Episode 52 Port Locker Continued, Safety Mods to Tiller and Outboard Prop, Mod to Depth Display

Several small modifications need a mention in this post.

The first is the answer to the question "can you fit a stove box into the port locker that is big enough to house a Maxie metho burner". The answer is "yes" but it is a remarkably tight fit. In Episode 47, I showed the shrink-fitted, final version of the stove box and in Episode 48 I showed the major surgery needed to the plumbing for the bilge pump to get the stove box into the locker. Some further joinery was needed to get the box to sit nicely in the locker without ratting around and scratching the locker walls.  Today, I shaved the edges of the floor to improve its fit and added some timber trim for the stove box to sit in, see Photos 2 and 3 below. With the handles, the box now lifts nicely in and out of the locker, and the trim shows the space left for more stuff in the locker. The lid closes fully, with a tight fit over the handles. It has been a major three-dimensional puzzle to solve - the locker lid is a kind of fat "L" shape, the locker floor is the curved hull, the locker walls are vertical but don't line up with the access hole in the top, and so on.

I tested the stove box in the Bay to Bay Race, and am happy to report that it works well, as shown in Photo 1 below.

The second modification is to the tiller. The Cygnet 20 has a rudder downhaul line on the starboard side, which passes through a cheek block over the pintles and is made off on a horn cleat on the tiller. The downhaul line is the red line in Photo 4 below and it keeps the rudder down when under way. This could be the only design flaw with the Cygnet 20. The problem is that the securing arrangement for the downhaul line is too strong. When the rudder hits the bottom, it loads the downhaul line but, because the line is securely made off on the horn cleat, the force rips the cheek block out of the tiller, causing an ugly tear-out in the timber. I ripped out the cheek block twice - once when loading the boat at the ramp (I had forgot to let off the downhaul line), and another when hitting a sand bar. With the sand bar, the keel was fine, as it simply flipped up, but the tiller suffered an ugly tear, the cheek block was destroyed and a lump was chipped out of the gel coat on the hull. Tired of trimming off torn wood and repairing the screw-holes in the tiller with epoxy filler, I replaced the horn cleat with a CL257 Auto-Release Clam Cleat. One good thing about this cleat, as I found out, is that it uses the same holes as the horn cleat it replaces. I have yet to test it, but it should let go of the downhaul line before the next cheek block gets ripped out the next time I run into shallow water, or do something equally unplanned or stupid.

The third modification was to add a breadboard/cutting board fin to the outboard motor, which should stop the prop striking the rudder when things go pear-shaped (again). See Photo 5 below. Even with the linking arm between the tiller and outboard, I have managed to dislodge the motor so that the prop struck the rudder, gouging some marks into the side. The breadboard fin should keep the necessary distance between prop and rudder. It is bolted onto the outboard casing which, I found out, is aluminium. I squeezed some Tefgel into the holes before inserting the stainless steel bolts, and used nylon washers to try to avoid electrolytic corrosion (if not electrically isolated, seawater turns dissimilar metals into a small battery, corroding the less noble of the two metals).

Finally, I found I needed the fourth modification during the heavy rain in the Bay to Bay race. Previously, I had mounted the depth-sounder display on a hinge so that it swung out into the companionway. However, with the display visible in the companionway (needed to check the depth), it protruded so far that I could not insert the upper washboard. The gap, where the upper washboard should have been, let a fair amount of rain got into the cabin. My solution was to re-mount the display a little higher and further forward, so that I could insert the upper washboard and still read the display (the upper washboard being transparent). My plywood washboard (see Episode 51) will need a window, but it will keep the rain out.

Photo 1: Stove box in use at Garry's Anchorage in the Bay to Bay Race

Photo 2: Port locker with timber trim for stove box

Photo 3: Port locker with stove box stowed

Photo 4: Tiller with auto-release clam cleat

Photo 5: Breadboard fin on outboard prop

Episode 51 Washboard Lock

 Some races require a safety rating, which, for Sandpiper in inshore races, is Category 5 (Cat 5). Cat 5 requires some things that I am not likely to use much, which include a "companionway hatch securing arrangement operable from above and below" and a means to retain and secure the washboards (see Section 3.07.4 of the Cat 5 Audit Form).

One suggestion I saw on line involved drilling one large hole in the nice polycarbonate washboard to accept a rotating arm, and two small ones for a saddle for a lanyard that was tied to another saddle screwed into the inside of the cabin. There seemed to be a lot of drilling and cutting for something that, in all honesty, would allow me to tick some boxes on a form.

