the bottom, and make out the draft hole. There it is - perfectly centred, dead bottom of the chamber. My smile just gets broader and broader.
I have only one other pipe with a chamber like this and that is BSP-NP5. The chamber is very, very narrow, and very, very deep, and is surrounded by great mountainous walls of briar at least an inch thick. This chamber whispers to me, enticingly, like a siren to a sailor. And, the whispers are telling me that the only thing it will accept are a cube cut navy flake, a p&c superior navy flake (bless you Kevin, bless you). I rarely, rarely, rarely smoke cube cut - just doesn't work for me. But in this instance, I just did not feel like there was any other option, that I had a choice, that the pipe would allow it.
As you can see I was being transported by this pipe, just looking at it. If I was lifted and carried by holding and looking, I was fired into the stratosphere when I lit up!!!
I balled a little flake and popped it into the bottom of the bowl, then trickled in some finely cut, small cubes, topping off with some rubbed out leftovers. No tamping, not tapping. Just let it be. Charring light - draw was wide open (as I like), and pack was very loose (as I like). Let it sit. Second charring light. It wanted to take, but I let it sit. Let the cubes settle. Admire my pipe.
True light. And I'm off. I think I said by first BSP pipe smoked itself. Well, this one taught that one how to smoke. This pipe just smokes, delivers a beautiful stream of smoke effortlessly. A broad dense stream of smoke through that beautiful big stem. It smokes and smokes. I relight 3 times - relights are not a bother, I'll do as many as it takes - and before I know it I am 1.5 hours into this stunning smoke. This is THE flake pipe. Bloody hell, this is THE pipe. If Plato was to live today and expound his theory of the forms, then this pipe would be the Form of all pipes. I'm in raptures.
I'll be honest, I didn't think this pipe would live up to my first BSP pipe - how could it? No one can create perfection twice, right? So I look for faults. And I find them.
First, I'm looking into the chamber, peering deep down into that bowl, and all I see is ash, and I think that that's it, it's over, that's all the tobacco burnt. 1.5 hours, wonderful. So I start to poke about with the tamper to loosen it all up, ready for dumping. But, hold on. What's this? More baccy? Ok, fair enough - relight. Smoke. Relight again. Damn! Is this ever going to end. This pipe will not let you go - when you think your done, it reveals more tobacco. This chamber is deceptive. It is deep, really deep. Is this really a fault? Maybe not. Well, no, it's not. It's just so unexpected. 2 hours from a narrow chambered pipe. A never ending smoke. A pipe that never runs out of baccy. When I did empty the ash, there was a huge lump of baccy still in the bottom. So, I have to make sure I have a whole morning or afternoon free to sit down with this pipe. Maybe that is a drawback, or, maybe this is a gift from Kirk - I will make time to smoke this - I will create more free time for me and this pipe. I will be more careful to smoke ALL the tobacco.
Another problem that arose, and this is very disconcerting, is how my view of smoking, and pipes was challenged in that 2 hours. After 30 years I thought I knew what a good pipe was, what a good smoke was. I thought I had a handle on the good smoker/artisan/big name carver/reputation/size/shape/etc mine field. Well, not anymore - any certainty I had has been blown out of the water. A man, in a shed, with files and sandpaper, freezing his nuts off crafting a pipe, pouring his heart and soul into his work, has changed my smoking world. And this leads me to problem 3 with this pipe.
While smoking I always play the 'what if.........what would you take........had to leave behind....,' game. Usually it's,'if you were shot into space and could only take one album to last you the rest of your life, what would it be?' (Answer: wish you were here - Pink Floyd, or, Misplaced Childhood - Marillion, or , or, or, and so it goes). I also play, 'if there was a fire and you could only save 1, maybe 2 or 3 pipes, what would they be?'
I thought it would be my old pipes, or my big name pipes, or my beautifully grained pipes, my Meers, my humble pipes, heck, whatever pipe is close to hand.
Now? My BSP pipes. No hesitation, no doubt, no contest. These things have changed my view of what a good smoke is - what a good pipe is - what a great pipe is. It's not a pipe created by chasing the grain - it's not a pipe created with lots of little embellishments - with fancy stems, or outlandish shaping - it's not a pipe created to be put on a plinth. It's a pipe where form and function fuse seamlessly and perfectly to provide the perfect aesthetic, and the perfect smoke. It's a pipe that makes you want to carry it around with you - to not put it down - to have it constantly about you - to smoke at every opportunity - to sit and admire - to study - but, most of all to smoke, and smoke, and smoke, and while doing so thinking about all the years to come when this will be the pipe that you will reach for above all others, that you will watch age and develop, that will grow old and shabby with you, that you will call 'Friend'.
That's this pipe.
I have many, many pipes. None do I think of in this way - never really have. Now, I'm thinking about if I really need them all. Maybe I've stumbled on that magic that my elders knew - the magic that made them reach for The One pipe time after time. The magic that negated the need for a 'collection'.
Damnit, Kirk!!!!! What have you done to me?
