Apparently the climate you live in makes a big difference on the care and keeping of older wooden bagpipes and chanters. I inherited my dad’s and they’ve spent most of their existence living in the humid setting of the Maritimes. The transition to a dry climate has not been kind.

Before I go any further I should calm family fears and note that the pipes are fine. It’s the old practice chanter that nearly met with an untimely end.

When I was a kid I tried to learn to play the pipes. This was years after I’d decided that I was not the world’s next virtuoso violinist. Dad gave me a plastic practice chanter. I’m not sure of it’s origins, but since the top and bottom don’t match, it screws together rather than sliding together (no hemping or taping involved), had hand carved counter-sunk finger holes, and looked suspiciously handmade. There’s a possibility it was made by dad – however he could have easily purchased it from someone else over the years. It had decent sound and dad cut down the mouthpiece (since the top was molded plastic) to I could reach the finger holes.

Alas, I never was all that interested in learning to play at that time. I don’t think I made it past the scale. I loved listening to the pipes but playing them just wasn’t my thing.

When I inherited dad’s pipes, I also acquired his practice chanter and the practice chanter of my childhood fling with playing. Dad had a lovely blackwood chanter with a consistent sound. There were some tiny line cracks along it but nothing unexpected in wooden chanter instrument of its age.

Apparently the constant temperature change – from freezing dry cold to stinking hot dry cold with a few wet weeks thrown in – causes wooden chanters (and pipes) to crack quite severely in the West. A few weeks ago I noticed my hairline crack on the upper section of the practice chanter had started to grow. On Monday, just before band practice, I was playing and noticed a big air leak. Sure enough I looked down and my hairline crack had expanded. P, our poor abused instructor, taped it together and recommended my falling back on the plastic chanter.

On the way home I decided that if dad’s couldn’t be repaired, I wanted a new chanter. I was going up in the world. The plastic one I played as a child was ok when I first started learning to play this year. With it’s permanently shortened mouthpiece, I couldn’t play it comfortably once I’d actually started learning how to finger properly. In the intervening years my hands and I had grown. Not much. But enough to give me hand cramps and sore shoulders.

Tuesday evening we trotted across town to see Arnie at the Celtic Pipeline. We learned Arnie is retiring and his daughter is carrying on the business from her Calgary location. Calgary! *sigh* Arnie had a few practice chanters left – all long and all with severe countersunk holes. While they sounded nice, I just didn’t like the feel of it in my hands. It was too big.

On the drive home I plotted how I was going to get a new chanter. My friend Paul sells them at his store and he’d be next on the list to check out. Nothing, not even friendship, beats a going out of business sale! If Paul didn’t have one I liked I would need to search high and low on the interweb.

Drew had other ideas. He pondered and pondered. Then pondered some more. He grabbed the handyman’s second secret weapon and got to work. By the end of the evening I had a repaired chanter. It might not look pretty, but the leak is gone. Sealed. And no duct tape was harmed in the endeavor. Most likely because he didn’t use duct tape. As a secret weapon it’s second to none…

Crisis averted. My practice chanter is fixed. You may all go about your regularly scheduled business now. Oh, and my hubby rocks!

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