Hauled and keeled

Alchemy gets the straps at East River Shipyard. Photo (c) Bradison Boutilier

Another long break in posts, our maintenance blog. This has been, due to the demands of living in rural Nova Scotia and the sheer amount of time it takes to get to the East River Shipyard (30 minutes) or the closest grocery store (65 minutes) under absolutely ideal conditions of a) fully functioning bicycle; b) weather of mild to moderate wind, above zero degrees Celsius temperature, and no ice or snow; and c) the short days mean when we work on Alchemy, now "crated" in a shipyard's shed in East River, Nova Scotia, we are focused on getting work done in constrained time segments, themselves dependent on limited daylight, limited cold tolerance and willingness to travel by bike on a secondary highway in gales of various intensity.

Removing the rigging was fun...not. But it was necessary.

So there's that. An example of  this year's decommissioning involved laying the mast on the ground beside the boat and removing all the standing rigging, which comprises 12 15 metre or so lengths of 8 mm (5/16th) stainless steel wire and the 1.5 metre bobstay, as well as disassembling the Pro-Furl unit without damaging it, as it wasn't particularly worn out, but the furling function could be improved upon, and our model of furler was hard to get replacement parts for. 

The unrigged mast on its way to the mast rack.

All this careful removal was in aid of the complete replacement of the standing rigging and the recycling of the Sta-Lok terminals on new wire; the turnbuckles, forks and related rigging pieces are in good enough shape to continue using, but the wire, as far as we can determine, is original at nearly 33 years old, and we did not wish to go offshore, or even coastal in salt water, with rigging that old. While it looked in good shape and we'd had no signs of decay, we mostly motored to Nova Scotia and had not, arguably, stressed it overmuch in the more benign fresh water environment of the Great Lakes.

Said mast, bereft of wires, racked. I would lash it more firmly later on: it's damned windy here.

This isn't the first time we've rerigged, but it's not a job for the faint-hearted. It's expensive, although The Yacht Shop in Halifax is cheaper than most Toronto shops and they understood my questions readily, and restoring the rigging in the spring will require even more work. We have the somewhat questionable presence of three out of the 26 mechanical terminals on our rigging, 23 are Sta-Loks and three are Norsemans. There's no discernable quality difference between the two: they both work the same way via the compression of an internal "cone", which compresses the splayed wire ends to make a durable friction fit in this fashion, but the Norseman company changed hands some years ago and while parts can still be obtained, we feel that all the terminals, should they require service, should be of the same type. Same with getting a new furler on the new forestay: as we did with replacing the engine, there is much to recommend replacement over repair of mission-critical parts of the boat before they break and the crew learn that the needed parts are hard to replace or obtain.

Alchemy on the move and into her winter quarters, which keep the snow out, at least.
Photo (c) Bradison Boutilier

After the nice fellow from the rigging place came and took away all the old rigging for measurement, replication and recycling, and we had done the customary work of winterization of the plumbing and the raw water circuits, as well as the disconnection of the significant number of cables and wires from the mast and off the deck, we were put in our winter shed. East River Shipyard is an exceptionally busy place: it serves both recreational boaters and local fishing/lobstering vessels, the latter of which have short windows in which to make money and must be launched rapidly. In addition, the ownership of this yard changed hands earlier in 2020 and they've been on an expansion tear; since our arrival in the area on October 6, two vast boat sheds have been erected on poured rebar and concrete platforms and filled with boats. So we've been moved more than once out of the way of "ongoing building" as well as being moved around a bit inside the shed itself as more boats have been slotted into place. All I can say is that they know their business here, and I can see no scratches or dings I did not put on the hull myself.

These guys handle hydraulic trailers the way Mrs. Alchemy handles injured songbirds...gently!

The shed is pretty basic and unheated, but then we aren't paying very much to be "inside" and we can run from a 30 amp service any time we are aboard. This allows us to keep the batteries fully charged much of the time, and will permit an equalization in the spring. There's new LED floodlights overhead and if I really need more amps, we've left one of the Honda gensets aboard if I want to run 15 amps of heaters or extra lights.


One of the jobs we elected to farm out is the sounding of the hull. We are at the shipyard in the first place to have the bottom paint ground off to the bare metal and to have it coated with a galvanizing layer, then a two-part epoxy barrier coat and then a few coats of anti-fouling paint suitable for seawater. While it would be possible to do this oneself (and indeed, we are doing the topside painting for the various nicks and dings we've created to date), I lack the enthusiasm for the hours of grinding I would need to do and the equipment to spray the various coatings on in a fast (to avoid time spent in open air for the bare steel of the grinded hull plates) and efficient (to maintain an even depth of coatings) job.

