Mother Nature Rules the List

We've been on the dock now at Snead Island Boat Works for 132 days. When we arrived I had 45 items on my to-do list and Tim had 27. After adding a few since we got here, I now have 57 but 38 of them are checked off. Tim has one of those Magic Lists - you know the kind that you go off to work and when you come home something has been checked off. He has 15 left on his list.

I can't complain. Progress has been swift and I'm very pleased with the results. A lot of the reason for the progress is due to the excellent parts department they have on site here. Very nearly everything I need to get a job done is either in stock or can be here the same or next day. I haven't had to wait much for parts to complete a job. The one exception was waiting all last week for some Edson parts to arrive that weren't in stock so I can run the new throttle, shifter and fuel shutoff cables. They all finally arrived late yesterday - you know, the day the heavy rain arrived as well.

Since most of the indoor projects are done already, I'm sort of at a standstill until this giant low pressure that tried to be a hurricane decides to bless Georgia with its presence. So now I wait and try to busy myself with research and planning the remaining project needs as well as cleaning and sorting and throwing away a year's worth of accumulated stuff that somehow - even in 400 square feet - seems to migrate into the cabinets. Worker Man's Magic List will have to wait on Mother Nature.

Working it out

When we first started thinking about cruising as a way to retire early, we knew we didn't have the money to retire on land with the associated housing expenses and transportation expenses that come with the lifestyle. Our careers in aviation had provided a satisfactory upbringing for our three girls, but it hadn't left us with a huge retirement fund. If you've read thebook, then you know the whole story - how we started thinking about retiring onto a houseboat on the river because we could keep the motorcycles, how our middle daughter moved to Cape Cod, how we started looking at power boats to make that trip from St. Louis, and how we quickly began thinking about sailboats as an alternative that fit our travel budget. That was 2007. By 2011 we realized it was a thing we really wanted to make happen and we bought Kintala. Shortly after, I lost my job followed by the loss of Tim's job in 2013. We had a decision to make, and quickly. Our options were to:

1. Find other jobs which would not likely be in our present location and would require a 2 year commitment and the mothballing / sale / or move of Kintala (Think big $$$$)
2. Leave early, even though neither Kintala nor the cruising kitty were ready.

At that point, Tim was 58 and I was 57, both of us a long way from collecting Social Security even early at 62. We had some cash savings, we knew we could sell the car, the bike, and the house and come up with a couple years of cruising, but we also knew after owning Kintala for 2 years that unexpected expenses were likely. (Oh...if only we knew how many of them...)

It was about that time that I read a post by Mike on Zero to Cruising where he talked about their departure. They also had some funds to begin cruising, acrued from the sale of their business, but realized that the money they had wasn't going to last forever. I can't remember the exact words he used, but he made the statement that they decided to go and figure it out along the way because they had always managed to work things out through their lives together and they were confident they could find a way to make it happen. It resonated with me because Tim and I are pretty much the same. We've been thrown a lot of curve balls in our 44 years together but we've always managed to work it out.We decided to leave early, fully realizing that we would probably have to stop and work at some point along the way.

People cruise for all sorts of reasons. Some are trying to escape, some are out for the adventure, others are challenging themselves. Some cruise for the closeness to nature, others for the closeness of the cruising community. Some venture far, across wide oceans and to foreign lands. Others cruise the Great Lakes or the US coastline, the Chesapeake and the Bahamas. Some find a place they like along the way and settle for a while. Some are better off and travel in mega yachts, others are cobbling together small production boats with duct tape and wire. Some work, some don't. There are as many ways to cruise as there are people doing it. I said it in the book and it's worth repeating here: There is no right way to cruise, only your way.

I had a blog follower tell me recently that it seemed we were doing more working than cruising. Unless you're independently wealthy, were fortunate enough to save up a (pardon the pun) boatload of money, or even more fortunate enough to have a large inheritance coming your way, you will probably have to stop and work at some point in your cruising years. It's part of the life for a large percentage of the cruising community. Some are lucky enough to supplement their cruising kitty with writing, others have part or full time jobs in IT that they do from their boats, some make and sell jewelery, others are rated captains and charter their boats or do deliveries. Some cruise for a year or two, put the boat on the hard, go back to their professions for a year or two, then rinse and repeat. While neither of us had any desire to return to aviation, we did have a need for cash.

