Lord of the ring terminals

Ye olde main switch.

Warning: Loads of photos in this one.

I have maintained for some time that the reason I have taken so long to do jobs on Alchemy is that I have felt it critical for the safety and well-being of myself and my family that I understand all the mechanical, electrical and hydraulic devices aboard that I have installed, or have yet to install. Given my utter absence of any sort of practical instruction in such matters, and the fact I never took even rudimentary "shop" class in high school, and that I don't own a car nor did I grow up with greasy hands from repairing them in my parents' driveway, it's been a bit of a slog.

Sometimes, delay is indeed about ignorance or inexperience. Now, I've had plenty of help from friends, professionals and friends who do their boat work at a professional level. I have also not hesitate to contract out work (generally to my own designs and measurements) that I am too inexperienced to do, even if I had the right equipment. The Aquadrive thrust yoke and the engine stringers fall under this category. Other times, however, hold-ups can be about a missing part or parts one needs to do the job correctly. Not that I didn't have a lot of parts at hand to revamp the diesel's 12 volt system:

Just some of the bounty from the closing of the Dock Shoppe, now reopened as "The Dock Shoppe".

Note the completed 2 gauge tinned wire lengths below, made up as per the reliable refit guru Maine Sail's methods. While I had been assured by local authorities that 2 ga. would be robust enough to run current from battery to diesel starter, I knew that what I really wanted to do was to have heavier gauge wire, which not only can carry greater current and suffers less "voltage drop" but arguably takes longer to decay. So Peter from Holland Marine had an appropriate length at a sale price. Off to Mississauga via bike, and yes, 45 feet of 2/0 gauge is heavy.

This rather nice examples of my crack at "Maine Sail"-quality crimping and heat shrinking technique will be repurposed with the house battery bank. This stuff is too pricy to waste.

Meanwhile, while I had already ordered a selection of 2/0 ga. "Power Lugs" for crimping purposes, I was finding, somewhat to my dismay, that I needed a variety I didn't have. I must have killed a day phoning around trying to trace these items. In the end, I reordered bags of FTZ lugs in 1/2 inch, 3/8 inch and 5/16th from Bargainboatparts.com, who had actually spotted an ordering error in my prior order and sent me a free bag of the right item) and from Binnacle.com, who had the otherwise extinct 2/0 ga. 1/4" hole crimpable lug, made by Ancor. These items arrived in what I can only describle as a dilatory manner, and the NYC office folk asked me not to send stuff to them anyone as I was a pest, and probably mad and bitey-looking as summer dribbled away and I was a few lugs short of a connection.

Blank, long or short-barreled, angled three different ways...who knew? Now, I know.

Naturally, as is the way of boat refitting when one is constantly salving ignorance with time and money and occasionally burns and cuts, I found out that items such as Power Lugs can come without holes at all. Yep, I could order a selection of blank lugs and simply drill them as tight as I wish, depending on the bolt or stud to which I wished to dog them. At a recent party, I met an old pal named Pat, whom I hadn't seen for literally decades, is some sort of supervisory electrical contractor fellow and he has bags of these things he can acquire for me, and I don't even know his union handshake. Needless to say, I will be stocking up on spares from Pat.

I estimate the "kick" of the current draw of the starter to be about 170 amps. So a 250 amp fuse would've worked

Meanwhile, there were other elements to consider, even though this set-up is strictly "rubbishy little battery to switch to diesel" By upsizing the gauge of the wires, I was increasing the potential load they could safely carry. This means recalculating the amp limit of the fuse involved.

Ah, that's more like it.

Because I wish (in the future) to have "switched flexibility" with my starting options, I had to calculate for starting the engine from my as-yet unbought house bank. Basically, I want to be able to pump amps at specificed voltages into said bank, which, when topped up, will "spill" via relay/echo charger current into a starting battery, which, when full, will not overcharge. But I also wish to have the option, should I experience a failure in the starter battery or circuit, to start the engine from the house bank, or vice-versa. This is actually just the start of a system I hope is robust enough to do the job, but flexible enough via switching to stand unanticipated outages. Because in cruising, unanticipated outages are best anticipated.

New, beefier main switch means bigger studs, meaning bigger ring terminals...oy.

So the old main switch got "back-benched" to a future role featuring less amperage, and the new Blue Sea switch (which is matched to wire and fuse) went in. The only problem was that the 12 ga. conductors that fit on the old switch's 3/8 inch post...crudely....needed 1/2 in. ring terminals.

