A moment of weakness.
I’ve dreamed all my life of nothing other than this life, but I’m lonely, and my drive is waning. Sincere happiness is something which has eluded me for some time now, and I am scared that I am losing elements of my character out here that I can’t really afford to lose. If I were to go to sea now, I don’t know that I would come back.
I am defeated.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Why is nothing simple?
Old Kalitsah: It’s raining, my hatches are open. David, where are you?
David Fisher: Sick of you and your alternator, running around on a goose chase trying to understand things I’ll never have a proper grasp of. Why is nothing simple?
OK: I’m a boat; get used to it. Close my hatches.
DF: Yes ma'am.
Old Kalitsah: It’s raining, my hatches are open. David, where are you?
David Fisher: Sick of you and your alternator, running around on a goose chase trying to understand things I’ll never have a proper grasp of. Why is nothing simple?
OK: I’m a boat; get used to it. Close my hatches.
DF: Yes ma'am.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Dorade vent.
This one is specifically for other Albergers. In hunting for one of my damned deck leaks, I came upon a building defect in the dorade vent above the heads. The particular leak was coming through onto the port bulkhead between the saloon and the heads at the inboard deck end, a place water simply should not have been getting to. Dejected, I had drawn the conclusion that the balsa core in the deck was saturated, and that this was where the water had found its escape. A tip of sheer genius by Peter from medusa had me out on deck in the rain, dabbing food colouring in the likely places, trying to track the path of the leak. It was of great surprise to have discovered the dorade to be the culprit, but guilty it was.
The dorade box on the Alberg is an integral part of the boat’s deck moulding, which means that from deck there is no access to the area except for the hole where the vent is fitted. It also means that when it was built, the box had to be sealed from the underside while the deck was being built.
I cut the top of the dorade box away to gain sufficient access. Inside, a fibreglass plate had been glued in place, but due to its poor design and construction, the join between the plate and deck moulding was not sealed. Water had entered here, travelled through the deck, and out onto the aforementioned bulkhead.
I had taken this as confirmation of the balsa core being wet but, happily, found that the water had been traveling by a different path. Kalitsah (440) has a moulded liner on the underside of the deck and cabin-top distinct from the underside of the deck moulding itself. The deck, with its balsa core, would have been laid up as normal with glass laminated on either side of the core. The internal liner would have been bonded in later, creating a vboid in the areas where they did not marry fully. This gives the impression others may be familiar with of areas inside the cabin-top seemingly delaminating. This is not the case, rather, it is tha void between these two mouldings. That this void exists is of no detriment to the structure of the deck. It is none the less annowing, as it allows water getting in at one spot to get back out in quite another.
The dorade leak was easy to fix by grinding, filling and glassing the join. It is something I suggest to other Albergers is worth inspecting. It is worth noting that the forward winch mounts in the cockpit are built by the same method.
This one is specifically for other Albergers. In hunting for one of my damned deck leaks, I came upon a building defect in the dorade vent above the heads. The particular leak was coming through onto the port bulkhead between the saloon and the heads at the inboard deck end, a place water simply should not have been getting to. Dejected, I had drawn the conclusion that the balsa core in the deck was saturated, and that this was where the water had found its escape. A tip of sheer genius by Peter from medusa had me out on deck in the rain, dabbing food colouring in the likely places, trying to track the path of the leak. It was of great surprise to have discovered the dorade to be the culprit, but guilty it was.
The dorade box on the Alberg is an integral part of the boat’s deck moulding, which means that from deck there is no access to the area except for the hole where the vent is fitted. It also means that when it was built, the box had to be sealed from the underside while the deck was being built.
I cut the top of the dorade box away to gain sufficient access. Inside, a fibreglass plate had been glued in place, but due to its poor design and construction, the join between the plate and deck moulding was not sealed. Water had entered here, travelled through the deck, and out onto the aforementioned bulkhead.
I had taken this as confirmation of the balsa core being wet but, happily, found that the water had been traveling by a different path. Kalitsah (440) has a moulded liner on the underside of the deck and cabin-top distinct from the underside of the deck moulding itself. The deck, with its balsa core, would have been laid up as normal with glass laminated on either side of the core. The internal liner would have been bonded in later, creating a vboid in the areas where they did not marry fully. This gives the impression others may be familiar with of areas inside the cabin-top seemingly delaminating. This is not the case, rather, it is tha void between these two mouldings. That this void exists is of no detriment to the structure of the deck. It is none the less annowing, as it allows water getting in at one spot to get back out in quite another.
The dorade leak was easy to fix by grinding, filling and glassing the join. It is something I suggest to other Albergers is worth inspecting. It is worth noting that the forward winch mounts in the cockpit are built by the same method.
Root cellar
“What boat could be complete without a root cellar”, exclaimed my friends Ian and Garry on Peter Pan, as they guided me through her exquisite interior. What indeed? Old Kalitsah had to have one.