Just as the need for cash was becoming apparent, a friend of ours mentioned that he was in need of a mechanic. We checked the place out, decided it would be a good fit, and Tim started working for Snead Island Boat Works in April of this year. It's a good place to work, a company that does quality work and stands behind it. The people are hard-working, kind, and generous. So when they asked if Tim would return next spring after our winter tour of the Bahamas, he said absolutely. The extra summer will give us a financial cushion, allow us to wait a year to collect Social Security, give us a chance to learn quite a bit more about boats, and give us a home base to which our eldest daughter and family can visit for a prolonged period.

Yes, at the moment we are doing more working that sailing, but we're in this for the long term and we want to do it comfortably. Soon the working/sailing balance will tip the other way, and we will be the better for having been here. So, if you're planning your cruising life in retirement, don't be afraid of the prospect of working along the way. You just might find something interesting that captures your attention, something new to learn, some new coworkers to get to know. It's all part of working it out.

An amazing storm rolling into the basin at Snead Island Boat Works

Moon Struck

The only time I have on live-aboard capable power boats has been spent fixing something. A few of those have been floating at the dock. It was hoped that spending time in the boatyard would offer the chance to get out on a few of them and see how the other half lived. Since neither Deb nor I grew up around boats or had any particular devotion to sail or power, living on Kintala is, to some degree, a matter of chance. We chose sail simply to avoid the cost of fuel, not knowing that the ICW is a “no sailing zone” for much of its length. We also never envisioned wanting to spend time on the rivers in the US. But much of the family has settled in St. Louis and we have heard many a good tale of doing the “Great Loop.” Not something we plan to do any time soon, but the idea of doing it “sometime” is lurking out there.

Yes, living in a power boat of some kind would cost more in fuel than living on a sailboat, but not as much more as we had believed. And there is this brute fact; rivers and the ICW are power boat territory. Big open water and the Islands belong to sailboats. Since a slice of the Atlantic and the Islands are still our primary place to play, Kintala will likely be our home for many years yet. But if Deb's and my life has any running theme it is that things change, what were once challenges become routines, and there is always something new to try, to discover, and to do. So when the chance came to take a ride on a live-aboard power boat, we jumped at it.

Moon Struck is a classic, tug style trawler. Classic as in having a wood hull, pretty lines, and those forward slanting wheel house windows that we think make for the best looking boats out there. She resides in the shed next to Kintala's pier, her owners have become friends and, yes, I have done several jobs on her.

It doesn't take long to get a power boat ready to leave the pier. Unhook the shore power, hit the starter button, let the big motor warm up a little...ready. A bow thruster looks to make backing out without rubbing something less of a gamble, and soon the waters of the Manatee River were flowing smoothly past the hull. The diesel rumble in the wheel house was about the same as that in Kintala's cockpit and at cruising rpm we were doing just slightly better in the speed department. We were doing slightly worse in the fuel burn department so, oddly enough, fuel mileage was nearly identical. Of course Moon Struck doesn't have the option of shutting down the engine and still being able to move with a purpose. Should her single 250 HP engine decide it is done for the day, Tow Boat US becomes her only “get home” option.

I was surprised at how very different the experience of being on the water turned out to be in the power boat. Navigation is “point and go”. The hydraulic steering was stiff but felt right for the mass of boat under my feet. Moon Struck, with her rounded hull, rolled noticeably in the many wakes. Noticeably, maybe, because the waterline was well below my feet as well. Since this was a maintenance “shake down” cruise, we didn't go very far down river before turning around. Turning Kintala around is a bit of a chore, one that becomes geometrically larger depending on how many sails are flying. On Moon Struck, one takes a good look aft (there is a lot of boat back there to look past) and turns the wheel. The channel was a bit narrow at that point so we did slow a little, even doing a “three point” by going into reverse for a moment.

Pointed toward the barn, a rain shower caught up with us, one heavy enough to have water washing down the decks. In the wheel house we...didn't do anything at all. No reaching for foul weather gear, no adjusting sails in the shifting winds, we didn't even need the wipers since the windows slant forward. I took another sip of coffee and just kept going.