Reasons we were concerned: after 19 months in both fresh and salt water, the anodes were pretty corroded...were the steel plates they were protecting also in trouble? We had been in some pretty basic marinas with potentially dodgy shore power: the rather heavy decay of these anodes could be perfectly normal and a sign they were working as desired. But we had to know for sure.

The father and son team of inspectors were fast and efficient, which is one of the reasons we decided Nova Scotia would be a better place to get work done than Toronto

But we had to get past the rather daunting hurdle of confirming the hull was sufficiently thick in the first place. Thanks to the purchase survey I had from 2005, I knew how thick the hull plates were at the time of building, and so had a baseline. I even had a plate sounder with which I had done some initial investigation a few years prior; what I lacked was the expertise to interpret my results, plus the experience to know exactly where I needed to sound, or determine the thickness of, the steel hull plates.



The process used by the pros was methodical as one might expect. A few square centimetres of paint down to bright metal was removed and sounded. Results were recorded and compared to the stated plate thicknesses I provided. The drawing the son made was pretty nice for a sketch on a clipboard.

Nice work, isn't it? I've kept the PDFs, which are equally pretty in the report.

The evidence of the rust-creating ability of seaside air emerged within hours. We had to  spray two coats of Tremclad onto all the "test sites" after a manual sanding and application of "Ospho" to convert the rust after just one day. These polka dots will, of course, come off in the spring when the boat is hauled out of the shed to be grinded and sprayed. The good news of the report was that all the plates, save that on the bottom of the keel was actually slightly thicker than specified, suggesting that wastage of the hull over the years had been "none to minimal" As for the plate on the bottom, it was supposed to be 3/4" thick, but surveyed so consistently at 5/8" thick that I suspect the thickness reported in the purchase survey was incorrect. Regardless, plenty of metal is where it should be, and peace of mind on this point has been achieved.



The second biggest job is to fix the rudder to hydraulic ram connection, and to better keep water from getting into the boat where said ram exits the stern.

With the ram end "cuff" unbolted.

But the disassembly was on us. I was given the good advice to record my steps.

With the HDPE "ram plates" loosened.

Exterior plate off revealing the "gasket". We want to explore having a PSS-type shaft seal here. The grey goo is butyl tape,

The hole through the plate is angled precisely to let the ram move linearly in and out, pivoting on the rudder tab.

This is the "ram pin", which I think is a modified trailer hitch in SS. The threads are shot and that's why the nut originally on there failed. The hole was my attempt to do the job right, which proved impossible in water. The right way would be to have whatever nut is used to be cotter-pinned straight through the shaft so it could never work its way loose.

What remains is to get our son down to the boat to help us remove the now-disconnected rudder from it pintles. It's made from aluminum, and I can grind it back and repaint it myself with a couple of sawhorses, leaving lots of room for the pros at the yard to do, once things warm up sufficiently in the spring, the bottom job.

More to come as we soldier on.

And we're back....

One of the pleasures of living aboard is the proximity to the great outdoors, which are greater now that air and land traffic are truncated.

Well, it's been some time since my last post. And yet it's been an eventful month here on the good ship Alchemy, now tied to the seawall at National Yacht Club.  We moved back aboard her on April 30th, having left our winter digs, amid the pandemic stop and start. Our club gave us and two other liveaboard boats permission a good 12 days before any members were allowed on the grounds to tie up and, for lack of much else on offer, bob in place. Even though May was a somewhat unseasonably cool month, appropriate bedding allowed a modicum of comfort and we've done a lot of boat jobs whilst waiting for an improvement in conditions that might allow us to get to the East Coast this season.

 

This is now full of dishes and other galley gear. It's been a valuable addition.

So far, there's been a slight loosening of the "go nowhere, do nothing" restrictions to retard viral spread. Our club, after a lot of debate, is skedded to launch those who wish to be launched (and a minority do not), in mid-June, and various Lake Ontario marinas may be open by then, although the policies on "visitors" are as yet unclear; the Murray Canal opens tomorrow, however, on June 1.

Alchemy at her temporary dock; the power's off on the main finger at the moment, so we are on the wall with a glorious 1.5 bars of wifi!

Our first two weeks here were, unsurprisingly, quiet, with only two other boats, both occupied by single men, and the spectral forms of the club manager and yard man making the odd appearance. But there have been repairs and upgrades done (at a proper distance) most days we've been here, and our son has been completing on online computer science course. Most of the time, or so he says.

Pick a slip, any slip.

 Several jobs have been completed; one was the installation of a chain stopper on the foredeck.

Ah, yes, steel boat skippers just love putting holes in the deck. Not.

