Induction Cooktops
Truck Scales
Tetra Pak Containers
Harmonicas

Mankind has always cooked food, using everything from campfires and barbecues to gas and electric stove tops.

Now he can use an induction cooktop.

It doesn't need a fire, a flame, or a red-hot burner.

It uses innovative cooking technology our ancestors never dreamt possible and would swear was pure magic.

An induction cooktop doesn't use traditional cooking elements above or below the cooking surface.

It uses copper induction coils that generate high-frequency electromagnetic fields.

These fields excite the molecules in the pan, creating heat only in the cookware itself.

That's why the yolk remains cold and only what touches the pan cooks.

The magic starts with a punching press that stamps computer-generated shapes into sheets of cold-rolled steel.

These cutouts fix the position of the induction coils that sit under the glass surface.

A press break bends the four sides of the steel so it will hold a glass-ceramic top in place.

In the meantime, a machine spray-paints the burner box, the visible part of the cooktop.

A technician affixes the labels and the power cord onto a housing box that will conceal the induction electronics and coils.

She secures the power cord for strain relief.

She then attaches the power-cord ground and a system ground wire to the housing box.

She places a cover on the box and screws it into place.

Another technician puts together the induction electronics.

These assemblies of circuit boards, cooling fans, and semiconductors drive the cooktop.

She covers the electronics with insulation and a metal carrier plate that will support the induction coils.

Then she feeds the user-interface wires through the top of the coil-carrier plate.

The technician screws the carrier plate and the electronic assemblies together, then grounds the electronics.

Protective tape around the openings will prevent the user-interface wires from rubbing against the coil-carrier plate.

And some insulation will protect the electronic assemblies.

She closes that side of the electronic housing box and attaches all the power cables.

A sheet of insulation goes on the flip side of the box, where she mounts the electromagnetic-coil assemblies.

The iron slugs on the back of each coil pod help distribute the electromagnetic energy to the cookware evenly.

She connects the coil assembly to the system board.

Then she places the remaining four coil assemblies onto the carrier plate and connects their leads to the system board.

Meanwhile, another technician assembles the components of a glass touch-user-interface panel.

She connects the interface to the steel holder that was bent into shape at the start and is now attached to the black burner box.

She covers the cooking surface and control panel with an attractive stainless-steel frame, then connects the system board to the control panel.

She closes up the other side of the burner box.

Then she bolts everything down to complete the cooktop.

A technician tests the unit.

Using a metal object to activate the electromagnetic field, he verifies that the controls respond properly.

He makes sure all five induction coils are working and the power output from each coil is correct.

The control panel confirms it's a success.

Clean, safe, and energy-efficient, induction cooktops make cooking food quick and easy.

At a highway weigh station, inspectors weigh each transport truck on a road-level scale to calculate taxes on the goods it's hauling and to make sure the load doesn't exceed safety limits.

You also find truck scales at grain silos, quarries, and other sites that move bulk products.

The key to this enormous scale is the tiny component called a strain gauge, which sends signals to the scale's computer when compressed.

They make the strain gauge from a laminate by bonding paper-thin sheets of nickel-iron foil, epoxy, and teflon in a press.

Then they coat the laminate in a light-sensitive chemical and apply a plastic film with an image of strain gauges in negative format.

Then they expose the setup to ultraviolet light.

The light-sensitive chemical reacts, imprinting the images into the laminate's metal surface.

Now they have rows of strain gauges.

An inspector examines every gauge and marks any flaws to be discarded.

Now a technician measures how much voltage flows through each gauge.

If it's too low, she raises it by rubbing off a microscopic amount of surface metal.

When the strain gauges are finished, they cut them apart and send them to the load cell department.

There, workers delicately tape four strain gauges into each stainless-steel load cell.

Then they solder electrical wiring to each one.

The wires all run to a circuit board at one end of the load cell.

And from the load cell, wiring runs to the scale's computer readout.

The smallest amount of moisture or dirt would cause a strain gauge to malfunction, so they weld a cup over each one to hermetically seal it within the load cell.

Every finished load cell undergoes a quality-control check to verify that it works properly.

The testing machine applies weight in increments until it hits the maximum weight the cell can bear-- 34,000 kilograms, or 75,000 pounds.

The truck-scale structure in which they'll install the load cells is called the weighbridge.

They begin assembling it upside down, with a surface made of steel plates.

To build the base of the weighbridge, they lay out a grid of thick steel tubes and crossbeams.

Workers lower a guide to help them align the parts perfectly.

Beneath each load cell is a pin.

In order to weigh accurately, a load cell has to be level, so it's critical to make sure this pin is level before welding on the bulkhead that holds it.

Once fully welded, the weighbridge is assembled and ready for painting.

The paint equipment laces the powdered paint with a positive electrical charge and the weighbridge with a negative one.

This evenly draws the paint particles onto the steel like a magnet.

In another department, they assemble the steel stand on which the load cell will sit.

A welder tacks the pieces together, then a robot does the full welding.

Now that all parts are ready, final assembly of the truck scale can begin.

The weighbridge, right-side up now, contains eight load cells at different locations.

The first step is to install each load-cell stand into its respective position.

They insert a link on each side of the stand.

They position the load cell at the top of the links...

And the bulkhead pin at the bottom.

Then they close up the location with an access plate.

The last step is to calibrate the scale.

They lay a 10,000-pound weight on different parts of the scale to check if the digital readout is accurate.

It takes a lot of time to get a truck scale just right, but it's definitely worth the "wait".

[weight] tetra pak containers keep drinks and food products safe to consume for up to a year without refrigeration or the use of additional preservatives.

Made mostly from paper, they're recyclable into things like egg cartons, paper towels, and toilet paper.

A tetra pak container is packaging built with nature and freshness in mind.

Tetra pak containers hold all sorts of food products, from smoothies to fine wines.

The package gives products a long shelf life because of its special layers-- the plastic layer, the paperboard, and the foil.

A plastic coating makes the package leakproof.

Tetra pak containers are made entirely from recyclable materials.

The first step to making them is printing.

A worker selects the appropriate printing plates for a given customer and applies them to the cylinder of the printing press.

The press transfers one color at a time to the paperboard layer using solvent-free ink.

A tetra pak container can have up to six colors.

At full speed, it takes only minutes to print.

A strobe light visually stops the motion, helping the pressman check the quality of the printing.

A worker feeds the printed paperboard into a lamination machine that will join it with the plastic and foil layers.

At the same time, a worker loads a roll of micro-thin aluminum foil into the laminator.

A gas flame heat-treats the paperboard to ensure adhesion to the plastic layer.

The laminator extrudes liquefied plastic between the roll of aluminum and the heated paperboard.

Rollers squeeze all the layers together.

The printed paperboard, with all its protective layers applied, then comes off the back end of the laminator in a large master roll.

The operator threads it into a cutting machine called a slitter.

It cuts and winds the printed material onto individual rolls.

The slitter's knives cut the material into four lanes, each of which becomes a smaller roll.

The operator trims the excess material from each roll.

Then a conveyor system sends the rolls for shipping to a packer to be filled with their product.

At the packer's plant, an operator loads the roll of flat packages into a filling machine built and installed by tetra pak.

Tension rollers guide the material into the filling machine where it is sterilized.

The machine then forms and seals the material into one continuous tube.

And a little further down, the machine fills the tube with product.

It then cuts the tube into individually sealed packages...

And drops them into a chute for folding.

It ejects the finished packages onto a conveyor belt.

Finally, it sends the packages on their way to the customer.

Lightweight, compact, and recyclable, tetra pak containers are eco-friendly, and that's certainly something to celebrate over a glass of fine wine.

There are two main types of harmonicas.

A diatonic harmonica has 10 mouth holes.

It plays a 7-note major scale in a single key of music.

A chromatic harmonica has up to 16 holes, plus a special slide mechanism to produce extra notes so it can play in any key.

as air goes through a harmonica, so does saliva, which is why they make the inner structure from a type of wood that doesn't expand or smell with repeated exposure to moisture.

Making a standard chromatic harmonica begins with a block of pearwood measuring about 5 1/2 by 1 1/4 inches.

They run it against a cutter that carves a row of air chambers front and back.

This produces the component known as the comb.

A press stamps slots in a millimeter-thick brass plate that will hold the reeds.

The plate will eventually go on top of the comb, its slots aligning with the comb's air chambers.

Another machine cuts reeds from brass-based metal specially formulated by this company to produce quality sound and be corrosion-resistant.

Working one size at a time, they cut a batch of a few hundred reeds.

They test a reed from each batch with a tuning machine, plucking it to see if it produces the correct pitch.

The size and profile of a reed determines the note it produces.

The longer it is, the lower the note, and vice versa.

Now they rivet the reeds to the reed plate-- one reed for each note.

Consecutive reeds go on opposite sides of the plate.

With this configuration, blowing into the harmonica vibrates one reed, while drawing air out vibrates the other.

They flatten each rivet on one side of the plate.

This fastens the reed securely at the bottom, leaving the rest free to vibrate.

If necessary, they file the reed down so the slot doesn't obstruct its movement.

now a tuning specialist gets to work.

She plays each reed on the plate and compares the tone to a perfectly tuned set of reeds for reference.

If the pitch is off, she adjusts it with a bit of filing.

once the reed plate is in tune, it goes on top of the comb, the reeds and slots aligning with the comb's air chambers.

Workers attach the parts with steel nails that have a brass plating to prevent corrosion.

Now for the two-piece cover that encloses these internal components.

For standard models, the factory uses stainless steel, starting with a sheet that's less than a half a millimeter thick.

Fancier harmonicas have silver- or gold-plated covers.

The sheet goes through a press that has a series of dies.

They progressively stamp out the cover pieces, first embossing the artwork, then cutting the size, then forming the shape.

Workers sandwich the comb between the two cover pieces, then attach everything with either brass-plated nails or brass- or nickel-plated screws.

