Why is nothing simple, part II
Right. I have my new alternator, 72a and almost the same dimensions as the last. $270. Does it fit? Pretty close, actually. All I'll need to do is cut away a small piece of the old bracket, cut out some bulkhead in the engine bay, find a bigger fan belt and rewire the thing. A pretty good result, given we've asserted already that nothing is simple on a boat.
On a different subject, and relating to my last post, I have the hump with this life for the moment, so my trip to Queensland will be sans boat. Old Kalitsah and I will both profit from some time apart, I imagine.
Meanwhile things go on as they do. I have my batteries back after their rather pricey sojourn to the clinique, and they're just as temperemental as ever. They'll run a radio ok, but my auto pilot, itself a fair investment, remains useless without the power to run it. A beautiful paperweight it does though make. I hope, when the alternator gets going, the battewries will be shocked into behaving. 72a should do it, if anything will.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
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.
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.
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.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Windows
Any fears I had previously entertained about having windows washed out at sea have been more or less dispelled from my mind by my experience today of removing the old Perspex panes. The strength of the (Sikaflex) sealant holding them in is astounding. Short of the all piercing influence of the sun, and my trusty knife and a good few layers of fine (and only recently re-grown) skin from my fingers, I can’t imagine anything getting past the stuff! While I hope dearly that I should never find myself testing this theory in earnest, I really am amazed by the strength of its bond. It has reaffirmed for me the value of the stuff in the right application, but reminds me also that when used for the wrong purpose, it can be a real nightmare. I’ll make sure I keep this in mind as I refit.
I’m looking forward to my new windows. For years my view has been reminiscent of Turner and his sunrises; inspiring certainly, and an everyday reminder of the greatness of the man, but a hindrance when spying on one’s neighbours. Bob Young, from “Mad Hatter” (a 25’ Top Hat, what a great name) has already commented on the clarity of my windows (what do you use to get them that clean?), and that’s even before the new panes have gone in. I can only guess at how good they’ll be once I’ve finished!
Any fears I had previously entertained about having windows washed out at sea have been more or less dispelled from my mind by my experience today of removing the old Perspex panes. The strength of the (Sikaflex) sealant holding them in is astounding. Short of the all piercing influence of the sun, and my trusty knife and a good few layers of fine (and only recently re-grown) skin from my fingers, I can’t imagine anything getting past the stuff! While I hope dearly that I should never find myself testing this theory in earnest, I really am amazed by the strength of its bond. It has reaffirmed for me the value of the stuff in the right application, but reminds me also that when used for the wrong purpose, it can be a real nightmare. I’ll make sure I keep this in mind as I refit.
I’m looking forward to my new windows. For years my view has been reminiscent of Turner and his sunrises; inspiring certainly, and an everyday reminder of the greatness of the man, but a hindrance when spying on one’s neighbours. Bob Young, from “Mad Hatter” (a 25’ Top Hat, what a great name) has already commented on the clarity of my windows (what do you use to get them that clean?), and that’s even before the new panes have gone in. I can only guess at how good they’ll be once I’ve finished!
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Kalitsah in her current state. Her former owners put a lot of good work into her before leaving Canada. Obvious here are her appendages aft; windvane and generator. Chainplates have been moved to the exterior of the hull. While I am keen to keep her lines as uncluttered as possible, there are a couple of things missing from this photo. A life raft lived until recently behind the mast (meaning no vang... I really need to work out a better place for it), and my recently completed nesting dinghy will live forward of the dodger. More on the dinghy later.
Isn't she pretty?
That was close...
Two things of significance have happened to me recently. First, I have remembered my user name and password for my log, so can finally update the thing. Second was more serious. While camping and only a day before I was to move aboard Kalitsah, I burned both my hands badly enough to require a 'medivac' flight to Sydney and a couple of weeks of hospital treatment. I'll recover fully, perhaps with a little scaring and loss of pigment in my skin in the more severely burned areas. Far worse is that I am hindered in my plans to fit out the boat for sea. What a lamentable damned nuisance it all is!
Forced for the moment into idleness, I'm spending my time planning the details of my eventual escape. Foremost on my mind are the modifications I plan to make to Kalitsah. She's already sailed half way around the world, so I know she's good for it, but I intend none the less to make her safer, to bring her up to a standard where I'm as confident as I can be that she'll stay afloat. She'll also be my home for at least the next few years, so comfort, both at sea and at anchor, will be a strong motivation behind the changes I'll make.
I just wish I could get in and start!
It hasn't escaped me that the punishment I mentioned below may well have caught up with me already. Not to tempt fate, but it'll take worse for me to be resigned back to a desk job...
Two things of significance have happened to me recently. First, I have remembered my user name and password for my log, so can finally update the thing. Second was more serious. While camping and only a day before I was to move aboard Kalitsah, I burned both my hands badly enough to require a 'medivac' flight to Sydney and a couple of weeks of hospital treatment. I'll recover fully, perhaps with a little scaring and loss of pigment in my skin in the more severely burned areas. Far worse is that I am hindered in my plans to fit out the boat for sea. What a lamentable damned nuisance it all is!
Forced for the moment into idleness, I'm spending my time planning the details of my eventual escape. Foremost on my mind are the modifications I plan to make to Kalitsah. She's already sailed half way around the world, so I know she's good for it, but I intend none the less to make her safer, to bring her up to a standard where I'm as confident as I can be that she'll stay afloat. She'll also be my home for at least the next few years, so comfort, both at sea and at anchor, will be a strong motivation behind the changes I'll make.
I just wish I could get in and start!
It hasn't escaped me that the punishment I mentioned below may well have caught up with me already. Not to tempt fate, but it'll take worse for me to be resigned back to a desk job...
Thursday, January 12, 2006
With just a week left here in this office and a boat waiting patiently for me up north, I'm finding it hard to do anything other than count the very minutes that are left between this here and now and that long anticipated then, when I am finally aboard. It came to me this morning on my way to work that it verges on the obscene, the idea that one can even be allowed to dream of a life so good as that which I will soon move into. It is a wicked pleasure for which there must be some suitable and undoubtedly deserved punishment for allowing myself to think of it. So it feels in a worker bee town, rolling along the conveyor belt into work for the day along with all those around me. I wonder what it will be, this punishment of mine? It's certain that in time, all will be revealed to me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