About five bucks per light, and I should get two or three years per doorbell battery, maybe more for infrequently accessed stowage spaces.

Off to Mississauga I went on my bike to A1 Parts. It's quite a bit what Active Surplus used to be like: chaotic, but they somehow know where slightly obscure ring terminals would be. I got some dandy wee LEDs and assorted holders for my future "open a locker hatch, light goes on" project.

The labeller has been getting a workout, and so have all the big and little fancy crimpers I've acquired.

But I digress, even though my legs were getting a decent workout cycling out to Mississauga. That's where all the obscurities are. Now, one of the slightly odd things about my Beta Marine 60 is that it comes in, as with all Betas, evidently, a multiplicity of variants: There are gensets, there are keel-cooled British canal boat diesels, there are several gear box options both mechanical and hydraulic. Betas are known as a basic, decent diesel (made by Kubota) that has been customized for the typical "motor cave" in modern sailboats, which, quite typically, lies under the companionway stairs, which tend to hinge upward. Revealed, the Beta will have the "consumables", the belts, filters, and engine controls, within easy reach, at the front of the engine. That's their charm. I did not require charm, and I got an engine with (for instance) a fuel filter that did not have a priming button, but rather a little device with a tiny priming lever. The diagrams that came with my Beta (and the various manuals I've been able to download) do not precisely match my engine's layout. The fuel intake and return is well aft. There's a mysterious hose. I had to work by feel and extrapolate. You'd think I'd be getting used to this by now.

The positive post on the starter: this was a process of elimination, really, as it doesn't match the blueprint so well.

A mirror and a strong light came in handy. Of course, positive and negative posts are differently sized (3/8" and 5/16", or their metric equivalents, of which there is quite a lot on the Beta) and so there were a couple of crimping errors involving 1/16" of an inch. 

That digital caliper/micrometer cost me $9 and I use it a great deal. So, it was a great deal.

Why worry? Because a tight fit to the post or bolt in question gives maximum conductive surface area, tends to exclude moisture a little better, and is less likely to vibrate freely. It's a steel boat. I wouldn't want these cables in a condition of "full of amps" flopping about.

Before: As shipped, all that red wire suggests this is the needful place.

I've certainly used mirrors and camera to good effect in these tasks. Despite my compartively fantastic engine access, I can't see some spots easily without excessive, unappealing grunting.

After: there's a small "blade" type fuse in there that's 40 amps. Guess what I can't find above 30 amps?

This is the finished positive post on the starter. Behind the lug are wires leading to the loom (the bundle of connections going to the readout panel at the helm) and to the alternator.

Slightly out of focus are the various cutting and crimping tools I have been using for some time now. I have yet to regret buying decent tools.

This is the negative, or ground, conductor, along a beefy 2/0 gauge. It goes from a perfectly nondescript and unmarked bolt on the block adjacent to the starter, straight back to the negative post on the battery. Both positive and negative conductors are long enough (about 1.7 metres) to reach anywhere in the engine bay I am likely to tie down the permanent start battery.

It only looks half-assed. It's merely temporary to ge tme moving before haulout.

 Leads connected, meter in hand, I checked all my voltages. This smallish 12 VDC is only required to stay charged, to start the diesel (fairly obvious, that one), and to power the single bilge pump I currently have installed, despite the fact that water only gets down there to date if I fail to close the pilothouse roof hatch when it starts raining.

The terminal block with the Fuse of the Gods. And the cover of the Fuse of the Gods.

According to ABYC standards, which I generally find sensible, the fuse from the positive battery terminal should be no more than seven inches from said terminal. This is six inches. So it hangs in the air...those 2/0 ga. wires easily support it. Again, this will be done to code later when I integrate a house bank with the engine circuits.

And this was with no fuel supply.

Eventually, after various measurements and a very technical spot of thumb-sucking, I declared the power aspects done and actually started the engine. It obliged on what I would term "the first crank". What was odd was that there was no fuel supply. Not being prone to seeing religious icons in the reflection from a shiny diesel, I felt sure that the "0.1 hours" on the meter was from a test-run at the Beta factory and that there was elderly but still viable fuel somewhere in the injectors. Or it was Neptune pulling my leg. Regardless, I shut her down quickly...all I really wanted was to spin the starter.