Chromatic harmonicas have a mouthpiece over the blowholes.

It's usually made of chrome-plated brass that they curve slightly in a press.

The mouthpiece shields the lips from a slide mechanism inside.

That mechanism has three parts-- a slide with a button positioned in between two plates.

They screw the mouthpiece onto the front of the harmonica.

When you press the mouthpiece button, it redirects the air, raising the notes half a tone.

No harmonica leaves the factory without a sound test.

Rather than blow into every instrument, the testing department uses a machine that blows air in and out.

last stop is the cleaning department.

There, workers inspect for scratches, then polish and package so that each and every harmonica will look as good as it sounds.


Bronze Bells
Wooden Airplane Propellers
Charcoal Briquettes
Gas Log Fireplaces

Today on "how it's made"...

Bronze bells...

Wooden airplane propellers...

Charcoal briquettes...

And gas-log fireplaces.

Throughout history, bells have played both practical and ceremonial roles.

Village bells would ring to mark time and to warn of danger.

Church bells would toll to summon worshipers.

Bells are traditionally cast of bronze, a metal that's as durable as it is melodic.

when it comes to bell making, there'd be neither swing nor ring without a mold.

And only a quality mold makes a quality bell.

The mold is made using a pattern.

This particular bell will have decorative lines on the surface, which will require a separate mold made from this five-piece pattern.

After greasing the pattern's surface with a release agent, workers lower a wooden casing around it.

This casing will hold the mixture of fine silica sand and epoxy they'll use to make the mold.

Workers pack the material tightly between the pattern and casing.

The epoxy sets in 10 minutes, and now they have a sand mold in which to cast the bell's decorations.

They still need a mold to cast the bell itself.

They make it with this aluminum pattern.

After spraying it inside and out with a release agent, they lower the decoration mold they just made right over it...

Then on top of that, a steel casing to contain the sand mix.

Workers pack the sand mix and wait for it to set.

Then they flip the casing and add another section to hold even more sand mix.

But before the next load of sand, they insert what's called the gate.

This aluminum rod shapes the channel through which they'll pour the molten bronze into the mold cavity.

They fill up the mold with more sand.

Then they form a funnel around the central channel because it's virtually impossible to pour molten bronze directly into such a small hole.

They poke the sand mix to make sure it's set, then pull out the gate.

They separate the two casings, each of which contains a section of the mold.

Then the patterns come out, leaving behind the mold cavity.

Workers tidy up the mold walls and paint on a powdered graphite solution which will act as a barrier, preventing the hot metal from eroding the epoxy that holds the sand mold together.

Next, they spray on a second coat of wash.

The sand is so fine that without this step, the mold would reproduce the brush strokes onto the cast bell.

Now they measure the size of the pour hole and custom-make a ceramic filter to glue inside.

This filter will screen out the slag, oxidized particles that form when molten metal meets air.

Workers stack the two mold sections back together and clamp them tightly so that the bronze won't leak out during casting.

Melting enough bronze ingots for an average-size bell takes about two hours.

To get a smooth enough consistency, the furnace has to heat the metal to about 2,100 degrees.

For a quality casting, they must pour the bronze in one continuous flow-- no stops and starts.

The funneling basin they made in the sand prevents overflowing.

The bronze takes about a half-hour to solidify and up to 24 hours to cool.

Workers remove the sand mold with a jackhammer, being very careful not to hit the bell inside.

The extracted bell is covered in a residue of burnt epoxy, which they remove with a wire brush.

Then, with one well-aimed strike of a sledgehammer, they disengage the gate.

Now they mark the exact center point of the bell.

That's where they'll install the hardware from which the bell will hang.

They drill a small hole, then gradually drill it larger and larger.

A big hole can't be bored in one shot because the friction-induced heat would crack the bell.

Workers tip the bell on its side to hang the clapper-- the official name for the bronze hammer inside.

Every bell this factory produces goes through six stages of polishing, starting with a coarse grinding belt and finishing with a fine-cloth buffing wheel.

Two hours of polishing later, the bell looks as beautiful as it sounds.

coming up...

A new spin on a centuries-old invention-- the wooden propeller.

The propeller dates back to 1493, when leonardo da vinci sketched out the concept for a helical screw that could propel a machine vertically into the sky.

The propeller is still occasionally referred to as an airscrew-- a term that accurately reflects its basic design and function.

The key to making one--  plenty of sanding.

Wooden propellers start out as a laminated block of maple wood.

Lamination is a process where several layers are glued together.

The block has between 36 and 48 layers less than 1/16 of an inch thick.

Depending on the model, workers select a master pattern that is between one and two yards long.

They lay this pattern over the maple block and mark a one-inch center hole.

They drill the hole...

And lay in a centering pin to hold the pattern in place.

A worker traces the pattern on the top of the block.

He then cuts the outline with a band saw.

This is the propeller's profile.

Next, he traces a pattern on the side of the block.

This is the propeller's pitch-- the amount of twist in the blades, which dictates the amount of propeller thrust.

Using a pattern guide, he marks where the pitch blends into the center hub, then removes the bulk of the pitch with a band saw.

Now he clamps the block onto a computer-guided milling machine that carves the pitch to very precise dimensions.

The machine's carbide-tipped cutters shave infinitesimal amounts of wood with each pass.

Precision milling just one end of the propeller can take up to 60 passes.

Next, a worker shapes the airfoil with a band saw.

The airfoil is the side of the propeller that is shaped like an airplane wing and produces forward thrust.

The pitch side...

And the airfoil side.

Workers use a tool called a spokeshave to smooth the propeller even more.

Then they verify the airfoil's thickness and curve with a hand gauge.

A spray of dark paint helps them know where they've been as they begin smoothing the propeller's surface.

They remove any remaining carving marks using a belt sander.

Then they check the propeller for balance.

Using a pneumatic sanding drum, they perform an overall sanding and punch in propeller specifications-- diameter, pitch, flight direction symbols, and manufacturer i.d. workers hand-inspect the propeller, then perform a final sanding and balance.

A coat of clear enamel seals the wood.

And a safety color sprayed on the tips makes the propeller visible while it's spinning.

Two final protective coats of clear enamel, 24 hours of drying time, and these propellers are ready for takeoff.

When we return, fire up the grill.

It's time to make some charcoal briquettes.

The charcoal briquette was invented in 1897, but interest in it was slow-burning, so to speak, until the 1920s.

That's when automaker henry ford decided to recycle wood scraps from car making into barbecue briquettes, and these little nuggets became a smoking sensation.

Barbecuing with charcoal has become immensely popular since ford's time, and every year, several million tons of wood scraps are converted into high-quality charcoal briquettes.

Today, briquette production starts with sawdust and wood chips from lumber mills.

A truck unloads it all into a pit.

Bulldozers blend the material called fuel to obtain a uniform end product.

As the mix travels up a conveyer, an electromagnet removes any metal contaminates.

The mix falls onto a vibratory screener, which sifts out the larger pieces of wood.

At this point, the fuel is still very moist.

To dry it, a worm screw draws the mix up into a long, rotating dryer.

The dryer heats the wood mix to a searing 1,400 degrees.

The dryer is sealed to prevent oxygen from leaking in.

This allows the wood to dry without catching fire.

After four minutes in the dryer, the moisture has been cooked out of the mix.

Workers add anthracite coal to the hopper, and it mixes in with the fuel.

Anthracite coal is known for burning at high temperature.

Then they mix in lime.

Lime makes the briquettes turn white after they're ignited-- a visual indication that the barbecue is ready to rock 'n' roll.

The mix, now blackened, passes under a second electromagnet to remove any metal that could damage the equipment downstream.

Finally, workers blend in cornstarch, which binds the ingredients together.

A worm screw supplies the mixture to a press roll, where a constant spray of water keeps the mixture from sticking.

The press rolls compact the mixture into briquettes.

The process takes just a fraction of a second.

At this point, the briquettes contain 35% moisture and are very soft.

A screener shakes out fine material from the briquettes, which is recycled back into the process.

A sweep belt transports and distributes the briquettes in a 250-foot drying tunnel.

They are heated to 280 degrees for 2 1/2 hours.

This will reduce their moisture level from 35% to just 5%.

The lower the moisture level, the better it burns.

A conveyer transports the briquettes to automated scales that weigh them for packaging.

Every portion is the same, plus or minus one briquette.

As the scales release the briquettes, robots below move bags into position to capture them.

A sealing machine glue-seals the bags, then prints a production date and shipped code on each one.

Open the bag, and a backyard barbecue is just one match stroke away.

And who can resist the smokey flavor of charcoal-grilled food?

When we return...

Turning up a different kind of flame with gas-log fireplaces.

Gas-log fireplaces are clean-burning, fully contained units that are growing in popularity.

They provide instant warmth at the flick of a switch.

And you'll never have to head out on a cold winter night to get more logs or clean up the ashes.

To make a gas-log fireplace, workers first screw fittings to a gas-control valve.

Then they attach the valve and gas pilot to the frame.

The gas pilot is a small flame that burns continuously, enabling you to ignite the gas instantly.

They cap the control valve with knob extensions that allow the user to control the flame's intensity from outside the fireplace.

Next, they install burners and orifices.

The orifice controls the gas flow in each of the burners.

They attach an electrical connection from the gas pilot to the control valve...

Adjust the length of the gas-pilot supply line...

And screw the line to the control valve.

Finally, the line is attached to the gas pilot.

The fireplace's ignition system is now complete.

Next, workers attach a safety device called a thermocouple to the control valve.

If the flame ever goes out, the thermocouple cuts the gas supply.

The unit now undergoes testing to ensure that there are no leaks.

What's a fireplace without logs, even if they're replicas of the real thing?

This factory makes artificial logs from a mixture of fire-resistant ceramic fibers and a liquid resin that binds the fibers together.

