WORDS & PHOTOS BY CHRIS TIESSEN
I’m a sucker for multi-tools. They colonize my life the way good gear should: a cycling tool in every bike bag, a handful of Swiss Army knives rattling in kitchen drawers, and at least two larger multi-tools permanently stationed in my Land Cruiser – one in the centre console, another tucked into a rear compartment beside a plug-in pump (for inflating river tubes in warmer months) and a heavy-duty tow strap (for hauling neighbours out of snowbanks when winter tightens its grip). I reach for them repeatedly – for camping, cycling, dog walks that turn into bushwhacks, and the thousand small mechanical inconveniences of daily life. The right tool at the right moment is a quiet luxury.
Imagine my excitement, then, when I first heard that the renegade engineers at Hacksmith Industries – the Cambridge outfit that has built a global following by turning science-fiction fantasies into working hardware on its wildly popular YouTube channel – were developing a multi-tool to rule all multi-tools: the Smith Blade. A titanium-framed everyday carry designed to be lighter, tighter, and more genuinely useful than anything currently on the market. ‘Something for every creator’s pocket,’ as Hacksmith mastermind James Hobson puts it. And for every adventurer’s rucksack, I might eagerly add.
Hacksmith’s mission to create the ultimate multi-tool has been quietly brewing for years. The company’s logo itself features a stylized multi-tool crossed with an anvil – a subtle hint that the category had long been part of James’ vision. But instead of iterating on existing designs, the Hacksmith team approached the problem as engineering outsiders, questioning assumptions around weight, ergonomics, and function. And then, in 2025, the company launched a Kickstarter campaign for the multi-tool. And raised more than fifteen million. And got to work.
I had to see what they were up to: to watch how a disruptive new piece of gear is born. And built. Right here at home.
So on a crystalline late-February morning I found myself driving toward the Hacksmith campus – an eighteen-acre technology playground just off Highway 24 (near the 401) that I’m amazed I’ve never noticed before. (Part of the site – including an outbuilding emblazoned with the acronym H.E.R.C., or Hacksmith Engineering Research Campus – is visible from the highway if you know where to look.)
Pulling into the lot, I have no doubt that I’ve arrived at the right place. A twenty-foot tall, 4,444-pound replica of Thor’s hammer stands sentinel outside the building, essentially offering a thesis statement for the company by nodding to one of Hacksmith’s viral video series. Vehicles in various states of demolition are scattered across a snowy field. A mechanical spider large enough to seat a human operator crouches nearby, seemingly anticipating deployment. I can tell that I’m in for a treat.
Inside the foyer of the main building, Hacksmith’s greatest hits are on display: a functioning bulletproof suit inspired by the John Wick films; the world’s first proto-lightsaber (capable of cutting through steel); a jet-powered GT Snow Racer that my younger self would have coveted; and enough cinematic hardware to make a Marvel prop department blush. For more than a decade Hacksmith has translated pop-culture fantasy into working prototypes – plasma lightsabers, exoskeletons, and more – amassing millions of followers in the process and positioning itself somewhere between engineering studio, entertainment company, and STEM evangelist.
And while these projects inspire plenty of awe, I’m here for something perhaps more ambitious still: the Smith Blade. After all, building one outrageously cool bulletproof suit is impressive. Designing and fabricating thousands of units of a precision tool – something intended to compete in one of the most established categories of outdoor gear – is another challenge entirely. It’s not just awesome. It’s audacious.
Soon I’m swept into a tour of the facility with the ultimate goal of reaching the Smith Blade manufacturing area. Along the way I spot two full production studios (for the YouTube channel), offices packed with engineers designing life-size robots, a board room for brainstorming, a gaggle of interns learning how to weld, a full kitchen with accomplished chef, a fulfillment room where portable lightsabers are boxed and shipped around the world, and much more. Everything conveys a sense of mischievous creativity: drawers of costumes spilling from desks, curiosities on every surface, and even a hidden apartment accessed through what appears to be an ordinary Red Bull refrigerator. Staff engineers mingle with co-op students from local colleges and universities, all moving with the focused energy of people who know they’re building something extraordinary.
