The great cover-up

The heaviest snowfall to date (January 11, 2020) was two months ago. We've had nothing like it since.

The last post described the decision to stay in the water over this winter here in Toronto to get a jump, if a cold one, on next season's sailing, which we hope will see us get to Nova Scotia for a bottom-paint job and a redo of our mast's standing rigging. In the meantime, however, there's a number of jobs aboard to complete before we toddle off down the St. Lawrence River, and our insurance firm informed us that "in-water storage required a boat cover, tarp or enclosure."

The reason for this is (reportedly) to avoid ice and snow buildup on deck that could a) melt, flood and freeze the interior, causing damage and b) cause the boat to become top-heavy and unstable. Presumably, c) would involve slipping off an icy deck and smashing through the ice, but who knows? We were obliged to extend the policy.

Good news: the pilothouse roof hatch gasketing doesn't leak!

As discussed previously, while I had had a frame and a waxed canvas cover for Valiente, our now-sold 33-footer, I had not worked with shrinkwrap and fellow steel boat owners,  along with the practised liveaboard community at Marina Quay West, were generous with their advice. I was able to exchange, in the time-hallowed manner, six-packs of Moosehead for a propane-burning torch that was both dangerous and useful. 

Mrs. Alchemy on the job clearing the sidedecks.

But first we had to build the thing. The need for it was obvious: November 12 is pretty early here for a big snowfall, so getting the frame together became a matter of some urgency. We took measurements, passed them to our friends on a bigger boat for vetting, and my father-in-law kindly drove me to a Home Depot to acquire the necessary lumber, PVC bits and screws, tape, etc. The tab was about $500.

Hole saws get a lot of use on a boat with upgraded plumbing and wiring.

The general idea was to cut PVC pipe hoops over much of the deck (about 30 feet out of 40 total, or from the windlass forward to the end of the boom aft). These would be seated in wooden "feet" consisting of a block of wood screwed to a second block in which a hole matching the diameter of the PVC pipe. Said pipe would be stuffed in the hole and cable-tied to the pipe stanchions welded to the deck. The block would stabilize the pipe and keep it from damaging the paint.

Early stages, before the suppprting frame for the door was put in.

 Once lashed to the stanchions port and starboard, the PVC pipe could be bent to fit into a coupler piece at the center, forming an arc or hoop. The forward and aftmost hoops had a T-fitting coupler in order to run a straight pipe as a ridgepole, which itself was lashed to the mast.

The doorframe and its supports, screwed to a sort of collar

The ridgepole was cable-tied and "anti-chafed" with bubble wrap and tape so that the plastic sheet cover would fit smoothly.

Layer 1 of the "tarp battens".

The next job was (on a calm day) circling the boat in a tender to screw on just above the gunwales (the "toerail" where the deck meets the hull) a series of 1 x 2 inch little lengths of planking to which the plastic cover would be stapled. This took two runs to achieve as a second length of batten was screwed over the first, making a secure "sandwich"; staples alone would soon see the plastic fret and tear free.

Before...

..and after.

The job took about three afternoons to complete. The idea was to get a moderately snug fit over the hoops and framing and then to "shrink" the plastic to a more aerodynamic tautness. Had we proposed to live aboard, I would have done a better job, particularly as I was coming up with improvements to the process while I was doing it. But really, this is slightly half-arsed as I'm just appeasing my insurer and avoiding shovelling. I've never covered Alchemy on the cradle, and she's had a metre of snow on her decks at times with no ill effects.

Oh, dear...

Alas, two 45-knot gales in the same week "sprung" a couple of hoops and poked holes (or widened the necessary ones, as in the gaps for the stays and shrouds) and repairs had to be made.

The hoop ends could've poked bigger holes, but didn't, which was nice.

I drilled holes in the couplings at the apex of the hoop "arches" and used small screws on the underside to better keep them in places. The rest was mostly "the red tape of shame", as Rob Lamb, who came up with this methodology of covering, calls it. I can live with shame.

People living aboard tend to go to greater lengths than we did.

The young couple living aboard in front of us did a more elaborate job of tarping their unusual 50-foot steel powerboat, which actually acts as a partial windbreak to ours, and we are rarely the smaller vessel. Also seen in this shot is the 100 foot 5/8" "lock and tidal" line, one of four, we now carry, going forward to a dock opposite from our starboard bow bollard.

The agitator at rest is hung from a convenient spot. The left side is tied to the stern and both lines have anti-chafe.

Another factor to consider when overwintering in-water in Toronto is that the lake may freeze around the boat, possibly to the point of damaging it. While this is less a problem for a steel boat such as ours is, we still have a transom-hung rudder and a hydraulic ram off the stern that could be damaged by ice pans, so the solution is to suspend an "ice-eater", a small electric motor turning a plastic propellor, beneath the boat.