What would Leo do? Leo would probably make a template before cutting all those holes. So, I bought a piece of plywood and started to shape it to fit into the companionway slots. The washboards were made of 10mm, and the nearest thickness I could get was 9mm plywood (which measures nearer 9.5mm). As I was cutting the plywood to shape, I had a brainwave. Instead of using the plywood as a mock-up to find out where to cut the holes, why not simply make a new washboard from the plywood and leave the shiny polycarbonate washboard in tact. If I got it wrong, I could simply replace the new plywood wash board with another plywood washboard.

Getting the new plywood washboard to fit snugly was a slow process of climbing on and off the boat and shaving bits off here and there. I found that my hand-plane with a sharp blade made short work of trimming the edges. One the overall shape was fitted, I cut out the washboard lock using a 38mm core-hole drill to make the inner, circular biscuit, onto which I screwed the two "arms" of the L-shaped lock with a square of 50mm x 1mm rubber to provide some friction. (I got a roll of 50mm x 1mm wide rubber strip some time ago and have since lost count about how many uses I am getting from it). One mistake I made was to cut the biscuit from the washboard, which left a 1mm gap for the core-holer. I should have cut the biscuit from a separate piece and drilled a smaller hole in the washboard to get a snug fit. It means that there is some wiggle in the lock, but the rubber keeps it in place (whilst also smearing black on the plywood finish).

I finished it off with an elastic lanyard made from 6mm shock cord. I now have a Cat 5 compliant system for securing the hatch and locking the washboards.

Its ugly as sin. But, as a friend of mine often comments, if its stupid and it works, its not stupid.

Washboard lock before assembly

Washboard lock in the locked position

Washboard lock in the locked position again, but with the hatch slid back to show the inside locking arm

Washboard lock in the unlocked position

Washboard lock and securing lanyard from inside

Episode 50 The Worst Forecast Ever, and the Fuel Tank Strap

Few modifications paid as much for as little time and effort as this one. All it needed was the screwing of two eye-saddles to the base of the starboard locker and a cargo strap from my collection of things-that-I-had-bought-for-a-previous-project-that-I-then-forgot-to-do. Until now, the plastic fuel tank for the outboard simply slid about on the floor of the locker, restrained only by the flexible fuel line. This arrangement was adequate for the gentle sailing in mild breezes that I planned regularly, but was found wanting, thanks to the worst forecast I had ever made.

For a while, I had intended to take a friend for a casual sail on Moreton Bay. He, like me, usually had busy weekends. I was owed an additional day in lieu of overtime I had worked before Christmas. His day off was on Thursday, so we had arranged to take the boat out then. Not having taken him out before, I anxiously checked the weather forecasts in the preceding days, which consistently painted a rosy picture of a day starting with a westerly 5 knots, followed by a lull, then building to a north-easterly 10 knots in the afternoon. Oddly, the offshore wind was a strong northerly, but conditions in Moreton Bay appeared benign. Wind and tide suggested a leisurely trip northward around St Helena Island in the morning, followed by a moderately faster downhill sail to Manly around lunchtime. It seemed perfect for a sail with someone who had not sailed with me before.

What I had missed was the reason for the shift in wind direction, which was a front moving up the coast, and its interaction with the prevailing northerly. Apparently, this had prompted a strong wind warning in Moreton Bay, which I had overlooked.

Blithely, my friend and I rigged the boat and set out from Manly at about 0830. We were a little surprised to feel a fresh south-westerly that sped us northwards above six knots on the westward side of the Islands. I grew a little anxious about some dark clouds to the south. Upon hearing something on the radio from Southport Marine Rescue about a front that had passed over, causing white-caps, I checked the wind speeds reported at Hope Banks and other weather stations around the bay. They showed a rapidly rising wind, so, on the northern shore of St Helena, I decided to put in a reef. On climbing up to the mast, I changed my mind and put in two reefs, which proved a good decision almost immediately. I also reviewed my plans for rounding St Helena and heading into the bay and decided to return the same way that we had come, in the hope that the Islands might give us some shelter. The wind kept building, the boat heeled dramatically, and the jib was quickly furled. We were now beating south, against strong winds and a steep chop. In previous outings, I had taken water over the gunwales, but this was the first time I took a wave over the cockpit combings.

My friend, to his great credit, found it wonderfully amusing. Presumably, he had some misguided confidence in my abilities. He had learned to sail dinghies in Auckland Harbour, so was used to getting wet. He later told me that anything calmer would have been much less interesting. He teased me for earlier saying that if I got my feet wet during the launching of the boat, I would count the trip a failure. I was now soaked from head to foot from the water coming over the sides. The cushion I had arranged for a comfortable seat became a waterlogged sponge.

