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Wind, light, time and warmth

The view from the side deck, Jan. 22, 2017: This is the opposite of usual and even the waterfowl seem nervous.
I'm not sure I'm the only Great Lakes sailor to be baffled by the absence of ice in a protected basin on January 22nd of any given winter. This is usually thickly iced, often to 30 cm. or greater, if also often cracked from the surge of the lake coming through the gaps in the sea wall into large pans.

Last night I hoisted a pleasant beverage or two with fellow sailor and blogger Brian Jones (Dock Six Chronicles) in the context of his amusing yet helpful Facebook group, The Low-buck Yacht Club. It's a place to exchange tools, tips, techniques and gear choices with other sailors who concur that the second-worst thing after abandoning ship is parting with money. That doesn't imply the neglect of mandatory purchases, or even choosing the cheapest (so rarely the best) option; it does suggest that boat gear and hiring others to install it is expensive, often unreasonably so, and alternatives to just raising the cost of cruising per mile to thin-air levels involves both constant vigilance and crowd-sourced wisdom. Hence, Low-buck YC, your virtual talking shop for smarter-assed cruising.

It did occur to me, however, as I cycled down to the waterfront pub in which Brian had convened about a dozen Toronto International Boat Show attendees, that I was wearing a T-shirt, a pullover and my somewhat venerable boat club fleece jacket. No windbreaker, no toque. My concern while cycling was fog, not cold. This is uncustomary for the third week of January in Toronto.

Typical local winds. Image (c) Meteoblue.
Speaking of odd weather, anyone else notice the excessive number of days with east wind, sometimes strong, over Lake Ontario? The prevailing W to NW wind is there, all right, but I have (without verifying this through research of the historical wind roses, mind) noticed, as one does on a steel deck, a greater incidence of easterly winds year-round than I once noticed. I will research this further and report back, not just in the context of this lake which we will leave behind, but in the context of world oceanic weather, which is recorded in pilot charts going back centuries. They can't predict the weather, of course, but they do given historical probabilities of how much wind from what direction may be expected at any given time of the year. They aid the cruiser in making broad planning and routing decisions, but, being an average of decades and decades of recorded data, if the last 20 years or so were at strong variance with the pilot chart's cumulative data, it would take decades for the numbers to reflect, say, a seasonal wobble in the trade winds, or the failure of monsoon seasons to establish themselves, individual years being such a small part of a pilot chart's assumptions.
A light to guide me.
From pilot charts to pilothouse, the not-wintry, if not exactly shorts-wearing weather did prompt me to spend my Sunday afternoon wisely, i.e. boat jobs. I like to charge the battery bank as often as I can in the winter and I always have something I should be doing; today was no exception. While rooting around in the fall at Genco Marine's bargain shelves on one of my frequent bike trailer expeditions to Mississauga, I found some discounted lighting fixtures, including a warm white LED array on a gooseneck for $10. So, to the sound of classic rock, which I only play while splicing, heat-shrinking or bolting things together, I ran some 12 ga.from a spare circuit breaker up the wire loom that supplies the VHF and, some modding with a Dremel later, I had a not-overbright, amp-sipping helm light bright enough to also illuminate the battery box and the engine bay. If I change my mind about the LEDs, there's an identical 10W halogen-bulbed fixture I got at the same time, although I'm thinking that would suit in the galley.
I'm quite pleased with this, as its appearance in subsequent blog posts suggests. Note the temperature on the baro.
I next mounted the clock I bought last week. It looks very fine to my eye, ticks not loudly but pleasingly and we'll see if I can further zero in the rating as it was running slightly fast in my "home" test. The venerable Speedtech barometer, seen here but long discountinued, has been reliable as hell over the decade-plus I've owned it, and reported 9C/48F in the pilothouse this afternoon; I didn't bother to run heaters for the first time since haulout. Less reliable as previously reported have been the battery clocks this one is replacing. Fingers crossed, we'll have a good time together.

Next up: the boat show. I made quite a dent in the installation list this year, but there's more yet to do before casting off in earnest.


