Chimney sweeping is one of the few trades that still works exactly the way it sounds: brushes, rods, soot and a steady hand on a ridgeline. Ours ride out of a yard by the Clay Pit Ponds woods to every corner of the borough, at whatever hour the fireplace picks a fight.
Eight lines of the trade, all done by our own hands. The sweep who reads your flue is the one who brushes it, and the mason who quotes the joint is the one holding the trowel.
Rod by rod down the flue, the brush cutting soot and scale while the vacuum holds it all under negative pressure. Old method, modern containment.
The free look reads what eyes can reach; the scope goes where they can't. A lens on a reel travels the flue and shows the tile joints as they truly are.
From a cracked course to a stack that lost its argument with a nor'easter — brick comes down to solid work and goes back up straight and weathered-in.
Two bays' worth of wind-driven rain wears island mortar to powder. We rake the spent joints clear and iron in fresh mortar that belongs with the brick.
An open flue is an invitation — to rain, to starlings in May, to raccoons in October. A fitted stainless cap with screening declines all three politely.
Damp on a chimney breast never confesses where it got in. We run the water trail backward — crown to flashing to joints — until the true gap gives itself up.
When the scope shows split tile or open joints, the flue gets a new steel throat — one continuous run, sized to the fire it serves.
The firebox takes the worst of every burn. Spent brick comes out, heat-proof mortar goes in, and the throat above gets smoothed for honest draw.
A sweep learns to read a chimney the way a sailor reads weather. These are the tells worth acting on — each one cheaper this month than next winter.
The trade has run on the same honest rhythm for two centuries. We've only upgraded the tools.
Ring at any hour, any day of the 365. Tell the sweep what you've seen or smelled, and pick your slot before hanging up.
Hearth to cap, inside then up on the roof — studied, judged, and told to your face for free. That part is custom, not courtesy.
Whatever needs doing gets a flat figure and a when — the must-dos ranked ahead of the may-as-wells, in that order.
The work done clean, the mats rolled up, the soot gone in the truck — and the luck of a swept chimney left on the hearth.
First frost, family holiday, four in the morning — the bell rings through to somebody in work boots every time. Get the lucky look on the books before burning season crowds the calendar.
(929) 200-3706Leafed from the album: rooftops from the Kill van Kull down to the woods end of Sharrotts Rd.
The yard backs onto the Clay Pit Ponds preserve; the morning routes fan out from there and cover the borough entire.
Down our own end of the island? Call (929) 200-3706 — the yard's neighbors get the shortest ride of all.
The lucky look costs nothing — old custom of the trade. The sweep studies the hearth, damper, flue length and the masonry above the roof, then tells you its condition face to face before leaving. Wanting it in type is the only thing with a price: the written account with photographs runs $149 and is drawn up only when you ask for it.
All 365 nights of the year. Chimney trouble has terrible timing — a downdraft in a January blow, an acrid smell after an evening fire — and the bell here rings through to a working sweep whenever it does. Flame where it shouldn't be, or any hint of carbon monoxide? Everybody outside, 911 before anything — this number takes the next slot.
After about a cord and a half of wood, or when soot stands an eighth of an inch on the flue wall — whichever comes first. For most island households that works out to once a year, best done before the season's first fire. The loose soot is the mild kind; the baked glaze deeper in is what the brush is truly for.
Between two bays, yes. Wind pushes rain into brick at angles roofs never see coming, and the freeze that follows finishes the job the damp began. It's why our look never stops at the flue — crown, cap and mortar get read too, because that's where the weather bites first here.
Untouched — the sweep's oldest promise. Canvas mats first, a soot door sealed over the opening, and a negative-pressure vacuum pulling every particle toward the machine instead of the sofa. Under an hour for a routine brushing, and the room ends exactly as it began.
That's what the written account is for. Deal timelines get first pick of the calendar: lucky look fast, scope down the flue when the sale warrants, and the $149 typed account with photographs inside a business day of the order — arranged so lawyer, lender and buyer each find their piece without digging.
Current certificates, yours before we're on the property if you ask when booking. Everyone on the crew is checked out before their first route, and no ladder leans on a roof without coverage standing behind it.
All of it, every day. The yard sits at the woods end of Sharrotts Rd by the Clay Pit Ponds preserve, and the routes fan out through St. George, Stapleton, West Brighton, Port Richmond, Mariners Harbor, Westerleigh, Bulls Head, New Springville, Dongan Hills and Midland Beach — one ring confirms yours.
No menus, no voicemail purgatory — the person answering has soot under their nails and the day's route board in view.
The smell, the stain, the flap of a loose cap in the wind, the closing date breathing down your neck — say it plainly and hear back, plainly, what it needs and roughly what it costs.
(929) 200-3706 Ring It NowAnswered day and night, all 365
Sweeps don't believe in closing time