I'm still processing this first real brush with a power boat. One thought is, so long as there was water, food, and fuel on board, touching a dock would rarely come to mind. It is like its own floating little island. It has twice the holding tank of Kintala, nearly as much water, and much more room for storage. (The fridge is full sized, as is the stove.) Being completely self contained for as much as a month wouldn't be any kind of challenge at all. Kintala simply can't carry that kind of stores without turning the interior into a warehouse. (The constant state of the aft cabin as it is.) There is even air conditioning available so long as one runs the engine. An hour's run before going to bed would go a long way to making for a comfortable night at anchor. Consistently being away from docks for months at a time is a goal we still haven't reached on Kintala.

A concern though is, well, me. Ensconced in a wheel house with RADAR, navigation, autopilot...protected and warm and dry; wind blowing? Who cares? Thunderstorms? Cool, sounds like fun. Rain? Cold? Heat? Ah, just another day. Keep going. Find some new place to go, some new things to see. It would be easy for me to get myself in trouble in a boat like that. And, of course, "going" means burning fuel, and I suspect I would want to "go" a lot.

It was interesting though, and fun. Hopefully we will get more chances to see how the other side lives.

Hanging out

So there I was, lying butt deep in an anchor locker with only my legs below the knee out on the v-berth. Scattered around were the various tools of the spark chaser's trade; side cutters, wire strippers, crimping tool, drills, screwdrivers, splices and connectors. Hanging from under the foredeck was the freshly installed windlass motor, a task that took days longer than anticipated. Unanticipated was the need to hack away part of the under-deck to make the motor drive fit, the need to fill multiple holes left over from the old windless, and the need to repair other holes just left over from who knows when for who knows why. That work required suiting up in the full tyvek rig, hood, gloves, mask, glasses; then grinding fiberglass, laying new glass, filling, smoothing, rough sanding (it is the inside of an anchor locker after all) and painting. Stuff normally found in the glass slinging manual, not the spark chaser's guide to happiness.

With the windlass motor finally hanging in place, the tyvek suit could be laid aside. Making sense of the typically amateurish wiring diagram that is the marine industry's idea of information, and getting the wiring straight became the next task. Required in that wiring mass was a 5 amp fuse to protect the control circuit. (The motor / windlass itself runs on a 150 amp circuit carried by #2 wire; stuff that is about ½ inch in diameter. Fun to work with lying in a tiny anchor locker and working over your head.)

And, right then, the strangest thought crosses my mind, “Why is the fuse holder and its wiring black?”

Every fuse I have ever installed goes in the hot side of a DC circuit. The hot side is red, red wire, red rubber boots on the connection studs...red. Black is ground. (Or yellow if one is working on a boat.) Fuse holders and the wiring should be red.

Stupid thing to think about stuffed in an anchor locker wiring up a windlass. Then I thought, “Well, if one doesn't know that a fuse is in the hot side of the circuit, regardless of what color it is, one probably shouldn't be in an anchor locker wiring up a windlass in the first place.”

Two stupid thoughts in less than a minute. Not even close to a record for me, but I'm going to claim that the heat may play a part in sparking such fruitless musing. By 0900 temps in the areas we are working hover in the mid 90s. Stuffed in small holes or working on a boat in the sun will see triple digits for most of the working day. It is enough to fuzz up anyone's thinking.

I puzzled over such silliness for a few more moments, then got back to chasing sparks. There are a lot of things needing wired in this boat. There are 1200 amp hours of house batteries, two start batteries, dual shore power plugs, a 4000 watt inverter / charging system, bow thruster, water heater, five pumps, two entertainment systems (one audio, one TV), two engine harnesses, lights (salon, v-berth, cockpit, helm, navigation, head, spot, and underwater), trim tabs, autopilot, and navigation systems. (I still call them “avionics”, which amuses Boss New.) There is a big cooling fan in the locker holding the inverter so said inverter doesn't cook itself to death turning DC into AC, a few connections to make the stove work, and the head uses electricity to flush.

