True Grit

The Duke

Roman Vishniac once said, "Everything made by human hands looks terrible under magnification--crude, rough, and asymmetrical."  He was right.  Perfection is a tireless pursuit and can often distract one from the big picture.  I suppose the last 2 months of my project mirrors this sentiment.


Once my beams were in place, I knew I'd need to "touch them up a bit" to get rid of some of the milling defects before applying any finish.  By "milling defects," I am referring to the occasional imperfections that result from the lumber mill's saws and other machinery used to produce lumber to specified dimensions.  Typically, orders like mine that specify exact dimensions (referred to as "net" sizing in the lumber industry) are achieved first by cutting the wood to its approximate specified dimension (a process known as "rough sawing").  The rough surface yielded by this process is often produced by wood fibers being torn apart by the action of the saw rather than actually being "cut," per se, by the blade's sharp surface.   The result is--not surprisingly--a rough and rustic look:

Rough-sawn timbers

Generally speaking, rough-sawn timbers can look beautiful--it all depends on the look you're chasing.  It also (in my opinion) matters how close the beams will be in relation to a room's occupants.  The closer you get to a rough-sawn timber, the more obvious milling defects become:

Notice in the above close up the vertical lines left by the mill's saw.  Also, notice the variation in color...to the touch, this surface will also feel very uneven.

Initially, I had planned to leave my timber's rough-sawn...but as I inspected them closer, I not only noticed some of the aforementioned defects, but I also found several beams had additional defects from the planing process used to bring the lumber to its exact specified dimensions.  Basically, when someone orders "net" sizing like I did, the lumber is first rough-sawn as previously described...it is then kiln dried--a process that removes moisture from the wood and results in shrinkage.  After being kiln dried, the wood is then sent through a large planer that takes off 1/8th of an inch or so to bring the wood as close to the specified dimensions as possible.  Often the planing process leaves additional defects in the wood:

Planer defects

Some people refer to these vertical lines as "planer ripple."  Others call it "planer snipe."  Me?  I call it unacceptable.  Sorry for being picky, folks, but I'll be damned if I am going to spend all this money and time on this project only to have to stare at milling defects every time I look up at the ceiling.  Moreover, these milling defects will be even more evident once I apply a finish to the beams...so once i noticed this I knew I  had one option:  bust out the sandpaper.

In my niavete, I thought I could get away with a quick, light sanding using a 120 grit sandpaper and my random orbital sander.  I clearly recall thinking "I should be able to knock out all these beams in 4 or 5 hours and get on with the next step of my project."  Boy, was I mistaken.  After a solid 12 hours of sanding (spread across several weekends), I was only finished with 3 beams.  Perhaps even more disheartening was the fact that the beams I had sanded looked like crap...the surfaces were uneven and I could still see the planer ripple in many areas.  I finally came to terms with the fact that I was going to have to follow the single most important rule of sanding:

Rule #1 of sanding

It's very simple:  first, Set The Surface.  Then, Sand The Sequence.  By "set the surface," I mean that your first pass over a piece should remove all the natural and man-made irregularities from the wood's surface.  Basically, at this point you have "set the surface" upon which all subsequent grits will be applied.  The number and severity of defects determines what initial grit of sandpaper is necessary to get the surface even (usually, 80 grit).  In the case of my beams, I had to start with a 40 grit sandpaper...which is insanely coarse.  Once you free the surface of natural and manufactured defects, every subsequent grit is used to remove the scratch marks left by the previous grit.  To effectively accomplish this, you have to advance through the grits in a sequential fashion...i.e. 40 grit --> 60 grit --> 80 grit, etc, etc, etc (hence, "Sand the sequence"). If you skip grits, you end up leaving scratches on the wood's surface that become painfully evident after finish is applied.  It is also terribly inefficient to skip grits because the higher grit to which you skipped usually is not abrasive enough to remove the scratches left by the previous grit--resulting in wasted time, effort, and sandpaper.  So in essence, there are no shortcuts.

Realizing there was no way around this...I knew I was in for some serious karate kid-style sanding...although something told me I wouldn't be any better at karate when it was all said and done. 
 

Perhaps even more daunting was the fact that all of this sanding would have to be done while standing on a step ladder and holding a sander over my head...not the most ergonomic of work environments.  To accomplish this feat, I relied upon 3 different types of sanders: a belt sander (used with 40 grit paper), a half sheet sander (used with 60, 80, and 100 grits), and a random orbital sander (used for 120 grit).

"The Three Musketeers"

As you can see from the images below, sanding the sequence payed huge dividends...the milling defects were all successfully removed and, in my opinion, the wood's true beauty was revealed.

Unfortunately, these photos I took with my cell phone don't do justice to the sanded surfaces.  In person, the surface is beautiful...but in truth, this beauty came at a cost.  Namely, I killed one belt sander and one random orbit sander in the process, went through countless sheets of sandpaper, and spent a disgusting amount of time on this phase of my project...here's a hint at just how many hours I spent sanding:

76 hours of sanding logged

Yup, I logged a staggering 76 hours on a ladder with a sander over my head.  To say my shoulders and back were barking when it was all over would be a gross understatement.  Let's just say that at the end of all this sanding, I could have definitely used some Mr. Miyagi-style healing:

So where did I find the time you ask?  Well, for the first 6 or so weeks I sanded during my daughter's nap time on the weekends and sometimes I would sand after everyone went to bed (usually calling it quits around midnight).  A few times I went out to sand before everyone awoke...starting at 4 am and finishing at 6:30am.  This proved exhausting and painfully slow.  I finally decided to take a "stay-cation" from work and to put this phase of my project to rest.  So for one solid week, I spent all day, every day, sanding.  I'll spare everyone the play-by-play, but let's just say that this was an epic undertaking and the thought of giving up crossed my mind on multiple occasions. Here's a photo of the carnage I took after I finished:

It's not readily evident in the above photo, but let me assure you that EVERYTHING in my shop was covered with a layer of saw dust by the time I was finished.  Poor Fry-Pan got it too:

But now that the beams are sanded, the dust settled, and my muscles are no longer aching, I am pleased with my decision to do it right....but I won't miss this phase of my project.