Telltale

Now here's a word which, standing alone, has negative connotations.  To me, it seems to evoke feelings vaguely similar to "tattletale".

But in the marine world, a telltale is a good thing.  It provides proof that a system is working.

Outboard motors typically direct a tiny part of their cooling water to a port where the discharge stream is made visible - so that you know that the cooling water system is functioning.  (The only outboard we have here on Eolian is the little 2 HP Evinrude on our dinghy, and it does not have such a port - it doesn't have a cooling water pump either, depending instead on ram-effect for cooling water propulsion.)

But on Eolian our main engine does have a (perhaps inadvertent) telltale - when the engine is operating, some of the discharged cooling water comes out the anti-siphon vent on the port side.  Inspecting the vent discharge is not more convenient than looking over the stern for water discharge in the exhaust, but I have heard that some boats direct the vent stream into a cockpit drain, thus providing easily seen proof of cooling water flow for the helmsman.  And occasionally wet feet.

Our refrigerator cooling water circuit has a (also perhaps inadvertent) telltale too.  With our new pump, it is not possible to hear the pump running (yea!), so this becomes particularly important.  Now, our galley saltwater foot pump draws its water from the line between the refrigerator cooling pump to the refrigerator.  Thus, when the pump runs, enough pressure is produced that a stream of water makes it thru the foot pump and shows up in the sink.  (Of course, this affects the logistics of washing dishes a little - you want to do the wash in this side of the sink, and the drain-for-dry in the other side.)  And the frequent flow means that the water in the foot pump and lines does not get stagnant and smelly - operating the foot pump always produces fresh, clean seawater.

So if you can, replace that negative connotation with a positive one.  Let the word "telltale" leave you with an impression of sitting in front of a fire with someone who is telling you a story - a story that ends saying, "all is well."

Telltale

The Return of the Dolphin

1997

Long, long ago, Eolian used to have a figurehead:  a beautiful brass dolphin mounted between the bowsprit and the beakhead.  Unfortunately, he had to come off when we rebuilt the bowsprit.  And he has been languishing in the shop ever since.

Recently, however, the guilt I felt each time I had to move him on the workbench to make room for yet another project became overwhelming, and I made *the dolphin* the next project.

First I ran him over the buffing wheel.  This got the corroded sections cleaned up and made him gleam once again.

Next, he spent a few days hanging from the overhead handrail getting several fresh coats of varnish.

Now the interesting part begins.  He is held in place with two very long stainless lag bolts that pierce him and run into the beakhead and the bowsprit (he's metal - he cannot feel pain).  Of course, the hole in the beakhead is still there, but there is no hole in the new bowsprit.  And I won't just drive the lag bolt in there without at least a pilot hole.  So, how to get a pilot hole in the right place and at the right angle?

My answer was to mount him in place with the beakhead lag bolt.  Then, use an installer bit (this is a *really* long drill bit) to drill a pilot hole into the bowsprit, guided by drilling thru the holes in the top and the bottom of the dolphin.  Because I couldn't get a bit of the right size, I had to settle for a 1/8" bit - too small to act as a pilot hole for a 1/4" lag bolt.  But a great size to act as a pilot hole for the correct size conventional drill bit.  So after taking the dolphin down again, I enlarged the 1/8" hole to the proper size using a regular drill bit.  It was easy to keep it in alignment, since it wanted to follow the 1/8" pilot hole.

Next step:  rot protection of this penetration in the bowsprit.  I put a piece of tape over the hole, and used a hypodermic to inject "end cut solution" into the bore thru the tape, replenishing it as it soaked in.  This took a while.  And several beers.

Final step (well, final minus one): mount the dolphin.  To prevent seawater from getting inside the dolphin and into the bowsprit and beakhead, apply a liberal gob of white polysulphide around each of the holes in the dolphin.  Run the lag bolts in, but do not tighten them.

Wait a day for the polysulphide to cure.

Now go back and finish-tighten the bolts.  In this way, a rubber gasket is created from the polysulphide, and then compressed to make a seal which has the thickness to accommodate any relative movement of the bowsprit, dolphin and the beakhead.

2011

It's good to have him back, up there on the bow and guiding our way.