Whee!

The draw of these agitators is about seven amps continuous, but with a capacitor-mediated surge at start-up. I'm drawing 30 amps (24 amps of which are "useful", according to the marina), meaning that I can still keep my battery bank charging all winter and a couple of lights on when needed.

Those large fenders would actually save the rudder were the dock lines to part.

I took some time to tweak the positioning of the agitator to direct the above-zero water from the depths (which is how the ice is kept away from the hull) both at the stern and down the starboard chine of the hull. There's a single protrusion there amidships for the FLS tranducer, and while it would be a very ambitious chunk of ice to get that far down, I might as well keep the area ice-free. To date, there's been little more than a "skin" of ice in the marina basin, however, and there's not the immediate sense of a week-long deep freeze in the next week or so, so all this prep has not been tested as of yet. The marina insisted on me having one of these, strangely, and not the insurance company.

Barely visible in the above shot (and please ignore the rubbish in the winterized sinks) is the vast, empty expanse of the galley bulkhead. We lack proper storage space for dishes, a means to dry them underway and a place to put a small microwave. So I designed something...

My father-in-law, Dave McMurray, worked building boats in the 1980s and has maintained some friendships from that time. He suggested a man named Fred Blair, who is building us this design in marine ply with a formica-like veneer. Fred came down to the boat and asked a lot of questions, as did we. We are expecting results better than I can do, meaning I can assemble strong, but fall short on pretty. We've taken down the slats covering the steel behind this side in the pilothouse and will mount it on four M10 bolts and load-spreading fender washers. I will likely bolt on a handhold on the companionway stair side to increase stability in motion.

Behold, the new bar.

Creating this galley stowage cabinet will allow several good things to happen: 1) the dishes will be stowed where they can dry, but not easily move; 2) less accessible lockers currently holding small pans can migrate closer to the centerline; 3) much of the cabinet over the stove can be liberated from loose things such as cutlery, funnels and cups; and 4) the former microwave cabinet can be used for bottle storage, freeing up a large shelf on the starboard side for various foodstuffs.

Dry is good.

Behold the deepest bilge, aft of the diesel and beneath the thrust-bearing yoke of the Aquadrive. Keen eyes can just make out the absence of any ingress of water, as one would hope with something called "dripless" on the shaft. I need to service the Rule 3700 bilge pump and will be changing to a beefier hose. In addition, I am considering getting a second 3700 and float switch just to have it handy as a spare at the upcoming Boat Show. More on the Boat Show in a future post.

Lastly in this round of winter prep came The Running of the Genset. This Honda 2000 is about 12 years old, but likely has less than 100 hours of running on it, and is still trouble-free. So I believe I will drain it and stow it in Trenton for future land-side use as they certainly seem to hold their value. It's getting upgraded to two Honda eu2200i models, one of which will be the "Companion" version and which can be hooked together to form a 3600 w continuous genset which will run (combined) for about 2.5 hours on a litre of gasoline. That's enough to weld with on a minor basis, and exceeds what I can produce with the Victron inverter already in play. Total weight will be about 40 kilos for the pair and they can be stowed under cover on deck or in the forepeak down low.

A brief review of our power provisions aboard Alchemy: We have a large battery bank of six L-16 6 VDC batteries wired in series-parallel to provide 1185 Ah at 12 VDC. We also have a 400 w wind generator and four fixed 135W solar panels. Lastly, there's the stock 75 amp alternator that we plan to upgrade to 150-200 amps for quick charges AND to make water while motoring with our on-order watermaker. So if all these systems fail, we'll have the means to replicate shore power. More importantly from our point of view is the reduction in time spent inverting power from DC to AC, which is a somewhat wasteful transformation to run "house power" from DC batteries. If we want to vacuum the boat, for instance, at anchor, or to use a terrestrial power tool with a six-amp draw, it's more logical to use a genset for 15 minutes than to invert power from the ship's batteries. The same can be said for charging the forepeak windlass battery bank (two Group 27 12 VDC deep cycle batteries): an hour on the Honda can put them to 100% and "cost" a teacup of gasoline, which we carry in any case in small amounts for the Honda outboard motor. In addition, if we want to make friends in distant places, lugging one or both Hondas in one or both tenders to, say, fix a lagoon-side structure is generally considered a friendly act.

More to come shortly, as there is more to tell.

The winter of our content rent

 

He's got a fine head of hair, my nephew. And a very nice wife, too.