Time for some changes

Because it was time for a change, this is my treat to myself for having sold the old sailboat. It's from around 1978 to judge by the serial number, and it's the first thing I've ever purchased on eBay. I'm rating it now prior to putting it in the pilothouse. It's in pretty impressive condition to judge by the outside appearance.
Eight-day windup. I don't expect it to be exact, but I have little faith in the reliability of cheap battery clocks.
The case for a "ship's clock" wound with a key is, in some senses, not a strong one, save for the observation that I've had rather poor experience with the modern replica types which run off an AA- or C-size battery.
Yeah, this is garbage. Sorry, "giftware".
The problem is the cheap, generic, plasticky and inevitably Asian clockwork, which fails to keep time, and fails variably depending on the season. Nnot to mention the pot-metal contacts that corrode even in the air above a freshwater lake. The fact that these are sold with the other anchor-themed tat that fails under "nautical giftware" is really no excuse as even the cheapest models go for well over $100 and the battery operated versions from the higher-end firms, such as Weems and Plath and Chelsea, can go for multiples of that. I don't buy a clock for the boat because brass is shiny.
The keener-eyed will note that apart from the greater number of numerals, this is the same model as I've just bought.
Now, the one above was the sort I really wanted, and was in the even more desirable version of a smallish 24-hour ship's clock that rang the bell, but the seller could not guarantee that it worked, as he had no key for it. Such timepieces are called, variably, a 24 hour clock, a deck clock or 'Zulu' clock, the Zulu having nothing to do with Michael Caine films from the '60s and everything to do with the "Z" in a phonetic alphabet that is shorthand for Greenwich Mean Time or GMT or also UTC. When it comes to time, it's a funny old world, innit?
Unfortunately, the 24-hour one on the right took a short tumble and died. Another battery-driven casualty of life aboard.

Why did I want such a near-antique as a mechanical, hard-to-read wall (or bulkhead) clock? Well, one of the upcoming boat projects will be the installation of our ICOM M-802 SSB transceiver and its associated bits. I noticed way back on my Atlantic delivery in 2009 that skipper Bruce Clark kept a nice small mechanical 24-hour clock screwed above his nav table from which he would conduct his comms, download GRIB weather files and have his daily exchange with the alas-retired weather routing expert Herb Hilgenberg
Herb was routing us through this: the remnants of Hurricane Ida. Was a bit bouncy.

There's two concepts at work on a ship (and of which I have written before): local or ship's time, and the time back in Greenwich. Ship's time is useful for planning lunch, but the time in Greenwich, thanks to centuries of maritime convention, is essential to working out one's position at sea with a sextant. Which I own and know how to use and which doesn't require electricity or a network of satellites. Handy, that, particularly as we live in what are arguably interesting times. Seamanlike prudence starts with a Plan B, and besides, for logical reasons, most radio communications are scheduled in Zulu time and so are many official logbook entries. Keeping one clock aboard coordinated with an arbitrary point on the planet is therefore neither pedantic nor unhinged. And the skipper likes 'em.And has an excellent wrist chronometer as backup.


Plotting a hatch, redux

The close of 2016 marks the tenth anniversary of our ownership of Alchemy. I'm aware that's a long time. Other sailors keep reminding me. But while we're still refitting her, we've made great progress of late.

Now, to be fair, I didn't start seriously changing things until 2009, when we committed to a few seasons on the hard to replace the drive train, pull the tanks, etc. Until then, she was just one of the two boats we sailed.
The way we were, May, 2009, being shifted to a new cradle spot.

