- 4/4/09
- 2,140
- 92
- 48
Have I ever mentioned how much I love the 1016 Explorer? I think I may have written about it once. Or twice. Or thrice. Or, uh… Tetris?
Considering how much sweat, treasure, and blood (mostly ChiMan's and jmb's) have gone into my vintage Rolex builds, it may surprise some of you to learn that I’ve never owned a Rolex. In recent years, my collection has evolved into a nice mix of reps, frankens, and gens, but the absence of a genuine Rolex was a glaring one. I didn’t think it would ever bother me, but it did. Maybe “bother†is the wrong word. It was more a curiosity of wanting to know what it was like to hold something that was entirely original and correct. Call it a psychic thrill. Pressure from friends and family was also pushing me toward getting a gen: After all the money I'd sunk into reps and frankens (the amount of which I always understated, big-time), shouldn't I have at least one real Rolex?
Anyway, that’s more than I wanted to write about the “Why rep?/Why gen?†discussion, which, to be perfectly honest, can become a very tedious one. We all have our reasons. (Get off my back! You’re not the boss of me!!)
At the start of this year, I set out to fill the big, genuine Rolex-sized hole in my watch box. But which one? It had to be a sports model, so Datejusts were out. The 1016 seemed like an obvious choice given my long obsession, but I really was satisfied by my frankens. A Daytona? Way beyond my budget. Submariner? 5513s were possible, but most examples within my financial reach were too newish and unremarkable. Eventually, I decided to go for a 1675 GMT. It's a classic, iconic Rolex that's recognizable from a distance, features a complication I didn’t have in my collection, and –most importantly– I love the way it looks. In fact, a 1675 or 6542 build had been on my radar ever since GMT fever exploded on the rep forums about a year ago.
I'd spent a month looking through listings for 1675s when this Explorer showed up at the old online auction site. Quick flashback: In the middle of last year, I'd chanced upon an auction for a beat-up 1016 head with a badly refinished dial. The price was below $2000 with half an hour to go. With hardly any time to research the seller, I nonetheless made a half-hearted bid for it. I lost, and it went for $2200. I thought I'd missed a rare opportunity to own a 1016 for such a small pile of cash. It’s become rare to find examples for less than $4000, and most of the ones put up for sale have BIN prices of $5000 and up.
Fast forward to this January and I found an auction listing for a 1969 Explorer in Japan. The exterior was dinged but still attractive, and the 1570 movement was newly serviced and backed with a six-month warranty. Also, its price-to-time-left trajectory looked very promising. This time, I bid to win and got the watch for a great price. What a rush! A couple of weeks later, there arrived a package from Nippon. From the pick-up at the courier’s office I went to work, and hardly got anything done as I admired my prize and snapped it with my iPhone.
It was a terrific feeling. After all the time I’d spent researching the 1016, and poring over bezel angles, rehaut depths, lug contours... For once I didn’t need to sweat the details. Everything was correct. But not perfect. Already I was noticing that my Explorer had led a hard life. The bezel was pockmarked all around, while the surface of the mid-case had that unmistakable, crinkly sheen borne of years of friction. Between the lugs, I could make out the faint 1016, but the reference number was, alarmingly, obliterated. So much for taking it to the RSC!
The caseback showed remnants of an engraving (“YAR… 1972â€) and deep, repolished tool marks. Had someone tried to chisel it open? Inside was a 'II/69' engraving, which jibed with what the seller advertised but appeared to be at odds with the dial. More on that later.
Most serious of all, one lug had been slightly twisted (counterclockwise on the longitudinal axis). It was barely noticeable, until I found I couldn’t fit an endlink between the lugs. Since I wasn’t about to try untwisting the case, I instead file the inner surface of one lug. Problem solved with minimal trauma.
The dial had a bit of damage, especially around the edges. I briefly considered swapping it out for a cleaner dial, but concluded that it was consistent with the rest of the watch. Also, the dial was one that doesn’t show up too often. (Again, more on that later!) What I did want to change immediately were the hands.
Now, I like patina as much as the next guy, but BLECH!! The lume looked infected, and reminded me of that moss creature Stephen King turned into in Creepshow. Also, the sweep hand was bent and appeared to be lumed with a gob of snot. This was not factory lume that had aged gracefully. As soon as I could, I replaced the set with genuine, ex-GMT hands. Like Submariner hands, these were slightly different from the Explorer's. Most obvious is the 1016’s longer (by about 1mm) minute hand, which extends all the way into the hash marks. (Note that some later Explorers were sold with shorter, Sub-like minute hands.) While I sported the replacement units to keep myself from vomiting, I sent the original handset to my good friend ChiMan a couple of months ago. I’ve really got to learn how to do this myself, but he does such a great job. Comme ça:
The hands were returned last month, having been cleaned, straightened, and relumed (minus the glow). Gorgeous! I previously mentioned that this dial was a little bit special. For 1969, I would expect a Frogfoot dial, with its oddly shaped coronet and hazy print. This dial has a shorter coronet, much crisper-looking text, and a SWISS–T<25 that is above, rather than between, the hash marks. Layout and fonts resemble earlier gilt dials. I had trouble finding any information about it before a friend pointed me to an old post by Arthur at VRF. A respondent called it an FFHS (“Fat Font High Swissâ€) and dated it to the early 70s. A rare dial, then, but not unique. Which is a relief!
Accompanying the hands in one big package were a few more items I needed to get my 1016 where I wanted. I received the watch with a generic black leather strap, before quickly slapping a rep 7836 onto it. After a few weeks, I’d bought a rolled-link Jubilee from a friend. It was genuine, comfortable, and the endlinks were a perfect fit. But I still wanted an Oyster, so I spent on a 7836 with 282 endlinks. (The latter were earmarked for my 7032 project, until I discovered they also didn’t fit the DW case.) I was also able to source a pair of 258s, which is correct for the 1016.
Great fit between lugs and endlinks—twisted lug notwithstanding. Also note that the crystal is a later service unit with a beveled edge. I thought I’d found a good source for an aftermarket, domed Tropic 22, but it failed to match up to the real thing. I’ll write about it in a later thread.
I was pleased to confirm that the genuine bezel dimensions were very close to those of the one I’d asked jmb to fabricate for my past builds. Also, I've just noticed that the bezel looks bent in this picture. That’s just a bad reflection playing tricks. (Why am I even using this shot?)
Here are the slender and graceful lugs of the 1016, which I’ve struggled to match to any Datejust case.
Let’s see that profile again. You can tell from the midlinks that the bracelet (dated 1972) has a fair amount of hang. But I can live with it.
Onto the movement, which is a non-hacking 1570. Cosmetically, it’s seen better days, but it is running superlatively, and is officially, certifiedly accurate. Great job, unknown Japanese watchsmith! The seal’s in place, but I won’t be going swimming with this Explorer.
Speaking of swimming, pool duty will continue with my frankens, which I will continue to wear, maintain, and love. (In fact, I just spent a fair bit on the Tudor hands for my 16203-based build!) There’s a time and a place for every watch, and even a well-worn ex-beater like this 1016 could use a bit of rest every now and then.
So now that I have a genuine, does that mean that this will be my final 1016?
Hem, haw…