Workers attach a log-forming mold to a pumping arm...

Then immerse the arm in the mixture.

The mixture fills the mold cavity.

The mixture is soft when it comes out of the mold and is held together by the dense, interwoven layers of fibers.

The excess fiber is trimmed off, and the log is placed on a baking rack.

Then it's into an oven at 450 degrees for 5 hours.

When it comes out, it's as hard as a log.

Workers remove the sharp edges with a rasp, then dip the log in a mixture of binder and heat-resistant paint.

Over that, they hand-paint details replicating the look of charred wood.

The paint is baked on, making this decoration permanent.

And it'll have no problem taking the heat.

The paint can withstand temperatures up to 2,300 degrees.

Back in the testing department, workers calibrate the mechanism that adjusts the fireplace flame.

They use a flowmeter to verify the rate at which the gas flows.

The back burner produces a yellow flame, while the front burner gives off a reddish glow.

Combined, they look more realistic.

Workers package the individual components and include some lava rock to simulate a bed of ashes underneath the logs.

It all adds up to a beautiful, cozy fire...

At the flick of a switch.


Cycling shoes have cleats for bolting the foot to the pedal.

The cyclist is connected to the bicycle, body and soul.

Bike shoes with clip-in cleats are a fairly recent innovation.

The first versions appeared in france in the 1980s and were modeled after alpine ski bindings.

Avid cyclists are very attached to their bicycles through special shoes that clip to the pedals.

Cycling shoes transfer power from the foot to the pedal more efficiently than ordinary shoes.

To start, an overhead press drives cookie-cutter shapes called dyes through layers of fabric to punch out shoe parts.

They use breathable nylon mesh for these upper pieces and synthetic leather for parts like the shoe toe box.

Synthetic leather is rigid, waterproof, and lightweight.

It takes 18 pieces of fabric to make one cycling shoe.

This assembler pieces together the upper mesh parts and stitches on synthetic leather trim.

She adds a synthetic leather side with vent holes.

It gives the cycling shoe structure.

With one half of the cycling shoe now complete, it's ready for the other half.

She joins it to the other half at the toe end using high-density nylon thread.

The next part is the heel cup.

It's a piece of molded polyurethane that adds strength and form to the back of the cycling shoe.

She stitches on trim and joins the heel cup to the rest of the cycling shoe.

Next, using superstrong kevlar thread, she sews the toe box and tongue to the cycling-shoe assembly.

The configuration leaves open areas for mesh vents at the front of the shoe.

The shoe upper is now complete and ready for the inner sole.

It's made of high-density plastic.

The employee tacks it to a foot mold using small nails.

He sets it aside and places a pair of shoe uppers in hot and rounded clamps to warm them to a pliable state.

He stretches each upper around a foot mold with a tacked inner sole.

Then it's over to a machine that oozes epoxy-- a high-strength glue that is impervious to weather extremes.

The machine grips and folds the cycling-shoe upper to the sole as it applies epoxy to seal them together.

The epoxy hardens quickly, and a computer-controlled grinder gets rid of the excess.

Now a spinning brush applies a different epoxy that will need heat to activate it.

At the next station, a worker applies a release agent to a mold.

He inserts a piece of carbon fiber-- a high-tech composite material.

He adds nylon for texture.

He flips the upper part of the mold, and the two parts come together like a waffle iron.

Inside, the layers melt into one and then cool, creating a tough and lightweight outer sole.

They punch out vent holes and trim the edges of the sole.

They paint designs on to it and add a nonslip clear coat.

He glues tough nylon mesh over the vent holes to keep the dirt out.

He tapes the cleat mount onto it.

It will be more securely installed for the individual cyclist at the bike shop.

And after an application of epoxy, it's into the oven.

At the same time, he heats the glue-covered outer sole in another oven.

The heat activates the epoxy.

It's time to join the outer sole and the shoe upper.

He carefully aligns them and presses them together.

He then sets the shoe on a cradle, and hydraulic pushers apply pressure as the glue sets.

He presses the foot form that's still inside the shoe onto a sharp post, stabilizing it to pull the shoe off.

The next employee installs a cable-closure device that acts like a shoelace but doesn't become tangled.

She adds a ratchet-style plastic buckle.

Crafted by hand using high-tech materials, it's taken about an hour to make these cycling shoes.

And now they're ready for a spin.

For centuries, yurts have been home to herders on the asian plateau.

They continue now for practicality and portability.

Today yurts used as second homes or studio spaces offer durability, comfort, and a barely detectable footprint.

This is the engineered, modern version of the ancient nomadic structure.

Compression and tension together form freestanding yurts that today feature all the modern conveniences, including kitchens, dining areas, and lofts.

The vinyl polymer roof is gradually shaped into a cone.

A worker folds the polymer, laying two edges beside each other on top of a formica board.

Using a hot-air welder, he melts the two edges together.

A vinyl laminate valance is heat-welded to the bottom perimeter of the roof, creating a watertight connection.

Together, the workers pull the entire bottom perimeter of the roof through the heat welder.

In the woodworking area, a worker drills a hole in a roof rafter.

With a router, he cuts a notch that will eventually fit over a support cable.

Workers spray an oil finish onto the tooled rafters for aesthetics and added weatherproofing.

To keep the rafter from slipping off its cable, a worker screws a keeper bolt into a brass thread in the hole.

He assembles the compression ring, which sits at the top of the yurt.

He screws in rafter brackets made of galvanized steel.

A worker uses silicone glue to attach a rubber gasket to the bottom edge of the roof's acrylic dome.

The workers rest it on the compression ring, where it'll be held in place by cables and stainless-steel springs.

They begin preparing the yurt's lattice wall.

The vertical-grain pieces of douglas fir are dipped in water-based nontoxic penetrating oil.

The pieces for the lattice wall are placed in a multiple-head boring machine.

In one shot, it precision drills 200 identical holes through several pieces of wood.

A worker begins assembling the lattice wall.

As he lines up the pieces of wood, he flexes them to test their strength.

The alloy rivets he places in the holes will act as hinges.

He uses a pneumatic riveting machine to assemble the wall.

Its load-bearing capability, once fully assembled, is extremely high.

Larger yurts will have walls with as many as 200 pieces, while smaller yurts will have closer to 100.

Once riveting is complete, the worker makes sure the wall spreads properly.

On-site, workers spread the lattice wall.

They bolt both ends of the lattice to the doorjambs.

A worker places the galvanized aircraft cable in the upper notch of the lattice wall.

Workers attach roof rafters to the compression ring.

The ring end of the rafter is attached to the brackets with a through bolt, while the wall end of the rafter attaches to the cable.

The rafters are made of machined stress-rated wood, which can withstand the weight of snow.

They level the compression ring.

They drape a polyester insulation lining over the rafters and fasten it securely in place.

They cover the insulation lining with a highly-efficient reflective insulation.

Using fiberglass-reinforced aluminum tape, they seal the seam.

The foil insulation rests between the lining underneath and the exterior roof.

The workers now roll the vinyl laminate exterior wall around the sides of the yurt.

The exterior wall is securely laced into grommets along the bottom edge of the roof valance.

A worker standing in the compression ring hoists the acrylic dome up to the top of the roof and positions it on the compression-ring frame.

Yurt windows are sewn in with mosquito netting and have a clear vinyl covering.

All in all, yurt living means never pulling up stakes.

Marine plywood is used in the construction of docks and boats.

You can't use standard plywood in such wet environments.

Marine plywood isn't affected by moisture because it's made from sheets of a tropical hardwood that's naturally water-resistant and bonded with water-resistant glue.

Marine plywood is typically used in boats for flooring, bulkheads, and furniture.

The surface is typically a decorative type of wood veneer, such as oak, maple, teak, or mahogany.

The core, however, is made of bonded layers of okoume, a water-resistant species that grows in the hot and humid equatorial forest of gabon in africa.

When the okoume logs arrive at the factory, an automated chainsaw cuts half the shipment into pieces, measuring the length of a finished panel of plywood, and the other half into pieces measuring the width of a finished panel.

This produces logs with the grain running in one direction, as well as logs with the grain running in the opposite direction.

This is critical because when they construct the plywood, they'll crisscross grain directions to add strength.

Next the logs go through a series of rotary blades that progressively shave off the bark.

The now-barkless logs enter the rotary peeling machine.

It works like a giant pencil sharpener, shaving off a continuous thin sheet called a ply, hence the term plywood.

The ply is between 1/100 and 1/10 of an inch thick, depending on its position in the finished panel.

Blades on both sides trim the ply, producing neat, straight edges.

Then the machine rolls up the ply.

The next machine unwinds the continuous ply and slices it into separate plies.

If the log that produced this roll was one of those cut to the eight-foot length of a finished plywood panel, then this machine makes a cut every four feet-- the width of the finished panel...

And vice-versa.

This thickness of plywood has a five-ply core.

Three of the plies remain dry, while two go through this machine, which rolls strong, water-resistant glue simultaneously on both sides.

Now assembly begins.

Alternating grain directions, the first ply is a dry one, the second a glued one.

The bottom of it sticks to the ply underneath-- the top to the dry third ply that goes over it.

The next ply-- the fourth--  is a glued one.

The bottom sticks to the ply underneath, and the top to the fifth and final ply a dry one above.

Workers use a powerful pneumatic staple gun to attach this assembled core along the front edge so that it doesn't come apart as it enters the press.

The press holds 10 core assemblies at a time.

The current thickness of a core is the sum of the piles plus glue.

The press will reduce that by 10%.

It applies about 170 pounds per square inch of pressure, while at the same time heating the core to 250 degrees fahrenheit to literally cook the adhesive.

The core exits the press after seven minutes, the plies now perfectly flat and solidly bonded.

The wood veneer for the core's decorative facing is very thin, barely more than 1/100 of an inch.

