Making a small space work

I must confess—I'm an organizer. I hate clutter. I hated it when we lived in a big house. I hated it when we downsized to a condo. I hated it even more when we moved onto Kintala. So it goes without saying that I still hate it on First Light. As a result, the first year and a half that we owned First Light before we launched, a good bit of our vacation work trips to the boat included projects to give us better storage options. Even though we've owned First Light now for 3-1/2 years, I'm still finding ways to improve our storage for maximizing it and making it easier to access. Since we're stuck in the anchorage waiting for a suitable weather window to head to New York, it seemed the perfect time to tackle an organization project I'd been mulling over for quite a while—the medicine cabinet storage area in the head.

First Light came with a single shelf behind sliding mirror panels that make up the medicine cabinet. I did gather up some plastic leftover boxes to line the single shelf with in an attempt to corral some of the loose bottles of stuff, but the lower bin always seemed to be a tangled mess of things which meant you could never find what you were looking for without removing all of it. Not ideal. Plus, there wasn't really any suitable place for stowing the things that live on the sink counter when we're stationary but have to be stowed for underway.

We happened to have an extra piece of 1x6 that would make two additional shelves, and the 1/4 round needed to support them, in one of our "extra lumber bits for whatever" storage areas under the pullman berth. Out came the miter saw, the drill, a few screws, and two hours later we now have four shelves. I still need to get a few more plastic boxes to organize the lower shelf a little better, but wow it's an improvement.

Eventually the shelves will get painted, but for now they've gone a long way to improving my mood.

I did a post (Espacios Utiles) about some of the storage space conversions that we did right after we bought First Light. Here's a few of the photos from that post as well as a couple other posts.

I needed a place to store my Sailrite sewing machine and sewing supplies. This cabinet under the lower helm station is huge and it was taken up (very unproductively) by a plastic four-drawer rolly cabinet that left a ton of space unused. We added a shelf above the sewing machine and a lip to keep the machine from sliding in rough seas.

We really lucked out with this find at Home Goods. It replaced the heavy upholstered furniture that was there with tons of usable storage. We keep all of our most used tools there like our drill, Dremel, saws, tapes, rulers, etc in the one, and in the other side we keep all of the sun screens when not in use as well as a couple of ukuleles. We have nine...yes nine... of them on board as well as two guitars which brings me to the next storage challenge.

We built this cabinet in our garage in St. Louis then transported it to the boat. My artist granddaughter painted the top with  a picture of Tim's first ukulele as well as the music from the very first song he learned to play on it. We sized it so it could be used as an end table, which meant that only four ukuleles could fit inside. What is a captain with UAS (Ukulele Acquisition Syndrome) supposed to do? Why, buy another bench or two with storage space of course...

We also converted a couple of hanging lockers to more useful storage spaces. Now, don't get me wrong, there are plenty of people that like hanging lockers, but we don't hang any of our boat clothes except our coats and they go on hooks. So we divided up the lockers with shelves, one of which houses our clothes in suitcase zipper bags, and the other one which became our pantry.

By far the most challenging but rewarding storage project was one located in the pullman berth. There was a compartment that had been used for a washer/dryer at one point, then for an Engle fridge/freezer, and then when we bought the boat it housed a three-tier basket storage thing that used less than half the space. In addition to that, the hole was just that—a hole with rough paneling edges and no trim and no door. It rubbed me completely the wrong way so I set about to convert it. I built some shelves inside to house all of our hardware and some oddball tools like the heat gun and soldering iron, a shelf for our books that we give away, and other miscellaneous things that just didn't have a place anywhere else. Then I set about to custom-make some doors for it that would match the existing decor.

In addition to converting cabinets, a lot of organization is done with various plastic boxes and baskets. The top of our fridge has a low pin rail for which I was able to find some plastic boxes that fit perfectly. The boxes hold our need-quick stuff like flashlights and hats and keys and such as well as some oddball things for our instruments and some DVD cases.

Adding a couple magazine racks to hold the miscellaneous books that seem to end up all over the place also went a long way toward making the boat livable. And a couple really heavy duty hooks to hang the backpacks on became a necessity when our grandson was on board but they still get used now that he's moved on to Alaska.   

Organization is a highly personal thing. What one person can tolerate can drive another crazy, so it's best to discuss it out with whoever your partner is on the boat. Fortunately for me, my husband is just as uncomfortable with clutter as I am and is 100% behind any project that makes the boat less so.

But I still have a junk drawer...

The KATO principle...

A long time ago, somewhere north of 45 years, I started working at my second job as an aircraft mechanic in one of the manufacturing plants in Wichita Kansas. The first one went away when I, and hundreds of others, were near to finishing up the government Air Force project we had all been working on. The pink slips would soon be flowing. Since I was far down on the seniority list, I would be one of the first ones out the door. So I bailed out before the stampede.

