Sauna Rocks

If the heart of the sauna is the kiuas, or sauna heater, then the soul is the rocks. By Rob Licht

If the heart of the sauna is the kiuas, or sauna heater, then the soul is the rocks.

Every brand of sauna heater I’ve installed has a different approach to the rocks. Some, like a wall hanging six or eight kilowatt unit use less, maybe forty pounds. And some, like the Harvia Cilindro or Club heaters use more, up to two hundred pounds. Wood burners vary too. Kuuma’s heater takes one hundred fifty pounds or so, but you have to provide your own. My custom-built stoves (Lämpimämpi brand) take a similar amount of stones and like the Kuuma stove, the rocks are piled on top, mounded as high as you can. The Harvia Legend, an elegant wood burner from Finland, has a basic cage surrounding the stove. By the time you are finished loading the stones, you won’t see the stove. There is also an optional cage that surrounds the stove pipe that hold even more rocks.

sauna rocks in electric heater

The Finnish and Swedish heaters use olivine diabase or peridotite, igneous rocks found in Scandinavia. The rocks I have used that come with the electric heaters look the same: grayish chunks, some flatter, some chunky, all in the size range you’d find in a bag of potatoes. These are amazingly cheap, considering that they come all the way from some quarry in Finland or Sweden. The UPS driver stopped asking what was in the boxes (“yup, rocks”). Once, I found a note in one from a young Swede, hoping that I was happy with my rocks.

My favorite rocks are hand-selected glacial erratics: various igneous granitic and metamorphic stones that I find in places where glacial melt waters sluiced out potato-sized rocks.

These are heavier and denser than our native shale, which is worthless for the sauna since it tends to explode when heated. The erratics have a crystalline structure that you can usually see and a solidity and heft evident when you pick them and bang them together (they are not easy to chip).

A significant consideration when selecting a heater is the rock capacity. The more rocks, the longer you should let your sauna heat up. Clients always ask: “How long should we let it heat up?” While I usually say, “About forty-five minutes,” I really want to answer with the same sort of retort I give when someone asks how long it will take for paint to dry (“as long as it takes”). The correct answer should always be: the sauna is ready when the rocks are hot enough to produce good löyly or steam. Löyly is the soul of the sauna’s mysterious expression. And how hot is that? Four hundred fifty degrees Fahrenheit, more or less. If you want more steam, then you want more rocks.

Löyly is the soul of the sauna’s mysterious expression.

More rocks are good If you expect several rounds or people coming and going. No one wants to pour water on the rocks expecting a stimulating burst of steam (but not too sharp), only to hear the fizzle of water barely boiling. That’s like trying to make an omelet in a pan that is barely hot. Disappointing, to say the least, but also bad for the heater. There’s a Finnish saying that goes something like this: when you leave the sauna, put another log on for the sauna elf, or he will pee on your stove. Which means don’t keep throwing water on the stove, especially at the end, if the rocks are not hot. The warm water will just sit on the steel stove and rust it. When you throw water on the rocks, it should all turn to steam, and when you are done, the stove should dry quickly. When I finish eating my omelet, I rinse my cast iron skillet and let it dry over the flame; I don’t let it languish all wet in the dish rack. The same principle applies to the sauna stove.

Jagged rocks will catch and momentarily hold more water, allowing less to get past the rocks and into the heater. The dense, roundish rocks I use produce a nice soft steam, but they have to be hot. I’m not so worried about water getting down to my stove, which is always very hot. (Lämpimämpi stoves have 3/8” steel plate on top so they will never rust out.) By the way, always use clean water and be wary of city water with chlorine or even country water with minerals or methane. We use only use filtered water or rain water for löyly at home. Spring water or distilled water might be prudent in some cases. Never use pool water or, worse, let some disrespecting novice wring out their bathing suit over the rocks, as I have seen in a gym—pleasant smells should emanate from the rocks. Special sauna oils or even Sauna Brew can be added to the löyly water for aromatic effect. Heck, we used to add beer to the water (cheap lager was always best).

If your electric heater comes with the jagged, grey olivine rocks, I suggest using them. They are selected to fit between and around the elements. When setting the stones, first I rinse them, then I take care to arrange the rocks one by one. It can take me forty-five minutes to fill a large capacity heater. For the Cilindro, I place large rocks at the bottom to hold up the others and then work a flattish layer against the cage wall. I then backfill against the elements with smaller and irregular rocks. On the smaller, wall-mounted units, I try to fit the flat stones between the elements without forcing or bending them. The goal is to loosely fill the cage so there is good airflow and to completely conceal the elements. Lastly, I top off the heater with larger stones and try to arrange them so they will catch water and force it inward, not splashing it out. In Finland there might a “spirit stone” placed here: a special stone or stones from a favorite place (make sure it is igneous or metamorphic—test it in a campfire first if not sure). The top might even have a layer of more decorative stones, which in Finland you can buy from sauna dealers, but here in the US, I have only seen the same dull grey stones. The Harvia web page has a good section on stones and how to place them into the pillar.

Once you have the sauna going and have been using it for a year or so, expect the stones to settle and flake off. You should remove them, vacuum out the heater and replace the rocks loosely, discarding the broken ones and adding more if needed. Failure to do so will cause the heater to eventually overheat and lead to the elements failing.

Care in selecting and placing the rocks will ensure that your sauna…Rocks!