After a couple of hours of beating and slamming into the chop, we found ourselves approaching Green Island with the wind dropping off. My friend then noticed the sickening smell of petrol coming from the starboard locker. On closer inspection, we found that the plastic fuel tank had been knocked about so much that some of the fuel had leaked from the open air tap in the cap. Knowing how much the smell of fuel can ruin anyone’s day on the water, I decided to find a way to secure the tank properly. I also remembered that I had made a mental note of doing so when I had bought the boat a year ago. That previous mental note went the way of so many others into the memory hole.

As far as the lull in mid-morning went, the weather stations at Hope Banks and Manly recorded winds of 25 knots, gusting to 30 to 35 knots. Later, the Admiral asked if I had gone sailing if I had known, to which I answered reluctantly but firmly in the negative. I found, again, that the boat could take more than I could.

It took a couple of eye saddles, four screws (each sealed with a blob of butyl) and a strap to fix the problem of the fuel tank wandering about in the starboard locker. The bonus was that the fuel tank now sat nicely in a corner, enlarging the usable space in the starboard locker for the other stuff I would throw in there, like the fenders. I only wish I had done it earlier.

Fuel tank and strap in the starboard locker

Episode 49 The Ballast Pump and the Boat’s First Hole

 It took about three hours to drill the boat’s first hole. 

Not all of that was drilling, of course. There was a lot of measuring, then re-measuring, both inside and outside the cabin with significant sessions of boat-yoga as I got in and out of position. Then, with much fear and trembling, I drilled a 3mm pilot hole to see if it came out the other side where I thought it would. It did, or, near enough. Then there was a great deal of further chin-scratching and arguing with myself about whether the pilot hole should be moved up or down or left or right, followed by a majority vote to keep it where it was. Then, I reamed out the hole with progressively larger drill bits to get to the 12.5mm diameter the hole needed to allow the lugs on the wire to get through.

I used a piece of wire inherited from somewhere for no better reason than that it was there, and it was, coincidentally, almost the right length at about 2.6m. I think it was 13Amp wire, which was oversized for a pump that said it needed a 5Amp fuse. My electrician friend assured me that oversized wires were unlikely to cause problems, unlike undersized wires that could overheat and, possibly, set the boat on fire. Oversized wire is good, especially when you don't have to buy it.

The switchboard got connected to the wire, which got connected to the pump, which produced a highly satisfactory whirring noise when I flipped the switch.

I couple of days’ later, when I had recovered sufficiently from my extended sessions of boat-yoga, I filled the ballast tank again and tested the pump’s ability to empty it. This it did, with some further, satisfying noises of water steadily dribbling out of the outlet, followed by visual confirmation and the obligatory photos (just to prove to everyone, including myself, that it worked). Before it would pass water, the pump needed to be primed, which was easily done with a crank or two of the hand-pump lever. I’ll need to remember to re-prime it if ever I drain it in future. This consequent operation, which included the addition of some labels, took about an hour.

Whilst pumping, the pump drew up to about 1.2 Amps (according to my digital readout) and emptied the partially-filled tank in about 10 minutes. The printing on the side of the pump says 11 litres per minute, or 3 gallons per minute. The capacity of the tanks is 250 litres, but they usually don’t get filled to capacity. According to these numbers, it should take no more than about 23 minutes to empty the full tanks, which equates to a little less than 0.5Amp-hours. The capacity of my battery is 12Amp-hours, which means it has plenty of capacity to drain the ballast. This is good news as it means that, whatever I use the battery for a day-sail, there should be enough juice in it to save me hand-cranking the hand-pump. It also gives me the option of emptying the tanks whilst under way and sailing solo, which could save time when I am returning to the ramp.

First hole through the bulkhead for the ballast pump cable

The ballast pump works!

Switchboard and meter for the pump in operation

Episode 48 Port Cockpit Locker

 It takes a lot of effort to make things simple.

The simple version is to flip a switch to pump out the 250-or-so litres of water ballast when packing the boat away after a sail. But this means electrics and a 12V pump. I already had the battery and switch-board, and a pump that had been salvaged from a warrantee replacement on our caravan. Even if it did not work perfectly, I could use the pump to plumb in the connections and get everything working before getting a "proper" pump. However, I needed somewhere to put the pump, and screwing it down onto the sloping, curved hull was not only difficult, but it also meant drilling holes into the hull, which, I had decided, was strictly forbidden.

