Frankly, handplanes scare me. Not because they are particularly dangerous, but because I never seemed to be able to get them set right. Almost every other tool I've used comes out of the box ready to do something interesting to a piece of wood. Planes, however, would always move three inches and dig in, scarring their way across my project. Needless to say I used a lot of sandpaper in my life.
My moment of truth was the surprise acquisition of a Lie-Nielson bench plane at a very reasonable price (if one can ever call a Lie-Nielson plane's price 'reasonable'). Now it was either use it or build a special shelf on which to rest it forever. I did what I always do when confronted with a challenge - I bought a book on handplanes. And into my live came Garrett Hack's remarkable effort, called, appropriately, 'The Handplane Book.'
One can only describe this volume as massive overkill. By the time I got to the chapter entitled 'How to Plane,' I had received instruction on what a plane is, its history, its mechanics, and how to tune it. And once done with that chapter there was even more information on different kinds of planes - truing, sizing, joinery, surfacing, scrapers, shaping, and so one.
Hack writes well, but planes are a dry subject to anyone but the most dedicated. The book is lavishly illustrated with a remarkable selection of planes, old, new, cheap and very, very dear. You will never, ever have to buy another book one the subject. And that's saying something about any book.
Of course, I ran into the shop, grabbed my new plane, fiddled with it like I knew what I was doing and promptly planed three inches, followed by a cloud of dust. But this time I really looked at the plane and though about what to do. More fiddling and I made it a whole six inches. Even more fiddling and then, Gloria Dei, it suddenly went the whole distance! And then did it again! I feel like I've passed one of those arcane rites of passage.