Sauna Enhanced Glamping

Sauna Enhanced Glamping

Wood-fired mobile sauna by Rob Licht Custom Saunas.

Although Glamping is a term that was coined in the early 2000s, the concept of an adventure in nature bolstered by all of the modern conveniences one could muster, or have mustered for them, has been around for well over a century and a half. In 1869, writer William H.H. Murray of Boston extolled on the virtues of experiencing the Adirondack backwoods in his book Adventures in the Wilderness. This inspired an avalanche of urban neophytes flocking to the woods in search of adventure and to commune with nature. These adventure seekers were known as “Murray’s fools.”

People traveled great distances and endured great hardships, such as days of travel over log roads (which were literally made of logs placed side by side) to get to the heart of the Adirondacks. Once they arrived, they sought out the services of guides, who did everything for them—transporting them in their guide boats, making camp, catching and cooking their meals. In essence, these early Glampers brought with them from the city every expectation of service they would get at the finest hotel.

“The mountains call you, and the vales:
The woods, the streams, and each ambrosial breeze
that fans the ever-undulating sky.” 

—Armstrong, Art of Preserving Health

Glamping with Portable Sauna
Glamping experience enhanced with a sauna (banya) in tow.

While part of me chuckles at the concept of Glamping with it’s pretense of tender-footedness, part of me is drawn to the concept of rustic luxury. Although I am as far from a camping neophyte as one can be, with years of deep woods experience and many a night sleeping on hard ground, the concept of luxury camping does have a certain appeal to me now. I’ll sleep in a tent on a platform—with lights and heat and maybe a commode. But better yet, with a sauna next to it.

The idea of communing with nature combined with sauna is perfection—and something, I bet, even the luckiest of Murray’s fools never had.

Interior view of our 6x10 ft mobile sauna built by Rob Licht Custom Saunas
View of the mobile sauna looking out through the dressing room to the campsite.
Pile of rocks sit on the Lämpimämpi stove.

Der Schlep

Most people glorify the act of building, the transformation of a humble pile of building materials into a noble sauna or house or shed. I like to think that, too. I believe that my profession is a noble one, with an emphasis on craftsmanship and attention to detail that can only be honed by decades of working with fine materials. But the truth is, on any given day, on any given project—especially for on-site work where I take my tools and materials, my truck and trailer, my lunch and my laptop and various other accoutrements—I am often just a professional schlepper. And I bet any other contractor reading this just now nodded their head.

I love building saunas that are removed from the house, perhaps beyond the garden gates or down by the lake or out in the woods next to a pond. I like to work immersed in nature, take lunch by the water, and contemplate the finer things in life while I toil at my craft.

But when I bid jobs like these, I have learned to think of the schlep: The sum total distance from truck to the site. I think of thousands of steps back and forth to carry lumber, to retrieve the pencil or glasses from the cab, of the stairs I have to climb, or the potential for slipping and falling with a hundred pound load on my shoulder. I have literally carried an entire 8’x12′ sauna on my shoulders, load by load. Some days I count the steps and do the math—how many miles I wonder? Other times I count the load—a ton of concrete mix, how much work was that?

I don’t mind the schlep. The key is to embrace it. If I know from the scale of the schlep from start and plan for it—clear a path, remove obstacles, make ramps—then I can proceed slowly but with the steadiness of a Yoga master moving through a progression of poses. Each repeated carry is perfected in the same way a bobsled driver learns to lean through each curve.

With two or more people, it is a choreographed movement. Go left here, stoop here, K-turn at the end, and dosey-do before we enter the door. Perfecting the movement makes it almost enjoyable.

At sixty, I have to protect my body. I know my strengths and limits, and my strength is knowing how to carry and move heavy objects. Always keep one hand free—you never know when you’ll have to counter an off balance step. Always be relaxed and take smaller loads—there is no race. It is amazing what you can achieve in an hour of honest schlepping. Ironically, when I have a spell of days or weeks when my back is out and the chiropractor is needed, it’s always the stupid stuff that caused it: desk work (I stand at my desk now), shoveling snow, or that heroic effort to rake all the leaves in one Sunday. These tasks are unintentional actions. Work with intention, and you will become stronger. Work smarter, and you will avoid injury. I really like those sixty pound concrete bags… and I’m eyeing those forty pounders. At nineteen, everything came in hundreds.

Rob—der schlep.

I’ve had jobs where the schlep caught me off guard, like the sauna cabin in the woods where I was promised an ATV to haul everything. After the first week, three feet of snow put the brakes on that. Everything had to be hauled in on a sled with me in snowshoes. Good thing I loved those Jack London stories as a kid.

But then, I’ve been pleasantly surprised, too, like at a recent job on the lake where the haul was several hundred feet down steep stairs or a windy path. Eventually, the owners produced a golf cart. It became my mini truck and my morning joy, as I breezed down the hill silently. There is a beauty to electric vehicles—the joy of still hearing nature as you whizz through it.

I’ve thought of offering classes on schlepping or even rigging (a specialized form of schlep that involves more weight, more dance, more cooperation). We would move things each day. And then maybe move them back again. Everyone has it wrong about Sisyphus. If the enjoyment of the act of moving becomes the goal, rather than the completion of the act, then the schlepper can be seen as a master perfecting their craft. Like a cat that keeps hitting the toy away only to chase it again, a worker who carries load after load and enjoys the process will reach the goal of pleasure in their work.

And only when a worker enjoys his or her work is true craftsmanship possible.