 Because of the comparative heights of deck, windlass and anchor roller, I had to fabricate HDPE "risers" for the chain stopper, as well as calculate the most accommodating angle of offset from windlass to roller. The idea is that the stopper keeps the "yank" of the anchor off the windlass gypsy and instead transfers those loads to the deck. So this has to be well-mounted, to say the least. While we have a similar chain hook, and the usual bridle gear, this inline stopper seems to us to be a tidy solution.

Tightening the mounting bolts.

 The job went smoothly.

Missing here is the lever and plate used to trap chain links in the groove just visible. Chain can come up, but can't be lowered or payed out without lifting the plate.

 As did the interior work.

Backing plates and plenty of sealant, as was the case for the windlass, finish the job. No leaks detected since installation

 Getting all that chain out of the well and down the hawsepipe was an improvement.

Doing what it's supposed to.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Alchemy decided that the more tender herbs needed a warmer spot in order to thrive. We didn't really see frost in May, however. Well, just a bit.

OK, snow.

The weather was generally a bit discouraging, which probably reconciled a few sailor to a multi-week delay in getting launched.

Yes, snow. In May.

The harbour is behind that squall.

Meanwhile, fabricator extraordinaire Andrew Barlow made me a beautiful SS wind generator mast and matching base. Well, beautiful to me, anyway. I had to modify it to take a 3/4" hole for the wind generators leads to exit the pole. And that meant cutting a hole on a curved piece of stainless steel.

Start with a pilot hole. Actually, start with clamps. The more, the merrier...

Cutting stainless is a bit of a trial at the best of times. It takes slow drill bit speeds, and plenty of lubrication in the form of cutting oil or water to avoid the dreaded "work hardening".  But I must be improving.

The geared-down shop drill press helped here.

As did plenty of oil. No smoking allowed.

Done. I cleaned up the edges until reasonably smooth and we are ready to pole.

Living in semi-isolation in a mostly closed yacht club means no waiting for the showers, but it also means encounters with various fauna. This is either a Peking duck escapee or some sort of partial albinism...friendly little fellow, either way.

I will call you "Quackers".

Aside from the expected sparrows, terns, grackles, starlings, mallards, red-winged blackbirds and gulls, we've also have had visits from trumpeter swans, cottontail rabbits and one fearless mink, who runs past our boat every morning, usually with an improbably large fish in her face.

The little flange turns sideways and the hawsepipe is sealed.

Still on the topic of ground tackle and fabrications, it's customary offshore to bring the anchor belowdecks and to stow the chain low. This leaves a rather obvious hole in the deck, however, capable of letting in undesirable volumes of ocean. The solution is another Barlow-executed gasketed cap for the windlass's hawsepipe. The anchor end of the chain is attached to the wire lead and, if needed as land is approaching, the flange is turned sideways and the chain is hauled onto the deck for reshackling to the anchor. Neat, isn't it?

Us moved to the wall for that sweet 30 amp fix needed to run space heaters.

 A couple of recommissioning issues have surfaced. The March pump used to run water to the Marine Air heat pump/AC unit has blown a seal, which is leaking prodigiously. I have a spare, but it's a rather big effort to take apart the saloon stairs to access the relevant area, so I've been putting it off. While cycling about 10 days ago, I hit a curb cut badly and pulled a few muscles in my back going over the handlebars in a rather undignified, if strictly Newtonian, fashion. Every job on the boat seems to involve wrenching at arms' length, which, to be honest, isn't the sort of physio called for. But I am recovering even with daily doses of boat yoga.

A sign of better days was seen in the club parking lot.

A more serious issue (we rarely use the AC in either hot or cold modes) arose when the fridge ceased working. The compressor is new last year, and I didn't think it was the problem, so I redid the power leads and remounted the 20 amp circuit breaker (less boat yoga now). Then I checked the power leads going to the module. All good and the customary 13.2 VDC was found.

The dreaded module.

I thought that the thermostat might be involved, so I took the old one I saved from The Time of the Flood and hooked it up. Oh, ho, the fridge happily ran. So I pulled out the leads from the control module and found on the ground lead very little bare wire in the spade connector. I stripped it better, folded it over and crimped on a new spade connector. It's been running fine again for four days, and I deem "crisis averted".

It's the little black wire at the bottom. The outages were intermittent, and therefore frustrating, but we worked it out.

Meanwhile, the club is awaking from its slumber. Dinghy docks are back and the various workboats are launched. Even the old and cranky Blue Barge started immediately. I can't recall the last time that happened in spring, actually. May it be a portent of things to come.

Not sure about Junior Sailing activities this summer, though.