So, the first stage was to fit a floor into the port side locker, where the current hand pump was fitted. Having watched plenty of social media videos of boat-builders, I first made up a template using thin strips of scrap ply and other assortments. Then, I cut another template using MDF from an old door skin. Incidentally, if you have ever wondered where that musty smell in old houses comes from, just cut up a piece of ancient MDF door-skin. MDF is horrid stuff and should never go anywhere near a boat permanently, but it is useful for cutting templates.

Having made a flat template for the floor, the next challenge was finding a way to fix it (without drilling holes) from underneath, which was inaccessible when the floor was sitting where it should go. I got some 30x40mm softwood from the Big Green Shed and formed it into shelves and wedges that the floor would sit on. These, I jiggled into position and poked and prodded until they seemed to be in the right place. I formed the wedges in two layers, the bottom layer being glued to the hull with Sikaflex 291, and screwed the top layer onto the bottom. This proved a good decision, because I removed the top layer and adjusted its height by about taking off 10mm with my stupidly cheap Aldi Bench Saw. I finally cut the “real” floor from 6mm plywood. The floor took two to three part-time days – nobody said that boat-work was quick.

The next stage was to plumb in the pump. I wanted to keep the hand-pump fully operational for when (not if) the electrics went AWOL, which was doomed to happen at the most inconvenient, life-threatening time possible. The hand pump not only emptied the ballast tanks, but it also pumped out the bilge which is an operation I have never performed, but was essential nonetheless. So, the electric pump needed to be plumbed in such a way as to keep all the current bits working, but with the option of bypassing the hand-pump.

The Jabsco hand-pump (which has the blue ring in the photos below) and connecting pipes were 1½-inch, but the Shurflo electric pump accepted ½ inch. The Chandlers had 1½-inch to 1-inch reducers and 1-inch to ½-inch reducers, but no 1½-inch to ½-inch reducers. The Chandlers also had a selection of tees, elbows, stop-cocks and hose-clamps. This amounted to a grand assembly that cost about $280 and had the following.

• 2 x 1½-inch tees with 3 x 1½-inch hose-clamps each
• 2 x 1½-inch to 1-inch reducers with 1 x 1½-inch and 1 x 1-inch hose-clamps each plus short lengths of 1-inch pipe
• 2 x 1-inch to ½-inch reducers with 1 x 1-inch and 1 x ½-inch hose-clamps each 
• 2 x ½-inch stopcocks with 2 x ½-inch hose-clamps each
• 4 x ½-inch elbows with 2 x ½-inch hose-clamps each
• 2 x ½-inch screw-in connectors with 1 x ½-inch hose-clamp each
• About 0.25m of 1½-inch pipe, 0.25m of 1-inch pipe of 2m of ½-inch pipe

Cutting and fitting the pipes took about three part-time days with more boat-yoga than I would have liked (I don’t like any boat-yoga, by the way). The photos below indicate, deceptively, more space than what is available. By the time you get your head and hands into roughly the right place, you find there is little space left for your rib cage, or legs, or other essential body-parts. It also needed more trips up and down the ladder between the boat and my workbench than I would have liked, especially as I usually forgot to get the one thing that I needed most from either one or the other. 

The assemblies of reducers, elbows and stopcocks took up a surprising amount of room and needed the relocation of the two-way valve (to the left and below the Jabsco hand-pump) and the hand-pump handle. After tightening the final clamp, I filled the tanks with a garden hose to check for leaks. I found none, until I tried the hand-pump, only to find an annoying drip directly aimed at the electric pump, caused by a split in the elbow connector that had developed from my cack-handedness. I went back to the Chandler for the third day in a row, ordered a new one, and bodged a repair on the cracked elbow with some glue and another hose-clamp. The repair worked, and I pumped out the tanks by hand, noting that it took about 160 hefty cranks of the handle, which fully justified my attempts to install the electric pump. The next step will be to wire it in, but I think I’ll go sailing, first.

Lower layer of wedges and shelf glued in place with white Sikaflex 291

Upper layer of wedges and shelf screwed onto lower layer

Completed locker floor

Plumbed-in pump

Top view of pump assembly

Episode 47 Stove Box Mark 3

Stove Box Mark 1 was large and heavy. I had built it for the Austral 20 because it had no galley. It was made from 12mm ply, lined with cement board and had a compartment for a twin-burner stove and a sink. The disadvantages of its size and weight became apparent when I maneuvered it through the companionway hatch and into the tiny cabin. Maneuvering one’s own body in the tiny cabin cramps everything to a shuffling crouch, which, when adding a heavy, cumbersome weight, almost guarantees a lower lumbar injury. At least the cement board would have never caught on fire.