There is no real good idea how long this is going to take. Wiring up a new boat with new stuff is one thing, and I am sure it chews up months of the build time. Wiring up an old boat with new stuff is another thing. For various reasons, wiring runs for the old stuff will not work for the new stuff, assuming they exist at all. Bow thruster, inverter / charger, and underwater lights are new systems never before seen on this boat. Getting all of this wire to where it needs to go often means installing new conduit runs, some of which need to be glassed in place. Don't dump the tyvek suit just yet. (For the initiated...bow thruster and inverter will require roughly 140 feet of 4/0 wire be run somewhere. Yee Haw!) All things considered, my guess is wiring up an old boat like this takes about half again as long as it would take in a new boat.

All listed out like that it gets a bit overwhelming. (One of the reasons I don't like lists.) But each day is just another day's work. It is the kind of work that (usually) makes a day go by at a good pace. I rarely find myself wondering if the day is ever going to end though, sometimes, looking back on a day that is just ending it feels like it went on forever. The heat again.

It would be a lot more fun to write about anchoring in the Islands or exploring parts of the Keys we haven't seen yet. But that isn't what we are doing right now, Deb is turning Kintala into a very well-founded boat.

And I hang out in anchor lockers.

S.A.

When I was learning how to fly, the one concept that my flight instructor impressed on me, probably more than any other, was situational awareness. Wikipedia has a pretty interesting definition of it:

Situational awareness or situation awareness (SA) is the perception of environmental elements with respect to time or space, the comprehension of their meaning, and the projection of their status after some variable has changed, such as time, or some other variable, such as a predetermined event.

In flying, the concept is applied regarding the temptation to fixate on a single point. When you're landing, you tend to get fixated on the numbers at the end of the runway instead of keeping the entire runway environment in your field of concentration, making it possible to literally not see a plane you're about to crash into. When you're in the air, it's easy to fixate on the instruments, ignoring the approaching weather or traffic. To be situationally aware is to stay alive.

Situational awareness is one of those acquired skills that transferred well to sailing. When you're sailing, it's easy to fixate on the interior of the cockpit - the instruments, the sail trim, the tangle of sheets, the conversations on the radio. Fixating on this small area can lead you to interfere dangerously in traffic flow or, like flying, to miss the signs of approaching weather. It can also lead you to miss a sign that something is wrong.

The cutter rig down stay with the broken strand

Not too long after we got to Snead Island Boat Works, I was in the chain locker at the foot of the V-berth doing a little research on an upcoming project. It's pretty dark in the chain locker so I was using  my flashlight. I was aiming the light toward the forward most part of the bow, but in the process something just caught the edge of my peripheral vision. A small thing, a tiny strand of the wire in the cutter rig downstay had worked loose. Not a huge issue, but the downstay needed replaced and the consequences of missing it would have been highly unpleasant.

On a boat, especially a sailboat, situational awareness is paramount. Always being aware of the condition of the rig, ever looking for weak points in the sail stitching, checking for missing cotter keys, looking for the first signs of approaching weather, listening for irregularities in sounds, all play into your safety and, as a result, your enjoyment of the lifestyle. While we have scheduled inspections on Kintala (Tim walks the deck before every sail - preflight, if you will), it's that constant situational awareness that will catch most things before they become big things.

Situational awareness is a learned skill, a practiced art. It involves relaxing, because the more tense you are the less situationally aware you are. It involves not being preoccupied with meaningless chatter like your Facebook feed. If you're thinking about something else, that missing nut won't catch your attention. So the next time you have that niggling feeling that you missed something, you probably did. Retrace your steps and try to figure it out. You just might save yourself a disaster later.

Odds and Ends

Just a few odds and ends photos and videos from the past 10 days while the kids were here.

Boys love lizards

Boys also love crabs and anything else that creeps or crawls

The Osprey babies that were born just before we arrived aren't babies anymore

We've seen some amazing skies recently. This one was from the Siesta Key drum circle 7-17-16

The sun was at my back and was reflecting off the clouds and aiming down at the opposite horizon

Sunset at the drum circle

Everyone had fun at the drum circle. Even the littlest who insisted on putting sand on the drum head and watching it bounce
when she hit it

Mama and Papa got to take a short stroll while the kids napped in the van with me

With all the heat and sunshine, napping is the order of the day

Playing Peek-a-boo under Grampy T's table

Waiting for the engine to pick up the train at the train museum in Parrish, FL

Waiting for the train ride to start

Random sunset at the marina. The view from the cockpit of our boat.

O530 in the morning...

