Instinct

\ˈin-ˌstiŋ(k)t\
2b : behavior that is mediated by reactions below the conscious level

All of our 4-legged fellow travelers here on Planet Earth do it. There should be no surprise that we want to too. When the days get short and the temperatures fall, the Nesting Instinct appears.

• You want to pull the covers over your head
• You don't want to go out in the morning (Morning? It's still dark!)
• When you get home at night, there is a powerful urge to settle in, with a mug of hot cocoa or a glass of wine (both? would that work?) and do quiet things

It was 22° F here in Seattle this morning. I definitely wanted to stay under the electric blanket (set to "beach", as Jane said last nite). Most specifically, I didn't want to get up at 04:00 and light the Dickenson diesel heater. But when it is this cold, the heat pump can't keep up, and needs some help to warm the boat up from the nighttime temp of 60° F to the daytime temp of 70° F.

So I got up. The cabin sole was cold. I got the heater going. And then I crawled back into the bed again, and pulled the blanket over my head.

It was a double blessing - I got to experience that satisfaction of surrendering to the Nesting Instinct twice in one nite.

And it was warm when I *really* got up at 05:15 to make Jane her eggnog latte.

Instinct

Crabs, Part 1: Personality

I really liked Finding Nemo because the characterizations of the various creatures were so apt. Who can forget the seagulls screaming "Mine! Mine!" That so perfectly captures the essence of seagulls!

And the crabs. Remember when Nemo enters the Sydney Harbor, and there are two crabs fighting for tasty morsels as they emerge from the sewage outfall pipe? Well, Pixar captured the personalities of those two guys just as accurately as they did those of the gulls.

Crabs are the junkyard dogs of the ocean floor. They are fast-moving armored tanks in a world of the stationary (clams, mussels, sponges, etc), or at best very the slow moving (starfish, sand dollars). If something should make it past the birds on the surface and the fish floating in between, it will likely be a crab that finds it and defends it on the ocean floor. And I suspect that a big Dungie (Dungeness crab) reared up and holding his heavy claws in attack position would scare off most bottom-feeding fish, if they cruised by.

Crabs are fearless. They will attack anything that threatens them or their food. About the only thing that they seem to fear is a bigger crab. And they are insanely greedy. When we were in Norway, we saw kids catching crabs like this:

• Walk along the shore and find a piece of abandoned fishing line, and a dead fish, or part of a dead fish
• Tie the line to the fish, and drop it in the water off of a dock
• Watch. Crabs will come
• When a crab grabs the fish, pull in the line. The crab is so greedy, he will not release his hold, even when he is hoisted out of the water and put on the dock

Like junkyard dogs, if you throw two crabs into a bucket of water (to keep them alive for later eating), they will square off, facing each other, claws raised and ready to attack. It won't be long before you'll hear a mighty scrabbling, and one of the crabs will have seven legs instead of eight. They are nasty fighters, and they know just how to use those claws to take apart their opposition, literally.

True story:

Jane was untangling a big rock crab from the netting in our crab ring when the wily critter grabbed her finger. In no time, he was working his claw to separate her finger at the joint. Since she had no way to pry open the claw, and there was no help nearby, she started whanging the crab against the concrete dock until he died, and then finally released her (in that order).

At dinner that night, I knew better than to come between Jane and that particular crab. And the swollen finger didn't slow her down at all.

Crabs, Part 1: Personality

I learned about sailing from that: Fuel Valving

Years ago when I was a kid, I used to read Flying magazine. I particularly enjoyed a long-running series of articles entitled "I Learned About Flying From That." Each article was written by a pilot, who humbly admitted to having made a mistake, and then having lived, told about it in the hopes that others would not have to make the same mistake. I thought then that it was a good format, and I still think that now. This series of postings will be my attempt to recreate that article series with a new subject and new technology.

(If you would like to help others to learn from your mistakes, please send your article to: WindborneInPugetSound at gmail dot com)

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It was November 1, 1997, our maiden voyage in Eolian.