The fuel lines are in a somewhat unexpected place, but it's accessible.

 Having not found precisely what was depicted in my documentation, namely "fuel in and out" (diesels return unburnt fuel via a "return line" back to the fuel tank for further exploding later on), I called in the redoubtable Captain Matt, who was in a perversely gratifying way, about as baffled as I was as to where certain things were. The presence of split loom on fuel hoses, making them look like bundled wires, he found unorthodox, but between the two of us, we followed the hoses back from the obvious spot of the fuel filter and sussed out how to hook it up. Which I did.

NOT TO CODE

Now, there is 100 gallons of diesel in the fuel tanks in the keel, but it has been there for some years. I needed, for static and dynamic tests of my diesel installation, a small amount, say 10 litres, of fresh diesel. So here's the yellow jerrycan bungeed into place, with the hoses clamped more or less securely. I squeezed the bulb, I primed the little lever, I checked my Big Deal Battery Switch, and hell, yes, the diesel ran. Eagerly.

There should be water hitting that water.

But there was an issue. My seacock was open and there was water in the Perko strainer, but no sign of it leaving the boat having cooled the inferno-like exhaust gases of the modern diesel. Having burnt up an Atomic 4 in an ignominious episode in the swaddling days of my boat-owning career, I knew "no aqueous throughput" was an issue. So I shut down again.

I've had to get inventive working alone. This is holding the Perko seawater strainer at the precise height I needed to reposition it 2.5 inches lower.

 The next day (because I work for a living, and I need to mull over the possible solutions), I checked the strainer and the level of the water seemed a little below the intake and output hose barbs. I thought I might have mounted it slightly high, and while I knew the impeller on the engine could create some impressive suction, why make it work too hard? So I lowered the Perko 2.5 inches, based on where I suspected the waterline was.

About $250 to replace the entire pump. This compares to $450 to replace the Sherwood F-85 pump on my old Westerbeke.

Then I had to inspect the impeller, because running it dry might have damaged it. At the same time, I verified the pump model so I can get a proper service kit for it and some spare "run-dry" impellers. Ya never know, but ya should.

Sometimes when you shut down, the crankshaft will reverse a half-revolution, leading to "backwinded vanes"

The impeller looked OK, but I will probably pull it and keep it as a spare and put in a Globe "Run Dry". As one does.

That's just hot air, much like this blog.

So I fired up, briefly, again. Still no water out of the exhaust. Shut down. Ponder. Wonder if there's a blockage in the standpipe. Unscrew the cap. Here the hissing of inrushing air, suggesting a partial vacuum. Ah, of course.

Looks like a Dalek's gotten into the bilges.

 I attempted to "plunge" the standpipe with a boat hook, and then to "blow" it with some hose. And I quickly learned about displacement, although with less "eureka" and more "where's the friggin' teatowel?" And I pondered. I dreamt about the standpipe like I was the sickly, questing Frodo and it was the Eye of Sauron longing to thwart me.

LOOK INTO MY DEPTHS AND DESPAIR!

Basically, this was foreseeable. The boat has been immobile at a sunny dock since April. There's probably a reef or eight feet of weeds under the boat, and all varieties of water creature may have set up house. So I needed a plan.

Meet the 'plan': a bottle brush on a boat hook

Some vigorous scrubbing and cursing later, followed by more scrubbing and the formulation of Plan C (switch the engine intake hose to a different T-off/barb, of which there are four), I declared myself ready.

And lo, the throughly mixed exhaust moved upon the face of the waters.

In short, it worked. Plenty of throughput. All readings nominal. I put the hydraulic transmission in reverse. The shaft spun. Nothing fell off. Nothing leaked. Smoke did not emit. Whoa, she pulls fiercely against the dock lines.

The author pretending to have another idea.

Tomorrow, I motor.

I was too busy remembering how to steer 15 tonnes of inertial mass to over-emote, but this was clearly a big deal.

UPDATE: 2014.10.03: The first hour of driving back and forth, stopping with full reverse, tight turns at speed and general "hovering' is complete. While the Thordon stern bearing squealed a bit at first (and during tied-off in-gear testing at dock), it soon freed up. First impressions are "holy crap, I can stop and back down a lot better" and "I really like this hydralic shifting". Not to mention that had the engine bay hatch been down, I would have heard very little diesel noise, as the AquaDrive and soft mounts reduced motor vibration significantly. Capt. Matt, who was aiding and abetting, particularly in the docking and undocking, seemed very satisfied with today's efforts. He understands better than anyone what a long road it is to semi-competence, or at least, to leave "the horrible warning zone".