Like my old Austral 20, Sandpiper has no galley, so I constructed Stove Box Mark 2 - a new, lighter version from 4mm ply with aluminum sheet lining. I needed means to cook tea and breakfast for the Moreton Bay Raid in September 2024 (see Sailing Kate Louise Moreton Bay Raid Part 1 and Sailing Kate Louise Moreton Bay Raid Part 2). It worked well and did not give me a back injury, but it was still too big. It was too big to fit into one of the cockpit lockers, so had to live in the cabin on a spare bunk. This required further maneuvering to get it into the cabin for stowage and out of the cabin for cooking. I decided this was too hard, so set about constructing Stove Box Mark 3.

Stove Box Mark 3 was much more difficult than the previous two versions, because I wanted it to fit into the port-side cockpit locker. The locker itself is spacious and it has a seemingly large hatch. However, the hatch has a fat L shape and the dimension from the inside corner of the L to the outside corned determined whether a rectangular box would fit, or not.

I also wanted the Stove Box Mark 3 to accommodate my methylated spirit stove, like Stove Box Mark 2. The stove fit through the hatch nicely, but getting the stove in a box through the hatch proved a challenge. It took me about three days’ work of cutting, assembling, fitting, further cutting, further fitting etc. to get the stove box to the minimum dimensions. Even so, the fit through the hatch was millimeters tight. Reluctantly, I filed off a tiny part of the inside radius of the hatch to ease the passage of the box in and out. I also had to grow my collection of tools to include a small bench-saw and a drop-saw, both of which could cut to the kind of sub-millimeter accuracy I needed. The box now squeezes in and out of the hatch, and the stove squeezes in and out of the box.

I designed the front and top with battens, which serve two purposes; they provide something to grip onto when lifting it, and they also lift the covers off the underlying surface, which, I thought, would provide some handy landing-spots for the putting-down of very hot pans or kettles on the boat. I dread getting burn-rings on the boat or its furnishings.

Today, I tested it on the rear deck by making tea during some wild, rainy weather. I am glad to say the sides shelter the flame well and my wife says the tea tasted good. I call that a success.

Stove Box Mark 3 in operation

Stove Box Mark 3 stowed

Episode 46 Electrifying Sandpiper Part 2

The completion of the electrical panel took lots of putting in and taking out, refitting and adjusting. I added three more tee-nuts, because it is better to over-design than to have the whole thing fall off the bulkhead and make a mess. I found the Sikabond 145 Supergrip to be too unreliable in setting and curing, as it seems to need access to the atmosphere, so I resorted to 2-part epoxy to fix the tee-nuts to the bulkhead.

It took some trial-and-error to fit the display panel for the Lowrance fishfinder/depth gauge (I'm not interested in the fishfinder function). I settled on mounting it on a hinged arm that swings in and out of the companionway. This means that it does not need holes drilled into the hull and it is quickly stowed and secured inside the cabin when not in use. The angles took some time to figure out because the axis of the hinges needed to be vertical, but the bulkhead they are fixed to is not. When in use, the panel needs to be face down slightly, to cut down the glare and reflection from the sun and sky. I also needed to ensure that the assembly would clear the trim on the companionway, without intruding into it too far. I gave myself a little slack, in case I replace the current display with another one with slightly different dimensions. I knocked up a couple of toggles from some spare aluminium angle to lock it in the "stowed" and "out" positions. I have now used it several times and it seems to work quite well, though I now wonder if I should fit a hood to make the display more readable.

Once the panel had been fitted, I added the battery. The battery sits on another plywood plate or battery tray that has two square holes that fit over the lugs that hold the rear water-ballast tank in place. The battery tray is not fixed, as the square holes hold everything in place. I also bought a small AGM battery that would fit into the small space available and made up a small box to hold it to the plywood plate. Having taken the battery in and out several times to charge it, this seems a neat and unobtrusive arrangement. When I made up the connecting wire with an Anderson Plug, I made the rookie error of cutting it too short, rather than too long. It seems than, no matter how long you think the wire should be, it always needs to be four inches longer.

After I had taken the photos shown below, I re-routed the wire for the depth-sounder puck behind the headliner, which made it less intrusive than appears in the photos. The depth-sounder puck sits on the inside of the hull under the porta-potti.

I initially fixed the depth-sounder puck with blu-tack, but found it does not make a good bedding-material, probably because it has stuff mixed in that interfere with the sonics of the depth-sounder. I found a better solution was to use a blob of butyl. I had previously used Sikeflex in a previous boat, but the bond was so strong, I broke the puck whilst trying to relocate it.

Fitted electrical panel. The red toggle on the lower right leads to the battery, which sits on a tray on top of the rear ballast tank.

Electrical panel fixed to bulkhead

Depth-sounder swung out into companionway