A walk in the park at Emerson Point

There are only two reasons to be up at 0530 in the morning, weather and departures. Kintala is still tied securely to a dock making it generally unnecessary to get up because of weather. But Daughter Eldest and Family have a long drive ahead of them and wanted to get off before the morning rush hour. Final bags and trip snacks were secured in place and, after a last round of hugs, sleepy little ones were as well. The van's engine hummed to life, interior lights were switched on so the last waves good-bye could be shared, and off they went into the darkness.

Departures are a part of life. Some are easier than others. This was on of the “others”.


It has been two years since Daughter Eldest and Family had been with us on the boat, two years since the summer in Ft. Lauderdale and The Bear. Two years is a long time in the life of little ones, but the boys quickly remembered the rules of boat living. Still, four pairs of adult eyes kept a sharp eye out as they came and went. Kintala was a new experience for Grand Daughter Youngest and, like grand kids before her, climbing the companion way stars to the very top was her new favorite thing. Even though four pairs of adult eyes were trying to keep her in sight as well, at least twice she made it without anyone noticing she was in full climbing mode. A good way to get four adult heats beating quickly.

Seven on Kintala is a full ship load. (Somehow the younger a person is, the more room they take up on a boat.) At night the v-berth and salon were full of the sleeping. For most of the week there was one less during the day, Grampy T being at work. In the evenings there was coloring and book reading and story telling. Rambunctiousness of all kinds would break out without warning. The weekends were for drum circles, train rides, visits to the beach, and Grampy T's best birthday party...ever.

Kintala is a much quieter boat this morning. Another work week will start in a couple of hours, the routine falling quickly back into place.

Departures are a part of life. Some are easier than others.

This was one of the “others”.

1000 days, a thousand ways

Today is the 1000th day since we left to go cruising. A few weeks ago I told Tim this landmark was coming up and that he should come up with a post about it. His "OK" was unenthusiastic, but I'm giving him some slack in the writing department these days since it's taking all his energy to deal with the intensity of that star around which we'll circle most of the way while here at Snead Island Boat Works. I told him I'd let him slide and I would do the post.

Leaving Oak Harbor October 19, 2013

I've been thinking a lot about those 1000 days in the past week. A landmark, certainly, but I felt no epiphany to mark it. The reality of it is that I can tell you in a thousand ways why going cruising has been the best thing that's happened to us because every one of those 1000 days has been a gift. We've had challenging days that taught us much, peaceful days on brilliant turquoise waters in the Abacos, days of gatherings with new cruising friends, days of weather that humbled us, stunningly perfect days of sailing, days filled with laughter and, recently, too many days filled with grief. But even the recent span of grief from our loss of three family members in nine months has left us realizing how glad we are that we did this. While we still had the time. Because none of us is promised a thousand days, and we cherish every one we've had.

Oriental, NC sunset while waiting for engine parts Nov 2013

The moon rising on our first overnight offshore run

West End Bahamas on our first trip there Feb 2014

Working with the grandsons on the Floating Bear disaster June 2014

Return trip to the Bahamas March 2015

Watching an eclipse from the comfort of our V-berth September 2015

Road trip for Tim's dad's funeral October 2015

Sunset on the day my brother died February 2016

Storms that humbled us

Beaches that amazed us

Skies that took our breath away

Anchorages that were perfect

We've had friends to accompany us

We've seen odd things...

Funny things...

Sad things...

Scary things...

Beautiful things...

We've had things break...

Written  a book...

And wouldn't trade it for anything.

Uncle

The filling of the cruising kitty is going well, and the boat project list has more items checked off than not, but summer has been hard on Worker Man. Snead Island is a great place to work: New Boss is fair, considerate, and hard-working himself, the owners and the rest of the employees helpful and easy to work with, and Tim's desire to produce quality workmanship expected. But the Florida sunshine - the emblem of this state - is his biggest enemy. Working down inside small, un-airconditioned boats that are sitting in the brutal rays takes its toll on his 61-year-old body.

On the other hand, the summer has been pretty good to me. Being in charge of The List has afforded me the opportunity to learn a phenomenal amount about Kintala. Most of my projects so far have been inside the air-conditioned boat so, other than the outside portion of the port rebuild project, I have had the benefit of cool working environs. Not having the benefit of a highly experienced mechanic at my beck and call 24/7 has forced me to research, learn, troubleshoot, and push through problems on my own with only the brief conversations after Worker Man returns for the day and before he collapses on the settee directly under the A/C vent. Checking off list items has gone a long way toward improving my confidence as a mechanic.

