Fond Nostalgia of a Bygone Era: HMS Wee Guy's Epilogue

In around Feburary of this year, the wee boat began to slip from its position as my life's central focus. I'd enrolled in a new form of tertiary education, which actually required attendance (!), and the time available for boating and boat-improvement was cut drastically overnight. I carelessly let water get into the fuel tank, and soon the old girl was not running her best. The one trip undertaken around this time ended with my co-skipper and I paddling the boat back to the boat ramp; the engine having died before we made it out the marina.

This represented the end really, from that day my heart was never really in it. I was getting plenty of sea time at boat school, and was beginning to appreciate the practicality of outboard motors. I kept the boat through this time however, as I still had in my mind that I would finish it when time permitted. Time didn't permit though, and it sat untouched for most of a month.

I did well at boat school, and through the HOD, I was offered a place on a sailboat delivery to Fiji. It sounded like a good time, so I signed on. As is the case with most small boat crewing, it was unpaid, and I lacked the funds to get the requisite foul-weather gear, boots, provisions, and a return flight. HMS Wee Guy's fate was sealed.

It was quickly sold to a nice feller who I'm sure will do her justice. I watched it leave the driveway from the kitchen window, with a wistfulness unlike any I'd felt before. While the boat wasn't great any aspect, it was my first, and the most challenging project I'd taken on to date. What's more, when I look back I think it had come to reflect many of my own attributes. The motor/hull combination was eccentric, and looked immensely impractical. Like me however, it was loathe to leave people in the lurch, and (generally) mustered the wherewithal it needed to get the job done. Underestimated by most, and overestimated by me, the Wee Guy was in many ways my inanimate, boat-shaped twin.

I found the post above as a draft, after two years of not logging in. I hope those of you who arrive here having searched something like"shitty diesel boat does wheelie leaky exhaust ran aground help?" might find this blog of use, and those returning might find some closure to the Wee Guy's story.

And, happening upon one of the more practical articles in such a way, then perhaps reading on to find yourself here, where are you left? If you are entertaining such a project, I offer as much encouragement as is possible, as having such a (shitty) boat was the most enriching experience of my young life. While my best friends and I put ourselves in no real danger, we did pit my/our workmanship against significant imaginary danger, and the very real risk of an embarrassment and long lectures from salty old bastards and the coastguard, which would have eventuated had we been forced to solicit their towing services had said workmanship failed us. Good fuckin' luck I say, enjoy it!

Assaultin' Battery: A New Look at the Switching Process

Its been very quiet on the boating front for a few weeks now. After much action over the Christmas break, the long-suffering wheel bearings finally gave up the ghost, and we came very close to losing a wheel on the way home from the marina after the last trip. Closer inspection revealed that little of the hub and axle was salvageable, and thus the HMS Wee Guy will enjoy a well-earned rest until the funds for new hubs avail themselves.

Personally, however, I’m not much of a fan of rest, and I’m even less a fan of things well-earned. With work having dried up at my temp job, I’m time-rich and currency-poor, and have begun to look for things to do on the boat that are congruent with the aforementioned conditions. 

I had a gander round the boat, and within 8 seconds or so had found enough to keep me busy till at least June.  This included a lot of things that I’d always planned to sort, but had been filed in the non-urgent basket, and I decided that the first of these should be the leisure-battery system.

Initially, the extra battery was just a way of adding ballast, as the front of the boat was still sitting high after the swim-platform addition. Both batteries are located in front of the cabin, directly under where the foredeck begins, with heavy cables running beneath the floor to the engine. They have proved useful in this capacity, and the boat’s static trim has been much improved by their presence there. I plan to add a stereo in the future, plus lights and an electric trolling motor, and so it makes sense to isolate the second battery so that these things can be used without danger of running out of starting power.

Blue to IGN, white to solenoid terminal,  two big ones go to the' + terminals

The basic principle is simple: a standard relay connects and disconnects the batteries, so that they’re connected when the engine’s running (and charging), and disconnected otherwise. To have two batteries cranking the engine is best avoided however, for a number of different reasons, and therein is a design problem. What circuit could be used to connect the batteries when the ignition’s on, but not when the starter’s engaged?