Your correspondent, not entirely visible at the helm. Please ignore the wayward tarp...it's there to cut the heat on an uninsulated metal pilothouse roof. Also ignore the dirt and dust: I'm refitting beside an airport, after all.

I freely admit that I am pleased with myself and I won't deny it. I may open up the good stuff tonight.

A video is worth 1,000 RPM

Considering there is no fuel supply hooked up, and I can only assume there are ENSIS fumes in the cylinders, or maybe a few millilitres of diesel from a factory test firing, I am rather pleased with the eagerness displayed. Actual fuel supply and picture-heavy post on How I Got Here to follow shortly.

 

And I have to rig up some 8 mm. fuel hose, a bulb, some clamps and a little yellow jerry can.

Just for the initial run-in at dock, mind.

The runway not taken

The valiant Valiente's Cabin Boy fends off the creeping scourge of the airport's Marine Exclusion Zone. Note the required "horn, bell or other sound signalling device".

Astute and probably local readers will recall the ongoing (some would say interminable) fight of many Toronto residents to restrict the expansion of the Toronto Island-based airport. Despite a 1983 agreement to deny what was once a small civilian airport the use of passenger jet aircraft, there is a move originating from various corporate interests and the politicians they rent to bring jets in, despite the rather striking fact that Pearson, the main Toronto airport, is underutilized and is about to get a direct rail link.

It's getting pretty skinny trying to leave via the Western Gap.

If one reads last spring's TAO report, which is very illuminating about the potentialities surrounding the proposed BBTCA expansion in ways that many local boaters, kayakers/canoeists, residents and enjoyers of the harbour may not have considered. More airport means less water, a lot less, and what is left will arguably be less safe.

I keep Alchemy, the titular subject of this blog, at National Yacht Club, which, along with the adjacent Alexandra Yacht Club, are situated at the west end of the restricted channel known as the Western Gap. Even if one discounts the considerable noise and the fumes over and above the current stinky and loud level, the extensions of the existing Marine Exclusion Zones (MEZs) required by government regulation for the proposed extended runways required by the physics of the proposed passenger jets, will likely lower the appeal of these yacht clubs site to the point where it would be impossible to continue running them. So I feel I have a direct interest in the matter. As I consider it unlikely that the federal government and its functionary arm, the Toronto Port Authority (TPA), under whose aegis Toronto Harbour lies, propose to blast a ship canal through Ontario Place, I suspect the needs of the MEZ will effectively bar the Western Gap, the harbour's gateway and the "frontage" to several boat clubs, from civilian and indeed commercial traffic. We can't leave our basins if the assumed (on good, Transport Canada-mandated grounds) new MEZs go in. Even the TPA itself warns against it!

I would imagine the same fate would await (perhaps paradoxically) of the TPA-run Marina Quay West and Pier 4, access to both of which would be very constrained by the new, expanded and jet-friendly MEZs. And yet to have jets, one must build more runway, but is it even necessary to have jets? Not to mention that the jets in question, the ones on which all the runway sizing is predicated, are neither out of the prototype stage nor appear likely to exist for some time to come.

Hence last week's protest:

It started off small, or at least small kayaks.

I thought for a first attempt to physically "present" actual boaters on the waters that would, should the airport runway expansion come to pass, be restricted for the use of screaming business-class jets, had a pretty good turnout. It made the news, anyway. And NYC's own commodore Denys Jones, an avid racer, showed up as well in his sleek J/109, a difficult boat in which to dawdle at a kayak's pace.

Nearly the Dunkirk spirit?

A regular flotilla.

Close quarters and plenty of slipping in and out of gear.

We saw some nice vessels as a bonus.

Ironical overflying.

Protest does not exclude creativity.

Tri to grasp the rationale, politicians.