I will also note that this May has featured a tremendous amount of strong easterly winds...I believe we had a five-day stretch of 20 to 30 knot E last week. And some pretty vivid weather along with it.

But southerly this time.

 This has cramped our style regarding certain jobs, such as The Great Reflooring. Yes, we are actually getting to more "make the boat prettier" jobs, as opposed to the "don't sink" and "be capable of sailing" jobs. This has consisted of removing old flooring, prepping the surfaces and remediating them as needed, dealing with found rust, grinding, "converting" and repainting with rustproofing. After that laying down ruinously expensive, if very nice, vinyl flooring held down with two-part epoxy seems the easy part.

The silver part is rustproof-painted; the grubby part is rust-converter painted. It's technical.

The saloon is fully done thanks to Mrs. Alchemy's steady hand and art. The pilothouse will be completed on Tuesday and the helm seat and pedestal restored by then. The boat's looking good. Let's go sailing!

Apply glue and Lonseal Teak and Holly as needed.

Workshipping (1)

That's possibly too many lubricants.

Four years back, I sketched out a vision of what I wanted to do with the workshop in the forepeak of Alchemy. The first seven feet of the boat is a a snug, utilitarian room forward of the collision bulkhead that is reached by ladder beneath a strong steel hatch on the deck. I had ideas of putting a bicycle seat on a post in there, and having a fold-down cot for extra crew on the starboard side, and of having the windlass over the anchor well. I even wanted to cut a big, doggable hatch (above the waterline) into the saloon with an eye to ventilation and even working on the boom down there.

Well, a lot of that thinking has gone by the wayside. The ladder down into the forepeak is not a big deal and it is a compact solution to egress and the thought of engineering a square hole into the saloon...without compromising the deck support...seemed unnecessary. So did the idea of a folding cot down there. We've determined that we can stow storm sails and the light, if voluminous, cruising spinnaker in the available space if it's better laid out. The windlass was ultimately positioned farther aft so as to drop the anchor chain farther aft (better for weight out of the ends). The batteries powering the windlass are at the foot of the ladder (covered, of course) and on the centerline. The charger is on the bulkhead and there is now 12 VDC and 120 VAC (20 amps, too) outlets in this little compartment. Little bright lights to follow.

The heavier things are now farther aft and the tools and spares aren't all on the port side now. Trug is still misspelled.

This is the new look going forward. Experience actually sailing with a bunch of long/tall bits of gear have persuaded us that a sort of "rack" in which to stow the tiller, oars, PortaThwarts, and the sailing rig, rudder and centerboard of the nesting dinghy. Most of this gear is light and will, if restrained by shock cord, stay put even in rough seas, but the keyword is "restrained". The rest of the starboard side of the workshop space is now ready to have another 53 inches of working surface. This is, on most boats, an unheard-of luxury.

Working the grinder meant putting a fire blanket over the batteries to even nod in the direction of "to code"

Once again, welder/fabricator Andrew Barlow was enlisted to weld together three lengths of 1.25 x 1.25 x 3/16th inch L-bar mild steel into something strong enough to take a marine plywood top (that's my job to obtain and cut). The foredeck is covered in boxes of line, shore power cords, a few sailbags and other bits and pieces formerly loose on the starboard side and bungeed into lumps. As soon as the weather crests freezing, Mrs. Alchemy will coat the exposed metal and the weld beads I've now ground down to keep this stuff from rusting.

As can be seen, some of those tools and spares on the left would be better on the right.

I discovered, too late, that there was no 15 amp outlet on the marina's power posts. We've used 15 amp service successfully in the past via one of my 12 ga. contractor-grade extension cords, but this time, I had to take power from the 15 amp outlet inside the boat, powered from the 30 amp shore power service.

Stick around, you'll learn something.

Unfortunately, this circuit breaker kept tripping, and the irony is that I knew I was receiving two Honda eu2200i gasoline generators the very next day. Combined, these two beasts could have easily supplied Andrew's welding rig with enough juice to get the job done.

When sparks fly...you vacuum the entire compartment the next day.

So I spent quite a bit of time waiting for the breaker to trip and then flicking it back on. Andrew started to do shorter beads and eventually got full penetration of the welds, but it was an annoying few minutes and I was feeling the AC breaker board for any signs of warmth. There wasn't any.

So simple, but it will be so useful.

So we paint, and then I cut the plywood top to fit and then I bolt said top to the metal and rearrange the tool boxes and spares stowage. I have SS eyebolts so I can hang spare line more neatly, and eyestraps to keep everything lashed down. Lastly, I'll add a few more lights down there and get a larger "trug" for the anchor chain.

These are locked to the mast, so no funny stuff.

More fun to come soon as we ramp up to moving back aboard.