Fire, like sauna, is a keystone of my life. There is a mystery to fire that even science cannot unravel. It is more like the fourth state of matter—plasma—than the familiar trio of liquid, gas, and solid. I have played with and studied fire since I was a kid, sometimes barely avoiding serious trouble, other times under the guidance of elders like in Boy Scouts when my troopmates and I boiled a quart of water in five minutes during a fire-building competition. As I grew to an adult, burning wood became a way to heat our family home. Wood cutting and splitting became not only a chore but a workout and a way to get my angst out with each strike of the axe.
After I learned metalworking in art school, I started to apply my skills to making wood stoves and thinking about what happens inside a stove—the mysterious process where tons of fuel wood are reduced to a small amount of ash, carbon dioxide, particulate, and other emissions, carried away by the wind. The heat is generated when the atomic bonds of carbon molecules break, turning matter back into the energy of the sun that formed those molecules. There is something seductively simple in that balance of carbon in/carbon out, but as we now know, there is also something deviously complicated about the carbon cycle. I have warmed myself with wood heat over the years in my home, shop, and sauna. Each time I light a fire there is still a allure to the flames that draw me to them, calms my mind, and perhaps blinds me to greater issues.
In the past fifty years, wood stove technology has gone through several changes. Initially, stoves were simply boxes with a loose-fitting door and a chimney—like the Ben Franklin stove. These stoves burned uncontrollably and inefficiently and needed constant feeding. Later, airtightness became a thing: dampers were dialed in, rope caulk was added to the doors, and the fires were slowed down so they could burn all night.
But while the fire burned longer and cooler, not all the organic matter was combusted—more went up the chimney. Flammable wood gases called creosote condensed on the cool sides of flu pipes and chimneys, building up thick tar-like layers. Eventually, that compound would catch fire, sometimes taking the whole house with it.
In the ‘70s, the nation endured an energy crisis, and wood stoves became a very popular way to deal with the spiraling cost of oil. The ‘70s also saw the birth of the environmental movement and the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA). The EPA stepped in to regulate the developments in wood heating as did Underwriter’s Laboratory (UL). Stoves had to be made safer and cleaner burning. Expensive catalytic converters—like on your car—were added to the stove outlet to capture some of the nasty stuff. But neophytes, in their craze to burn wood, skipped the all-important step of letting firewood dry at least two years. The converters clogged up. The cats were dropped, and the focus turned to better engineering. Stoves are now designed with all kinds of baffles to get the wood to burn cleanly. They are complicated affairs, and many don’t work that great. They certainly don’t burn all night, or as I used to do with mine, burn non-stop all winter.
But sauna stoves are different beasts. Since they are “occasional use only” (only one model is UL listed) they are, thankfully, EPA exempt. Technically. But still, I don’t want to be that guy who smokes out the neighborhood every time I light my sauna—especially since this past summer when we all got a taste of the Smoke Armageddon coming down from Canada’s forest fires. So, despite my years of wood-burning experience, I continue to tweak the process and learn the idiosyncrasies of my stove. Every stove fires differently, and even a familiar stove can rebel when the wind changes or when a sauna is moved. When I light mine, I know it will smoke some. My goal is always to get it burning hot as fast as possible so combustion is near complete and the smoke will be minimal.
The three sides of the fire triangle are heat, fuel, and oxygen. A perfect balance gives a cleaner burn.
You can easily adjust the fuel and air, but the heat, not so much. The heat in a wood stove comes from the fire itself, so you need to get the stove very hot, as quickly as possible, to achieve a good balance. Above a certain temperature, wood emits gas when heated in a reduced atmosphere; this gas will burn cleaner than the wood itself. If you get your stove so hot that the wood gas burns before the wood, it will burn cleanly. (There are cars designed to run on wood gas. A heated tank of wood chips creates the gas to power the engine.)
Most stoves have a baffle or two and an upper chamber where the hot gases will hopefully combust when mixed with additional air. The real heat is at the top of stove, before it exits the flu. In my Lämpimämpi stove, the top plate that the rocks sit on is 3/8” steel. I will get this steel glowing a dull cherry red (about 1300°F). Any gas passing through this chamber will be burned. But until the upper chamber is hot, gases and particulates will escape up the chimney, and the sauna will smoke. Having a brick-lined fire chamber will help the fire get hotter faster. Wet cool days will make it worse as will a down-draft caused by the sauna being in the lee of nearby trees or structures. Wet wood doesn’t help either.
Up until this week my process has been to get a small fire going briskly, with the ash drawer open and stove door open until it starts to roar (I have an external feed, so no worries about embers falling out). Then I add larger sticks in one or two loadings until I fill the fire chamber (nothing bigger than my arm–scrap 2×4s are perfect), topping it with one or two small hardwood logs. The problem is, when I add the fresh wood on top of the fire, there is a period of incomplete combustion as the wood heats up, and the stove smokes a lot. If the wind is wrong, my neighbors will get smoked out. I tinker with the ash drawer or open the stove door to blast in more air until the smoke clears (another advantage of an external feed: I can watch the chimney.) I can add more air to balance the fuel, but I can’t add more heat. Think of it like the carburetor on an old car. Too open, it won’t run well, too closed, it sputters and smokes and clogs the engine. Not enough heat, and it won’t burn well either. I try to find the sweet spot. Unlike a wood stove in a house, I’m not worried about things getting too hot (better than too cool). It’s not uncommon for my stove pipe to glow red for a while, but that’s ok, because I know my installation is safe.
Recently, after reading an online post, I tried a new way to fire the stove (yes, old dogs can learn new tricks): from the top down! I load up the stove with thicker sticks at the bottom, then smaller, with short sticks crisscrossing between them. Then on top of this stack I put wads of newspaper with a handful of kindling and light that. The fire immediately starts heating the baffle and upper chamber as the fire slowly works its way down. This way the flames aren’t cooking the larger sticks before they are ready to burn. This solves the too much wood/not enough heat problem. Amazingly, it only takes five to ten minutes for the fire to reach the bottom, and a hot bed of coals forms quickly. I leave the ash drawer open slightly for twenty minutes and then add more wood. After that, I can’t see any smoke. When we take our sauna to one of the local parks, we can be clandestine; with no tell-tale smoke, passersby have no idea that our sauna is cranking hot inside.
I know there is a whole argument for decreasing our carbon footprint as much as possible and not burning any wood, but there is an opposing argument that says we need to maintain our ties to nature to want to save it. Controlling fire is not only as old as humankind but one of humanity’s defining traits.
Without getting into the debate, which I don’t lose sleep over, I admit again that I don’t want to be that guy. I want to remain sensitive to others and burn my stove as cleanly as I can. Learning how to master the art of fire building is one small step to take if I am going to cling to tradition and enjoy a really smokin’ hot sauna.
If you look Podunk up in the dictionary, it will tell you it is a hypothetical or insignificant town.
The folks who live there think otherwise. In reality, Podunk is a place name on the map, the location just a short ski south of Trumansburg, New York, where I grew up. The smattering of residents, will all tell you that Podunk is very real and very significant.
In the 1960s, Ozzie Heila settled there with his family on an old farmstead established by an even older Finn who first built his sauna (above) before the house in the 1930s. It is also where I learned all the important things in life. In the 1970s I spent countless winter hours there at the ski center that Ozzie established, becoming a damn good Nordic skier and developing a life-long passion for the sport.
In the summers, I explored the creek with his son my good friend Daniel and learned the value of immersing one’s self in nature. Daniel’s mother, Ethel, was my art teacher in middle school; she helped me become the artist I am today, and we still have wonderful conversations about color theory and art composition. The sauna was the heart of the complex of dated farm buildings; there I learned to channel my need to experience extremes into something healthy and life affirming. We loved going from the hot to the cold.
Jumping in the creek in the dead of winter after a searing round in the sauna, we felt more alive than ever. That feeling has never died; each cold plunge I take during sauna takes me back to that creek.