Until yesterday.

Early in the summer I decided to tackle first those items that would make maintenance on Kintala easier. The easier it is to change the oil or fuel filters, the more frequently it will get done. Installing the remote oil filter system was of the highest priority. Adding en electric fuel boost pump to bleed the engine after changing filters was next. I did my research, spoke to our friend Stephen who also owns a Tartan 42 (which is a very nice one for sale by the way), and spent time looking at various pumps. When Stephen sent a photo to me of the pump in his install, I realized all of a sudden that I remembered seeing one already installed in the boat. It was mounted on top of the fuel tank, hidden under the settee base, all the plumbing there, but the wiring was set up with ends to attach to an external battery when you needed it. Yes, we should have realized a long time ago what it was for but, you know, the out of site out of mind thing.

Not having a separate battery nor any desire to purchase one, I spent the day Monday running new wiring from the house bank to the engine compartment where I mounted a switch, then from there to the pump. As with all things boat project, it took the whole day, although I confess that an hour and a half of that was fashioning a wooden switch box to house the switch I happened on in the used box at the parts dept here on site. If you've been following this blog for a while then you know that Tim and I are both pretty anal when it comes to detail so the box had to be right.

The engine compartment showing the remote oil filter install and the new switch box for the bleed pump on the back wall.

The fuel filter housing with the bleed banjo fitting on top

Tuesday, new filters in hand, I began to learn the ins and outs of changing fuel filters on a Westerbeke 50. I had never done it before and, in fact, had usually found some place else to be when Tim did it because it is a very unpleasant job that involves bleeding of the human sort in addition to bleeding of the fuel sort. We had no spare diesel to fill the filter housings with, but everything I was reading on the topic of the electric fuel pump indicated that the pump would fill those housings given enough time. I changed the filters, turned on the pump, bled the filter fittings, let the pump run, bled them again, pump run..well you get the idea. 15 minutes later I started the engine. It started right up. Big smile on my face for the 10 seconds it ran until it stopped. Rats-n-frackin'.

Off to the maintenance manual and various Westerbeke forums. The general concensus was that I still had not removed all the air and had sucked it into the high pressure side of the system where it air locked the injector pump. It takes shockingly little air to stop a diesel engine, it turns out. Since I had cranked over the engine, I was now blessed with the learning experience of the Westerbeke 8-point bleeding procedure. An hour later and I was still not getting fuel to the injector B-nuts and the starter was getting warm from cycling the engine. "Uncle!"  Wiki says that the term "cry uncle" is from Roman times when children who were being pressed by a bully would have to say "Uncle" to be freed. How truly appropriate, as I can think of no better bullies than the designers of the Westerbeke 50.

When Worker Man returned to Kintala, I retraced my progress, showing him how far I had succeeded in obtaining fuel dribbles along the bleeding path. He loosened one B-nut that I had been unable to reach on the high pressure side of the injector pump. cranked the now cool engine, got fuel there. Then he bled two of the injector line B-nuts and the engine started.

I've learned a ton so far this summer, but perhaps the greatest lesson I learned through this project is that some times you quit just on the verge of success. I stopped because I was worried about damaging the engine and starter from too much cranking (probably smart), but had I taken some time to read some more, to think it through and continued bleeding the next day, I would most likely have gotten the job done without help. Don't get me wrong - getting help when you're unsure is a very good thing, and it's great when it's there to benefit from, but I'm sure there's going to be times when I just have to keep at it and not give up. At least when the Westerbeast is involved.

The oil pressure sender connection is, of
course, right by the dipstick so it can be
bumped into every time you check the oil...

And just so The Beast could show me who's boss...when the engine finally cranked to life there was no oil pressure on the gage. We immediately shut down the engine and closed things up for the night. This morning I started troubleshooting and discovered that the wire from the oil pressure sender to the gage was both loose and damaged. I cut it clean, installed a new connector, lock washer and nut, started the engine and was rewarded with oil pressure in the green. So take that you big bully.