Near the back of the building, in a large industrial bay, we arrive at the Smith Blade production area – and the atmosphere shifts from cinematic spectacle to something closer to an aerospace workshop. Every stage of the process is visible here. Crates of raw titanium blanks sit stacked on pallets. Freshly machined front and back plates – skeletal, geometric, unmistakably modern – rest in custom trays awaiting finishing. Rows of CNC machines and lathes carve components with micron-level precision. Upstairs, some technicians assemble parts with jeweller-like care while others discuss throughput refinements and quality-control tweaks.
The target is ambitious: roughly four hundred and fifty completed tools per day once production reaches full pace – a serious undertaking for a company better known for experimental builds than for scaled manufacturing.
One of the most hypnotic stations is the anodization line, where a robotic arm (designed and made in-house, of course) dips titanium components into chemical baths while cycling electrical voltages to produce iridescent finishes. Blues shift to bronze, purples bloom from grey. Colourful options for Smith Blade customers. The process looks less like factory work than like kinetic sculpture – electricity painting metal.
Back downstairs we pass James’ office – part workshop, part lair. Rope swings hang from a loft. A Batman mask adorns the top of a custom CNC machine. Machines and prototypes crowd every surface. A large ‘Eye of Sauron’ project (which somehow manages to project The Lord of the Rings villain in three dimensions above our heads) sits mid-development. Hobson casually mentions he’d like to build a massive working version outside the building which would be able to project a giant Eye above the region. A half-eaten burrito languishes nearby. The impression is immediate: in James Hobson’s world, meals are optional. Ideas are not.
Despite a schedule that appears borderline impossible, James pulls out a series of Smith Blade prototypes (including crude early versions, aluminum and wooden iterations, and even a more finished example with a gorgeous Damascus steel blade) and begins talking through the design with palpable enthusiasm. ‘Essentially, I wanted to create a light-weight modern version of the Swiss Army knife,’ he explains – the sort of tool he’d always wanted himself, with real functionality, engineered with contemporary materials, and designed to live seamlessly in a pocket (rather than in a toolbox, truck, or kitchen drawer).
In hand, the object immediately justifies the ambition. The titanium construction keeps weight to roughly 3.3 ounces – startlingly light given the functionality – while also providing rigidity that allows for exceptionally tight tolerances. The blade, available in premium steels like M390, deploys with a series of crisp mechanical clicks and locks into place with authority. Closing it produces equally satisfying clicks: a tactile punctuation mark that makes the sheer pleasure of handling the tool unexpectedly addictive.
Beyond the knife itself, the Smith Blade packs an unusually thoughtful range of twenty-one distinct functions: two magnetic bit drivers (with room to store four 4mm precision screwdriver bits integrated into the tool’s frame), precision wire strippers, a ferro rod for fire-starting, a pry tool, level, bottle opener, measurement markings, and even a protractor system on the blade whose ratcheting detent produces the tool’s signature ‘clicking’ sound. This feature, Hobson notes, emerged almost accidentally during prototyping, when a ball detent created perfect radial spacing – a happy engineering accident turned defining characteristic.
What’s striking is not just the number of functions the Smith Blade embodies, but the tool’s stellar usability. Edges are chamfered where they should be. Grip surfaces feel intentional. Components move with mechanical confidence rather than the vague looseness common to mass-market multi-tools. It feels, frankly, like more than enough – but it’s bountiful in the best possible way. Which is exactly what you’d expect from a company that began by building real lightsabers and bulletproof suits for fun. The fact that this remarkable tool is being crafted in Cambridge only sweetens the proposition. Another local success story exhibiting global ambitions forged right here, inside a madcap laboratory of Canadian engineering imagination.
And just the right size and heft for my pocket.
HACKSMITH Cambridge ON hacksmith.com
