Briar, sweat, and tears, the raw ingredients for pipes. This is home for pipe carver Todd Bannard, known on the net simply as “Sasquatch”. And what the Sasquatch loves to do is make pipes. Boring old regular-ass pipes. When I started carving pipes, my thoughts were that I was going to be the next Bo Nordh (who doesn’t think that the moment they drill their first block?). What happened was, I made a bunch of perfectly serviceable ugly pipes.
My contribution to shape, style, and finish was absolutely zero. And I went back to making “simpler” pipes, pipes that were more like catalog shapes, “classic” pipes if you like. And mostly I never got back out of that. When you realize the beauty of most of these old shapes, the proportions, the functionality… there’s a reason they are classic. So that’s mostly what I do.
Thas fake, sorry Bruh!
Fake for sure, Dunhill would never yadda yadda yadda. Sorry Bruh, those aren’t Cohibas. (Guy could be standing at the Cohiba factory with a box of newly minted cigars and someone would tell him they were fake, it’s cultural in the cigar world. Presumably the only real Cohibas are the one the guy yelling “Fake” has in his humidor, hmm?)
Once again, a guy gets a pipe, posts a picture and the whole world tells him what a dummy he is. Except they’re all wrong. One glance and the pipe is legit. Here’s the pic:
I'm continuously surprised by how a piece of briar with some holes in it can be so different than another, similar piece of briar with some holes in it.. I don't understand it.. but there is a difference.
Lumber wise, I would rate the pipe as merely exceptional. Very clear tobacco flavor, the wood really stays in the background. You cut a wonderful pipe there, Todd. I've only smoked it maybe 15 times, as it's a little big for my daily piping purposes, but when I have a chance for a long car ride, or (rarer yet) a chance to sit and read, I grab that pipe. I've never had a large pipe so perfectly balanced and virtually unnoticed in my mouth. A blend like McC Oriental #14, something that really doesn't get a fair shake in my 30 minute running around the house - driving to work routine, has a chance to really reach a crescendo in it.
The shop Sasquatch watches over proceedings. His mystical presence guides my spirit. Or my hands. Or something. Native Americans I’ve talked with don’t merely “believe” in Sasquatch – that’s akin to asking your neighbour if he believes in bats. The Sasquatch is a mystical fellow – he commands respect, controls time, provides a link to the past and perspective on the present. Sure as hell in my shop he controls time. Entire days go missing.