It would be interesting to hear the viewpoints of the executives of Royal Canadian Yacht Club and Island Yacht Club and Toronto Island Marina: All of them would see their boating activities truncated or perhaps made untenable by these extensions. Contrary to what may be public perception, not all yachters are wealthy or even privileged; clubs around Toronto Harbour, including NYC, run extensive learn-to-sail programs for adults and children, and summertime Junior sailing (seven to 16 years old) is currently done either close to or inside the assumed MEZ extensions. So is a program called Broad Reach, a registered charity which teaches underprivileged kids how to sail in donated race boats that brush the current 18-metre mast height. Jets have a shallower "glide slope" than the current Q400 turboprops...it is arguable if 18-metre masts will be able to go anywhere in the Inner Harbour aside from hugging the easternmost seawalls.

The future of Toronto Harbour or a reasonable fascimile of the future?

So while the concerns of sailboaters may seem only a small part of the mix, we aren't all in possession of big Beneteaus. Some of us are teaching your kids how to sail, an activity best done without, I think, the roar, blast and stink of commuter jets in a situation reminiscent of the notoriously crowded Kai Tak airport in Hong Kong prior to its closure in 1998.

We've seen this future of putting jets in tight to towers, trees, bird sanctuaries and actively used waterfront before, and it's in the past.

Feeling hot, hot, hot

Just because there has been a dearth of postings of late doesn't mean I haven't been beavering away en bateaux, but as I prepare a couple of fairly large and technical entries, here's a short, sharp one.

Valiente, the 33 foot sloop, is a year older than Mrs. Alchemy, and boat years are briefer than human. Consequently, things break, fail or require pre-emptive care. Such was the case just prior to our August mini-vacation down the lake. The Atomic 4 engine panel has not much in the way of instrumentation, but the little there is I consider essential. So when the temperature gauge failed to budge one day, I got out the digital multimeter in order to see if it was getting power. Indeed, it was. So this suggested that the engine block's temperature sensor, or thermistor, was on the fritz. It was.

The Frankensteinian nature of my rebuilt Atomic 4 is revealed in the variety of engine paint on the various bits.

Some measurements and twenty bucks later, a replacement was installed with PTFE tape on the threads and enough torque on the wrench to forbid leaking. A new crimped on ring terminal completed the clean-up. 

It looks worse than it is. It starts readily enough and very little smells funny.

 Proof equalled pudding as a static test in neutral at the dock yielded a gradually rising temperature gauge needle that actually showed a slightly higher reading that more closely agreed with a fully opened thermostat (180F). So a quick fix actually worked out as it should have.

Not seen: the little piece of tape on the ammeter that lines up with the black shifter knob to indicate "you are in neutral".

Summer's end getaway

Once home, then away

While the (finally) warm weather can be expected to persist locally for some weeks yet, the arrival of Labour Day and the reboot of the school year is usually considered the end of the summer here in the Great White North. Consequently, time was carved from boat restoration and grubbing for dollars for a few days' rest and relaxation aboard the soon-to-be vended Valiente, the sloop of blue that, while basic on the amenities, is no slouch in the sailing department.

There's a Canadian Coast Guard station in Cobourg Harbour featuring life boats I estimate at about 15 m.

Of course, actually going on a sailing getaway is by definition not really restful or relaxing; far from it. From the cat-minding arrangements to the hauling of gear and provisions down to a vessel usually stripped out for daysailing...and not to mention the oil changes, fuelling up and minor repairs customarily the province of the Skipper...there was a good day's worth of shuttling from house to dock before we decided the best way to reach our chosen destination of Cobourg, a town some 70 miles to the east and a perennial favourite harbour of ours, was to commence sailing at 2200h and go at it all night.

This, if you're lucky. Photo (c) 2010 Windandsail.com

Of course, this decision was predicated on the anticipated transit time of 12 hours, the forecasted winds (port beam or just aft) and the practical consideration of arriving in full daylight, not that the approach is particularly tricky. The decision did not take into full consideration the length of the preceding day nor the energy expeditures involved, meaning that while Mrs. Alchemy and myself were not fully exhausted by the time we slipped the lines, we were a touch cranky. The first three hours were, in lieu of sufficient breeze, just motoring. The clearly visible storm clouds aft emitted the occasional rumble and flash, but stayed away. Their passage to the north-east did eventually produce sufficient breeze to justify sailing with the No. 1 and full main, and so off we went with 90-minute "deck naps" as we spelled each other off on the tiller. The missus got considerably better air than I did, as she favoured coming inshore, whereas I sailed old-fart style to my preferred bearing, losing 1.5 knots in the process. Thus, when daylight came, we were closer to shore, but with less breeze; we switched on for the last bit from Port Hope to Cobourg Harbour.