To create a pattern resembling a hardwood floor, they join two strips at a time with a wavy thread of glue.

Next they join the two mated strips to two others, and so on, until the assembled veneer are the length and width of the plywood core.

The core, meanwhile, goes through the glue machine, which coats both top and bottom with adhesive.

The veneer sheet is also glued, but on one side only.

Workers lay the veneer glued-side up then carefully place the core onto it.

A second veneer, glued-side down, goes on top.

The okoume core is now sandwiched between two decorative wood veneers.

The press applies the same heat and pressure as it did to the core assembly, but for just one minute.

The result--  a finished sheet of, in this case, cherry veneered marine plywood.

Marine plywood comes not just in a variety of veneer choices, but also in a range of thicknesses.

Typically comprised of three to 13 plies-- always an odd number in order to have equal weight on either side of the central ply for balance.

There are many types of paints at an artist's disposal, each producing a very different effect.

Oil paint is opaque and rich.

Encaustic paint, being wax-based, has a unique texture that the artist can shape, then reheat, and reshape in countless creative ways.

Oil paint comes in liquid form and stick form.

With either, the artist can combine it with other products to modify the consistency.

Being oil-based, the paint takes a couple of days to dry, so there's lots of times to work with it.

However, once the coat is dry, it can't be reworked.

Encaustic paint, by contrast, is wax-based, so the artist must melt it while applying it.

Because wax cools and hardens so quickly, encaustic paint has a short working time.

However, the artist can reheat it and work it some more.

The main ingredient in encaustic paint is white beeswax.

To that, they add carnauba wax, which comes from the leaves of the carnauba palm tree.

Carnauba wax is quite fragile, which is why they strengthen it with beeswax.

They melt them in a microwave oven on convection mode.

Next they add dammar resin, which comes from trees native to southeast asia.

They grind the chunks of resin into of powder in a coffee grinder, then mix it into the molten waxes.

The resin will act as a solidifying agent, as well as make the paint glossy.

Once the ingredients are evenly blended, they pour the mix through cheesecloth to filter out minute plant particles, which the resin contained.

They weigh out a quantity of synthetic pigment and add it to the wax-resin mixture.

The ratio of pigment to mixture varies by color.

Some have more wax and less pigment and others vice-versa.

This manufacturer won't reveal any specifics about ingredient proportions.

Its paint recipes are top-secret.

After mixing for about 15 minutes, the paint is ready.

They carefully pour it into a mold.

This type of mold produces sticks.

The paint hardens in just a few minutes.

They scrape off the excess and melt it back to liquid to cast the next batch of sticks.

Then they unscrew the mold and pry it apart.

Once the mold is safely opened, they gently extract the finished encaustic sticks.

They wear gloves because the sticks are still a bit hot and can stain their hands.

For those same reasons, they wrap the sticks, once labeled, in plastic.

This manufacturer also produces handmade encaustic paint in another format--  rectangular blocks.

The process is identical.

The mold is made of flexible rubber.

The paint hardens sooner than in a metal mold because rubber dissipates heat far faster than metal does.

Workers don't need to wear gloves when extracting the blocks because the paint is already cool and therefore won't stain their hands.

To make oil-paint sticks, they first make a large batch of oil paint out of walnut oil, pigment, a drying agent, and a bit of wax.

Then they weigh out a specific quantity and add more walnut oil.

Next they add combined carnauba wax and beeswax, which are necessary to form the stick shape, however less wax than for encaustic sticks.

They blend all these ingredients for about 15 minutes, then pour the paint into a metal mold to cast sticks.

Every batch of oil sticks undergoes drying tests to ensure the paint dries within two days after being applied to paper.

Encaustic is the more durable of these two types of paints because it contains a larger percentage of beeswax, which is resistant to moisture.

And encaustic painting, therefore, doesn't have to be varnished or put behind glass.


Its name can be a bit of a tongue-twister-- "wuss-te-shire" sauce, "woos-ter-sheer" sauce, "wuss-te-sure" sauce.

All those pronunciations are acceptable, as are the endless ways to use this condiment, from flavoring beef recipes and salad dressings to joining tomato juice and vodka in a bloody mary.

In the early 1800s, an english nobleman in the county of worcester hired two local chemists, john lea and william perrins, to duplicate a sauce he had tasted while traveling in india.

The resulting concoction was unpalatable, so they relegated it to the cellar.

Years later, they came across it during a cellar cleanup and gave it another taste.

Lo and behold, the sauce had matured and was now delicious.

They christened their creation "worcestershire sauce" and went into business.

Today, more than 170 years later, that same company produces that very recipe, the specifics of which remain a closely-guarded secret.

The process begins with onions and garlic pickled in malt vinegar for one to two years.

Inside the pickling barrels, the bulbs slowly liquefy, their flavor infusing the liquid.

Other barrels contain anchovies cured in salt for several months.

Additional ingredients include salt, sugar, white vinegar...

Malt vinegar...

Tamarind concentrate...

Molasses...

And a top-secret blend of flavorings and spices.

Starting with the two vinegars, workers pour the ingredients one at a time into gigantic blending tanks.

There goes the tamarind concentrate.

Now the anchovies.

The ingredient proportions are top secret, as is the prescribed mixing time between ingredients.

Now the pickled onions and garlic...

Sugar and salt...

And that secret blend of flavorings and spices.

Next, they pump the mixture into maturation tanks.

There, over the course of several months, the ingredients age and interact with each other, undergoing complex changes in their natural chemistry which produce the sauce's distinctive flavor.

Agitators rotate intermittently to keep the ingredients well-blended.

The sauce then goes through a sieve, then through a press, followed by another cycle of blending and straining.

The sauce is a smooth liquid by the time it progresses to the next phase--  pasteurization.

This process heats the sauce to kill off organisms, ensuring optimal flavor for at least 18 months.

The sauce needs no artificial preservatives whatsoever because the vinegars it contains are natural antimicrobial agents.

The bottling process is entirely automated.

The factory produces different formats.

This one is modeled after the original bottle from the 1830s.

The machinery closes each bottle with a one-piece, plastic flip-top cap.

Inside, there's a small hole to ensure the sauce dispenses at the right flow rate.

This prevents accidentally pouring too much sauce.

As each bottle enters the labeling machine, an arm descends onto the cap.

The machine applies glue to a label, slaps it on the bottle, then the arm spins the bottle against brushes that push the edges of the label flat.

Then, depending on the format they're packaging, the equipment groups 6 or 12 bottles together and, from underneath, folds a carton around them.

Then it shrink-wraps the carton, which then joins others on a pallet.

The production process and recipe have remained essentially the same since worcestershire sauce was first bottled in 1835.

Lawn bowling is a quiet, civilized game, not something you'd expect to be outlawed.

But in 16th-century england, henry viii banned lawn bowling among commoners because it was a distraction from work.

It took a couple of centuries before his ban was lifted, and the game became completely legit.

In lawn bowling, the path to victory is not straight.

The bowl is designed to roll in a curve towards the object ball-- the smaller yellow one called the jack.

For many years, lawn bowls were made of a tropical hardwood called lignum vitae, but as this wood has become increasingly rare, manufacturers have turned to melamine.

And unlike wood, melamine doesn't change shape with temperature and humidity fluctuations.

Production begins with melamine granules that have been pre-dyed in a variety of colors to appeal to individual preferences.

An employee scoops the granules into a tub and weighs them.

Lawn bowls come in a range of sizes to fit different hands, so the weight varies accordingly.

He drapes a cloth over the melamine granules and holds it in place with pieces of wood.

Then it's into a machine called a pre-heater.

It uses high-frequency radio waves to melt the plastic into putty.

The cloth absorbs moisture generated in the process.

All those melamine bits have now merged into a malleable mass.

He squeezes it to reshape it a bit so it can be inserted into a molding press.

This 150-ton press forces the plastic dough into a hot mold to shape it into a lawn bowl.

This lawn bowl may look round, but it's not a perfect sphere.

This slightly irregular shape will cause it to roll into a curve.

He marks the size and other information onto it, and then it's over to a computerized lathe.

It spins the lawn bowl while the blade carves it to perfect that asymmetrical shape.

Other tools then etch two rows of half-moons onto the surface.

This engraved pattern makes the lawn bowl easier to grip.

The next blade slices off the nubs used to spin the lawn bowl in the lathe.

It also smoothes the surface until all evidence of the nubs disappears.

This receptacle uses suction power to hold the lawn bowl steady while a carousel moves it forward to undergo a vigorous polishing.

The polisher rubs paste onto the surface to buff the lawn bowl to an even sheen.

A robot then turns the lawn bowl upside down to expose the unpolished side...

Then puts it back in the receptacle so the polisher can buff this side of the lawn bowl.

The entire lawn bowl now gleams, and an unpolished bowl next to it looks dull by comparison.

But there's more polishing to come.

The next machine spins the lawn bowl against another polisher.

This one applies a finer-grade compound to it.

Down the line, lasers move in unison to engrave the same emblem onto four bowls.

It's a scottish thistle, one of over 4,000 team insignias available in this production facility.

Each lawn bowl then goes for another spin, and an employee paints over all the detail work.

He wipes the paint from the surface, but it remains in the engravings to accentuate them.

Some lawn bowls get two-tone paint jobs.

The worker brushes red paint into a hawk engraving, which provides a nice contrast to the yellow detail work.

Then it's over to the testing department, where they roll each bowl down a chute and check its swerve.

They also verify that each bowl lands in approximately the same spot as the master bowl, which means they're all equal and they conform to world standards.

Including cooling time between processes, it takes about two days to make a lawn bowl.

But once the work is done, it's all fun and games.

Radio-controlled model jets first flew onto the radar in the 1970s and have since evolved into sophisticated flying machines.

Many have turbine engines and use real jet fuel.

They allow people who would otherwise never pilot a jet to experience the thrill of flight with both feet on the ground.