The Return of the Dolphin

Disorientation and adaptation

There is a word for this: that feeling of being in familiar surroundings that are somehow not right.  Where there are enough cues to make you feel that all is as it should be, but then there are others that are dissonant and contradict that.  My vocabulary is inadequate to the task of putting the word to it (perhaps one of you out there will help me).

Nevertheless, I think I have described the feeling well enough that you can follow along with me.  This weekend was full of that feeling.

First, I spent days mentally preparing myself for having our home hoisted out of its natural element and propped up on land, on blocks and stands.   And when that happens, life aboard (is that still the right term?) changes dramatically.  I've talked about it before - you can't run water down any of the drains, you can't run the refrigerator (it is water cooled) or the heat pump (also water cooled).  Which means that cooking changes dramatically, and that using the bathroom means a trip down a 12-foot step ladder and a walk across the yard and thru a locked gate.  Also, your days are full to the brim with work, so that you are exhausted at nightfall.  And eating out is the norm (see cooking, above).

Nevertheless, despite the mental prep work, when the actual event happens, there is still disorientation.  Looking forward, you see your bowsprit in the trees instead of over the water.

And the boat is still.  It feels dead, somehow.  And tho it may not make it into your conscious awareness, this troubles you while you sleep.  Which means, of course, that you sleep poorly.

But humans are remarkably adaptable.  Our brains have evolved to assimilate our surroundings, and make them familiar.  My theory is this is so that as much as possible of life is put onto subconscious autopilot, freeing up the conscious for more important tasks.  So after a couple of days, you adapt.  It is no longer remarkable that the sinks are not usable, or that your hands are always dirty and you are always sore and tired.  This becomes "normal", and you really don't think about it.  And then you *do* sleep at nite.

Ah, but then everything changes again.  The boat is picked up and re-introduced to water.  And as valves are opened and systems are brought back online, once again the disorientation returns - the subconscious programs in the autopilot are again no longer valid.

There are people who push adaptability hard - military folks, business people, pastor's families, musicians, cruisers.  They move frequently or travel extensively; they go thru change constantly.  Amazingly, human adaptability is able to make constant change into the constant, and put it into the subconscious autopilot.  These people then undergo disorientation when they cease the constant travel and/or moving - we say they "have itchy feet," or they are "footloose".

For us this past weekend, the haulout was so quickly accomplished that we never reached accommodation with life on the hard.  And yet, going back into the water was still disorienting.

But is is good to be afloat again.

Disorientation and adaptation

The fourth W

Back in our slip again!

SPLASH!

We're back in the water.

The whole event lasted less than 36 hours, which must be some kind of record.

And when we were pulling out of the Travelift slip, and waving goodbye to Roland, Tom and the crew (who were all out on the pier) I felt like we were waving to family.  And in a way we were - they have been taking care of Eolian and us for more than a decade.  We keep going back to have the work done by this crew because they recognize that a haulout is a traumatic experience to us (and every boat owner), and treat us accordingly, with professionalism and amazing attention to the details which make the process go safely and smoothly.


Below are some pictures of our brief time up on blocks, with some wisdom that I gained from Tom - he's got years of experience, working on hundreds of boats - boats which he sees year after year.  He gets to see what works and lasts, and what doesn't.

To clean a prop, I have always used a rotary wire brush chucked in an electric drill.  But Tom said that aside from the scratches the wire brush leaves, it will leave small pieces of iron embedded in the bronze, which could cause localized galvanic corrosion.  Instead he suggested I use a 3M disk - kind of an industrial version of Scotchbrite.  It worked great! 

Shiny, shiny

Definitely time for a new zinc!

Tom said that I should apply 1 coat of Barnacle Ban for each year I intended it to last - this is three coats, because I don't want us to haul out again until 2014.

On the left we see a groady old man, looking a lot less professional than the yard crew, buffing out the hull.  On the right and looking a lot better, Jane followed behind and did the boot stripe which I didn't want to do with the power buffer for fear of getting wax on the new bottom paint.  Tom suggested I use a different bonnet on the buffer - one which would cut the oxidation more quickly.  Once again, he was right.

The fourth W