One of the great challenges of the refit, aside from convincing my boat club I wasn't going to stay stuck in the corner of the yard forever,  was gaining the "trades" experience to do most of the refitting on my own boat. I would not characterize myself as an expert in anything, really, but I've learned a great deal about marine engines, electrical systems, plumbing, coatings, and fabrications of all types. More to the point, I think (he said, hubristically) I'm harder to rip off, because even if I can't do all the work I need, I have, generally, a far more detailed sense of what is involved in delivering a given service or fabricating some bit of kit aboard, which is most often something I've designed alone or in consultating with the person ultimately fabricating the piece.
Plan "A", last consulted in 2015.
Now, while I purchased a small, wire-feed welding unit some time ago, the lack of space for a welding table, plus the difficulty of getting 20 amp service from the house to my garage (the price of copper means setting this up would cost more than the welding unit did), means I've barely gone down that road, though I've got the rudiments. By that, I mean I think I could weld 1/8" steel plate to make tabs or light frames without setting fire to myself. But steel is forgiving, and, in welding terms, predictable. Aluminum is different, which is why I called in a fabricator to do the engine bay hatch in the first place. Said fabricator, while a nice enough guy, had too much work to do over the winter and had to concede he was unable to do the work. So I put up with the same stupid wooden unsupported heavy goofy hatch I had before, just 25% lighter because I had cut it down.
Behold Plan "B".
As is so often the case, random conversations at the club, often featuring my whining at the fact I can't find reliable fabrication services for the stuff I'm grossly underqualified to do (mildly unqualified I will happily attempt if I don't bleed too much) yielded a name of a relatively new member. In fact, it was the guy taking over the committee chair position of the mooring committee on which I volunteer. My "new boss" in the club, so to speak. Turns out he's a professional welder/fabricator and millwright. He commutes for his work week here in Toronto, and works on his own boat in the evenings and has access to a full shop. Now we're talking! So talk we did, and I explained the various fabrication and welding jobs I needed doing:
  1. Engine bay hatch
  2. Companionway door
  3. Clamped on support struts and welded cross-piece for solar panel arch's nav station; repositioned arch plate supports for outboard solar panels
  4. Studs for hull zincs
  5. Cutting off old hull appendage for defunct "video depthsounder" and plating over the hole.
  6. Etc. There's a big list of "things I would fancy" beyond just what I would like done this winter.
Dogs 30% less scurvy.
The fellow in question has his own boat and understands what I need. He likes my detailed if probably unconventional technical drawings and has helpful suggestions. He's not rapacious in his pricing, and, as seen above, keeps me in the loop with his own design ideas, as can be seen above. After taking his own careful measurements, we discussed what would work best for this job. Above are the old wooden hatch dogs. They are good enough to recycle, and match the Lonseal teak and holly vinyl flooring I will install when the weather warms up. The hatch gasketing will be fitted by removing the existing plastic strip atop the steel "lip", cleaning up the steel surface to make it glue-free, painting said surface with brushed-on galvanic paint, and adhering a resilient rubber 1/4" gasket in the shape of an "L" along the vertical and horizontal surfaces, and in affixing gas struts so that the hatch can be lifted fully vertically...and will stay there unless shoved down to the horizontal. All that is stuff I can handle. The stuff I couldn't came aboard last night:
Only 1/8" thick, but the underside framing means it does not budge. I know, I tried.
The surface, of course, will be covered, and the underside will have soundproofing panels. The effect should be a further reduction of the already quiet diesel (at least with the hatch down). This hatch is lighter by about 30% to the wooden one, and I await warmer weather to do my part. The fabricator has persuaded me that a piano hinge end attachment with flush-set fasteners will be superior to my initial idea of clevis-style pins at the corners. Furthermore, he's already made a steel T-bar cross-member (to be removable should I ever need to haul the engine out) to support not only the fourth, aftmost side of the hatch when closed, but also the forward side of what was going to be the fixed, rear part of the engine bay hatch. I've since had some new thoughts on that little otherwise useless space. You can see where the engine bay light is in the above photo that it's basically where one's foot first falls in the pilothouse off the companionway steps. Much of it (about 30 cm.) is beneath those steps.

That's dead space, really. I mean, you could keep the flares under there, I suppose. Too small for the life raft or the ditch bag.
I'm back, and improved!

But wait, wasn't I going to install a transverse, port-starboard exhaust system, as OK'd by the author, Dave Gerr, in whose fine boat reference book I first saw it? Why, yes, I was. All the necessary bits are in fact already aboard. It's something I can rig in cold weather, should I wish to. My improvement is this: Note that in the above diagram, a nine-inch fall between the top of the exhaust hose section between the waterlift muffler and the exhaust ports in the hull is required. I can't do that in the current set up, as the underside of the decking is perhaps five inches above the starboard (and, eventually, port) exhaust.