I got very lucky and the second job wasn't working on the production line hammering in endless lines of rivets. I was posted to the Sheep Shed, the hangar where the company's experimental and custom-ordered airplanes were assembled or modified. Among the things I put a wrench to during my time there was a new trainer for the US Navy, a radar jamming missile for the Air Force, and turning civilian twin-engined turboprop airplanes into camera ships. I was, by far, the youngest and least experienced technician in the building. So they teamed me up with one of the older hands. Everyone called him KATO. One word. No first name. No last name. No initials. It was the name on his ID badge. It was the name on his toolbox and paycheck. No one ever called him anything else. He had started working for the company back in WWII, building ailerons for fighter planes. Rumor had it his seniority number was so high that the CEO of the company would get a pink slip before he would.   

The first thing he did was show me how to make a special "company" screwdriver.  With an overall length of 18 inches, a fat non-skid handle, and interchangeable tips, it offers up a massive amount of torque. I carried it for the rest of my career and, in fact, it is here on First Light.

KATO was an absolute wizard of a mechanic. I once saw him buck a hard to reach -10 rivet with a nickel taped to his finger. For those that don't know what that means, those that do will likely tell you it is impossible. But I was pulling the trigger on the rivet gun while KATO kept telling me to “Hit it boy. Hit it harder.  Don't be shy.” Metal work, hydraulics, electrical, landing gear, pneumatics, air conditioning, rigging...the only thing KATO wouldn't touch was an engine. According to him engine work was for mechanics.  He was a “technician”. He was also the most relentlessly cheerful man I have ever known.

One of my first jobs with KATO was a camera install in a twin turboprop. That mod included cutting a hole in the bottom of the fuselage for the camera to look through. The whole apparatus was sealed so the aircraft could still be pressurized for high altitude flight. (It is a pretty good bet that, if you live in the US, you have had your picture taken by an aircraft modified for photo work.) Part of that mod meant fabricating new air conditioning lines to be rerouted around the camera. It was a pretty involved job. Once the air conditioning system was reassembled it had to be charged with freon. That included pulling a vacuum on the system and checking it for leaks. With all the lines assembled and connected, we started the pump and watched the gauge. After a while the gauge was still bouncing around indicating a leak. Since KATO didn't say anything I didn't either A while longer and it was still bouncing around. This time I mentioned it. "Patience" was KATO's only response.  After a while longer, with gages still bouncing, I suggested we surely had a leak somewhere, one that was likely to be very difficult to trace down and repair. KATO looked at me, smiled, and taught me a life lesson right there in that hanger.

“Boy, you gotta look at the good side 'till you're SURE you can't do that no more.”

A little while later, the gage settled down, we added the freon, and the job was done.

I have carried KATO's words, and his smiling, gleeful voice, around with me for decades. They have echoed around in my head as we have struggled to get First Light closer to home. Even wishing that things had gone smoother would have had KATO looking at me funny. We are handling the problems and making the best choices we can. I live on a boat with the love of my life and best friend of more than 50 years. We are traveling, seeing new places, meeting people. If he could, I suspect KATO would look at me now, smile, and say “See? Told you so.” 

The fun of living on a boat...

Part of the fun of living on a boat is living very close to the weather. All of the forecasts suggest that we will be riding to this anchor for a few days while waiting for the Atlantic Ocean to settle down a bit. So what's a boat owner to do when there is nothing else to do? Well, fix something of course.

That wasn't really the plan for the day. We have been working on, and paying other people to work on, various systems on the boat for the better part of a month. So a couple of days spent riding to the anchor, watching the boat antics of the weekenders using the anchorage to pretend to know what they are doing, playing some music and just loafing was the plan. But, around 0630 yesterday morning, we discovered a necessary support system for being at anchor wasn't working. We thought about heading to dock to wait out the weather while having access to whatever parts we might need. But none of the marinas around here were open that early so we started poking around the uncooperative system to see what we could see. At about 2230 we finished putting the boat back in order and cleaning up. It was an unrelenting 16 hour work day, no food, no breaks, just keep hacking away. But in the end the uncooperative necessary support system was, once again, fully cooperative. Looking back at a day like that is also part of the fun of living on a boat.

So it looks like we can ride out the inbound weather on the hook after all. Good thing, since a four-day stay at a marina around here would cost about $800. I know that compared to most of the people who live on this planet we are among the well-to-do, the elite. After all, we own and live on a “yacht”. So a $800 bill for sitting at someone's dock shouldn't raise an eyebrow. That's not even a full boat buck.

But we are not that well-to-do because, well, we live on a “yacht”. It is an absolute fact that a boat is a hole in the water into which one throws money. Throwing in as little as possible is part of the fun. At least it is for us.