I’ve heard of multiple means of switching them, which all fail this basic requirement. The ignition circuit is commonly used, but this has the batteries connected while starting. The oil pressure sensor can be used to trigger the relay, but an engine can build oil pressure long before it actually fires, and hold oil pressure for up to a minute after its switched off. Therefore the second battery could be engaged while cranking, nullifying the benefit.

I think I may have come up with a solution however. Having repaired a starter motor recently, I remembered a design feature that we could use here. A starter at rest has almost no resistance(voltage drop of 0.3V), and thus the outgoing terminal on the starter solenoid can be used as a ground. When starting however, it becomes +12v, as the solenoid is now providing voltage to that side of the starter. Therefore, if we connect the negative side of the relay trigger to this terminal, and the positive side to the ignition circuit we get a voltage difference of:

12V when IGN on, and starter not cranking  (relay will connect batteries, for charging when started)

0V when IGN on, and starter is cranking (relay will disconnect batteries as long as starter is running, after which returns to above state)

0V when IGN off (relay disconnects batteries, can thus use in isolation when at rest)

This is the best system I’ve come across I think. I’ve wired it all, just need to get some terminals for the house battery and she’s done! I’ll be working through the list over the next few weeks and should be updating again soon, so stay tuned. Happy boating!

The Only Rational Response to Lack of Boat Progress and Inclement Weather:

Its spring here in New Zealand. "Yay!" you think, "Dave will be heartened by the improving weather and this period will see untold progress on his little boat!" In fact, quite the opposite is true. In this evergreen country with little wildlife, all spring represents is a period of uncomfortable wind and a negligible decrease in rain over winter-proper. The nation suffers collective amnesia, having forgotten that the year before (and all those before that) featured these disgusting, non-boat-compatible conditions, and that the repeated disappointment could be avoided if either we remembered what 'spring' means, or perhaps called it something more realistic, such as "Extended Winter" or "the season of hopelessness, depression, and eventual death."

As such I am resigned to a state of abject self-pity. I can't do anything in the wind, it unsettles me. I end up going inside to paint watercolour pictures of wistful-looking iguanas trapped in the bottom of buckets, stood under a leaky shower in a draught-plagued dungeon. This activity is the only therapy available to us "spring sufferers."

As so often happens, particularly amongst us sailing folk, I've turned to drink. More accurately, I've turned back to drink. Or, to be exhaustive, I've made a triumphant return to a successful homebrewing operation (gotcha!).

GOJ - A porter, 9%+ ABV, coffee, oats, cocoa.. BOOM.

My punk rock bro and I made our first batch of the 'G.O.J.' in March, soon after which he disappeared to Australia and the operation ceased. A couple of months back it resumed with his return, and the new batch of the sweet nectar compelled us (in its excellence and smashability) to begin to take the science seriously.


In taking the profound learnings of all science and philospohy, we were guided (both by logic and an overwhelming spiritual predilection) towards the vision of drums filled with the ominous black liquid, pressurised with gas, which as well as enhancing the body of the beverage, would force it out the drum and through a tap when it was opened. We postulated, in hushed, reverential tones, that one could place a glass underneath this "tap" and collect the improved GOJ there and drink it.


We were dismayed to find that someone else has already invented this, and given it the uninspiring moniker of "Draught Beer." Even some pubs have it apparently.

As men of immense fortitude, we recovered after only a few spilt tears, and got cracking. Jack had happened upon a tap in a second hand store, and I figured everything else required could be found around the house. I had a tank of argon for welding with a regulator, and hoses, which just left a temporary 'keg' to be found. The best we could manage was a 1L pineapple juice bottle, which would just have to do.

Holes were drilled in the bottle cap, which were pleasantly snug. The pickup hose (to the tap) was fed through so it'd be just off the bottom of the bottle, and the gas inlet just poked through enough to allow for gluing. Hot glue was chosen for its fast drying time, and it provided a reasonable seal.

All that was required thereafter was adjustment of the gas flow, and we were drinking draught GOJ! Euge arrived during our first sips (as is his enviable habit) and we proceeded to smash keg after keg. As the rain set in we moved the rig to Euge's house, and Jack and I properly began the inaugural boozy do.

GOJ's performance as a heavy prolonged drinking beer was mixed. Both of us experienced time travel and teleportation on a regular basis, sometimes both at once. It was quite unsettling, but I did get to witness the Norman conquest of Wales (King Gruffudd ap Llywelyn's a dick by the way). The caffeine in the GOJ seemed to have undergone some kind of metamorphosis also, as we got the jittery, delirious side of it but not so much of the stimulation.