After arriving at noon with a fully rested offspring, we just decided to stay awake. Note the 60 foot steel schooner in the background of the northwest corner of Cobourg Marina.

We have watched this relatively modest town (save for its grandiose town hall, built as if Cobourg was destined for grander things) evolve from the standard Southern Ontario template (lots of Victorian brick, lots of small businesses on a gradually decaying "Main" street, usually called "King") into something part Toronto bedroom community to retiree-magnet and alternative lifestyle mini-Mecca. There's a lot of geezers here...hell, I recognized a couple...who have bought condos and Toronto interests here: There's an unexpected number of health food outlets, places in which to buy yoga mats, and fair-trade coffee shops than any circa 20,000 population town should by rights have. More condos near the modest if deep harbour are going up...they can be seen in the background, and the semi-industrial aspect of the old Cobourg waterfront has been nearly obliterated by stylish retirement living.

Fuel dock, with fuel guzzler and newish condos aft.

We like this town, however, even if it's always been a push to get here in one passage. The exception was in 2005 on the return leg of the second photo below. Despite the summery conditions, this was taken in mid-October on the way to Belleville, and on the way back, the weather went decidedly autumnal, but with a 30-knot half-gale from the NE. We went Cobourg-Toronto in about nine and a half hours, a point-to-point record that still stands for sheer SOG.

2014: Cabin Boy stretches out on park anchor

Same anchor, 2005, with four-year-old Cabin Tyke: Note the absence of condos in the background.

Anyway, Cobourg is offering the right sort of investment mix and savvy that, given its relative proximity by car to Toronto (close, but not too close) should see it remain attractive and forward-looking while small towns around it fade. Hell, I saw more LED streetlights erected by the town-owned electrical utility in Cobourg than I've seen in Toronto.

Cabin Boy is slouching. He's within a centimetre of Mrs. Alchemy's height now.

Our son enjoys Cobourg because, not being car-owners, we don't "go anywhere" in the usual sense, although we cycle long distances and visit friends in other parts of our city frequently. This is the obligatory "comedy shot" by the former jail/currently pub in Cobourg.

Not pictured: Manicles and nearby cannon.

Cannon and boy, 2005. Quizzical expression still in full effect.

After finding some sort of medicinal coffee treatment, we stumbled around to see what was different. The local chandlery, Dean Marine, was having a moving sale, which seemed a little eerie after the news of the soon-to-close West Marine in Toronto and last week's shuttering of Genco Marine in downtown Toronto (thus finishing my wife's handy part-time employment). Mr. Dean himself is returning to a smaller shop by the marina, which is only steps from where we first found him in the early 2000s on our first trips to Cobourg. He had no idea Genco's Toronto shop had closed.

What makes a captain? Apparently, it is the hat.

Fifty percent off cheap skipper's caps was too much for my son to resist, filthy Tilley knock-offs not being his style, and Dean Marine was compensated.

No, I don't have a better shot. I was distracted.

When amongst a large selection of them, I like to look at boats, he wrote with absolutely no surprise whatsoever. I spotted this evidently 1970s IOR-styled racer at the end of a finger; its name starts with "G" and it's at least 60 feet and, according to a random guy on the dock "doesn't go out much". Probably because it needs a crew of six minimum to work it, I would imagine. Pretty thing, however, and sporting bucket-sized winches.

Peter Tielen and family on HMP, his custom CS 36

 I would have made better note of the name but I was distracted by the appearance of HMP, Peter Tielen's boat. Peter is best known as the proprietor of Holland Marine Products and as so often happens on Lake Ontario, a decent wind brings acquaintances together. But Peter had to fix an engine overheating issue and we weren't able to share a beverage. Instead, some swimming happened.

This buoy was so off-station (in about 80 cm. of water) that we considered salvaging it. It would have fit Alchemy admirably.

The beach at Cobourg is pure sand and is shallow a long way out. It's perfect for aimless splashing about, if, given this summer's tepid temperatures, a touch brisk. Later that evening, Mrs. Alchemy and myself warmed up in the cockpit with some nautical beverages. This gave us, docked as we were next to the long pier separating Cobourg's public beach from its harbour, a sort of anthrologist's blind-view of the habit, which we've noticed for over a decade, of cars going down the pier toward the lake, stopping for one to five minutes and then driving back into town. Is there a black-cloaked drug dealer standing at one end? A hyper-efficient prostitute cycling through her clients like the Rule 3700? A collective amnesia that manifests on four wheels? (Oh, yes, now I remember: There's a featureless lake at the end of this thing.") We have no good ideas, other than that we lost count around 100 cars and two tumblers of marine sunset lubricant and still have no compelling hypothesis as to why the good folk of Cobourg are driven to drive up and down their breakwater.