When uncooperative systems show up on a boat it is a also a real money saver if there are two people aboard who work well together, can find their way around a maintenance issue, who share ideas freely, and who work pretty hard at being disappointed in the boat without taking it out on the person they are working with. (Deb is much better at that than I am.) It also helps to have all kinds of tools stashed away, with oddball things like fiberglass workings, water proof fairing compound, assorted hardware, and oddball seals and gaskets. All it takes then is a willingness to dive in and give it a go.

I am finishing up writing about that day at 0100 the next day. (Not sure when it will hit the blog.) Though I am feeling the day that has yet to end, the inbound weather has arrived. First Light is riding to a short rode in a small anchorage with the winds gusting up to 20 knots. It is a pretty well-protected anchorage with little fetch in any direction. But 20 knots of wind, while barely noticed by land dwellers getting ready for bed, will keep a boat dweller's attention no matter what else has happened in the preceding hours. I'll head to the berth, but a full night's sleep is likely not in the offering. That is also part of the fun of living on a boat.

...to GO or NOT to go...

With the new water pump installed, it appeared that First Light was travel-worthy once again. And, once again, we can consider ourselves lucky. The old pump was damaged in a way that suggested a catastrophic failure, one that could have easily done major damage to the engine itself, was imminent. The pump blades, made of stainless steel, were chewed up. The only way that happens is if the shaft bearings were failing, allowing the shaft to wobble, resulting in the blade damage. At some point the assembly would have just disassembled itself. And that would have made for a rather bad day.

A big shout out to Eckels in Cape May. They were quick and at a great price.

With the engine fixed, all we needed was a weather window to try and be on our way once again. And we had one, sort of. From what the forecasts suggested we would have an eight hour window in which to do a seven hour trip starting at around 0600 in the morning. The next window will open several days later. We also had to consider that we had just completed more repairs on the boat. We would be making a “sea trial” on the Atlantic Ocean likely several miles off shore.

So, make the run and hope the weather doesn't catch us flat-footed on the Atlantic and that the boat doesn't break...again? Move to the anchorage and wait it out without spending hundreds of more dollars in dock fees? Or pony up the bucks and continue to enjoy the perks that come with being dock dwellers? Much debate between the two (ex) pilots/(ex) Coast Guard Captains resulted as we reviewed various weather apps and compared weather models. In the end we decided to decide in the morning.

So come about 0415 we had to decide. Both of us were on the brink of waiting it out either on the Cape May anchorage or just coughing up the cash to stay put. I was leaning toward just staying on the dock, but Deb seemed okay with heading out. Since neither one of us wanted to be the one to suggest staying, we pulled in the lines and headed out. Later, she told me that she was leaning toward staying in the anchorage at least, but the need to just make some sort of progress north weighed heavily in her decision. 

The narrow exit at Utsch's Marina in Cape May

It was a bit of a roll with the swells on the aft starboard quarter but about what we expected and pretty close to what had been forecast. We made better time than our estimate, so there were two hours left in the forecasted weather window when we dropped the hook. So now we sit, the only boat in a secluded spot overlooking Atlantic City. An anchorage with virtually no fetch in any direction. With winds forecasted to be 20+ we will almost certainly be spending the next several days here. But the holding tank is near empty, the water tanks are full, there is food in the fridge. The anchor is set and we are riding to the snubber. The wind is starting to pick up as forecast, keeping it cool and blowing the bugs away. The next few days are an open question. Going by boat it is a long way to the New York Harbor from here. Even though it may well be our last ocean passage, we are both eager to put it at our stern. We have been salt water sailors. Being fresh water sailors now is okay with me.

The narrow entry/exit at Utsch's Marina in Cape May

0500 sunrise at Cape May, NJ

The entry into the Atlantic at the eastern end of the Cape May channel

Atlantic City, NJ comes into focus.

We broke a mechanic...

Yesterday we got a call from the mechanic who was going to help us with the pump change. He got hurt and is out of service. It doesn't sound like he got hurt too badly but a sprained knee would be enough to keep me out of our engine hole. I certainly wouldn't ask anyone else to crawl in there injured.

The folks here at the marina offered us a couple of options for alternate mechanics. Deb left a message with the first on on their list and just a few minutes later got a call back. The gentleman jumped right in to helping us work out a plan. Like me, he suspects that the pump has reached the end of its service life. We agreed to him doing the job so he went to work sourcing parts.  Deb and I debated as to just how long and how much this might cost. Given how things have gone so far we were thinking big numbers of dollars and a long delay.

An hour or so later, the mechanic called back. He found a pump that would be at his shop this afternoon. Tomorrow he will come and replace it. The pump cost was way, way, less than we had guessed. Labor will be what labor will be. Shop to boat to repair to shop times whatever the hourly rate. I was a mechanic for a long time. I understand and have no complaint. Still, it was suggested that, since I can find my way around an engine a little bit, that I drain the system so they can pull the pump as soon as they get here. So Deb and I got that done yesterday.