Time certainly flies when one is having boat. It's been a rather busy time aboard, abroad and ashore, with blogging updates deferred...but no longer! First up was nephew Ryan's wedding to Alex. Despite a bit of drizzle, a very good time was had. Logistics were tricky for us, however, what with retrieving dress shoes from Trenton and me needing a smaller suit thanks to The Boat Diet Plan: Eat less, move more, preferably on a 32C vessel.

A rare shot of Alchemy's two skippers, not giving conflicting orders.

After that pleasant duty came a scramble to secure a winter berth; to secure insurance for said berthing; to secure shoreside accommodation; and to feel more secure about some neglected sailing skills. So we buggered off to Niagara-on-the-Lake, as one does.

Foofy wind, however.

 ...and to Port Darlington for dinner with sailing pals Matt and D-L...

Sunset and rum, a good combination.

 On a rainy day, I even fit in another trip to see HMCS Haida, of loving memory...

In case one wishes to construct a WWII destroyer.

But other needful things beckoned. Our friend and agent for our now-sold house Suzanne Manvell found us a boat-club-proximate flat in late 2018 in which we stayed for 11 months until we moved aboard in June, 2019. Faced with an unexpected winter stay-over here in Toronto, and not Halifax, we asked her again if she knew of a downtown apartment in which we could stay short-term (we expect to move back aboard Alchemy at the end of March, 2020 with the goal of [finally] leaving Toronto circa April 15).

Unexpectedly, she said "how about my house?" Suzanne had a tenant leaving a first-floor flat and we could start renting October 1, which suited us perfectly. Her house is only slightly farther away from our winter berth than was the last place, and there's a corner of the garage suitable for sailbags, bicycles and dinghy sail rigs.

From stair to door is sufficient for clearing out most of the forepeak, plus bikes.

 The place is spacious and bright. We'd best enjoy it as it's likely to be our last "house" for some time.

Available spring 2020!

 Even the Cabin Boy got his dungeon, suiting his slightly Gothic bent.

He eventually got a bed, firm not cruel.

Meanwhile, we had to wangle insurance. Our carrier insisted that "floating, non-liveaboards" needed a canopy, tent or other covering to cast off snow and ice and discourage top-heavy turtling. Now, we have never done this for Alchemy: we've just shovelled off the decks when needed. But I knew where to go: the good crew of the steel ketch Goshawk, Jay and Rob, who live on Frenchman's Bay and who know their business as they are winter liveaboards.

This is from where I took my design cues, but, as will be seen, I didn't go to quite these sturdy lengths.

Jay and Rob do an impressive, generally bulletproof job because they would know right away were it to fail and because a proper covering makes for a warmer boat.

They run PVC tubing to the decks and packing tape as transverse supports. Then they shrink the cover on with a propane torch both impressive and, if not wielded carefully, destructive. See next post...

The bow of the boat need not be covered.

Everyone has the approach that works for themselves.

This "boom attachment point" I pretty well copied directly.

Having received the collective boat-cover wisdom while we were still at National YC (we moved gradually into the apartment during October as we wanted to sail as long as we could)...

Cobourg looking like a mill pond after a fairly gusty passage and a decision to bail out of a straight shot to Waupoos.

...we learned we weren't going to get approval to stay in the water at our club (it was a longshot) and so confirmed our berth at a nearby marina. 

The weather held until late October, save for some weirdness.

 Our slip was wide, but short. Good thing we had plenty of lines.

This was actually helpful when constructing the boat cover. I put together the Portabote and worked around the perimeter.

We also had an unusual 50-foot powerboat in steel from the 1960s opposite, cutting the breeze somewhat.

I don't see many steel boats on Lake Ontario larger than ours that aren't on the job.

 After some exotic maneuvering, we were ensconced.

Note the sails, bagged, tagged and garaged for the winter.

 This was Hallowe'en. The next post reveals what came next.

Have you never seen a horny teenager?

.And it was scary!

Tour du jour, or how to do reciprocity right

How odd she looks having visibly moved to a different dock

Due to a combination of unexpected work, dubious weather, prolonged refitting and other banana peels left beneath life's rich pageant, we did not get off the dock this summer, nor did we get away for a camping weekend or other brief, cheap aways from home. Mrs. Alchemy, who typically works not only prolonged hours saving critters at a wildlife rehabbing facility, but who also works every second weekend with few consecutive days off, was understandably peeved at this failure to vacay, and so was a great help in cleaning out the boat, readying sleeping arrangements, stocking the now-functional reefer and making an October weekend on board possible.

Cabin Boy contemplating the metropolis from the north shore of the embracing Toronto Islands.

We didn't go far; the diesel is, after all, still aged if evidently properly filtered, and the motor is still well within the break-in period, but the nav lights leads were cobbled together and the boat, while basic, allowed the usual range of civilized functions. We even had heat. We needed it, as it turned out.