Radio-controlled model jets can roll and dive like actual jets.

And they can reach speeds of up to 280 miles an hour.

Operating one isn't child's play.

It takes practice and skill to pilot this kind of model aircraft.

It also takes money because they cost up to $20,000.

Making a model jet begins with the paint job.

They airbrush designs directly into the molds that will be used to shape various parts.

This particular mold will be used to make one half of a wing shell.

When the paint dries, they roll epoxy resin into the mold...

Then put down a layer of fiberglass.

They reinforce the fiberglass with superstrong carbon fiber, then brush on more epoxy resin.

The next layer is balsa, a lightweight wood from south america.

They apply carbon fiber to sections of the wing where parts are to be attached.

Another sheet of fiberglass, and epoxy is the final layer.

Now they add a layer of absorbent material, then sandwich the mold in plastic film.

They install a connector for a vacuum hose and hook it up.

The vacuum pulls out the air, squeezing the layers together.

Then they bake the unit, which activates the epoxy, fusing the materials together.

Next, they assemble the wooden framework for the wings.

They reinforce it with strips of carbon fiber and apply epoxy on the edges.

The model makers carefully install the framework on the wing shell.

They apply an extra rib along the wing tip...

Slide aluminum cylinders into tubes in the framework, then bead more epoxy along the wing shell's perimeter.

They use high-strength adhesive in strategic parts of the framework to attach the other half of the molded wing.

They bolt the molds together and set the assembly aside to allow the epoxy to cure.

After a few hours, they extract the wing, its artwork nicely transferred from the inside surface of the mold.

Machinery then cuts holes in the wing for installing landing gear and motors called servos.

This router is computer programmed to make perfect cuts without damaging the internal framework.

This is critical because just a fraction of an inch off, and the router would destroy the carefully crafted wing.

The modeler now perforates the fiberglass layer of the wing.

He's creating a hinged section called an aileron.

It's a control surface that will cause the plane to turn or roll.

The ailerons and other control surfaces will be powered by servomotors.

The front fuselage shell has been molded and is now ready to be revealed.

Like the wings, the body of this model jet needs a supporting framework along with brackets for attachments.

Another computerized router carves them out of multilayered carbon-fiber board.

The modeler glues these parts inside the fuselage and the tail of the jet.

Coming up next, this model jet gets its wings and prepares for takeoff.

Controlling one of these jets is challenging and requires concentration.

These are expensive toys, and the learning curve is steep.

One bad landing, and this model jet could end up in a crumpled heap.

It's why flyers hone their skills at airfields and test them in international competitions.

Back at the factory, the molded pieces of this model jet are coming together.

They attach the wings to the fuselage using the cylinders installed earlier.

Then the modeler moves to the aircraft's tail and attaches the stabilizers...

The rudder...

And the vertical fin.

Super-strength glue cements the assembly.

Next, they build the motor.

This one is a ducted-fan electric system, a type used in smaller jets.

The modeler first assembles the casing that will hold the fan and its motor.

He slides airfoils into the casing to create four ducts, which will properly channel the flow of air.

He slides the electric motor into the aluminum hub...

Then anchors the assembly with a screw from the other side.

The next part is a speed-control mechanism.

He solders its wires to those protruding from the motor.

He encloses the mechanism in a vented tube, then sets the assembly aside temporarily.

Now focus turns to the fan, which he hooks up to a testing device.

As the fan spins, the machine analyzes it for vibrations that would indicate the blades are out of balance.

The gauge shows it's vibrating slightly, so he makes adjustments, and then it's ready to install.

He attaches the fan to the motor shaft and secures it with a bolt in the center.

It's now time to power up this motor at a test station.

he brings it up to full throttle and measures the thrust it generates.

It passes the test, so he installs it in the model jet's fuselage.

Later, this ducted fan motor will be connected to a battery pack.

Now he moves on to the landing gear and attaches air cylinders to the front and rear wheels.

Pumping air into these cylinders will cause the wheels to retract after takeoff.

This system will also cause the wheels to engage for landing.

Next, a sheet of clear thermoplastic is transformed into cockpit-canopy parts.

A machine heats the plastic, then vacuum-shrinks it to two molds.

The plastic hardens in seconds to create two clear plastic bubbles for the jet canopy.

They mold the cockpit shell in two sections using the same technique.

With the cockpit now installed and a doll for a pilot, this '50s-era korean war jet replica is in fighting form.

All that's left is to install the radio-control system, which will be done by the operator after purchase.

From nose to tail, the attention to detail isimpressive.

Some of these model jets even have gas-turbine engines for added authenticity.

With radio controls installed, this turbine model jet is ready to taxi down the runway.

The operator does one last check of the control surfaces, then it's time for takeoff.

Miniature turbine engines sound and work like those of a big jet.

These jets rumble and soar and can be made to perform many aerobatic stunts.

Of course, it all hinges on both the skill of the operator and a job well done at the factory.

But this looks like another successful landing.


Umbrellas
Outboard Motors
Silver Cutlery
Tape Measures

Today on "how it's made"...

Umbrellas...

Outboard motors...

Silver cutlery...

And tape measures.

It provides shelter from the rain, protection from the sun, and it's a chic fashion accessory.

The umbrella originated in ancient china some 1,700 years ago.

Since then, it's evolved from the original parasol to the modern-day collapsible canopy.

Unlike mass-produced models, this quality umbrella is meticulously crafted by hand.

Production begins with a birchwood shaft, which an artisan stains to match the umbrella's handle.

He narrows down the shaft so it will fit perfectly into the handle.

After buffing the handle to a shine, he glues it onto the shaft.

Next, the artisan forms two springs from wire made of nickel silver, a metal that can withstand extreme tension.

He bends one end of the wire into a triangular shape...

And hammers it flat to ensure a neat fit.

He cuts two slots in the shaft, one at the top and one at the bottom.

Then he pierces each slot, creating a hole for the spring to hook into.

With a bit of stain, he hides the exposed wood.

For the umbrella to open and close easily, the springs must fit snugly, so the end of the spring gets a right-angle bend.

This shape sets the correct tension.

With a tap of the hammer, the springs now rest firmly into the slot.

After trimming the spring, the artisan forms it into the perfect shape by purposely overbending, then correcting the position.

A small pin inside the shaft prevents the spring from opening fully.

This brass runner is what you slide up the shaft to open the umbrella.

A stop pin limits the runner's travel, preventing the canopy from blowing inside out.

The artisan fits a length of tying wire around the slot in the runner, then threads the canopy's eight ribs onto it.

The ribs are made of a type of steel that's strong, yet flexible, so they curve into a dome shape when the umbrella's open, then straighten out again when it's closed.

The ribs' other ends are wired to what's called a notch.

Once they're in place, they'll rest just below the handle line.

At the spot where the notch will sit on the shaft, a hole is drilled.

This will hold the pinning wire in place.

Workers cut eight triangular-shaped panels called gores from durable nylon.

They attach a label, then assemble the canopy by sewing all eight gores together.

Next, eight metal tips are inserted into a machine that wraps them in fabric.

Then they're stitched to eight locations inside the canopy.

These smaller pieces of fabric, called prevents, stop the canopy from chaffing against the frame.

This decorative rosette hides the point at which the runner and ribs meet.

Next, the canopy is draped over the shaft and hand-sewn tightly over the notch.

A tip is attached over the end of each rib.

Then each rib is aligned with a canopy seam.

After checking the fabric for imperfections, a worker secures the ribs in position by sewing them to their respective seams.

They roll up the umbrella to check that the fastening button and band attached earlier are in the right place.

A decorative ring goes over the notch.

Then the top of the shaft is crowned with a ferrule-- a brass cap with a protective steel tip.

This company embellishes its shaft with a steel-plated band, ideal for engraving the owner's initials.

After a quick wash, the canopy is ironed for a neat, crisp finish.

The final touch is a matching cover which you can slide off in an instant if you're caught in a sudden shower.

When we return, an inside look at the outboard motor.

Outboard marine motors come in a variety of sizes and horsepowers, ranging from single-cylinder models to powerful eight-cylinder configurations.

They can run on gas, diesel, or electricity, and they can provide power for a quiet day of fishing or an exhilarating offshore drag race.

Outboard motors have an engine on top and a gear case below.

This aluminum engine block is the skeleton that houses the cylinders-- the heart of the engine's internal-combustion system.

Under a stream of cutting fluid, machines hone the cylinders to precise dimensions.

Miniscule x's are carved into the steel that lines the cylinder walls.

Oil will settle into these x's, keeping the walls well-lubricated for the piston.

Workers assemble each piston manually.

First they build a ridged bearing and insert it into the loop at the end of a connecting rod.

Then they fit the rod into a pistonhead, securing it with a pin.

The pistons are placed in the cylinders.

Then they lower the engine's crankshaft into place and attach it to the loops at the ends of the connecting rods.

The crankshaft's bearings are lubricated and capped off.

Then this part of the engine is sealed with an aluminum cover.

To get the cover's positioning just right, the first bolt is driven into place manually.

A precision torque wrench does the rest.

Now the top is screwed on.

A magneto system is mounted onto the crankshaft.

As it spins, it generates electricity for the engine's electronics and pumps.

Meanwhile, on another assembly line, the gear case takes shape.

This machine locks the case's forward gear to a shaft that'll turn the motor's propeller.

The propeller shaft connects the lower driveshaft.

The factory buys these pieces readymade from a supplier but still has to refine the dimensions so that everything fits together perfectly.

This machine analyzes the shaft.

It concludes that this one needs to be a fraction of an inch longer, so workers add the required number of steel disks called shims.

They insert this driveshaft into the gear case, then attach the propeller shaft with the forward gear.

Now the gear case is linked to the driveshaft, which connects to the propeller shaft, which turns the propeller.

The next piece to go into place is the middle section of the motor-- the part in between the engine and the gear case.