But if I put some sort of insulated box under that last step, or, conversely, replace that last step with a box capable of supporting crew weight, I can run the waterlift to T-fitting loop inside that box, properly secured, and then it's a downhill run of well over nine inches in drop to the exhaust port. I can, finally, lose the anti-siphon break, the bane of my marine engine experience.

If I've made a mistake with my logic here, please let me know. Making water flow downhill from a marine diesel with its exhaust flange at the waterline is admittedly a dark art, but if the solution is to put the loop discreetly outside of the engine bay, I'm all for it. Having a custom boat, it's sort of the point to think out of the bay.

Lastly, a seasonal shout-out to my readers, both ashore and at sea. May your rum be plentiful, the winds fair and your crew friendly! I'll see some of you in a month at the TIBS. Until then, a blessings on your collective doghouses.
If only it was a SPADE!


Navy cut in half

Somewhat misleading, as she will be on a nearby mooring.
Well, this has been a loooong time coming, and yet I am well-pleased.

Valiente has been sold.

I got a price for her that was not completely insulting, even though it was a fraction of what I paid 17 years ago, a time when she lacked backing plates, new standing and running rigging, a rebuilt Atomic 4, a new fuel tank and system from fill port to exhaust port, repaired tabbing, repaired coring, mid-ship cleats, improved ground tackle deck gear, a Gori folding prop and a nice, custom SS bow roller.

Such, however, has been the nature of the market and I was not offended. I agreed (as I predicted I would) with the buyer's first offer, and I did so perhaps more rapidly than he had anticipated. Nonetheless, I believe we are both pleased with the outcome. An added bonus is the six or seven sailbags no longer hanging from my garage's joists, and I will prefer the space to the presence of the tarp frame. Further good fortune is that I have sold the boat to a friend within the club who will keep her on a mooring. Despite the fact that this suggests I will be a nearby resource for free advice, I actually like the symmetry of Valiente returning to the club from which she sailed for 25 years before I bought her and will enjoy seeing her comings and goings under new management.
I'm not sure if the new owner will change her name; new decals are required in any event!
Now, I can tell you, dear readers, however, that unless you are very old or stricken with a crippling malady, you might as well keep sailing your Good Old Boats. Unless you've put $100K into yours to make it as current as a new Hunter, you'll fail to get what you think it's worth. Your thoughts (and receipts) on the subject are absolutely irrelevent in a market saturated with far newer and far more tricked-out small or even "mid-sized" sailboats chasing a very limited number of people interested in owning any boat at any price. 

Speaking of which, I see sub-30 footers in sail-away (if often damp and dirty) condition being offered for free every week. I had over 40 visitors in the last 18 months to my boat, many of who were very well-aware of the Viking 33's strengths and weaknesses. New rigging and a fresh A4 rebuild could not, however, trump the tatty upholstery or the narrow cabin or the tiller steering which, despite some obvious advantages in "helm feel" and mechanical simplicity, is apparently the goose quill pen of sailboat steering: everyone wants to be at the wheel, irrespective of the ergonomic shortcomings of this choice for boats with tight cockpits.

For my own part, I was looking for someone, ideally not too tall, who didn't mind the lack of modern conveniences and appreciated the sailing qualities and my robust and primarily structural improvements. Someone who therefore would be pleased to find a tough, fast boat with many years left in her.
It will be very nice indeed to launch her again. Part of the deal was in helping the new owner recommission in April.
Until last week, that was no one. How a boat actually sails seems to be way down the list of why people (a very few people) are buying them. So now you know. If you want to get out of owning a Viking 33, or an old if vigorous similar vessel, teach a family member how to sail it, and then give them the boat. It's a lot less worry and delay in the long run.


