The hooks at either end were removed and put to one side. I used these the fill out the tail on either side. If you haven't worked out his name's origin, then here you go!

The handle used to pump the winch was cut off with my trusty angle grinder as this lent itself to the wider part which became the top of his legs. To extend his legs I used a single ring spanner that was cut in half, each half becoming a lower leg. At the end of his legs was a feature that a lot of people liked. These were his feet. I made these from some small black bolts, bent in a vice with a persuader(or a hammer to most). I then carefully ground the claws to a soft point with a small wheel grinder.

Legend has it that one late summer dusk a blacksmith was racing against time. The wealthy squire’s estate would host the great show the coming morning, and the squire’s prize horse must be shod. The blacksmith’s forge rang into the fading light accompanying sweat and sparks. He fitted one shoe, then another, then a third. The fourth? Hand empty, but where is it?

Using the dim light of the forge he searched the long grass where he was hoping to feel the curved shape of a freshly forged boot. Hour after hour he felt the ground of the field, time escaping, the panic growing. At last, exhausted and hopeless, he left his anvil and plodded back to his little shack a few miles away, imagining the squire’s wrath and the shame of failing to get the prize horse show ready.

As dawn twinkled, he returned, heart heavy and feet dragging. The horse stood proud. Beneath the dim blue sky, the squire already saddled and poised, the blacksmith thought he wouldn't have been ready yet. He looked at the horse’s hooves, surely not, three of the horse’s shoes were old and rusty, but what is that? A fourth flashed like a new coin in the morning light on the front hoof. Beside that shining shoe, laid in the soft grass was a weathered metal feather.

The squire voiced” why are you here, you finished the job last night", the blacksmith "oh, I have come for my anvil, I will be gone before the show don't you worry". The squire whispers "listen, I don't normally do this, but you shall come to the morning banquet for doing such exemplary work" he said, as if the work had been done by the blacksmith’s own hand. The blacksmith bent down and picked up the metal feather. 

From the fence-top, over the squire’s shoulder, came a croaky call and the clatter of metal that swooped into the treeline. The blacksmith watched it go and felt, for the first time, that the world held a stranger kind of justice. "Hook-tail Jack, he be nothing but fable?" The blacksmith wondered. Maybe not, as his slid the metal feather into his top pocket out of sight of the squire.

They say Hook-Tail Jack soars over Derbyshire and looks for lost items and tools. He returns them to their rightful place and owner for those he deems to be good. For those he deems not, he rebuilds and forges those pieces into his breast or wing from his ever-rusting body so he may continue his purpose of protecting good and consuming evil. His body changes with every scrap he takes, and so the stories of his deeds. The blacksmith kept the feather as proof so with this, it is over to you to keep the story alive.

Representing the balance of good and evil, dark and light, air and earth, and most Importantly........ lost and found.