Nothing much to do

With the exception of the Dink motor being in the shop, we woke up in the morning with nothing pressing on the to-do list. I decided it would be a good day to learn a bit more about the capabilities of the chart plotter / radar system. I haven't really used the thing much and we are getting close to trying to find St. Louis with it. So I threw the breaker, grabbed the ops manual, climbed into the flybridge, popped the cover off of the working-last time-we-turned-it-on C80 Reymarine chart plotter, and pushed the power button. 

You guessed it, nada. Well, not entirely nada, just a screen that was mostly dark and slightly wonky. It looked like the same problem we had seen earlier (which didn't show up on the sea trial). At that time, a search of the internet suggested the problem lay with the ribbon connection at the screen itself.  Fixing it was described as "anyone can do it" by some, "a nightmare job consisting of hundreds of tiny screws and easily broken parts" by others. It worked fine during the trip here, but we had a tech come out to take a look anyway. But the thing was working fine and it is hard to fix what doesn't appear to be broke. But it was broke once again.

After a few words of disgruntlement, Deb and I debated the options: a) call the tech back in, b) give in and buy a new unit, or c) try to fix the thing ourselves. Decisions...decisions.

Deb went below to look for some more info. I sat looking at the kaput chart plotter feeling a fair bit of irritation at the thought of spending some more unexpected boat bucks. Mine has been a lifetime of fixing things. Most of the time I got whatever it was that was broken working again. Once in a while the whatever it was was broken to the point where trying to fix it didn't make a lot of sense, which didn't always prevent me from trying. But I am more of a power plant / systems kind of big wrench mechanic, not really a dig-into-the-electronics-with-delicate-little-screwdrivers type. In my old aviation days, mechanics would say that all of the fancy avionics boxes worked with "magic smoke". When the smoke leaked out it would quit working. Smoked-out boxes were "R & Rd" which means removed and replaced. The box that had leaked out all of its magic smoke was sent to the avionics shop.  A place clean, filled with fancy test gear, air conditioned, quiet, and usually had a coffee maker in the corner. Nothing like a hangar floor. I took one more look at the C80. The wonky screen looked like a sneer. I reached for some tools. 

The front of the unit popped off with little trouble. The next layer came free with a dozen or so screws that really were kind of tiny. The layer after that was a floppy kind of thing full of soft switches that came free with a few tiny screws more. At that point Deb came back up the ladder and realized I had fallen into an old mechanic's meme. The thing was already broken. The worst that could happen would be that, in a couple of hours it would still be broken. If so, the cost in boat bucks would be about the same. She joined in and off we went ever deeper into the electronic rabbit hole. 

Like all modern gee-wiz gizmos the inside of the C80 was a maze of ribbon connections and fragile circuit boards. Gentle prodding and a light touch are required. Eventually we found our way to the suspect ribbon connection, pressed on it a little, felt it move and then felt it stop. We are talking a few hair's width of movement. There was no way to know if that was the cure short of—gently—putting all the bits back where we had found them.  Carefully reassembled and hooked back up to power, with a press of the power button the screen lit up like nothing was ever amiss.

It might be a temporary repair. It might get us all the way to St. Louis. But it will get us on our way. There are no safety issues involved. There are two iPads, two phones, and a smaller chart plotter at the lower helm as back ups. So it isn't like we are going to get lost or run aground if it fails again. The only unique features of the C80 is that it is also the RADAR / AIS screen and a rudder position indicator. I loves me some RADAR and will not be happy if we are left without it. But we sailed thousands of miles on Kintala sans such luxury. If necessary we can do so again. The rudder position indicator is nice since I'm still making friends with the hydraulic steering. But it isn't necessary. The AIS, to me anyway, would be sorely missed offshore but is less of an issue on inland waters.

With the C80 functioning, Deb tackled some kind of computer / iPad / hot spot magic to get the two engine room and one aft deck cameras we have added to First Light to connect via a hot spot from one of our phones to an iPad once we travel clear of the marina's network. (And no, I'm not exactly sure what that last sentence actually means.) This was all Deb's doing as I often get lost just trying to find the “settings” screen on a phone or iPad. Sometimes, even when I do find it, I'm not sure what to do with it.

Looking through our sun shade in the cockpit

Our forward engine compartment camera

That little exercise turned into a multi-hour wrestling match, me trying to help where I could without making things worse for Deb. Unlike me, it is a very rare day to hear exasperation in her voice. Today was a rare day. She mumbled computer-ish words I couldn't follow while having various electronic voices tell her things she didn't want to hear. She got the things working but there is still some question as to the reliability of the whole set up. It was well into the early evening hours before we were cleaning up and getting ready for dinner. 

We worked pretty hard on a day when there wasn't much to do.