1. The Beginning with the Ash Tree
It all starts with the ash tree. Not every tree is good for a hurley. Some are too soft, some are too hard, and some just don’t grow right. The tree has to be strong but with a bit of give in it. That’s what makes the ash special. People have used it for hurleys for as long as anyone remembers. When you walk through an ash grove, you can almost see the shape of hurleys in the trunks. The maker looks for a tree that’s straight, clean, and grown slow. You can’t rush nature, and that’s the first lesson in making a hurley.
2. Selecting the Right Ash
Once the tree is cut, the lower part is kept. That’s where the real strength sits. The wood is chopped into shorter pieces called butts. They’re stacked and left to season. It’s just drying, but it takes patience. Months, sometimes longer. The wood needs to dry right through or it’ll twist later. You can tell by touch if it’s ready. The grain should run straight from one end to the other. You learn to see it after a while, like lines on a map. No machine can read that the way a person can.
3. Preparing and Splitting the Wood
When it’s ready, it’s time to split. It’s done with an axe, sometimes with a wedge. The aim is to follow the grain. You can’t fight it, or the piece will split wrong. You study it a bit before swinging. There’s a quiet to this part. Just you, the block, and the sound of the wood opening up. When you split it right, you can already feel the start of the hurley in your hands. Each piece has its own mood—some easy, some stubborn. You work with it, not against it.
4. Shaping the Hurley
Now it starts to take shape. The rough block becomes something that looks familiar. The handle starts to thin out, the bas starts to spread. It’s not a quick job. The blade, the rasp, the plane—all get their turn. The hand does most of the judging here. The curve isn’t measured, it’s felt. Some hurleys are thicker, some a little lighter. Every maker has their way. Machines can cut, but they can’t feel. A good hurley has a kind of balance you can’t write down or teach from a book.
5. Drying and Balancing
After shaping, the hurley is left again to rest. Wood needs time. It moves a bit, even after being cut. Some makers let them dry by the wall, others in a shed with air passing through. Once it’s settled, it’s lifted and swung, just to see how it feels. A hurley shouldn’t drag in your hand or pull to one side. It should move easy, light but steady. The weight should feel right without thinking. Makers don’t talk about balance much—they just know it when it’s there.
6. Sanding and Finishing
The next part is cleaning it up. The marks from the tools are sanded off. The handle is smoothed, sometimes shaped a bit more for comfort. Some leave it bare; some put a bit of oil or varnish on it. Depends on the maker. You don’t want it shiny, just sealed enough to last. The bas is checked again. Flat, even, ready. There’s a smell to fresh ash after sanding, kind of warm and clean. That’s when you know it’s nearly done.
7. The Final Piece
When it’s finished, it doesn’t look like much—just a piece of ash shaped by hand. But for anyone who’s played, it means more. The hurley holds its maker’s touch, every mark and line from the process. No two are ever the same. You can tell who made it just by the feel. It’s simple work in a way, but it takes years to get right. The tree, the hand, the time—it all ends up in that one stick. That’s the real story behind every camán.