I would pull the pump as well, but I suspect that thing is original equipment. I give it a better than 50/50 chance that one of the mount bolts shears off, leaving a drill/easy-out/tap/helicoil repair. I'll pay for it either way, but I'd rather they shear the bolt instead of me.  

In spite of our run of mechanical glitches, or maybe because of them, this trip has had us working with a string of really impressive, professional, friendly, and helpful people. Something that hasn't always been our experience when it comes to the marine industry. Maybe it is simply a matter of not being in Florida anymore. That state's efforts to drive cruisers out is pretty common knowledge. Whatever the reason, and in spite of our breakdowns, so far we have found that the further North we go the better it seems to get for those of us who live on a boat.

As soon as the repair is finished, we will likely head back over to the anchorage and wait on a weather window. Given the number of boats that motored out of here this morning it looks like we missed another one today. And so it goes.

Friends Taija and Janet leaving on Endeavor in the fog.

On a dock again...

We had a pretty nice night at anchor, once all of the weekend boaters went home. I guess people who rarely pay attention to stop signs, red lights, pedestrian crossings, and speed limits can't really be expected to pay attention to “NO WAKE” signs. But after the sun went down it was a good night's sleep even if today loomed as a challenge. There was a nice breeze blowing and the boat was doing that barely perceptible rocking that just feels right.

Come morning, I put on my boat-working clothes. We have two types of dress here on First Light. One is for traveling or for sitting around while paying someone else to work on the boat. The other is for working on the boat. The two never get stored or washed together.

Properly dressed, I climbed down into the hole while Deb started the starboard engine. It took a couple of tries but we eventually tracked the leak down to the engine coolant pump. It appears to be leaking from around the mount but I suspect the fluid is actually running out a weep hole, meaning the pump has suffered some kind of internal failure. It is hard to tell with the engine running as the belt is spinning around within inches of the wet spot. But at least we got it narrowed down. Since it seemed unlikely that we could repair it or have it repaired while out at anchor, we changed into our traveling clothes. We didn't travel very far, just a mile or so to Utsch's Marina. I didn't know it, but lying in wait was the most challenging docking I have ever done.

First, it was a long parallel run within twenty feet of a sea wall to stay out of the shallows. That came with a 10+ knot wind pushing me into the wall. Even staying as close as I dared, I saw 5 feet of water under a boat that draws four and a half. After that, was a 90 degree turn downwind through an entry about 45 feet wide. Port engine forward to shove the bow into the hole. Starboard engine aft to keep the wind from shoving the stern into the wall. Dance with the shifters as necessary, be gentle with the power. I didn't hear anything squeak as we went through, but it was tight.

After that, a putter along down the fairway barely half again as wide as the boat is long. No rudder, just steer with the engines. Then another 90 degree, bow up into the wind, turn into the slip. A slip with a dredging barge tied up on the other side of the fairway. I swear we missed the thing by about a foot making the turn. But I managed to not embarrass myself too bad, didn't bounce off of anything, and got the bow in between the pilings far enough for the dock worker to grab a line and help guide us in the rest of the way.

I have flown, landed, and handled airplanes in far more hazardous conditions where making a mistake was fatal. I don't ever remember being nervous about the outcome. Getting on a dock like this one had my heart racing. Truth to tell, I would rather be faced with a one-engine inoperative instrument approach to dead nuts minimums on a dark and stormy night with a 30 knot cross wind. At least I'll know what the airplane will do and what to expect from the sky. Even with First Light's twin engines, I still feel like I am giving it recommendations rather than orders. And though I have a good feel for what the sky is doing, what the water might be doing remains a mystery. At least First Light is more cooperative than was Kintala. Anyway...

Soon after we settled in, I got a call from a marine mechanic that was recommended by Tim, owner of Delaware City Marina and friend. (Had it been less than an 8 hour run we would have considered going back Delaware City. But on a sick engine?) The mechanic will be here tomorrow. Parts supply is a guess. Though I would love to just pay for an “O” ring that could likely be here in a day, my own mechanic's thought is that we are looking at a pump failure. That will likely add several days to the repair time. Then a day to install and test run. Not a full day, but a long enough day to keep us stopped for another night. So I say three nights at least, maybe many more depending on how difficult it is to source a pump. After all, the fuel pump we just replaced came from ENGLAND.

We still feel like we are making okay decisions based on what we know at that moment. And that's the best we can do. But I am starting to have doubts about the final outcome of this trip. We are falling way behind most of the other “Loopers”. We are now a month behind our own planned schedule. But all we can do is go as far as we can before the weather window closes for the winter. When (if) that happens we will simply have to make some different decisions.

Made it...but...