Travelling plans

Somewhat similar to this, the "old-style non-CB Harken track (supplied until 2002)"
As mentioned previously, we have a new mainsail, updated nav lights and both a beefy vang and mainsheet. The missing upgrade was the traveller through-bolted to the deck. We had been using the one that came with the boat. an elderly Harken model that had no blocks for traveller control lines, but rather had just a set of spring-loaded pins that could center the car on some part of the track, but not quickly and not easily under load. In fact, although it was cambered nicely to the curve of the deck, I considered it a bit dangerous in anything but light air in terms of finger-crushing potential and the likelihood of forceful boom movement.
This is the "MT-2" traveller from Garhauer. Beautifully made, and no nonsense.
Evidently, I knew that I would one day have to tackle this deficient bit of kit, as I ordered from the redoubtable Garhauer firm a beefy traveller way back in 2007. Better late than never, I suppose, and the upside is that the Canadian dollar with which I paid for it was worth about 20 cents more in that year than currently. So I have that, which is nice.
Some random tools of the "most resorted to" kind. Yes, that's blood on the spanner. I'm not fooling around.
I got a warm feeling from the Garhauer company almost immediately. Their very plain, "cheap seats" booth at the Toronto Boat Show is usually manned by the company president, who wears suspenders and seems well past retirement age. Their gear is, however, opposite of what a racer would favour: all heavy, mostly metal and easy to service, their blocks and other line-handling gear are all over Alchemy at this stage. Speaking of "service', however, I was most favourably impressed, lo, those many years ago, when the firm's fabricator in small-town California, Guido, phoned me in Toronto from a distant suburb of Los Angeles, where the Garhauer factory sits buried among carpet remnant outlets, donut shops and other single-storey sheds. I guess that's how they save money. Seems to work for them. Anyway, Guido, and I have to stress this, the man who was actually fabricating my traveller that very day, asked me if I wanted 1/4" or 5/16" holes on four-inch centers. Well, I didn't really know, but I figured even then "bigger traveller, beefier fasteners", so I said five-sixteenths would do the trick. Apparently, Guido phones a lot of people when the crumpled carbon paper he's handed by the guy who takes the money at the boat show finally reaches him. Still, all credit to the Americans, who are very good with customer service in a way often lacking in my passive-aggressive homeland.
Some surface corrosion, but pretty good under the insulation
First job was removal of the old traveller. We lack a whisker/spinnaker pole track on the front of the mast and this might find a use there. Second job was removal of the insulation and clean-up below. I slapped on a few coats of rust conversion product and it did some good. A few more and I'll lay on galvanizing basecoat and epoxy topcoat before I restore the insulation. Frankly, I need to confirm my sealing job.
The tape is to keep the deck-side paint from dripping.
After cleaning up the deck, we laid down zinc-heavy galvanizing paint and then more or less matching top coat. The barrier effect is more important than the colour and we will be redoing the non-skid at some point.
Mrs. Alchemy, a daub hand with a brush.
The paint didn't entirely dry overnight as it was at the limit of its temperature range, but a watery southern exposure helped. A bit.
She advances, masking
A couple of coats later...not bad. Recall that a large traveller will be covering almost all of this.

Yeah, that crappy box on the binnacle's getting binned.
The next step was  to fabricate stand-off, or "bridges", to support the traveller at either end between the bolt heads and the underside of the deck. Because I am cheap, I had kept the HDPE I used to create framing standoffs for my pilothouse opening portlights (which have yet to leak a drop in five years). The trick would be to measure the distance from underside of the first three bolts inbound from either side and to make an angular cut with a bandsaw to match as closely as I could the camber, or curve, of the deck.
This stuff is amenable to power tools, but take your time. It can melt.
The trick was that the boat is not currently level. She's pitched forward about three degrees and to port about two degrees in her cradle as a result of a windy day in the slings and maybe the half-tonne of lead pigs as trimming weight in the forepeak...
"Making a list" has a different, secondary meaning aboard.
So I temporarily "pinned" the traveller at the center two bolt holes. Guido's work was very, very close. I had to widen just a single hole, beyond redrilling all the 1/4" existing holes to 5/16" to accommodate the new, larger bolts. 
Prior to final fitting, this is the "starboard bridge". The dots are where the bolt holes go.

The fabrication, done with table and chop saw, drill press and belt sander, took some time, but worked well.
From the top. Yes, I had to redrill the end one. Lucky I have so much 4200.
After further tinkering, and after overboring all the holes in the deck to 5/16",I went for a "dry fit". This confirmed (for the most part) that I was in the fastening zone.