More sitting and standing than swimming, really.

After unrecorded meals and wandering in circles getting the boat kinks out, we set back for Toronto on the promise of an ESE five-knot breeze that might have gone S to 10...a marginal day at best, although what wind there was promised to blow in the right direction. After an hour or so of chugging along (dependable, but noisy and somehow a failure in a sailboat), we decided to unleash our Secret Weapon, the massive cruising kite I bought years back and fly maybe twice every three seasons, as it's happiest at under 12-13 knots on a broach reach. Given that our son just spent a month flying spinnaker on 420s, we felt he could contribute as we literally forget how to fly the thing year-to-year.

Ancient block on ancient bow with reasonably fresh tack line. The anchor had to be lashed to the deck aft of this.

She's a beauty, however.

Eventually, we got the lines sorted and the course laid and managed to sail mostly above five knots, with the occasional drop to the high threes. Sailors will understand that a nice, slow sail is better qualitatively than a faster motor point-to-point, and where possible, extra hours spent on the water in transit under sail are permissible and even desirable. This was that sort of day.

The always-fascinating "PORTS" publication, or at least, more fascinating than helming.

As our son has grown, he has exhibited both the sullen laziness of the incipient teenager aboard and actual enthusiasm and competence of the born sailor for the business of sailing. His comfort at the helm of a 12-foot dinghy, however, does not always translate to easiness at the helm of a 33-footer flying a sail large enough to blanket our house.

Seriously. It's big enough that I'm going to bring it over to Alchemy as a light-air chute.

"HI! CAN'T TALK. BUSY STEERING!"

He did a good job, however, and was most helpful on deck when we encountered a spot of bother later in the day.

The wind was light, but sufficient to keep this pulling.

We tend to go a fair bit offshore to clear the Leslie Street Spit that juts out several miles on the east side of Toronto Harbour.

 The main was up, but I questioned if it should have been, thinking it was on occasion blanketing the chute. Later, the wind started increasing slightly before falling light again, and I wondering if the No. 1 would have been a better choice.

So nice.

Instead, I did an experiment: Wing-on-wing with an asymmetrical spinnaker. I preventered the main to port and steered slightly off dead-downwind. This took some concentration, but we added nearly a full knot to our SOG.

It worked until it didn't. I should have known better with a skinny-arsed IOR boat.

 A sudden wind shift to the south plus a fairly rapid increase in wind speed caused the spinnaker to "hourglass" around the forestay, and during the prolonged period I had to use the preventered main to blanket the mess while the wife and son laboured mightily to unscrew it and get it down on deck without ripping the expensive cloth, we pointed toward land (Pickering, actually) and picked up speed to above five knots on main only. Eventually, and it was a long, tiring eventually, the spinnaker, undamaged thanks to carefulness on the part of the crew, was rebagged and stowed in favour of the No. 2, for during the unscrewing exercise, the wind had rotated about 40 degrees, we had come toward land about 2.5 NM, and the angle to Toronto was now just aft of the beam.

Also, not raining.

The seas went to about 1.5 metres (five feet), nothing to worry about, but as they were coming the length of the lake, they had a near-oceanlike rolling quality we never see with the more typical westerlies. The wind was twice to three times the forecast strength, and we took off like a shot.

Our 120% sized  No. 2 is elderly, but it remains my favourite sail.

We did 20 NM in three hours flat, a very good run indeed for what was supposed to be a mostly motoring day. Not pictured are the occasional surfs during which we broke eight knots, a rare-ish achievement outside of spring and fall.

Hard to see because we are coming off a big 'un: 7.4 knots. Hull speed is supposed to be 6.9.

This was a common sight as the sun set. We roared back home.

We arrived home right at 2200h, a fitting symmetry for the short getaway. More sailing was had, and of a higher quality, than we expected, which is always nice, but then when it comes to sailing, we hold to the premise that having a good day of it sometimes involves extending oneself.

Playground tackle. 2005