Early October is the time of year when, in the woodburning groups I follow, every day brings new posts from folks in northern climes — photos of the season’s first fire in their woodstoves.
“And so it begins,” is the commonest caption.
Absent from those reports, I’ve noticed, is any mention of a specific temperature that prompted the inaugural fires. I’ve seen things like “chilly night” and “wife said it was time,” but no man wants to confess their personal threshold. I get that.
Even in places that already have seen a first frost — or even the first snowfall — daytime temps often get warm enough that wood heat remains (for now) a morning thing. Ozarkansas is inching in that direction.
I mean, look at our forecast for the next week (pictured, above). Overnight lows are tolerable without a fire, certainly, and afternoon highs (with bright sunshine) will warm this cabin and its contents.
Toward the end of the month, however, conditions change. Less sun, more clouds and a few rainy days. Lows in the 40s and highs hovering around 70°F.
A decision will be made at some point. Lighting fall’s first fire won’t be like flipping a switch, of course — I’d need to inspect chimney and flue beforehand and, if necessary, sweep them clean.
I got started on that Saturday morning.
There’s a cleanout on the double-wall tee where the flue meets the chimney. I climbed up on a step-stool, removed the access cover and shined a flashlight into the pipe.
Considering that it had seen only a dozen fires since I installed it, I wasn’t surprised to find the passage essentially clean — a light coating of soot, that was all. The hat at the top looked clear, too.
No reason to sweep the chimney. Check.
The cap I removed from the tee, though, was black with soot, a little sticky creosote and one misfortunate wasp. That, too, was to be expected, thermodynamics and gravity being what they are.
It’s natural for resins and heavier bits to precipitate out of the smoke as it goes from the relatively hot flue to the warmish chimney. I scraped off the residue with a stick.
That left the flue, the single-wall pipe joining woodstove to chimney. A visual inspection from the outside revealed only light soot. Reaching a hand into the passage found more of the same. (No creosote buildup, that is.)
To do it right, however, I’d need to disassemble the flue inside the cabin, inspect it and run a brush through it. That’s guaranteed to be a dirty job even with a fairly clean pipe.
I have no problem doing it, but I have a better idea.
I’m gonna get ‘hold of a simple borescope, run it down the flue from the outside and take a peek at the condition of the pipe. I’ll be able to inspect its entire length, right down to the stove.
If I see a troublesome amount of creosote (or an obstruction), then I’ll take the flue apart and sweep it.
As for the woodstove itself, it’s in good shape. I cleaned out the firebox thoroughly and inspected it at the end of last season.
All this stuff is routine maintenance. It’s been 40 years since the last time I did it, but the drill feels familiar.
It feels good, too.
My decision to skip this year’s Turkey Trot was a practical and rational one. As much as I’ve enjoyed it the last three years — it truly is the coolest of community gatherings — I’m watching every penny these days.
I’ll be there with my neighbors next year. That’s a promise.
Smudge and I had ourselves a glorious Saturday on The Mountain. We walked these woods. We soaked up sunshine and reveled in the cool breeze.
This is home. It’s great to be here.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable