The town of Newfield, just south of where I live, is known for its rolling hills, deep gullies and rugged forest. When I used to live there I’d ramble about the woods and back roads that thread their way through sparsely populated forest. Just south of there is Spencer, known for its many Finns who settled there in the early 1900’s. Mostly these Finns came east from Michigan in search of better farmland and a life that did not include mining. You can still make out saunas behind the old farms: small wooden outbuildings with a tell-tale-chimney. Some are still in use; others are slowly falling apart, as rural structures tend to do.
At the bottom of Van Buskirk Gulf, on a stretch of seasonal road, next to the creek, is a curious arrangement of structures. One is a beautiful old stone bridge dating to 1818— the oldest in the county— that was restored several years ago. Overlooking this is an abandoned stone house; the windows shuttered with plywood and the insides littered with graffiti. Although it echoes the stonework of the bridge, county records show it was built in 1865.
Across from the house and alongside the creek sits the main object of my curiosity— an old steam sauna or banya.
Unlike the old wooden saunas, this building is built from tile block and concrete with a beautifully plastered interior. The plaster, which is over metal lathe, has a smooth eggshell finish that is only typically found in high end homes that predate the use of drywall or plaster board. The metal lathe came after the use of wood lathe. My Guess is the 1930’s-40’s. The layout has an entryway where one would undress and relax. A room to the side has a small door in its far end leading to a fire chamber below the sauna room. This is where the firewood must have been stored and the fire tended to. Beyond the dressing room, up three steps, was the bathing room. It is all plastered, including the bench, with an arched ceiling and soft curves. In the center along the interior wall, above the fire chamber, is the heater that features a large rock chamber.
The fire would pass over these rocks until they were ready to use, then, once the fire died down, the iron lid was lifted and water would be thrown on the rocks to produce steam.
This is the same as modern heat storage heaters. A side door from the dressing leads directly to the creek. Remnants of a heat exchanger tell me that hot water was also available to bathe with.
Up the creek is the remains of a large dam structure. Was this a work camp of some sort? Were Finns (or Russians) employed nearby? Was it a mill site? Perhaps it was built during the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps) era of the 1930’s when many trails were built in nearby parks. I can imagine a group of workers enjoying the steam bath after a hard day’s work and plunging into the creek. I can also imagine fixing it up and returning it to use. If anyone has any answers, please share them!
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Reference: Melissa Ladenheim, The Sauna in Central New York, Dewitt Historical Society of Tompkins County. Ithaca, NY 1986.
The landscape of Upstate NY is punctuated by the rural agrarian architecture typical of an area rooted in 19th-century traditions. Massive old barns reign supreme and are typically surrounded by a cluster of smaller accessory buildings: smaller barns and equipment sheds, dairies, smokehouses, and, occasionally, if one looks hard enough, a sauna. Sadly, many of the wood-sided buildings have either burned or fallen into abstract heaps of their formal selves. Their replacements— metal-sided Morton buildings and giant fabric-covered hoop structures—are strictly utilitarian and lack the romantic appeal of the old barns. It is the former that inspires the creative in me.
When I was an aspiring young artist, old barns were often my subject matter. My father and I would go for drives in the country and stop to draw landscapes with a barn as the focal point. Now, when I build my saunas, the vernacular of old farm structures is never out of my mind. In particular, I am drawn to the older simple gable roof structures, rather than the more efficient gambrel roof. There is something pleasing about the simple geometry and the formal balance in earlier barns. When additions were made they typically created a hodge-podge of shapes and the formal symmetry was lost.
Rob stands next to and old saw blade waiting to be refurbished.Rough cut 1×12 Pine for Sauna exterior
The barns were typically sided with local pine, nailed vertically with green boards nailed closely but with gaps that would open as the wood dried. These gaps were often covered with narrow battens that were nailed so that the boards could shrink and swell. This is the beauty of board and batten siding: it takes into account that the wood is alive and not a fixed entity. It is this board and batten technique, or variations of it, like reverse board and batten or vertical shiplap, that I often employ. Nailed correctly so it can move, the wood will last for one hundred years, as is evident in many of the old barns still standing.
The best part of this style of siding is that it typically employs local lumber. Most rural towns have a sawmill nearby. In our region mills typically cut White Pine and Hemlock. I rely on a sawmill that has been in operation for 50 years: Collins lumber in Alpine NY. It was started by Bob Collins and continues to be operated by his nephew. The same saw has provided siding for hundreds of barns, sheds, and other outbuildings in the area. What is distinct about the operation is that they use a traditional circular saw. Many newer sawyers use a bandsaw mill, perhaps even a portable unit they can bring to you. What I like about the wood I have been getting from Collins for the past 30 years is that there is a character to it. The circular saw marks on the rough sawn boards create a pattern that has repetition but also pleasing randomness—like jazz. Certain saw teeth will mark more than others. No two boards are alike. It’s not like metal siding, cement board siding, or any manufactured material typically used in construction these days. It speaks of the trees, the mill, and the rural landscape.
It’s the kind of thing you might never notice, except when you come out of the sauna and have time to stare at the inconsequential things in life while you cool off in the fading light of day with the sunbeams raking across the swirling marks left by an old saw blade.
If the heart of the sauna is the kiuas, or sauna heater, then the soul is the rocks.
—Rob Licht
Every brand of heater I’ve installed has a different approach to the rocks. Some, like a wall hanging 6 or 8 kilowatt unit, use less- maybe 40 pounds, and some, like the Harvia Cilindro or Club heaters use more— up to 200 pounds. Wood burners vary too, Kuuma’s heater takes 150 pounds or so, but you have to provide your own. My own custom built stoves ( Lämpimämpi ) take a similar amount 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, basically has a cage that surrounds the stove. By the time you are finished loading it, you won’t see the stove. There is even an optional cage that surrounds the stove-pipe to hold even more rocks.