First Light lived up to her name as the sun was just breaking the horizon when we started our departure prep. Around 0600 the lines were pulled on board. We motored out the channel into the river, then hung a right. The engines were running so smoothly that we started thinking the fuel pump problem wasn't just a fuel leak. We settled into an easy cruise at 1600 RPM making nearly 8 knots. The wind was blowing a little harder than forecast making the seas a bit choppier, but it was an easy ride as we searched around for our sea legs. Along the way, we saw several pods of dolphins, which always brings a smile. We also saw a whale, our first in spite of all the miles and years we have living on a boat. We were also kind of glad when the whale swam off. Seeing a critter as big as your boat not too far from your boat is a bit disconcerting.

About 2/3s of the way here Deb went down to do her engine checks. One of the cameras was a bit fuzzy, (we think it might have been the heat in the engine room) so she lifted the steps and crawled in to take a look. There was a bit of coolant under the engine and she noticed that the overflow tank was empty. The engine temp was showing normal but that was clearly not going to last much longer.

So, somewhere in the middle of the Delaware Bay, I brought the engines to idle and shut down the starboard side. I left the port side running to have enough steerage to keep us bow into the waves. Deb added some coolant and looked around to see if she could spot the leak. She didn't see anything obvious so we fired up and kept going, keeping an extra eye on the starboard engine temperature gauge. It settled onto its normal reading and never moved the rest of the way down the bay. After putting up the canal in the company of the holiday weekend boat drivers, we turned into the Coast Guard anchorage and, after a couple of tries, we found a place among those already here to drop our hook.

As we traveled the length of the bay, Mare's Tail clouds in the sky suggested weather inbound. The various weather apps we use agree. So we will be anchored here for at least two nights. Tomorrow will give us a chance to find the coolant leak and hopefully fix it without too much ado. If that happens, the weather forecasts suggest we might be able to head to Atlantic City on Wednesday. If the repair becomes more involved, we will have to come up with a different plan.

No more First Light at the end of the dock

If pressed, I would have to admit having a few pretty dark minutes out there in the middle of the bay with yet another mechanical. But what choice is there but to keep going? Right now the boat is our only home. But our home isn't where our home is. We like living on a boat. We like travel on a boat. (We don't really like working on a boat.) So, like always, we will just have to see what the next moment brings.

Early morning barge traffic headed to Philadelphia

The birds own the lighthouses.

The anchorage at Cape May

Two days

First Light's starboard side engine has a never used (until yesterday) but (probably) 20 year old “new” fuel injection pump installed. After some efforts to purge the air, the engine rumbled to life without drooling a drop of fuel anywhere. Which helped lighten the mood around here a good bit.

Part of the procedure included setting the idle speed on the new pump. With the starboard side set, the tech suggested we start the port side to check its idle setting as well. Something I was about to ask him to do anyway. That side cranked to life and the next several minutes where spent getting the two engines as closely matched at idle as possible. They still shake like, well, like diesel engines. But all systems were reading normal and, for the first time in nearly a month, both the engines were rumbling in unison.

Upon shut-down, the tech started looking around to check everything and gather up all of his tools...and spotted water dripping off of the port side engine's heat exchanger. It was a good catch. A bit more poking around and he discovered that the water was leaking out of the forward connecting hose. One more bit of poking around and he discovered that hidden behind the leaking connecting hose was a smaller hose. The hose clamp on that smaller hose had been installed in such a way as the sharp bit that hangs off (and usually collects skin and leaves scars) had sliced its way into the bigger hose, causing the leak. (Have I mentioned that the techs around here have proven to be first class mechanics?)

My first thought was, “Are you kidding me? Not another problem?” And then, “What kind of bonehead installs something that way? A rubber hose shoved tight against an (almost) razor sharp bit of metal on a diesel engine that vibrates like a paint shaker? How dumb can you be?” But then another thought occurred.

We have been all over those engines since getting on the boat in Oak Harbor and then splashing it. That's how we found the fuel leak in the starboard engine in the first place. It is how we found the fuel leak in the generator as well. It is how we found a loose engine mount bolt, a couple of loose clamps, and a few loose battery terminals. There was no water laying in the port engine pan during any of our pre-departure checks before leaving Oak Harbor for Chesapeake City. None again when leaving Chesapeake City for here. And none during the start up and shut downs when getting our starting problem under control.  

It had to be a brand new leak that showed itself on the (planned) last test run of the engines before we pulled off the dock. Had it waited just a little while longer to rear its ugly head, we would have been somewhere on the Delaware Bay when the port side engine started to overheat. Or, had it waited a little longer yet, somewhere offshore between Cape May and New York—an engine failure in a place that might have presented a bit of a challenge.

