To Build A Fire: Meditations on Smoking a Tobacco Pipe
To the uninitiated, smoking a pipe seems rather straightforward, much like a cigar: light the tobacco, puff on it, enjoy. Any man who smokes a pipe for the first time, will quickly realize that this assumption is a grand fiction. Whereas the most brutish of men can become adept in the art of cigar smoking, a tobacco pipe can humble even those men who are well-versed in the works of Sun Tzu and Marcus Aurelius. Albert Einstein, J.R.R. Tolkein, C.S. Lewis, Mark Twain, Ralph Waldo Emerson, William Faulkner, Vincent van Gogh, and Hugh Hefner. When we imagine these men, the pipe in their mouth is part of their countenance. The pipe plays a significant part in how we remember them. It is doubtful that these men, who all changed the world in big ways, participated in mundane hobbies. Pipe smoking is anything but a mundane hobby. Smoking a tobacco pipe is the art and science of building and maintaining one of the smallest fires imaginable, through which states of mindfulness and meditation can be achieved.
I began my dive into the world of pipe smoking by purchasing all of the necessary tools and accoutrements, including a box of long stem matches. As I picked up the matchbox, I recalled the first time that I built a campfire on my own. I was thirteen years old, and it was one of the first skills I acquired upon joining the Boy Scouts of America. At that time, all Scouts were required to build a campfire with three matches or less, and then sustain it for an hour. Throughout the annals of human history, the age of thirteen has been within that critical timeframe where a boy begins his transition to a young man. This is the time where young men would acquire the skills necessary for manhood, without the burden of responsibility. Fire is essential to sustain life. Many anthropologists agree that the discovery of fire was critical for our species to evolve from humanoid to human being. So, it is appropriate that one of the first skills that the Boy Scouts teach young men is to build a fire. Fire-building is a right of passage in this transitional period from adolescent to man.
Like any man who endeavors to achieve proficiency in a skill, I set out to build a foundation; starting with research on the vocabulary, history, and the tools. I quickly realized that the complexities of pipe smoking begin with the construction of the pipe itself. The most striking, visual aspect of a well-made pipe is the seamless union of two distinctly different materials. The Stummel, hand-carved from choice wood selected for its grain structure, is married to the Stem which is composed of modern elastomers via a 7000-year-old technique used by master carpenters and stonemasons. The same technology used to construct the Pharaoh’s ships during the Fourth Dynasty, and join the Sarsen stones of Stonehenge, is still used today. Precise construction of the mortise and tenon joint, which is critical for both the aesthetics and functionality of the pipe, can be achieved by an experienced pipe maker. The shank is between the mortise and bowl, through which a draught hole is drilled. This tunnel is the conduit through which the aromatic smoke is carried from the bowl, through the tenon, and then to the bit. Most are familiar with the term “bowl”, but it is more accurate to use the term “chamber” to describe where combustion occurs. Some pipe diagrams will show a further breakdown of the chamber and bowl, including terms like “toe” and “heel”. I have yet to determine if those terms exist for technical reasons, or whether they are more ceremonial in nature.
I begin my ritual by loading the chamber with an industry standard blend — Black Cavendish (a scent which instantly conjures a feeling of fond memories, yet I’m unable to connect a single event to it.) I’ve tried to come up with a better analogy in order to convey, through words, the amount of pressure to be applied when packing the tobacco, because it does require more delicacy than one would imagine. The best I have come up with is this: pretend you’re giving CPR to a caterpillar. When the pack is ready, I strike my first match and wait a moment for the match tip to burn off, allowing the sulphur to dissipate. I move the flame in a steady, circular motion while taking the first puffs. Every pipe smoker’s first light varies slightly, but the intention is to draw the flame through the lattice work of tobacco leaves downward. For me, these first few puffs will be the second-most forceful of the entire experience. Taking in that first mouthful, I notice the buttery feel of the Cavendish smoke on my palate. I savor that well-balanced cocktail of earthy, honeyed, and piquant notes, as my mind and body begin to relax. The embers quickly die out, so I tamp the tobacco leaves and strike my second match. I begin gently sipping, cycling the smoke through my nose until the tobacco is sufficiently lit. With every sip, I curl my tongue back and store each bit of smoke in my mouth and the back of my throat. Once my mouth is full, I open my nasal passages and relax the back of my soft palate. I inhale through my nose, filling my lungs with air, hold the in breath for a count of seven, then I release the pressure valve. The smoke exits my nostrils slowly as I sink — almost weightless — into my chair. Once the smoke has fully evacuated, I experience a brief moment of pure peacefulness.