First, workers attach the gear case-- now fitted with a shift rod for switching gears-- and an upper driveshaft which transfers power from the engine to the propeller.

Next, the unit gets a coat of paint that's salt-water resistant.

When the paint's dry, workers bolt the engine on top of the assembly.

The engine is plugged into a master computer which automatically uploads an operating system onto the engine's internal computer.

Then, using a scanner, they input information about each cylinder.

The motor is now fully operational.

Workers insert a propeller onto the propeller shaft, then lower the motor into a test tank.

This factory tests every motor it produces.

They run the engine for about 10 minutes while a computer analyzes the performance data.

After drying the engine thoroughly, workers apply the finishing touches, starting with the two-part cover that encases the lower portion of the motor.

Then they latch another cover over the engine...

And stick on decals.

Both covers are made of heavy-duty plastic coated in paint that won't fade, even after a lifetime of sun, wind, and water.

Up next, turning out the silverware that turns an ordinary dinner into something special.

Cutlery dates back to the stone age 300,000 years ago.

Prehistoric people made the first cutlery from splinters of stone, shells, horn, and wood chips.

During the bronze age, humans found a better material-- metal.

Forks came along much later, originating in ancient greece.

Whether cutlery is sterling silver, silver-plated, or stainless steel, the production process is the same.

It all starts with thin sheets of metal.

As workers manually feed the sheet through a press, a die inside punches out utensil shapes called blanks.

Fork blanks go into a piercing tool which slices away three strips of metal.

This creates four prongs with a support bar across the top-- for now.

Meanwhile, spoon blanks go into a machine called the cross roller, which expands the spoon head sideways, thinning out the metal at the same time.

Then it's into a clipping tool which trims the spoon head to precisely the right size and shape.

Both spoon and fork blanks now go into a grinding machine that smoothes away rough edges by vibrating them against small plastic cones.

Elsewhere in the factory, a specialized tradesman sculpts the steel die that will stamp the pattern on the cutlery handles.

Working from a designer's illustration, he has to interpret the pattern in three dimensions.

This requires tremendous skill because the depth of the design varies throughout the handle.

He measures these minute variations with a tool called a micrometer.

In the press, the die does three things-- emboss the pattern, gently bend the handle, and mark the back of the utensil with the manufacturer's name.

Now back to the head of the utensils.

The forks go into a press that bends the prongs to the right curve.

Now that support bar can finally come off.

Spoons, meanwhile, go into a press fitted with what's called a bowling die.

It strikes the spoon's flat head into a bowl shape.

Every time you strike metal, it hardens a bit.

So repeatedly during the shaping process, workers have to heat the blanks to soften them again.

Making knives is more complicated than making spoons and forks.

Each knife handle is constructed from two halves.

A press punches them out and stamps the pattern.

Then a clipping machine removes excess metal around the perimeter.

Now workers coat the edge with flux, a chemical cleanser.

The surfaces have to be spotless to bond properly.

The two halves are wrapped together with string.

Then powdered metal is poured into the cavity.

It immediately sticks to the flux on the edges.

The excess is discarded.

Then the handles are run through a mini furnace for 12 minutes.

The 1,600-degree heat liquifies the metal powder, soldering the two halves together and burning off the string.

After polishing, the solder line will be invisible.

Workers pour cement into the center of a centrifuge machine and load the hollow handles all around.

As the machine spins, it fills each handle with cement.

Now each handle gets a stainless-steel blade.

The blade's stem goes directly into the wet cement...

And a clamp holds the parts together during the hardening process.

A 12-minute bath in hot water cures the cement, making the handle/blade connection rock-solid and giving the handle weight.

For worker safety, it's only now, near the end of production, that they sharpen the blades.

A good polishing and this elegant silverware is ready for even the most sophisticated dinner party.

Coming up, a factory that goes the whole nine yards.

A popular tool in any utility closet, the spring-driven, retractable tape measure was invented in the middle of the 19th century.

But it didn't really become popular until the 1940s.

Today, any handyman without one just doesn't measure up.

Measuring tapes take the guesswork out of any job, and if you don't use one, you'll soon see the error of your ways.

Production begins with a three-dimensional computer design.

To bring that vision to life, a machine first pulls hardened strips of steel-- five at a time-- across a network of rollers that coat them with primer.

Then comes the paint.

After the paint dries, the strips are rewound in preparation for printing.

Printing cylinders roll the measurement markings onto the steel strips.

They use black ink for millimeters and red for meters.

Next, they heat the measuring tape.

This ensures that the protective plastic film applied by this machine will stick well to the steel.

Rollers then give the tape a concave contour so that it can be extended rigidly.

Every few seconds, the presses grind to a halt and a blade cuts the tape to the correct length.

At the same time, it punches a hole for the end hook, which is then riveted into place.

Another machine rolls up steel to make springs.

The spring enables the measuring tape to retract into the casing.

The end of the spring is clipped to an automatic-winding machine.

A worker places the lower half of the tape measure's casing into position.

The machine then rewinds the steel spring and transfers it into the casing.

The spring gets a little lubricating oil.

Then workers install the control breaks, which can be used to lock and unroll tape in place.

Assembling the rest of the casing is a snap.

Everything is screwed together.

The measuring tape is attached to the spring.

And then it's time to test that spring action.

This factory makes some longer measuring tapes from glass fibers, which are far lighter than steel.

Multiple strands of glass are pulled through a tub of white liquid plastic so that they'll stick together.

The fibers then enter a machine that coats them with more plastic melted down from hard pellets like these.

This process transforms the glass fibers into a strong yet flexible tape, the type commonly used for surveyors' tape measures.

A computerized printer transfers measurements to the tape a meter a second.

Lights illuminate the tape so a camera can check for printing defects.

An inspector double-checks the print job and also examines each tape for accuracy.

Some tapes are more accurate than others because of varying standards in different industries and different countries.

She grades each tape and marks it so that it can be tracked back to the operator.

A laser then moves over the tapes to check the accuracy level again.

If the reading is off by even a few thousandths of a millimeter, then the tape is rejected.

Winding a surveyor's tape is a manual job.

No spring system here, because that would make the tape measure too heavy and unwieldy.

After winding, the tape is cut and the end hook is fastened into place.

And finally, these measuring tapes are ready to roll.


Copper Pipe Fittings
Cylinder Music Boxes
Pepper Mills
Hot Rod Steering Columns

In the world of plumbing, it's all about connections.

And we're talking about elbows, t's, and other fittings.

Fittings hold everything together.

They're also used to reroute pipes and control the flow of liquids.

Without them, things just wouldn't flow as they should.

With so many shapes and sizes to choose from, today's pipe fittings literally have all the angles covered.

They start with sheets of copper.

This copper has been refined until it's 99.99% pure.

They load the sheets into a furnace that's fired at just over 1,800 degrees fahrenheit.

The copper melts into a piping hot soup and then flows into a second furnace.

This one has cylindrical molds which draw the liquid copper up and cool it as they shape it into solid copper rods.

These rods are flexible enough to wind through rollers as they travel towards a big spindle.

They spiral around the spindle, accumulating in big coils to await the next step.

This device uncoils the copper and chops it into little pucks about the diameter of a quarter.

Incredibly, each one of these pucks will be used to make a plumbing fitting.

This tool pushes the copper puck into a cylindrical die to shape it into tubing.

In this one swift action, a little copper puck is transformed into a much longer piece of pipe.

This copper has been reshaped as easily as a piece of putty.

One end is closed, but it's just temporary.

At the next station, equipment bends the tubing around forms to give it an elbow shape.

At the same time, a blade cuts the closed end to open it up.

Next, these elbows will get some fine-tuning.

A 2-part device comes together to steady them as tools stretch the internal diameter so the part will fit on other pipes.

A spinning cutter then carves bevels onto the rims.

This beveled edge will allow it to slide more easily onto other pipes during installation.

Over at the next furnace, they're working on a larger-scale project.

This molten copper will be used to make fittings for high-rises and other buildings with bigger plumbing systems.

The copper flows into a casting furnace.

It generates copper rods that are about the size of a telephone pole.

Each one weighs about a ton, so it takes a crane to move it down the production line.

A circular saw then carves them up, producing copper chunks that look a bit like firewood.

They heat each chunk in a furnace to make it more pliable.

Then it's into an extruder.

It uses tons of hydraulic pressure to hollow out the copper log.

At the same time, it forces the copper into a die that stretches it 12 times its original length and slims it down considerably.

The lengthy tubing cools down in a milky bath.

Then a crane moves it down the line to equipment that adjusts the diameter and chops it up.

Water now flows into the shorter piece of pipe, which is encased in a mold.

Tools push into the pipe, forcing the water in a vertical direction.

Sheer water pressure reshapes the tubing into a "t," while the mold establishes the contours.

"t" fittings are used to combine or split the flow of fluid in a plumbing system, and the water forming press does a seamless job of making them.

But there's still the matter of the closed end at the base of the "t," so they chop that off.

They machine all three openings, because when they connect it to other pipes, it has to fit--  to a "t," of course.

Now these fittings are ready to join other pipes and parts.

And by doing so, they'll make our lives a whole lot more convenient.

In victorian times, the cylinder music box could make or break a party in the parlor.

Its rich, ringing tones filled the room, and the design was truly a mechanical marvel.

Today that distinctive sound still resonates as companies make these instruments for a growing collectors' market.

Open the box, and you'll discover the gift of music from another era.

just wind up the mechanism inside for live music without any human performers.

a cylinder revolves, and strategically arranged pins strum a comb to produce the notes.

The ethereal sound is similar to that of a bell choir or a harp ensemble.

It all starts with equipment that stamp and cut steel to produce a comb shape.

A circular saw carves teeth in it, and this tool sharpens them.

They bake the combs over flames and then plunge them into a cool oil to create a thermal shock that hardens the steel.