The grooves hold beads of sealant. It all helps.

After careful, if unavoidably messy, application of sealant, I put it all together with Mrs. Alchemy wielding a screwdriver above and me, with nuts, washers and a big socket wrench, below. And two family band radios, and with each bolt numbered, so I could tell her when I was ready to dog down. We are hauled out next to an airport: it can get very noisy.
Partial success!
The technique was to "butter" the bridge bases with sealant and to put a wrap of it around the bolt threads about halfway up the bolt's length. This wrap is meant to fill the hole of both the traveller bolt hole and the passage through the HDPE bridge, leaving the protruding bolt end down below largely clean. We actually achieved this much of the time thanks to all the backing plates and deck gear I through-bolted on Valiente. The sharper-eyed among you will note that 10 bolt hole remain open...we tarped up the work for the next not-freezing day. Others of a more sail-handling bent will note that the traveller's cam cleats and car appear to be reversed; they are facing not aft to the rear of the boat and the primary and secondary winches, but forward, toward the companionway.

This was an entirely deliberate choice based on ergonomics. Most of the time at sea while on passage, we will be under sail but with either windvane or autopilot engaged with the steering duties. This area is already filled with various sheets and control lines and the traveller is used less often and usually in the context of mainsail tweaking. The exception to this is of course a surprise squall or sudden wind shift which can load up the main and cause uncomfortable or even damaging heeling. In that case, the ends of both the traveller car control lines and the mainsheet itself are "to hand" from the pilothouse; the main can be spilled very quickly, after which the autopilot or vane can be adjusted to the new conditions. The control lines, which are 20 feet a side of 3/8" Dyneema core, can be coiled on the otherwise empty bridgedeck. It's no big deal to operate them from behind the wheel if needed, but reducing deck clutter at that helm is important. I am considering adding a third pair of winches back there so I have a pair for warps, drogues and stern anchor use, another idea that's a blast from the past. More currently, I'm also installing a second throttle/shifter in that area. So it's going to be a busy place!
Moorings never sleep, and neither does their rust. On duty with "the Committee".
The warm day we sought came soon enough; it's been an unusual November, and after belting out to Johnson Plastics for some Delrin rod in the right (1.5 inch) diameter, I repeated my earlier technique of measuring angles and heights and made what are essentially heavy-duty spacers or sleeves for the mounting bolts. Fitting them required a bit more precision and I had to angle the drill a touch in one spot, but Guido's work was excellent when done nine years ago. I'll learn shortly if the rain keeps out.

Water can slosh underneath the "support posts" and if I get a leak, I'll know fairly quickly from which hole.
My wife did the same deal and after three hours of fabbing, trimming, fitting, more trimming, sealing and more blood (Delrin can be sharp), the actual bolting down took about ten minutes.
Starboard side. I think I prefer a straight traveller. It's something to grab.
Now, the tarp seen above will still cover this until I'm sure I will have no leaks. I also have no need to reeve the line until spring. I also need to coat the interior before replacing the two inches of insulation (and running leads and other cabling along the underside of the deck; see "SSB"). But I'm pretty pleased seeing this long-purchased gear in operation. I hope to spill the main with renewed confidence.
Some careful razor work required to get the excess squish away.


Getting to the nuts and bolts

Get the whole book here. Interesting head literature.
Own any boat worthy of the refitting, and you'll use a lot of fasteners. You'll develop odd, occasional relationship with rough, tobacco-tinged men in distant, suburban warehouses. men with whom you will discuss grades of stainless steel bolts and their hardness, the best way to isolate dissimilar metals and whether a sleeve washer or just a plain spacer is a good idea.
I do love a good chart. And I never mistake a pan head for a truss head anymore.
I discovered some time ago that, apart from picking up a couple of fasteners in a pinch, that marine chandleries were not very economical, and that I should venture farther afield. I have seen first-hand at sea that a wide assortment of stainless and galvanized steel fasteners, including a wide assortment of nuts, acorn and cap nuts, flat, toothed, fender and split-locking washers (and a few nylon and even rubber ones), a nice bag of adds up. Or even the cheap yet still useful zinc-coated stuff you can get at any land-based hardware store; for quick 'n' dirty, they will suffice, although they will also rust in place unless sequestered from the air. I haven't even mentioned the pricey but beautiful silicon bronze screws (Robertson) or nails (in spiral or ring shank); silicon bronze fasteners are great in a salt-air environment, and the interior soles are held together with drywall screws and need replacing.