We had been up late the night before celebrating our new ownership and our first night aboard. The day before had been a whirlwind, with papers to sign, financing to finalize, and a crash course in the systems aboard Eolian.

We had experimented with lighting the diesel-fired Dickenson cabin heater, and found it to be very capable of keeping the cabin toasty warm when the temp was in the 30's outside.

The plan was to take Eolian south from Bellingham to Seattle thru the Swinomish Passage, rather than to go all the way around Whidbey Island. This is a neat little cut, that goes from east of Anacortes down to LaConner in the south. The entrance at either end of the passage is dredged thru tidal mud flats, so it is critical to pay attention to the buoys/markers/lights, etc.

Just before entering the north end of the passage, the engine coughed a couple of times, and quit.

BIG PANIC.

I tried that desperation move we all try when an engine quits unexpectedly: I cranked it over... rrrrrrrrrrr... nothing. I mean, if it died when it was running at throttle, what is low-speed cranking going to do?

I charged Jane with deciding when the anchor needed to go down to keep us off the mud, as we were drifting in that direction due to tidal current, and I went below. My first thought was that there wasn't really 100 gallons of fuel in each of the tanks as we had been told, so I switched from port to starboard tank. rrrrrrrrrrr... nothing.

Eolian has aboard 8 group 31 sized batteries, which had been on the charger until we pulled off the dock that morning. And the engine alternator had been charging them ever since... right? (Had I actually checked? And how good were those batteries anyway?) The batteries were arranged in two banks of 3 plus one more of 2, At least I had isolated one of the banks to use for engine cranking. I had one more bank that I could use up, and then I would have to use the last two to start the generator (I hadn't tried that either... would it start? Would it make electricity?) to charge the main banks thru the battery charger. But so far, so good. The engine was still cranking OK.

Next, a little tickle in the back of my head made me look at the operating notes that the owner had left. Sure enough, in getting the Dickenson heater working last night, I had left the valving in a configuration which forced all the diesel to go thru a small electric fuel pump *before* it went to the more than adequate filter bank ahead of the engine. See, there is this little tiny screen in the pump, and the smallest chunk of glop will plug it off... Aha! So some valving changes were made, and rrrrrrrrr... nothing.

Next part of the process: gotta bleed the air out of the fuel system. Talk about learning under pressure! I had brought my tools along (good thing... there wasn't even a screwdriver on board). I dug out the engine manuals, and gave myself a quick course in Perkins diesels, and I bled the injection pump... rrrrrrrrrrrr... nothing.

Last resort... crack the line feeding the highest injector... pssttssttsst a bunch of bubbles came out! rrrrrrr... rumblerumblerumble!

Its a good thing that we hadn't made it to the shallow water. Learning how to operate the anchor windlass under panic conditions would not have been pretty.

Learnings

• Know your boat's systems - before leaving the dock. No matter how excited you may be.
• Always check the fuel valving before leaving the dock.
• Never leave the dock without tools
• Know how to bleed your engine fuel system
  
• Simplify fuel valving to the greatest extent possible. Put up a valving diagram nearby.
• Be ready to use the anchor if necessary. It may be all that stands between you and a grounding.
• If you are alone and near shallow water, put the anchor and 75-100' of rode over the side. If you drift into the shallows while your attention is below, the anchor hanging there will probably save your boat. You can always retrieve it later, when you have things squared away down below.
  

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Note: This material appeared earlier as a portion of a larger posting about our first voyage.

I learned about sailing from that: Fuel Valving

It's beginning to look...

Returning from our Thanksgiving holiday, we find that some of the boats in the marina have begun to decorate with lights. In particular, Doug and Ruth on Angelique have strung multicolored LED's along their lifelines. With (temporarily) no boat next to us, we have a delightful view out our starboard windows!

We'll have a veritable a boat parade of pictures for you just a little later on!

It's beginning to look...