As frustrating has these last few weeks have been, we couldn't have been in a better place to get this list of maintenance items taken care of. And there is this realization: First Light had been on the hard for more than four years before we launched it the first time. We did a lot of work before that first splash but, as we all know, boats do not like sitting on land. And being in the water is an entirely different environment. Last year we only got as far as Oriental before getting sidelined with minor things like cardiac arrests and shattered wrists. After that, we limped to Oak Harbor (with the help of Grandson Eldest) where the boat sat on the hard for another six months—far enough north for winter weather to be an issue and (bad choice on our part) in a marina that didn't allow boats on the hard to be hooked to power.

From Oak Harbor to Chesapeake City to Delaware City was just two (not particularly long) days of travel. It could be considered a kind of shakedown cruise and, well, it seems it shook a lot of things loose. Kind of the purpose.  (Though I am going to blame the starter and house battery failures on the marina where the boat spent the winter. Batteries that are left to go flat are batteries that will have to be replaced.)

This afternoon the damaged hose was replaced and the engine test run with no problems. The Tech asked if we wanted to do a sea trial with him along. That sounded like an excellent idea to us. About an hour later First Light was configured for being under way again. The engines rumbled to life, the lines were pulled in, and we idled down the canal being careful of the weekend boaters and jets drivers.

Once out in the river, I handed the helm over to the Tech. He ran the engines through their paces, up to an including a full power blast that had First Light squatting at her stern and making better than 11 knots. I didn't even want to think about how much fuel was running through that new pump. The engines ran fine with all gauges in the green and nothing leaking out of either one. How about that?

Once back at the dock, we pumped out and tied up for the night. The plan at the moment is to head off early in the morning and head for Cape May. It is likely we will be anchored there for a coupe of days waiting on a break to get the offshore part of this trip off our stern.

I have to admit that my first response to yet another failure was one of disappointment and discouragement. This has been a tough few weeks. But a more thoughtful reflection is that we have been extraordinarily lucky. Accepting each failure as just something that was better discovered here than out on the Atlantic somewhere several miles from shore and many miles from a safe anchorage or dock? I'm going to lean in that direction, emotions be damned. Take what happens. Make the best choice for the next moment based on what is happening in this moment. Then keep going. Is there any other real choice?

I still don't get it...

As I have said many times since we tied to the dock at Delaware City Marina, this marina crew is one of the best, most professional, and helpful we have run across. Sadly, the same can not be said for a few of the boaters that have tied up while we have been working our way though a list of mechanical problems.

This is how close the bridge is to our stern

For the fourth time since we have been here, First Light narrowly escaped being seriously damaged by a wayward boat. The fun started when Deb looked out over our foredeck and noticed that there was no one at the helm of the boat off our bow even though the engines were running. Not that unusual until she noticed that the Captain was standing on the dock and that he had already tossed both his bow and spring lines. They had been the lines holding his bow to the dock against the current. With them gone the boat was swinging out into the channel even as he freed the stern line. The swing continued until the swim platform was jammed against dock, pulling the stern line tight, which was all that was preventing his bow from swinging 180 degrees with the current and crashing into ours. And, let me say again, THERE WAS NO ONE AT THE HELM. Our intrepid  captain, having already undone the cleat knot, was in a tug of war with the current over the future of his boat, and ours. 

Deb and I jumped off our boat. Deb grabbed the stern line and ordered the Captain on the dock to get to the helm. He actually looked like he was going to argue with her, but I suspect the look in her eyes changed his mind and he got aboard. Once he got to the throttles she threw the line which was fortunately not knotted to the cleat and under too much pressure to untie. (Unlike one of the other near accidents.) But, since it was the wrong line in the wrong place, there still seemed to be little hope that he was going to clear either First Light or the bridge lying in wait maybe 100 feet away. I called for him to power forward. He hit the throttles hard, launching himself across the canal and shoving his bow into the trees on the far side. That turned out to be a good thing since the branches held his bow while the current pushed his stern enough that, when he hit reverse just as hard, he barely missed launching himself stern first into our boat. Then he powered forward (yep, near full power again) swinging wildly toward the dock. As he got power and helm under control we noticed the spring line trailing in the water on his port side. Apparently he had untied it without actually tossing it onto his boat.

At first it seemed impossible that it would not foul his port engine. Fortunately, the dock crew here has a habit of chain stitching excess line and laying it along the edge of the dock rather than coiling it and leaving it as a tripping hazard. It was pure good fortune that our wayward Captain had not undone the chain stitch when he untied his boat. The trailing line wasn't long enough to get into his shaft or prop. Another bit of good luck was that the water flow didn't undo the chain stitch either. With both engines still running, he managed to get speed and heading under control and, just like that, was no longer a danger to us. As for himself and anyone else on the water anywhere near him? No longer my problem.