Fastener companies, no doubt in hopes of moving more stock, are frequently the source of decent (and free) technical guides and related resources. You just have to look.
Pretty and useful.
Another aspect of all this metallic variation that comes into play aboard any boat is the issue of galvanic corrosion and isolation, of which we must be ever-mindful ourselves as metal boat owners.  It's a big, meaty topic, on which I've written before, but the short form is that some sort of physical separation of different metals (the SS fastener from the aluminum pilothouse roof, for instance) is desirable, either in the form of non-conductive separation of the metals or by the application of Tef-gel, Duralac or some similar dielectric paste or coating to keep them apart, or insulated from each other. And it can get esoteric quickly, particularly where wood fastening on boats is involved.
The PDF for this chart is found here.
Of course, isolating dissimilar metals isn't necessarily sealing a hole in a boat. That's the next post's topic. In the meantime, I have some sorting to do. Who wants disordered nuts?


The hardest part of fall

One last lazy October sail in the inner harbour for sightseeing and relaxation purposes.
Well, she's out once again, safely even if a review of the video I shot seems, in retrospect, a touch alarming. The run-up to haulout is slightly different when one is refitting a boat: it's less an interruption of the sailing season and more a frantic break in the refit. Frantic, because all the stuff one has secured on deck (anchors, the boom, the tender, etc.) must be stowed below so as not to represent a hazard when club members are beneath the boat as it transits from water to cradle.
No, we weren't going for a particularly high level of trim.

Amid all the prep, we squeezed in a final, "novelty" sail in Toronto's Inner Harbour. We actually rarely take the boat out for no particular reason, and it was a nice change to do so and was made possible by the fact that tools and other vital bits were stowed away and it was easy to work the boat unimpeded.
The stern anchor's "rode bucket" is not only insufficiently secured, but is clearly too small. It's on the list.
I'm thinking of coiling down rode and other long lengths of line with a Ballantine coil...does anyone do this? I "Flemish flake" halyards on deck, but this method was new to me.
Mooring Committee stalwart John King belays the crane boom.

There are many tasks not only on the individual boat level, but around the club that are necessary to complete before winter's advent. Dinghy ramps, modular docks, moorings and, above, the "poop deck" or pumpout dock, need to be hoisted clear of the water or otherwise secured. Above is the tonne and a half pumpout platform leaving the water. The same principles of "control lines" apply as with the boat, as seen below.
The purple tape is a "sling mark" indicating where the slings should go to keep the boat level in the air.
Alchemy does not have permanent sling marks as are often found on production boats, because she has a) a lot of lead ingots forward as "trim ballast" and b) the addition of many batteries and tankage means she's increasingly heavy (although she is still above her lines) and not necessarily in predictable ways. I estimated where she would "hang", therefore, marked those spots and shot video this year to see if I guessed correctly.
Close and incredibly loud: The crane operators are both careful and alarmingly swift.
"Pushers" keep the boat off the wall as the slings are adjusted.
Damn, this was too early for my taste.

Note the "cinch belts/straps". These keep the slings in place lest they creep along the hull and cause the boat to pitch.
Once up, I see the bow is a little down. This, however, is less about weight distribution and more about how the equal-length slings are "longer" because of the cutaway forefoot of the hull. The cinch belts are precautionary, especially as it was blowing a hoolie.
This is about the time people back away.
In the video portion of our blog post, you can hear the wind and see that Alchemy in flight is a bit of a handful. Still, the club members know their business, and all ended well. Now, back to work!

Update, 16.10.25: Head, A/C, sinks and raw water engine circuit are all winterized. Next not-cold day brings a general end-of-season clean-up before I fill the insides with sawdust again.