Short version - I've been making planes from my own castings.

Long version follows:

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I knew the air was bad in Houston, but lately it's been raining castings. 

Having made the St. James Bay smoother and block plane, and then Russ
Allen's Stanley 51 replica, I figured it was time to make my own planes from
my own castings.

Never one to start small and build up, I decided to go for it and for my
first pattern, make a replica of the Stanley 52 shooting board. (To match
Russ Allen's 51 plane.)  After studying Kingshott's description of the 51
project, and  comparing it to a drawing of an actual one, I decided
Kingshott's replica wasn't accurate enough.  Some snooping found a collector
in Dallas with a mint one (still had the original decal.) He was gracious
enough to let me measure it for my pattern.

With a good drawing, and some shrink rules, I set to work making the
patterns.  I had some black walnut lying around.  Since pattern makers liked
to use mahogany, I figured black walnut would work just as well.  I started
with the quadrant and the hold down.  These were pretty easy, although I
choose not to emboss Stanley into the quadrant out of respect for the
company and to deter any claims of forgery.  The bosses for the lock pin
looked wimpy to me, so I decided to beef them up.  I think this will be an
improvement for a small run.  For mass production, you could save money by
making this section smaller.   It took a few tricks to hog out the
semicircular cut out for the pivot pin in the quadrant.  Being a wood
worker, I probably lavished more time on the patterns than needed, but hey,
I was having fun.  To make the fillets in the pattern corners I used a very
ungalootish material - bondo.  

After making the quadrant and hold down, I paid a visit to the foundry to
get their opinion.  (A nice thing about Houston is with all the heavy
industry around, there are lots of shops that cater to this sort of
affliction. As long as you are casting less than 1,500 lb., they can
accommodate your needs.  - Wow, it just occurred to me, a 1,500 lb. hand
plane.  That would make a no. 8 bedrock look like a toy for Ken, Barbie's
boy friend. 1,500 lb. of smoother would snort at curly grain.  Scoff at
cocobolla.  Of course, you'd have to be Arnold Schwatzenager to pick it up.
Oh well, never mind.)  The foundry foreman was great.  He seemed almost
amazed that someone would even be interested and somewhat knowledgeable
about this stuff.  Then he showed me some of the galoot type tools they had
scattered around the foundry.  Next, I got the $5 tour of the joint.  As a
mechanical engineer, I ate this up.  Then came the critical examination of
the patterns.  They passed with only one tweak needed - add more draft to
one corner of the quadrant. 

Some of his observations:
   - you can never have enough draft, particularly for a tall part.
  - no sharp internal corners.
  - make a simple tool from a piece of steel to shape the fillet radii
  - use pattern boards, it makes the process less expensive.

The shooting board pattern would have to be cast loose, and hence be more
expensive.  Gray iron would work, be stable and stay flat.  It is a little
brittle, so don't drop it.

Charged with this encouragement, I went home.  After slaving hours over the
shooting board, I had a pattern that was a pretty darn good replica of the
Stanley version.  Even carved "No. 52" into a recess, just like the boys
from Connecticut.  Then the casting storm hit.  Me thinks - if I can make
the 52, how about a chisel plane.  And what about that  adjustable mouthed
infill I'd been thinking about.  Sure enough, chips flew, shavings
fluttered, and bonded stunk. Before SWMBO could even complain,  I had
another pattern board with a chisel plane and an infill of my own design.

Off to the foundry I go.  By now, I had been developed a good relationship
with the foreman, the kind that comes from mutual respect for and
appreciation of making things with your hands.  Something that appears to be
on the decline in America... Oops, sorry, I digress.  When I delivered the
patterns, the foreman seemed impressed.  He actually offered me a job as a
pattern maker.  That was a hoot.  Hmmm, I wonder what it pays?

Anyway, after wearing a path in the carpet at home, pacing back and forth
like an expectant father, waiting for the castings, the call arrived.  They
were ready.  Now a lot of parents wax poetically about the moment of their
child's birth.  How it is such a thrill and joy. A sublime experience. I'm
here to say this was not quite like that, but it was fun to see the result
of all that work.  To see how the iron, molten and mean, had raced through
the molds, and left as it's imprint, a shape conjured by man.  (Whoa, get
the boots on.)

Anyway, the castings came out great, with the exception of one of the infill
castings.  It looks like the mold for that one had a partial collapse.  I
may have stretched the draft angle a little too far.  The shooting board is
dead flat, with great surface detail. It should require only a little
grinding and smoothing.  The quadrant and hold down look like Stanely made
'em. My little chisel plane, modified from the Stanley 97 by shortening and
angling the knob, should make a cute tool.   On the other hand, the infill
casting looks like a job to machine, but it should work.

Anyway, that's it for adventures in pattern making.  Don't forget to join
our host for the next exciting episode - metal working in a wood working
shop. (If I can find my way past the metal chips.)

Rob Kempinski
Lurking, but working in Houston