Kirk does not consider himself an Artist. I disagree. Many lauded as artists, artisans, knock out their wares with an ease that, maybe, belies their talent. Maybe not. But, Kirk puts his soul into his work - he labours long and hard - he looks at the wood until he is inspired - he releases from the wood what is hidden within - he does not bend it to his will..........he creates, by releasing, by freeing what is there, that which no-one but he can see. Others impose their vision. Not Kirk. He labours for his art, he lives it, he struggles to bring it to fruition. His work is appreciated by many, many people. Hallmarks/traits of an artist? Struggles of the true artist?
Kirk, you ARE an artist, you are a gifted individual, and your gift is something that you can share, and use to bring pleasure and joy to those who you bestow it upon. I'm one of the fortunates, so I am qualified to speak.
This pipe is nothing short of astounding. If I ever have to make that choice, and god forbid I do, your pipes will be coming with me - I'm looking at them on the mantlepiece now - beautiful - and the rest I will mourn and miss, until I light up some fine tobacco in your pipe. Then they will be consigned to distant and fond memories, and the joy of smoke and a truly good pipe will elevate my soul.
If you don't have a BSP, get one! 'Nuff said.
A little while later, I returned to the parcel and opened it. BAM!!!! My Briar Spirit pipe had arrived. I wasn't expecting it as the post here makes a slow boat to china look like a rocket express. I was pencilling in sometime next week for holding this pipe.
Inside was a note from the creator (cheers, Kirk), and a magnificent piece of briar. I carefully lifted it out of the box and walked over to the window (eyesight not what it used to be - damnit).
I slowly sucked air through my teeth as I examined this object, slowly rotating it in my hands, looking at it from every angle. This thing is BIG. My hands are big, but looked like children's wrapped around this pipe. It is huge. But, perfectly proportioned.
The stain is dark, which really suits the size and shape. Not usually my preference, but on this pipe it is so right - nothing else would work. It doesn't hide the grain, but allows it to show through, and what grain - magnificent straight grain at the front of the bowl. How do you do that, Kirk? Such a dark stain that has a deep lustrousness, through which you can see every bit of the wood beneath? No flaws, no pits, no fills, just beautiful wood, with drop dead gorgeous plateaux.
It feels so good in the hand, and fits so comfortably in my paw, either paw. It's just right, a pipe made for holding, for feeling in the hand, for fondling as you smoke. And, just as well,because this is not a pipe to clench, unless you have the teeth and jaw of a medieval war horse. This would upset your equilibrium and see you planting your face in the ground in front of you if you tried to clench. But, that's not the way I roll. I sit. I ponder. I sip the pipe, I hold the pipe. I examine the pipe. I ponder some more. And this is the pipe to do that with.
If I were to try to clench I would be biting on the most beautiful stem I have seen on a pipe, ever. Period. The stem seems to grow out of the shank. It flows naturally and perfectly, and bends gracefully to the perfect sipping position for holding the pipe in hand. The joint at shank and stem could be something mentioned in a Tolkien book as having been created by elves, or the dwarfs of Moria. There is no visible crack, or joint to feel, so smooth is the transition, so perfectly is the stem fitted and shaped to the pipe. The only way to tell where this thing joins the briar is by the line visible through the stem. But even this is a pleasure to behold, as it seems that the darkness of the briar is turning to a plume of dark smoke and twisting it's wispy way along the stem. Hold it to the light and it's like looking at a magical marble in the school playground many decades ago, and wondering how they did this.........all leading to the button. And, it is a manly button, but feels so right. And the draw through that button and stem is so free, so sweet, like breathing deep after flinging the windows open on a fresh spring morning. This is no delicate stem. This is a stem that could be used as a handle as you swing the pipe to subdue small mammals, before resuming the smoke with no ill effects to the pipe or stem. But it is a thing of beauty in its wide sweeping grace. It is the big, graceful heavyweight boxer to the lithe Russian gymnast that is a lesser, more delicate pipe like some of my Celius Fantasies. This is not a criticism, this is as it should be.
So much for the externals, but what of the chamber, where the action is going to happen? Narrow, deep, and perfectly straight, going deep, deep into the briar. I have to angle the pipe in the light of the window to see the bottom, and make out the draft hole. There it is - perfectly centred, dead bottom of the chamber. My smile just gets broader and broader.
I have only one other pipe with a chamber like this and that is BSP-NP5. The chamber is very, very narrow, and very, very deep, and is surrounded by great mountainous walls of briar at least an inch thick. This chamber whispers to me, enticingly, like a siren to a sailor. And, the whispers are telling me that the only thing it will accept are a cube cut navy flake, a p&c superior navy flake (bless you Kevin, bless you). I rarely, rarely, rarely smoke cube cut - just doesn't work for me. But in this instance, I just did not feel like there was any other option, that I had a choice, that the pipe would allow it.
As you can see I was being transported by this pipe, just looking at it. If I was lifted and carried by holding and looking, I was fired into the stratosphere when I lit up!!!
I balled a little flake and popped it into the bottom of the bowl, then trickled in some finely cut, small cubes, topping off with some rubbed out leftovers. No tamping, not tapping. Just let it be. Charring light - draw was wide open (as I like), and pack was very loose (as I like). Let it sit. Second charring light. It wanted to take, but I let it sit. Let the cubes settle. Admire my pipe.
True light. And I'm off. I think I said by first BSP pipe smoked itself. Well, this one taught that one how to smoke. This pipe just smokes, delivers a beautiful stream of smoke effortlessly. A broad dense stream of smoke through that beautiful big stem. It smokes and smokes. I relight 3 times - relights are not a bother, I'll do as many as it takes - and before I know it I am 1.5 hours into this stunning smoke. This is THE flake pipe. Bloody hell, this is THE pipe. If Plato was to live today and expound his theory of the forms, then this pipe would be the Form of all pipes. I'm in raptures.
I'll be honest, I didn't think this pipe would live up to my first BSP pipe - how could it? No one can create perfection twice, right? So I look for faults. And I find them.
First, I'm looking into the chamber, peering deep down into that bowl, and all I see is ash, and I think that that's it, it's over, that's all the tobacco burnt. 1.5 hours, wonderful. So I start to poke about with the tamper to loosen it all up, ready for dumping. But, hold on. What's this? More baccy? Ok, fair enough - relight. Smoke. Relight again. Damn! Is this ever going to end. This pipe will not let you go - when you think your done, it reveals more tobacco. This chamber is deceptive. It is deep, really deep. Is this really a fault? Maybe not. Well, no, it's not. It's just so unexpected. 2 hours from a narrow chambered pipe. A never ending smoke. A pipe that never runs out of baccy. When I did empty the ash, there was a huge lump of baccy still in the bottom. So, I have to make sure I have a whole morning or afternoon free to sit down with this pipe. Maybe that is a drawback, or, maybe this is a gift from Kirk - I will make time to smoke this - I will create more free time for me and this pipe. I will be more careful to smoke ALL the tobacco.
Another problem that arose, and this is very disconcerting, is how my view of smoking, and pipes was challenged in that 2 hours. After 30 years I thought I knew what a good pipe was, what a good smoke was. I thought I had a handle on the good smoker/artisan/big name carver/reputation/size/shape/etc mine field. Well, not anymore - any certainty I had has been blown out of the water. A man, in a shed, with files and sandpaper, freezing his nuts off crafting a pipe, pouring his heart and soul into his work, has changed my smoking world. And this leads me to problem 3 with this pipe.
While smoking I always play the 'what if.........what would you take........had to leave behind....,' game. Usually it's,'if you were shot into space and could only take one album to last you the rest of your life, what would it be?' (Answer: wish you were here - Pink Floyd, or, Misplaced Childhood - Marillion, or , or, or, and so it goes). I also play, 'if there was a fire and you could only save 1, maybe 2 or 3 pipes, what would they be?'
I thought it would be my old pipes, or my big name pipes, or my beautifully grained pipes, my Meers, my humble pipes, heck, whatever pipe is close to hand.
Now? My BSP pipes. No hesitation, no doubt, no contest. These things have changed my view of what a good smoke is - what a good pipe is - what a great pipe is. It's not a pipe created by chasing the grain - it's not a pipe created with lots of little embellishments - with fancy stems, or outlandish shaping - it's not a pipe created to be put on a plinth. It's a pipe where form and function fuse seamlessly and perfectly to provide the perfect aesthetic, and the perfect smoke. It's a pipe that makes you want to carry it around with you - to not put it down - to have it constantly about you - to smoke at every opportunity - to sit and admire - to study - but, most of all to smoke, and smoke, and smoke, and while doing so thinking about all the years to come when this will be the pipe that you will reach for above all others, that you will watch age and develop, that will grow old and shabby with you, that you will call 'Friend'.
That's this pipe.
I have many, many pipes. None do I think of in this way - never really have. Now, I'm thinking about if I really need them all. Maybe I've stumbled on that magic that my elders knew - the magic that made them reach for The One pipe time after time. The magic that negated the need for a 'collection'.
Damnit, Kirk!!!!! What have you done to me?
Kirk does not consider himself an Artist. I disagree. Many lauded as artists, artisans, knock out their wares with an ease that, maybe, belies their talent. Maybe not. But, Kirk puts his soul into his work - he labours long and hard - he looks at the wood until he is inspired - he releases from the wood what is hidden within - he does not bend it to his will..........he creates, by releasing, by freeing what is there, that which no-one but he can see. Others impose their vision. Not Kirk. He labours for his art, he lives it, he struggles to bring it to fruition. His work is appreciated by many, many people. Hallmarks/traits of an artist? Struggles of the true artist?
Kirk, you ARE an artist, you are a gifted individual, and your gift is something that you can share, and use to bring pleasure and joy to those who you bestow it upon. I'm one of the fortunates, so I am qualified to speak.
This pipe is nothing short of astounding. If I ever have to make that choice, and god forbid I do, your pipes will be coming with me - I'm looking at them on the mantlepiece now - beautiful - and the rest I will mourn and miss, until I light up some fine tobacco in your pipe. Then they will be consigned to distant and fond memories, and the joy of smoke and a truly good pipe will elevate my soul.
If you don't have a BSP, get one! 'Nuff said.