Good storage for vegetables and fruit is fundamentally important to the liveaboard sailor. They must be stored in such a way that they may last unspoiled for as long as possible. By far the best solution is to have them hanging where air can circulate and where they don’t get bumped about with the motion of the boat. Easy to do, though in a small boat where an uncluttered cabin is desired, the options are somewhat lessened.
My solution has been to hang my fruit and vegetables in their hammocks as before, but now in their own cupboard out of sight and, advantageously, in the dark. The cupboard is low in the boat, for how otherwise could I hope to call it a cellar. This moderates the temperature, as it is influenced by that of the water, and lessens the motion of the boat in a sea. It is vented into the cabin, though I plan to increase the airflow through the cellar with a fan.
It is a neat solution, making good use of a space which had proved awkward for other stores, and keeping my desired sense of simplicity down below.
Here it is in its half finished state. Finished photos to follow when I can find my camera cord...
“What boat could be complete without a root cellar”, exclaimed my friends Ian and Garry on Peter Pan, as they guided me through her exquisite interior. What indeed? Old Kalitsah had to have one.
Good storage for vegetables and fruit is fundamentally important to the liveaboard sailor. They must be stored in such a way that they may last unspoiled for as long as possible. By far the best solution is to have them hanging where air can circulate and where they don’t get bumped about with the motion of the boat. Easy to do, though in a small boat where an uncluttered cabin is desired, the options are somewhat lessened.
My solution has been to hang my fruit and vegetables in their hammocks as before, but now in their own cupboard out of sight and, advantageously, in the dark. The cupboard is low in the boat, for how otherwise could I hope to call it a cellar. This moderates the temperature, as it is influenced by that of the water, and lessens the motion of the boat in a sea. It is vented into the cabin, though I plan to increase the airflow through the cellar with a fan.
It is a neat solution, making good use of a space which had proved awkward for other stores, and keeping my desired sense of simplicity down below.
Here it is in its half finished state. Finished photos to follow when I can find my camera cord...
Navigation desk
I blame my long absence from this log on my having had no reasonable desk at which to sit and write. This I have alleviated by building into old Kalitsah the biggest nav table I’ve ever come across on a yacht her size. Going are her weekender roots; she’s in with the big kids now. To allow room for my desk, I have sacrificed entirely the starboard sofa/berth. Truncated in an earlier refit to accommodate a better galley, this berth was only suitable for a dwarf.
To the horror of many, my new desk faces aft. “You’ll get sick”, they cry, “else you’ll get lost, navigating backwards”. Fortunately seasickness has never yet afflicted me, and as to going backwards, it will allow me to see that half of the world which I had intended to leave until second. What I gain from this aspect is a superb view out through the windows and companionway onto the place I’m here to see. I faced the corner enough at school, and refuse now to do so by choice.
In keeping with my maxim of an uncluttered interior, I have mounted all my instruments required for navigating in cupboards surrounding the desk. They are accessible when I need them, but they are ugly, and so need not be on display when not in use.
Hidden within the desk is a secret cupboard in which I will store my valuable items. Should I be burgled or boarded, I believe this area will pass the notice of even an astute thief. I shall here elaborate no further, lest the reader should be driven to attack.
Perhaps the greatest concession I have made to my desk being a desk is that I have built it sloped. Completely useless as a general bench top, it will be free to perform its function as a desk, and nothing more. During the refit I have doubled old Kalitsah’s usable bench space elsewhere, so feel well able to afford this luxury.
I blame my long absence from this log on my having had no reasonable desk at which to sit and write. This I have alleviated by building into old Kalitsah the biggest nav table I’ve ever come across on a yacht her size. Going are her weekender roots; she’s in with the big kids now. To allow room for my desk, I have sacrificed entirely the starboard sofa/berth. Truncated in an earlier refit to accommodate a better galley, this berth was only suitable for a dwarf.
To the horror of many, my new desk faces aft. “You’ll get sick”, they cry, “else you’ll get lost, navigating backwards”. Fortunately seasickness has never yet afflicted me, and as to going backwards, it will allow me to see that half of the world which I had intended to leave until second. What I gain from this aspect is a superb view out through the windows and companionway onto the place I’m here to see. I faced the corner enough at school, and refuse now to do so by choice.
In keeping with my maxim of an uncluttered interior, I have mounted all my instruments required for navigating in cupboards surrounding the desk. They are accessible when I need them, but they are ugly, and so need not be on display when not in use.
Hidden within the desk is a secret cupboard in which I will store my valuable items. Should I be burgled or boarded, I believe this area will pass the notice of even an astute thief. I shall here elaborate no further, lest the reader should be driven to attack.
Perhaps the greatest concession I have made to my desk being a desk is that I have built it sloped. Completely useless as a general bench top, it will be free to perform its function as a desk, and nothing more. During the refit I have doubled old Kalitsah’s usable bench space elsewhere, so feel well able to afford this luxury.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