After two cycles, I invert the pipe and gently tap the bowl to remove the top layer of ash. To sustain any fire, it is necessary to prevent a buildup of the combusted fuel; too much ash will prevent a fire from breathing. After removing the top layer of ash, I use a nail to carefully rearrange the tobacco grains and create a small space between the kindling and the sides of the combustion chamber. This allows for a gentle collapse, resulting in a more even distribution of the tobacco; stoking a fire is critical to maintain an evenly-burning fire. I see one minuscule coal remaining in the pile, so I set out to revive the fire. Just as when using a bellow to breathe life into a fire, a pipe smoker must start softly and increase the force, incrementally. So I gently sip, as I would if I were savoring a 20-year single malt. If I draw with too much force, the coal will immediately become extinguished. If I don’t provide enough oxygen, the fire will die out completely. I recall the saying, “where there is smoke, there is fire”, so I ignore the instinct to puff harder. I continue to sip until I see small wisps of smoke begin to rise above the bowl, then I begin to increase the length and force of each puff. I delicately pop my lips off the bit to create a short burst of air at the end of the draw, and I hear my fire emit a soft crackle. I feel the bowl getting warmer to the touch, as I once again fill my mouth with smoke, repeating the cycle.
There is very much a yin and yang aspect to pipe smoking, and I relish it. I am able to go from a state of complete mindfulness and awareness to a state of complete zen. There is not a gradual flow from one state to the other. If you were to graph this experience, it would more resemble a square wave than a sine wave. I can’t help but wonder if Einstein felt similar waves while contemplating God’s creation of our universe. For me, at least, it is an abrupt transition in mental state. When I’m successful in maintaining my fire, I am rewarded with longer periods of meditation. If my skills falter, smoking becomes an exercise in mindfulness. I’m here for both. This unorthodox method of mindfulness and meditation, in and of itself, does more for me than the nicotine. I believe that the 16th-century Native Americans and early European settlers recognized this as well when they would gather and participate in peace pipe ceremonies.
Halfway through the tobacco load, I lose my fire. I take the opportunity to tap out all of the fully combusted leaves, then thoroughly mix the partially and un-combusted kindling. Re-tamp, re-light, and repeat the ritual. Two matches later, I once again find my stride. I begin to give thought to the intricacies of building a fire. I see a fire for what it is: a living, breathing structure, that requires a certain level of skill to build and maintain. Many people possess the required skillsets to build a house, but far fewer can build skyscrapers or nanostructures. Fires are similar. Many people can build a campfire, but far fewer are capable of building a proper bonfire, or conversely, smoking a pipe. The smaller you get from a standard campfire, the easier it is to build, but the harder it is to maintain. The larger you get from a campfire, the harder it is to build, but it’s easier to maintain. And the larger a fire is, the more difficult it is to maintain control. It takes a thoughtful person to smoke a pipe, just as it takes a thoughtful person to perform controlled burns on large sections of pasture and farmland. With this newly-gained perspective and insight, I maintain that a man who can smoke a standard-sized tobacco pipe from start to finish with two matches is a master fire-builder; he understands both the art and science. If a man can routinely perform the task with one match, he is a savant. While I may never achieve that status of “savant”, I realize that the more I continue to hone this skillset, the closer I get to mastering an activity that provides me the opportunity to achieve a zen-like state whenever I so desire.
I come out of my contemplative state once the last ember has cooled. Left in the chamber is small pile of tobacco which barely rises above the heel of the bowl. I place my lips over the Vulcanite button one last time, strike a match, move the flame in a circular motion around the inside of the Burl Walnut bowl. I take a few brutish and forceful puffs to finish it off, and enjoy one more moment of contemplating life before I have to return to the daily realities of life; but not before I hearken back to that time and place where, as young man, I built and maintained my first fire. On that day, I was given three matches to get the job done. I successfully completed the task with two. Through this ritualistic practice, I hope to one day elevate myself to the same level of mindfulness as C.S. Lewis, and many other great thought leaders, who no doubt used two matches or less.
