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