Moon over the foredeck at a marina.

In case an actual purposeful run should reveal issues, we stopped for Night One at the nearby Toronto Island Marina. We had a free berth coupon, and they gave us a good one right by the restaurant. Beverages were had. Cold beverages.After years of pioneer boating, having kettles, fridges and even a working microwave is a treat. The oven may work, but I have to check the propane lines before I try it, and, more to the point, I need to purchase a propane detector before I fire up the Force Ten. It worked fine in 2008, but hasn't run since. Also, the tank could be better secured...somewhere other than beside the companionway.

I am growing to like the Yankee.

The next day was windy from the WSW and we were headed ENE. I decided to keep the main sheathed as we do not have reefing rigged, and it was a single-reef kind of day. I was glad of it when the leisurely 4.8 knots under jib-as-spinnaker turned to 7.1 knots in the gusts. Adding 350 kilos of lead in the batteries plus another 100 kilos in charger, lengths of heavy-gauge wire and assorted electrical gear hasn't slowed the boat much. She charged properly.

Warm day, too, but it got very fall-like in the hours that followed.

The waves were blocked by the large and lengthy spit or headland on the east side of Toronto Harbour. Mostly artificial in nature, it has changed the dynamic of erosion and island-building in our closest cruising grounds and requires a fairly significant detour to get into the Eastern Gap, one where we've been plastered by squalls more than once. This day brought 14 knots blowing 28 on a rather irregular basis, but a few hours decent sailing was had, which we enjoyed.

Not very imposing cliffs are to the right, but the wind drops off 'em readily enough

 Of course, the benefit to essentially visiting one's nautical backyard is that you need not sail all day: two or three hours gets you to someplace different yet not requiring long-distance service. We went to Fairport YC, a very well appointed, if overly secured, appendage to a condo development in Pickering's Frenchman's Bay. And yes, it was a reciprocal visit, so we ended up spending very litte this weekend, which was nice if you don't count the grand or so I spent wiring up the batteries.

Nantuck-ink?

It's the sort of faux-New England planned development we normally would avoid, but the adjacent marina had our new friends Jay German and Rob Lamb on their steel Roberts ketch Goshawk. Once we had docked in pretty brisk wind involving some aggressive throttle work to bounce the stern in snugly, they were very hospitable in the fine old tradition and much boat chat was had to our mutual amusement. Both Jay and Rob are video gamers, so even the Cabin Boy felt rare feelings of respect and admiration.

The next day, we didn't force the issue of leaving, but a strong front had passed in the cool night and the same wind that had plastered up obligingly on an end-finger slip had clocked to just about due North and was pushing merrily on our stern. Having been warned to turn tightly to avoid a sand bank, we left under more power than usual. Alas, the wind was pushing the water out of the relatively confined bay, and it had been many month since the last dredging. We ran aground.

It was yet another paint removing learning experience. I was concerned about it as we had turned into the wind, because I suspected that a season's worth of channel churn combined with the water leaving the bay would make things tricky. I made the first set of buoys but had to do a chock-to-chock turn at speed (necessary due to the friggin' wind on my nose) to make the turn and we went wide. The boat hit sand at about three knots (good) and plowed about, I estimate, a foot or 30 cm. down. We draw five foot ten inches or around 175 cm. The boat heeled about 15 degrees to port, right in front of Pickering's rescue boat.

Having contacted them to assure them that we appeared to be well and undamaged (not an item fell in the galley, such was the leisure with which we took the ground), we attempted to power off. We succeeded in rotating the boat 120 degrees to face our putative rescuers....and also the channel. Further attempts to aid the motor, which performed very gratifyingly well given the circumstance, involved tows, a Zodiac on the hip, and the use of the staysail to provide thrust. Eventually, running a spare halyard to a man sitting in the Zodiac as it backed up did the trick: we heeled over another five degrees, I gave her full throttle and we slid into the channel with a slight bump.

All that time (and it took nearly one hour) we were just 3/4 of a boat length from the channel. The journey back was blissedly uneventful, save for the spray over the deck as that wind persisted until we got into the lee of the spit. Please convey to Rob our thanks, and to our nameless helpers in the Zodiac. The halyard trick was the one that worked. Our keel is "bevelled" somewhat either side of the chunky weld line, and once that went parallel to the bottom, we slid easily off. I'm glad for the skeg. And the four blades. I think I dug Fairport YC a new mooring.

Yeah, it was breezy coming back, too.

 

We had a great weekend getaway, and save the practicum on freeing the boat from surprise dirt, everything worked well and we were comfortable. It bodes well. Next Monday, out comes the mast and next Friday, Alchemy follows and a new phase of carpentry and plumbing commences.