With a flat tool, they direct melted lead into a mold positioned under the comb.

The lead hardens into a weight that will help produce the low notes.

A rotating tool cuts teeth into it.

They now spread lead solder on the comb's edge and on a corresponding piece of lead.

They file off excess lead and then tune the comb by first clipping the teeth...

Then grinding them until the notes they produce are precisely pitched.

This bit of fine-tuning is computer controlled.

they dip synthetic feathers in glue and apply them to the bass notes to soften the vibrations.

This completes the musical comb.

They move on to the brass cylinders and drill holes in them to transfer the musical score.

A computer controls this process, as well as the next one, which involves cutting steel wire and inserting it into each of the cylinder's holes.

This is called pinning.

And, of course, in the old days, it was all done manually and was far more time consuming.

Next, they pump resin into the cylinder and it adheres to the wall, securing the pins from the inside.

They spray compressed air to cool the cylinder as the resin cures.

After an axle has been installed inside, they arrange the cylinder on a baseplate and install little racks for the axle to turn on.

The cylinder speed will be regulated by the governor.

Using a special tool, they wind a long spring into its housing near the governor.

It's the release of this spring's pent-up energy that will cause the cylinder to rotate and strum the comb.

Positioning the comb next to the cylinder takes a certain know-how.

If it's even slightly out of place, there will be a lot of sour notes.

Dust can also affect the music, so they make sure to get every speck.

It's time to attach the lever that winds the music-box motor.

This little spring completes the connection.

They slide this mechanical musical instrument into its box, and it's showtime.

The classic wooden cabinetry sets the stage for a musical act that has timeless appeal.

there also are more contemporary-looking music boxes.

this art-glass design showcases the centuries-old technology.

And then there's a version that comes with all the bells and whistles.

Here, the cylinder operates cams that hit bells while, at the same time, plucking the comb.

It's a good example why the music box continues to be a tough act to follow.

ever since the 14th century, people have been using pepper mills to kick up the flavor factor, so they definitely have a well-seasoned reputation.

Today, pepper mills come with state-of-the-art grinding mechanisms and there are even electric models for a truly crushing experience.

Freshly ground pepper has more spice than pre-ground pepper, which makes pepper mills a hot commodity.

They make the grinding mechanism from tough, hardened steel.

An automated chiseling tool carves teeth into the outer ring, making a row of larger ones to crack the peppercorns and a row of smaller ones for fine grinding.

This smaller ring is to be the moving part of the grinding mechanism.

After the stamp trademark information onto it, a tool etches teeth into it, as well.

They're designed to grind freely against those in the outer ring without locking together.

Thick steel wire now uncoils and travels between rollers for straightening.

Then there's quick chopping action as a rotating cutter slices it into shorter pieces.

Each one will become a drive shaft for a pepper mill.

A tool slims and trims one end of the shaft so it will fit into the inner grinding part.

Rolling cutters carve threads into the other end for attaching it to the adjuster knob of a manual mill.

Robots install the inner grinding ring on the drive shaft.

They randomly select parts for close-up scrutiny.

A camera zooms in on the pepper mill's grinding teeth, and a computer analyzes their dimensions and general quality.

Now it's time to assemble the grinder's outer ring, shaft, and inner grinding device, which they press-fit to the pepper mill body.

They surround the grinder with a metal ring and brace it with a bracket.

They insert a light bulb to illuminate your food so you don't add too much pepper.

Then they attach a test motor, which turns the grinding mechanism and checks the bulb.

A few units are selected to undergo a grueling test.

They run them for hours at a time to confirm this production run can handle the daily grind.

But a pepper mill just isn't complete without its partner, the salt mill.

They use stainless steel to make its grinding device because it resists the corrosiveness of salt.

Hydraulic machinery punches the metal into dies 10 times to shape the salt mill's outer grinding rings.

Here you can see the various stages of the forming process.

The final result is a part with three large, jagged teeth in the lower section.

They're designed specifically to move salt crystals towards the inner grinding ring.

After a computer check, this part is ready for assembly.

They install it in the salt-mill housing and then insert the inner grinder and shaft.

Once the electric motor is attached, this salt mill is done like dinner.

For a traditional pepper mill, they sculpt wood into that classic shape recognized by pepper fans everywhere.

They insert the same kind of grinding hardware that's used in the electric mills, but the shaft is longer because this manual mill will be quite a bit taller.

Chefs often prefer a pepper mill with height because it's easier to use.

Once assembled, the pepper mill gets a fill-up.

Then they cap it and adjust the top knob to a medium grind.

Of course, all mills can be adjusted for different-sized grinds.

From fine to coarse, the choice is yours.

It's really a matter of taste.

The driving force behind a vehicle's direction is the steering column.

It connects the steering wheel to the front wheels.

But despite the name, steering isn't the steering column's only job.

It also houses the turn-signal switch and a tilt mechanism to adjust the angle of the steering wheel.

This company makes custom steering columns, the kind you order when building your own classic car or truck.

For the main shaft of the column, an automated band saw slices steel tubing, two at a time, to a specific length.

This belt sander smoothes out the rough edges.

The next machine forms the shaft into a specific shape that'll engage and turn with the steering wheel.

A computer-guided laser cutter makes the steel housing that'll cover the steering column's upper components.

It cuts holes for the various control levers that'll connect to the steering column.

The upper housing now goes onto a device that holds it steady while a belt grinder removes any surface imperfections.

Meanwhile, workers weld together the two steel pieces that make up the steering column's lower housing.

Then, to make the steering column look sleek, they attach a steel cone using a fine welding torch.

With an abrasive belt, they polish the weld line until it's barely noticeable.

Then they do an overall polishing to make the entire surface smooth and ready to paint.

They've attached a component called the lower yoke shaft to the main shaft made earlier.

After greasing it, they snap an upper yoke shaft into it.

These enable the shaft to pivot when you tilt the steering column.

Here, they install a component in the lower housing to which they'll later attach the tilting mechanism.

Once that's in place, they install a pull wire to help pull through the electrical system later on.

Finally, they slide the shaft through the housing.

A computer-controlled milling machine shapes the tilting mechanism's aluminum body.

The next machine installs position-locking fingers which allow the column to tilt when you pull the tilt lever then re-engage to lock in the selected position.

This press installs bearings to make the turning process smooth.

Now the upper section joins the lower section.

They attach with two pins that allow the column to pivot.

A thick steel spring supports the column so when the fingers disengage the column doesn't just drop into the driver's lap.

Next, they install the column's upper housing.

That's the part with the holes for the levers to control the tilt, the turn signals, and the emergency flashers.

Remember that pull wire?

They tape the signal switches and wiring to it then pull them through the column.

They'll later cushion this exit hole with a rubber grommet to prevent any chafing.

Next, they install the horn cam.

It passes power from the horn to the steering wheel to enable honking.

Using this tool, they lock in a retaining clip to hold everything together.

All the wiring that passes through the steering column connects to a plug.

You just insert it into the vehicle's electrical system.

These steering columns come in a choice of finishes.

You can also buy an unfinished column and paint it yourself.

After installing the column, you just add a steering wheel then mount the levers and knobs included in the kit.

Then, from that point on, you're in the driver's seat.


Race Car Oil Tanks
Plaster Mouldings
Lemongrass Oil
Fly Tying Vises

In racecar engines, excess lubricating oil is stored in tanks rather than oil pans.

This prevents the oil from sloshing around during the race and causing drag on the crankshaft.

With less drag, performance is increased.

So these oil tanks are part of a winning strategy.

Racecar oil tanks come in various shapes and sizes in order to fit into difference vehicles.

But their purpose is the same-- to keep excess oil out of the engine to boost performance.

Each tanks starts with a computer design.

The engineer maps out the precise dimensions.

They input the measurements into computerized machining systems.

This first one cuts a long piece of aluminum into smaller pieces, creating blanks to make parts known as tank rings.

A vertical milling tool sculpts a recess in the blank to seat an o-ring sealer.

Then, switching bits, the machine contours the outside of the blank, taking it from rectangular to round.

Other tools carve a large hole in the center and profile the inner diameter so that the part will mate to the tank.

This ring is designed to be removable to access the tank for maintenance.

Here's the blank before and after machining.

Like powerful cookie cutters, computerized punches cut out numerous parts from an aluminum sheet.

They include the oil tank body, the top, and other assembly pieces.

To make the tank body cylindrical, a worker turns a crank to curl it around a roller.

This tank body is called the wrapper.

He drills a hole in the bottom cone.

The hole is for the line that returns lubricating oil to the racecar engine.

Using a thin band saw, he trims the cone to fit the tank ring.

With a device known as a hydraulic tube bender, a worker shapes a piece of pipe to a precise radius.

This pipe will be used to vent air into a chamber at the side of the oil tank.

He trims the ends of the vent tube using a band saw.

A worker welds the tank ring to the bottom cone, creating a thick seam all the way around.

He then seals the seam of the cylindrical wrapper body and welds a top cap to a deaerating baffle.

Air will rise through it and vent it into and out of a side chamber, leaving only oil in the tank.

He slides the baffle into the wrapper body.

He inserts the vent tube in a hole on the side of the tank.

He fits an adapter ring to the upper lip of a tank and taps it down with a rubber mallet.

He welds the baffle and filler neck to the tank body, and then assembles the air vent chamber to the side of the oil tank and welds it to it.

Moving to another station, a worker now taps perforated plastic inserts into holes in the air vent chamber.

These inserts will both vent and filter the air from the tank.

He fits a rubber sealing ring around the fill neck and screws the cap on.

He applies the adhesive-back decals to the tank for branding purposes.

He caps the oil inlet tube to keep contaminants out during shipping.

He turns the tank upside down and installs a valve on the bottom of the vent tank.

He inserts a rubber o-ring into a groove on the base of the tank wall and tucks it into place all the way around.

