Randy offered his truck for taking Kintala's ailing pump to the fix-it shop in New Bern. You know it is a cruising town when the person lending you a car asks, "When was the last time you drove?" We sold the Z back in early October, so it hasn't been that long. The trip was fun, New Bern looks like a place we need to visit some day, and word is Coastal Diesel will have the pump done by Tuesday or Wednesday. How to get it back here is yet to be determined.
There is other stuff to do to the engine in the interim. Wiring on two sensors broke off, the connections brittle from 30 years of flexing. Finding new ones will be required. Some parts removed for access can be installed. The glow plug circuit isn't working and, since the plugs had to come out anyway to lift the pump out, putting new ones in after who knows how many years seems a good idea. Not sure what the circuit problem is yet, relay, wiring, switch ... I should be working on that.
But I just can't get motivated to do it today.
One can't be around cruisers, listen to their stories, read their blogs, without knowing that a good bit of this life is taken up just trying to keep the boat moving. Not to put too fine an edge on it, these things are ... um ... high maintenance to say the least. If cars or houses or motorcycle or airplanes needed the constant work that boats do, we would all be walking and sleeping in tents. Stroll up and down the docks in a place like Oriental and everyone seems to be working on something that is broke. Boats drift in, get worked on for a couple of days (or weeks) and drift off to the next place where they will stop to get worked on again. (SSB, fuel injection, broken tiller, failed furling, air lock, more engine problems, hull leak, torn sail ... this is a short list from those around us during our stay here so far.)
I understand this; it is part of the life. But endlessly correcting failure after failure while trying to keep up with routine maintenance and cleaning tasks is not why we came this way; even if it is the majority of what we do. We came this way to live on deep blue water, to meet different people, to have time for thinking different kinds of thoughts, and to get some distance from a society we no longer understand nor want too close. We are still new at this and haven't gotten very far, but we have found more than we expected. People become instant friends, we share what we know and help where we can, and then we wave as we go our separate ways. The next place holds more instant friends. This is a slice of the human tribe getting closer to what we should have been all along.
I'm sitting in the "sun room" writing; the boat rocking gently with open water just off her bow. It is a perfect day; warm, light breeze, puffy white clouds in a perfect blue sky reflected in equally perfect blue water. There are some sailboats out on the Neuse that look like a race from here. We walked to the top of the bridge next to the marina just to see the view and take some pictures. Boats move across the horizon, lines squeak a little, the occasional halyard bounces in the breeze.
I'll work on the boat tomorrow.
There is other stuff to do to the engine in the interim. Wiring on two sensors broke off, the connections brittle from 30 years of flexing. Finding new ones will be required. Some parts removed for access can be installed. The glow plug circuit isn't working and, since the plugs had to come out anyway to lift the pump out, putting new ones in after who knows how many years seems a good idea. Not sure what the circuit problem is yet, relay, wiring, switch ... I should be working on that.
But I just can't get motivated to do it today.
One can't be around cruisers, listen to their stories, read their blogs, without knowing that a good bit of this life is taken up just trying to keep the boat moving. Not to put too fine an edge on it, these things are ... um ... high maintenance to say the least. If cars or houses or motorcycle or airplanes needed the constant work that boats do, we would all be walking and sleeping in tents. Stroll up and down the docks in a place like Oriental and everyone seems to be working on something that is broke. Boats drift in, get worked on for a couple of days (or weeks) and drift off to the next place where they will stop to get worked on again. (SSB, fuel injection, broken tiller, failed furling, air lock, more engine problems, hull leak, torn sail ... this is a short list from those around us during our stay here so far.)
I understand this; it is part of the life. But endlessly correcting failure after failure while trying to keep up with routine maintenance and cleaning tasks is not why we came this way; even if it is the majority of what we do. We came this way to live on deep blue water, to meet different people, to have time for thinking different kinds of thoughts, and to get some distance from a society we no longer understand nor want too close. We are still new at this and haven't gotten very far, but we have found more than we expected. People become instant friends, we share what we know and help where we can, and then we wave as we go our separate ways. The next place holds more instant friends. This is a slice of the human tribe getting closer to what we should have been all along.I'm sitting in the "sun room" writing; the boat rocking gently with open water just off her bow. It is a perfect day; warm, light breeze, puffy white clouds in a perfect blue sky reflected in equally perfect blue water. There are some sailboats out on the Neuse that look like a race from here. We walked to the top of the bridge next to the marina just to see the view and take some pictures. Boats move across the horizon, lines squeak a little, the occasional halyard bounces in the breeze.
I'll work on the boat tomorrow.
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| Not so good at panorama pics yet... |
6 comments:
Oh it gets SOOOOO tiring, this constant fixing, or the planning to fix.... We haven't had to do as much as you (yet?) but still feel its shadow.
Just gotta keep at it (I guess/hope.)
Heading out Monday for our next long haul, 700 miles Ensenada-to-Cabo, with 2-3 stops.
David & Michelle
http://sailing-pelagia.blogspot.ca/
I'm just a weekender, but here's a philosophical and practical qustion to think about. If you tallied up pros and cons on some of your more problematical bits, might you decide to try living without those that seem to come out behind? In the case of your motor, could you try a few legs without turning it on? Say, stay at anchorages or moorings that would be easier to manuever around under sail, and learning to kick back and pick up a good book when the wind dies? I sail my little boat motorless not mainly to make a "statement," but because I have no money and little mechanical know-how. Sometimes I wish I had one for dealing with a dragging anchor, or going against the current, or meeting a deadline, but I continue to muddle through without.
Jeffrey; we don't know much about the marinas or anchorages until we get to them, trying to pick those we could sail a 42' boat in and out of would be impossible. Every place we have been so far has been a tight fit. (Real estate is expensive so marinas cram in as many slips as they can.) The rest of the systems, lights, refrigeration, fans, AC power; make this a home and not a tent. Still, I often wish we could live without this motor ...
As soon as we get going again our next jump will be Morehead City ... 20 miles or so. We will try to make it in one jump.
"I'll work on the boat tomorrow." Amen!! Sometimes you lose your motivation. Don't worry. It will find you again.
@ David & Michelle - Fair winds on your voyage!
@Jeffrey - If we did not have a motor we would still be in the Chesapeake in freezing temps. There have been precious few days we could sail in the last 2 weeks. Also, the anchorages on the ICW that can accommodate a 42' boat are few and far between, and often include a very narrow channel with rocks and/or snags just a half boat width to either side. Maybe a much more experienced boater could do it but not us yet.
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