Today, Daniel and his family were back in the area and we went to Podunk to visit the old homestead once again. This time we took our Finnish Blue mobile sauna and parked it next to the ramshackle old sauna, which is now defunct and awaiting a rebirth. Of course, many things have changed in that memorable place. The trees have grown huge or have died; the old purple Lilac, with the rusty sauna bell hanging from its branches, is gone and the brush has been cleared away from the old sauna, revealing the sagging bones of the century-old structure. But the building itself is as recognizable as the last day I took a sauna there about twenty-five years ago. The inside is a sadder story. It turns out that squirrels like the sauna too, and they have made it their own. In an expression of horror at the mess, the Lämpimämpi stove I welded up for Ozzie in the 90s sits with it’s mouth rusted wide open.
The path through the field to the creek is the same but with a detour to the left towards a new dipping hole: a makeshift stone bathtub—with a strategically placed rock to help keep your butt moored—in the midst of the rushing current. The run down to the creek had an awkward familiarity: running all out before cooling off while maintaining stable footing. Still a challenge. And the sensation! Whoops and hollers of twelve-year-old boys came out of us as we braved the icy April stream.
Real or not, Podunk is the same as it will always be. What are memories but unreal fragments of experience in our minds, ready to be stirred up by whirling waters in a cold stream or by the exhilarating steam of a sauna?
The old next to the new will always appear old, until we make it new again and live our lives to the fullest, with no regrets, in the now, and with dreams, not of memories, but of tomorrows.
New sauna and parked it next to the old sauna near the creek.
Traveling with one of our mobile saunas to the lake and delivering to new owners.
We have been building mobile saunas for the past ten years! And because of their growing popularity and versatility, they now make up most of our business. Each unit is still handcrafted with many layers of details. The owners each get a unique product tailored to their specifications. It’s also an easy way to avoid zoning and permitting restrictions and the hassles of a site-built project. Investing in your dream sauna makes more sense if you know you can take it with you!
We hear from our customers all the time that their friends, family, and neighbors are as excited as they are to have a sauna!
Mobile wood-fired sauna, on a trailer.
For many people, owning a sauna feels like a bare necessity during the winter months!
This recent sauna build is just steps from the owner’s historic, New England homestead. Our saunas are designed to blend in with the home and environment. The classic details of this historic house are elegant rustic with dramatic rock outcroppings and a fire pit, making for a perfect gathering spot.Our wood-fired mobile saunas travel well and can be parked in beautiful places.Scarlet by the lake ready for a cold plunge
Having a sauna at home is a low maintenance life upgrade.
Our 5’x8′ mobile sauna parked in town with 100 gal. cold plunge tank.Interior of our larger mobile sauna. With a large pile of rocks, our saunas can get as hot as you like. We aim for 212° F (100° C)We build many mobile saunas in our shop in Ithaca, NY. Working in our 3000 sq. ft. shop is more efficient than building on-site.Two sizes of mobile Saunas on display at our shop in Ithaca, NY
We offer building plans for DIY sauna builders or your local builder for one-time usage only. Thanks to our valued sauna plan customers, and the growing popularity of DIY sauna building, we have taken the opportunity to launch our new & improved mobile sauna building plans! Our sauna plans are fifty plus pages and include detailed notes, drawings, photos, and material lists for a wood-fired, 5’x8’/6.5’x10′ build. If you are thinking about purchasing our plans or building a sauna, we offer you an opportunity to build your own sauna using construction plans. Rob Licht has developed the best practices of sauna building with thirty plus years of experience.
“The blue of our lakes and the white snow of our winters.”
—Zachris Topelius, poet
Colors used on this mobile sauna were inspired by the Finnish flag.
Our Finnish-Blue Sauna is in the News: Read Our Story > Stay posted on the latest Finnish-blue mobile sauna outings on Instagram @saunasbyrob and facebook @custom-saunas We will use this sauna for pop-up and promotional events in the Finger Lakes region of New York State to showcase our saunas and promote sauna culture.
Mobile sauna interior with the Lämpimämpi sauna stove, tiered benches, and large window with a beautiful view of the fall foliage.Wood-fired from the outside.Lämpimämpi sauna stove.Stick hardware by Rob Licht.
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 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.
View of the mobile sauna looking out through the dressing room to the campsite. Pile of rocks sit on the Lämpimämpi stove.
It’s been a busy year at Rob Licht Custom Saunas, and as the holidays approach, it is a good time to look back at everything that’s been accomplished and the hurdles we’ve gotten over and to be thankful for the blessings we’ve received.