After equipping the fittings on the cone with caps for shipping, he installs the cone on the base of the tank and screws the ring tightly to it.

Accessing the tank for maintenance reasons will mean unscrewing this part.

That completes this racecar oil tank.

Hooked up to a system of pumps, these tanks will receive and dispense oil sparingly to improve engine performance.

They've been well-equipped for life in the fast lane.

The ancient greeks first began beautifying interiors with ornate columns and moldings shaped from plaster.

Decorative moldings were a popular design feature in much of europe from roughly the 17th century onward, with italian tradesmen becoming famous for their mastery at plasterwork.

Specialists in traditional plasterwork are a rare breed these days.

But that's who you need to hire to properly repair plaster moldings in a historic home or to craft plaster moldings from scratch.

To repair this damaged ceiling medallion, the plasterman first saws and chisels off the problem portion, clearing a flat work surface.

Then, he drives and screws part way to anchor the new portion of molding.

The heavier the plaster molding, the more screws you need to hold the load.

Another plasterman, meanwhile, prepares the plaster.

The first ingredient is lime compound-- a simple mixture of lime, also known as calcium hydroxide, and water.

He forms a well with his scraper...

Then fills the well with a mixture of roughly three-quarters water to one-quarter construction-grade bonding glue.

He adds just the right amount of plaster of paris, which is powdered gypsum, the same stuff they use to make casts for broken bones.

He takes his trowel and thoroughly blends the lime compound, glue mixture and plaster of paris.

When it has the consistency of pudding, the plaster is ready.

The plasterman does this all by eye, without ever actually measuring a single ingredient.

After applying bonding glue to the repair area, the other plasterman trowels on lots of plaster.

Then, he takes what's called a circular running mold.

Its profile is out of the existing molding.

He runs it back and forth over the wet plaster, hence the term "running mold".

Then, he carefully scrapes away the excess and runs a wet paintbrush over the new and old portions of the molding.

This makes the transition between the two appear seamless and smoothes out any imperfections.

To make the running molds, he cuts out a cross section of the existing molding and traces it to produce a sheet metal template with the same profile.

Then with that, he cuts the shape in wood, producing what they call a stock.

After sanding the stock smooth, he screws on the metal template.

The wood backing prevents the metal from bending as he runs it over thick plaster.

He screws more wood to the stock to form a handle.

To make crown moldings, the plasterman mounts a track to guide his running mold.

He checks for anchor screws obstructing the path.

If he finds any, he drives them a bit further into the ceiling.

He brushes on bonding glue and lets it sit for five minutes.

Then, he begins applying the plaster in sizable globs.

He passes the running mold over the plaster.

He repeats several times with additional plaster, waiting 20 minutes or so between coats to let the plaster harden just enough to hold the shape.

He applies the final coat by hand, filling in crevices and imperfections.

Then, he passes the running mold one last time.

The wet plaster molding takes anywhere from 48 to 72 hours to dry, depending on its size and on the humidity in the room.

Only when the molding is completely dry can the plasterman begin the next step, crafting the corner pieces, called miters.

Starting with larger knives and scrapers, he uses the edge of the adjacent moldings as a guide, adding some plaster, sculpting it, then removing the excess.

He keeps repeating these steps until each side of the miter matches the molding it joins perfectly.

It's a slow and meticulous process that takes patience and an expert eye.

Once he has perfected the profile, he refines the edges with smaller knives and scrapers.

Finally, he blends the surface with a wet brush, rendering the transition from miter to molding visually seamless.

Brand-new yet distinctively old-world.

Lemongrass isn't just a culinary herb.

Oil distilled from the plant is a popular ingredient in soap and spa products.

Used in aromatherapy for numerous therapeutic reasons with a fragrance that's citrusy yet sweet, lemongrass oil definitely passes the smell test.

Follow the scent of lemongrass, and the trail leads to thailand.

It's here that the plant is grown and processed into an essential oil.

Lemongrass oil is the signature scent in this part of the world.

After harvesting lemongrass, workers select the most fragrant specimens and dry them.

They transfer these plants, stalk and all, to a distillation facility.

The heady aroma of lemongrass will now be concentrated into a potent essential oil.

Workers unlock the top of the still and pour in chlorine-free, deionized water.

Once the still is one-quarter full, they add the lemongrass.

They stack the bundles in a crisscross fashion, creating gaps for steam to pass through.

They fill the still to the brim.

It will take 66 pounds of lemongrass to make roughly 1 quart of highly-fragrant essential oil.

They screw the lid tightly to prevent the loss of steam during distillation.

They activate the still, and it heats the water to the boiling point.

Steam rises through the plants and picks up the oils.

It carries the oil vapor up through a pipe and into a condenser, where the vapors cool and return to a liquid form.

The liquid oil and water drip out into a flask.

Oil and water don't mix.

So the oil floats to the top.

And the water is drained off and recycled back into the distiller.

The technician then collects the lemongrass oil in a bottle one drop at a time.

The lemongrass oil undergoes a second distillation in a laboratory, using a more sensitive piece of equipment known as a rotary vacuum evaporator.

The oil flows into a flask that's spinning in a hot bath of vegetable oil.

The evaporator pumps out air and creates a vacuum in the flask, which lowers the boiling point.

This prevents damage to the delicate molecules responsible for the lemongrass scent.

The oil vapors rise to a condenser coil where they reliquefy, leaving any residual water and impurities behind.

The pure lemongrass oil drips into a receiver flask.

As distilled lemongrass oil is collected, more flows into the evaporator beaker for purification.

The distilling process is continuous.

The rotary vacuum evaporator processes roughly 2 to 3 quarts of fragrant oil per hour.

They store the lemongrass oil in a cold room with other essential oils.

Like fine wine, it must be kept cool, or it could spoil and ruin its bouquet.

When it's time to formulate ingredients for a cream or lotion, a technician blends lemongrass oil with other essential oils.

Just a few drops make a difference you can smell.

They also use lemongrass oil to enhance the soothing qualities of bath crystals.

The technician first sifts epsom salts and baking soda into a bowl.

He adds measured amounts of the blend to sea salt crystals.

He stirs the ingredients by hand to evenly distribute them in the mix.

The bath salts are now ready for an infusion of the double-distilled lemongrass oil.

He adds it to a submixture of other essential oils to create a blend with calming effect.

He pours the essential oils onto the crystals.

And they soak into the tiny spaces in the particles.

They then add some more aromatic spice-- a freshly-ground blend of lemongrass, turmeric, and other ingredients.

He sprinkles the herbs onto the crystals and folds them into the blend.

The final effect will be skin-tingling and rejuvenating.

Incorporated into many products, lemongrass oil will awaken the senses.

Fly fishing uses artificial lures called flies rather than natural bait like worms.

A fly is a hook that has materials like feathers tied to it with thread to trick the fish into thinking there's an insect floating on the water.

To make your own flies, you use a fly tying vise.

This fly tying vise has pockets at its base to hold your materials and sturdy steel jaws to grip the fishhook while you tie those materials onto it.

This machine makes the sand molds for casting the metal pocket bases.

It deposits moist sand into a flask to form one half of a mold, then rolls over the flask to a pattern on the other side.

After spraying the pattern with a nonstick coating, a worker sifts sand onto it.

Then the machine deposits sand on top to form the other half of the mold.

It compresses the sand with roughly 4 1/2 tons of hydraulic pressure.

The pattern sandwiched at the center forms the mold cavity.

A machine separates the halves to remove the pattern, then puts them back together.

In the casting area, workers heat pieces of bronze to approximately 1,922 degrees fahrenheit, melting them down.

They remove the pot from the electric furnace and place it in a pouring shank.

They pour the molten bronze down a channel leading to the mold cavity.

After about a half hour, once the bronze has cooled and solidified, the flip the mold onto a vibrating grate.

First the impact and then the shaking break the mold.

The sand falls through the grate while four connected bronze pocket bases remain on top.

Once they're cool enough to be handled, a worker saws them apart.

The bases go into a rotating drum filled with tiny steel beads.

As the drum spins, the centrifugal force throws the beads against the bases.

This removes all remnants of sand and polishes the surface smooth.

The bases go onto a computer-guided milling machine.

It drills a hole to affix the mounting piece for the stem that holds the head of the vise.

The mill also cuts a circular hole at the center of the base for a decorative coin bearing the manufacturer's logo.

They finish the bases with a clear protective coat, a proprietary formula that prevents the bronze from oxidizing.

The vise's other parts are machined out of metal bars.

Here, a computer-guided lathe transforms two square steel bars into the vise's jaws.

First, it cuts a small half circle on one piece for the cam that opens and closes the jaws.

Then, it turns the ends to form a point.

The entire transformation from bars to jaws takes about 90 seconds.

They place the jaws, one at a time, into a press and make a slight bend to set the correct spring tension.

They verify the depth of the bend with a specialized measuring tool, then send the jaws to an outside facility that applies a black protective finish.

When the jaws come back, workers assemble them.

First, they put the cam through the semicircular hole.

Then, they compress the jaws in a vise and slide an aluminum head onto the back.

When the jaws come out of the vise, they expand to their original position, retaining the head.

Workers apply the manufacturer's sticker, then thread a brass thumbscrew that you turn to lock in the position of the head, which swivels left, right, or 360 degrees.

They then bolt the handle into the cam.

When you depress the handle, the cam opens, opening the jaws.

On the reverse side of the jaws, they mount a clip for holding the feathers, yarn, or other materials you're using to tie your fly.

Then, they glue the logo coin into the pocket base.

They install the mounting piece for the stem, then the stem itself.

A thumbscrew on the mount holds the stem in place.

The head connects to a swivel at the top of the stem.

The jaws securely hold the hook while you tie your fly using anything from feathers and fur to tinsel and beads, creating your imitation of an appetizing insect or tiny fish.