The Finnish and Swedish heaters use Olivine Diabase or Peridotite, igneous rock found in Scandinavia. All of 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 has stopped asking what is 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. (shown below) These are heavier and denser than our native shale, which is worthless for the sauna since it tends to explode when heated. They have a crystalline structure that you can usually see and a solidity and heft that is evident when you pick them and bang them together (they are not easy to chip.)
Lämpimämpi with Glacial Erratic RocksLämpimämpi with Jagged Olivine Diabase Rocks
A big 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 45 minutes” I really want to answer with the same sort of retort I give when someone asks how long 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? 450° Fahrenheit, more or less. If you want more steam, then you want more rocks.
Löyly is the soul of the sauna’s mysterious expression.
—Rob licht
If you expect several rounds or people coming and going, then more rocks are good. 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 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; 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 (and mine 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 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 happen 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).
Custom Sauna with Harvia Cilindro with carefully placed olivine rocks.
If your electric heater comes with the grey jagged 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 45 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 the rocks 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 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 seem 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!
Wood-Fired Mobile Sauna by Rob Licht Custom Saunas.
Although Glamping is a term that was coined in the early 2000’s, 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 to flock to the woods in search of adventure and commune with nature. These 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 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 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.
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.
Recently I posted a picture of the sauna fire burning hot and mentioned Sam McGee. For those who don’t know, Sam McGee was the sad character from Tennessee who could not take the cold of the Yukon in the poem by Robert Service: The Cremation of Sam McGee. His last wish was to be cremated, a task his friend dutifully tried to complete. The ending had the narrator peeking into the make-do crematorium in the boiler of the derelict ship stuck in the ice on Lake Lebarge and finding his late friend as warm as could be and calling out to shut the door.
Whenever it is extremely cold out, as it has been recently, I think of this poem and the warming power of a hot fire. I love it when the mercury dips below zero. There is something invigorating about having your snot freeze when you breath hard or having sweat icicles dangling off of your brow. I love cross-country skiing in the dark, in the cold, when two hats and two pairs of gloves are needed. One false move and the night might end like “To Build a Fire” by Jack London, another favorite read from Middle school—when I would dream about all of the great explorers who ventured into the frozen lands.
walking through the snow towards a hot sauna fire
I remember my senior year of high school when Cayuga Lake last froze over. That was a cold year. We did a lot of cross-country ski races that year. With our skimpy race suits and tiny boots we had no protection other than the fire in our hearts to keep us from freezing to death. During the Canadian Ski Marathon that year it was minus 40 at the 8 a.m. start. Celsius and Fahrenheit. If you blinked too long your eyes would literally freeze shut. Old lady volunteers would slap our cheeks at checkpoints to make sure we didn’t have frostbite (and we still wore our skimpy suits.) By the end of that year my parents had moved to the heart of the lower Adirondacks. Our house, in the Black River valley, was often the coldest spot in the lower 48. It was minus 25°F for days on end. Thunder would boom from the river each night as the ice expanded. The ice was several feet thick; I have no idea how the fish survived. I loved to be out in that: skating, skiing, or snowshoeing. It was the cold of a Jack London Story. Your spit would literally freeze in mid air and hit the ground with a crackle.
I had a hot sauna to crawl into after our ski races during that cold winter in high school but not in the years after. When I moved back to the area after college, I went back to that sauna at Podunk weekly until I could build my own and have kept up the ritual ever since. On these freezing nights it is never too cold for a sauna; in fact I relish those times when you can experience the 200° (or more) difference as you go from the hot room to the night air. Your feet freeze to the ground and your hair forms punky icicles.
There’s no need to wait until you are cremated to be truly warm; Poor Sam McGee, if only he had a sauna!
When building a sauna the first and possibly most important consideration is the location. With a wood-burning sauna, which is free from the tether of an electrical connection, it can be away from the house—not just for safety but also to create a separation from the electrical buzz of modern life. Simple and inexpensive solar options make it easy to provide needed lighting. It should have some of the comfort of home but be integrated into nature; near a body of water is always a good choice.
My latest sauna does all of that and more. The site is fairly close to the house but lies outside the garden gates. It all but hangs on the edge of a small gorge that contains a lively creek in its serpentine confines. Like the basswood and cherry trees that cling to the sides of the gorge, firmly rooted in the ground, the sauna is anchored to the 300 million year old shale bedrock with concrete and steel. The owners built a steep stair down to where small waterfall flows into a perfect bathtub sized hole. Descending it may be slightly perilous but that only adds to the adrenaline to rushing from the steaming of the sauna and plunging in the ever-cold water.
As I build I tweak my design to allow nature into the sauna. Framed and without sheathing I could see the perfect view up the ravine from the upper bench, suggesting the optimum location for a small candle window. The large window allows a view of the wooded hill and brings in ample afternoon light and the view down into the creek through the framing allowed me to imagine the possibility of a small square creek view porthole below knee level that would let in the ambient sound of the rushing creek. Exiting the sauna one faces the woods, not the house; a crude stair-path leads the eye up into the forest while the other leads to the creek.
The sauna is visible from the road and the house, but neither is evident from the sanctuary within. All you hear is the babble of the creek and all you feel is the relaxing heat of the sauna. Finishing a few rounds in the sauna with a dunk in the massaging water is pure bliss.
The site not only perfect for the sauna but it was a joy to work there, listening to and watching the water flow. Daily I took dips in the creek to beat the steamy summer heat. Having a site that allows me to enjoy the process of building lends means I can build a better sauna—one that is infused with the spirit of the place and connected to nature.