We started the year in the midst of the pandemic which made for some challenges. But mostly, the pandemic has meant a huge uptick in the sauna business, as we all became more centered on home life and more reluctant to go out into public for things like gyms and saunas. Besides the several projects I have completed locally and around central New York, I have fielded calls and emails from folks desperate to have their own saunas from as far away as Europe and Australia. I never set out to become a sauna expert, but here I am, twenty-five years into making them, and people are seeking out my knowledge from all over. In the process, I feel like I have made many new friends. The global sauna community is alive and well. At the same time, due to the pandemic, I have mostly refrained from seeing all but my closest friends and family. It’s a strange new world, but I am thankful to be connecting to so many people, if only on Zoom.
For my new friends, I have designed and consulted on saunas from Maine to California—this has kept me busy when I was not getting my hands dirty. But whenever I can, I work with my hands, either in my 3000 sq. ft. shop, which I am ever grateful for, or on job sites. It used to be that builders would simply stop in the winter and spend the dark months sitting around the woodstove reading back issues of Fine Homebuilding, but now we all seem to be out there in any weather. My cut off is 10° F, any colder and I want to be by a fire—in the sauna, preferably. Good gear helps with the cold; I’m especially grateful for my boot warmer and insulated pants.
Mobile saunas showcased in the shop. Lansing, NY
Nothing I do is cookie cutter—I would die of boredom is life was too easy— thus the custom in my business moniker.
This year I seemed to run the gamut of sauna permutations: First, a garage retrofit for a yoga and sauna retreat, then a quiet walkout basement electric affair, then a classic one room wood burning sauna on an idyllic creek, then a more urban collaboration in Syracuse, followed by a tiny personal electric sauna in a bathroom, a rustic elegant wood-burning retreat in the trees, and a distance job downstate. Currently, I’m finishing up an electric sauna in a historic boathouse on Cayuga Lake. I’m hoping to take it for a test drive, with a jump in the frigid water, by Christmas.
Garage retrofit for hot yoga and sauna.Classic creekside sauna set fifty feet from swimming hole. Idyllic.Walkout basement electric sauna bliss.Backyard sauna design, urban collaboration in Syracuse, NY.Rustic, elegant wood burning sauna.Cozy interior of a backyard sauna.
Between all of these, I have sold a few of my Lämpimämpi sauna stoves and many sauna plans. Do It Yourself interest, in the mobile saunas is really big now. I get a kick out of seeing my designs being brought to life by many different hands. It is also fun to see all of the other builders following in my steps. The more builders, the better. There is plenty of work to go around, and I encourage anyone who wants to take the work seriously to pursue it with a passion. I did offer a sauna building class this year but had to cancel; Covid has thrown a wrench into a lot of plans. But stay tuned: perhaps 2022 will be the year.
Covid also tossed a wrench into the supply chain. We’ve all heard the phrase “supply chain disruption” by now. I bid jobs in the beginning of the year only to see prices on materials I quoted go up by 250%. Some materials simply vanished from the shelves. But now things have settled down, and I’ve started ordering and stock piling materials well in advance. I can keep several saunas worth of lumber and supplies in my big shop and insulate myself from some of the inflation—another reason to be grateful for the big work space.
Rob at the shop!
I’ve been working alone for most of the year, which actually suits me fine, especially with Covid lurking. Workers are hard to come by: not only are the skilled trades losing new blood, but I think the pandemic relief made a lot of people lazy and unwilling to get off the couch. Scarlet, now my partner in everything, has been my greatest blessing. When she can escape childcare duties, she has proven to be the hardest worker I could wish for. I could use a few more workers like her: eager to learn, unafraid of dust and dirt, and willing to sweat. She also manages all of the marketing, so give her kudos for the quality web media you see. The business feels like it wants to grow, so if anyone is seriously interested in building saunas and wants to relocate to Ithaca, drop me a line.
For those of you lucky enough to have a sauna, I hope you get to celebrate the New Year in it, for there is no better way to bring in the new and shake out the old. It’s been my tradition for four decades now, and I hope to continue for four more.
Taking sauna with Scarlet by the lake, December 2021.
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