It has been a couple of hours since that scare, and the jitters have mostly worn off. I am still baffled at the total lack of situational awareness. In the first place, I know he was at the Captain's briefing yesterday. A part of that briefing is the proper procedure to use when getting off this dock when the current is running with the ebb tide: i.e. on your bow but TOWARD THE BRIDGE.  It is easy and painless. Run a forward midship spring boat-to-cleat-to-boat. Start the engine(s) and have SOMEONE ON THE HELM. Pull the stern line as it isn't doing anything useful. Pull in the bow line and let the current ease the bow out into the channel pivoting on the spring. Ease the spring line if necessary to get the bow pointed past the boat ahead. Motor gently away and slowly retrieve the spring line. It is a simple maneuver. 

But even without the instructions, how could he not have noticed the current and realized what would happen if he left just the stern line attached? How did he not notice that his boat started moving the moment he freed the first of the two lines that were under pressure? How could he not be at or have someone at the helm? Just standing on the dock, looking at the current and the lines, how could he not see what was about to happen?

Human beings. I are one and I still don't get it.

This is the current speed as seen through one of our cleat horns near the waterline

A nice long empty dock with only two boats ahead of us, both highly qualified crews. Phew!

Left behind...

By 0730 the dock ahead of us was empty. All of the boats that were here over the weekend headed toward Cape May. Deb and I helped one after the other spring into the current, pull in the line, and motor gently off into what should be a near perfect day of cruising. As they left, I was mulling over the thought that I will be surprised if we are out of here anytime in the next two weeks. A realization that, for a couple of minutes, was pretty depressing. But then I remembered the year we spent with me working at Snead Island to try and fill the cruising kitty to keep going on Kintala. It was one of the toughest years of my life, probably shaved a few years off of my life and, in the end, we had to go back to land anyway as most of the money earned was swallowed up by the boat.

And yet that was also the year that Daughter Eldest and her family took to living on a boat along side of ours. The year we welcomed another grand daughter into the fold. The year two of my grandsons and I took regular “wizard walks”, exploring the shoreline and parks around the boatyard. The "wizard stick" they found for me to use as a walking stick, the one we carved, sanded, then finished with the varnish left over from doing the teak work on Kintala, is on First Light with us. 

It was a year I would never want to repeat, but one that I would not have wanted to miss. Compared to that? Being tied to this dock for this long really isn't much of a challenge. I am not punching a clock while working in the brutal heat of a Florida summer. Much as we enjoyed our time on Kintala, living on First Light is like living in a mansion in comparison.

I am also reminded of this truism. Living on a boat means giving up the relatively structured life that living on land usually becomes. Mostly isolated from the weather with basically set schedules for working, vacations, playing, shopping, doctor and dentist visits, doing the laundry and mowing the grass. Big changes that require rethinking the next few days are rare on land. On the water? Dock falls for laundry, food, water, pump out and shopping are moving targets, with weather and stores on board being the major determining factor. Mechanical breakdowns are common. Every cruiser has their tale of woe because a) moving water, particularly moving salt water, is the worst environment one can imagine for mechanical devices of any kind and, b) the boating industry's dedication to quality control insofar as manufacturing, post sales support, parts availability and work scheduling is nigh onto non-existent. It is also outrageously expensive. Stick the label "marine" on anything and the price goes up with no relationship as to the quality of the thing being offered.

New boats are no better than old boats. In the time we have been here I have talked with two owners of brand new boats who are struggling to get warranty items repaired. They are limping along as best they can, one with engine control problems and the other with navigation glitches. 

Fortunately there are exceptions, and there is hope on the horizon. We are currently tied to the dock of one of one of those exceptions. The folks here at Delaware City Marina are doing their best to help us get moving again. Imagining what we would be putting up with had this string of mechanical issues happened in some of the marinas and boat yards we have experienced over the years? That is the stuff of nightmares. 

Another exception has been British Diesel in England. Deb, working her parts magic with these folks, found us a brand new, correct part number pump across the water in England that comes with an installation kit. The price is both a bit startling but, at the same time, about what we expected. They are telling us it will be here in a few days, which is some serious magic of its own. Magic due to a hefty shipping bill. This has all happened in the last couple of hours so there is some serious assumptions going on that all of this will unfold without a hitch. If it does, there are mechanics working here that are qualified to install the thing.  

Still, I'll make no bets on when we will be on our way. In fact I'll make no bets that “being on our way” is, in any way, a sure thing. Last year's experiences cured me of that common human hubris. With Deb's parts magic, and the folks here, we are working on a good plan.  But each day will unfold as it will. We are meeting new people, seeing places we have never seen before, listening to the water and the wildlife. We are going up and down with the tide... physically  and figuratively. It is a good, if somewhat chaotic, way of life. We are doing the best we can with what is offered.

Ed Note: This email came from British Diesel within minutes of placing our order:

Hi Deb,

Thanks for your business. The pump we are supplying should arrive in 2-3 days according to DHL'S estimate. You will have to keep an eye out for an email. The tracking details will be provided in the next email.

For your information, we checked on the Cummins Database, they do not have new units available but they can supply a repaired injection pump for a whopping $8841 dollars plus $640.00 plus $75 shipping cost (14 days delivery time).  

So by dealing with us you have saved nearly $6750.00 plus the injection will arrive 12 days earlier than what Cummins are quoting, also the pump we are supplying is brand new and genuine. (I hope you guys buy yourselves something nice).

Best regards,

Sam

A pretty good day...

It is a little frustrating not to be of much use getting First Light off the dock. Hired guns replaced the start battery, start solenoid, house bank, and current limiter. My contributions in doing actual maintenance since we tied up here have been modest. Helping Deb with putting a service kit in the head pump and running a string of LED lights in the salon about covers it. With the latest major project having been finished the day before, yesterday was “look for the fuel leak in the generator and the starboard side engine" day. Something it seemed I could do without too much trouble that might not take much time or effort to fix.

Another weather window missed

So we opened the floor and I climbed down into the hole to pull the cover off of the Generator. With ear plugs in and flashlight in hand, Deb fired it up. It took about 15 minutes but I found some fuel weeping out of a banjo fitting. It wasn't much but, when not on the dock, we run the generator for an hour or more in the evenings, enough time to for even a small leak to accumulate an unacceptable amount of fuel. We shut it down.

Then we fired up the starboard engine. In way less than a minute fuel was drooling down the engine case. The source of the drool was clearly coming off something mounted in the high pressure fuel pump that had a wire attached to its end. Fuel dripping over a wire. Not something I like to see. A single wire suggested it was either a sensor or a solenoid of some kind, but I had no idea what its actual function might be. The amount of fuel being leaked was simply too much to even think about not fixing. 

After some discussion as to the best course of action, I pulled the bolt out of the generator banjo fitting to see what I might see. Deb started working her parts finding magic.

The parts manual for the generator listed the banjo bolt seal as an o-ring. I found a crush washer. The marina had a crush washer in stock that fit and the access was pretty easy. With the new one installed and the generator rumbling away, where I had seen fuel seeping before I didn't see any fuel seeping at all. Even after a 15 minute run. I'm not totally convinced that is the only leak. But it was the only one I could find. We will be pulling the cover off of the generator with every engine room check from now on.

Though the leak in the engine was much easier to find, getting it fixed looks like is going to be a much bigger deal. Since we could see where the leak was originating, our first thought was that changing the solenoid would be the fix. Deb worked her magic and we have a solenoid heading this way, to be delivered on Tuesday. But she did some deeper research in an attempt to verify that we actually have the right part coming and managed to track down and talk to a parts/tech person in England who works for Lucas, the manufacturer of the pump itself, which is mounted on the Cummins engine. According to the Lucas tech, a leak in this area should be addressed by replacing the pump as the leak's real origin likely lay in the head rotor of the pump. Which will, eventually, lead to a catastrophic failure of the pump and engine. I know just enough about diesel engines to know he has a point. Unfortunately the pump in question isn't that easy to source. These are old, though very popular, engines. Which, somehow, ends up meaning parts are not particularly easy to find. So, even though we have a solenoid on its way, we may actually be here for the better part of two weeks waiting for a pump. Something we will not know until the weekend is over.

The leaking stop solenoid

Access for the solenoid not so great but if we have to change the whole pump at least it's the accessible one, not the one on the port engine that would require threading a body between the engine, fuel pump, engine intake strainers, and fuel tank.

I had to use my nifty new fiber optic scope camera to get the part number off the pump.

The next question is, will I be able to replace it?  But I am not near the wizard I used to be when I fixed airplanes for a living. Reaching and replacing the part looks like it may require removing much of the fuel manifold and associated lines for access. Or we may be replacing the entire pump. Either of which could mean needing an unknown collection of seals, crush washers, and “O” rings to reassemble. Since it will mean playing with the very heart of the fuel system there may also be a particular procedure necessary for replacing it without doing more harm than good. Deb worked her magic once again and found a maintenance manual for the engine. In it I found a step by procedure for replacing the pump, along with a list of special tools required. After some mechanic soul searching it was obvious. I should no more attempt to replace that pump than a marine mechanic should attempt a hot section on a P&W PT6 turbo prop engine. So, come Tuesday, we will open yet another work order to have the pump replaced by someone who knows what they are doing.  

But hey, it looks like I might have fixed the generator. At the end of the day we were lounging in the salon. Deb allowed that it was a pretty good day. We are still on the dock with money draining away almost as fast as the calendar. But she is right. It was a pretty good day. We did what we could do, made what we think are the right decisions. And that's the best that anyone can do. As for my mechanic's pride? Ah well, no one can fix everything. (Actually, my next youngest brother might be the exception to that rule. He is one of the most talented mechanics I have ever seen. Another of which is my youngest brother who is also far better than your average wrench bender. Me? I just fixed airplanes.)