From what I can work out we only had about three pints each, but we were absolutely schmammered. Upon reaching our respective beds, we both passed out easily enough, but awoke about two hours later and didn't manage to sleep again that night. The current batch has been made with Decaf, and we expect more sleep and less teleportation in the next event.

It was a great time however, and at least we've taught spring a thing or two about respect. I'm investigating installing a keg setup in the boat once she's working again, but ultimately Neptune must sort his weather out before I'll bestowing him that honour.

Stay tuned for the preparation and testing of a 50L keg - plus more boat action!

A Proper Test Run

Working on my boat is intrinsically worthwhile, but to see it perform is a new level of satisfaction. Taking your boat any distance from land is to trust in the quality of your work, as well as your skill and composure should something go wrong.  Usually anyway, in my case it was more of a strident disregard for safety and an irrepressible need for instant gratification; in this spirit we set forth!

I had the displeasure of hearing Bon Jovi's "Blaze of Glory" earlier in the week, and whilst the musical aspect made me naueseous, something about the  lyrical content resonated with me, and I decided that Saturday's adventure would take place across low tide. This meant that we wouldn't be able to get home between leaving at 7am and 2 in the afternoon, and if serious trouble arose we'd have to beach the boat or fix it out there. This minor concern was also outweighed by superior fishing compared to an afternoon session, and it was settled!


The details will be omitted herein, simply because they aren't very interesting.  We didn't go "Down in a blaze of Glory", and thus its just not bloggable. We did decimate fish stocks and just generally have a rad time though. Every outing in this boat has been radder than the last, and every moment of radness is doubly rad because its been such an involved and challenging journey to get it to this point. RAD RAD RAD!

One more Bodge Job, then its Fishing Time!

With the platforms covering the lower half on the transom, there was now nowhere for the exhaust to exit below the engine's manifold. This is something of an issue, as the cooling water is injected into the exhaust immediately after the manifold to keep it cool, and if the exhaust runs straight uphill then seawater will seep back into the engine when its shut off. This is obviously an issue, so some engineering is required to move the water up and safely out of harm's way.

Fortunately, someone else has already solved this problem, when they invented the waterlift muffler. These use the pulses of exhaust leaving the engine to lift a column of water to heights well in excess of what we need here, and I set to making a temporary one.

As the water level covers the bottom of the exit pipe, a seal is made, and that water sitting in the bottom of the pipe is shot out with the next exhaust pulse. The process reaches equilibrium at high engine load, whereupon the water is shot out in super thin sheets, or even a mist, and thus the back pressure should be minimal.

The problem was what to make it from. I had some PVC pipe of about the right size, and I declared this suitable, but the main container/resonator part was less obvious. We had a look for paint buckets but couldn't find any that were empty, so I popped home and had a look for a strong container with reasonable heat and pressure resistance. All I found was a plastic petrol can, and whilst not quite the volume I was hoping for, I figured it should be strong enough, plus less prone to cracking than other plastics.

My home-made waterlift muffler

Two holes were made with a holesaw, and the pipes fit snugly into them. The surrounding area was degreased, and sanded with 60 grit, and the pipes glued with thick epoxy. I think the petrol can is vinylester, which isn't the best substrate for epoxy from what I understand, so extra care was taken to ensure a good bond.

The next day it was dry, and ready to fit after trimming the exit pipe.  This was then bent slightly with a heat gun (I don't reccommend this, buy the right elbow) as we only had a 45 degree elbow rather than a 90.

It performed entirely satisfactarily in testing; the noise reduction wasn't huge, but it was noticeable and took the sharp edge off the exhaust note. There was no problem with the lifting aspect, and a check after the engine was off confirmed that there was no danger of water ending up back in the engine, YUSS!

Under cruising power the water is largely atomised :{D

I'm unsure what could be done to make it quieter. I suspect incorporating baffles would help, as would a larger volume container. From what I have seen so far, I find no reason why this couln't be made from plywood and fibreglass, though I'd suggest incorporating a thermocouple and a basic heat alarm in case there are water supply issues. I think much of the sound level in this case is mechanical noise from the exposed engine; when this is boxed in I expect a larger reduction.

I plan to give this a good test before a redesign - its more than adequate for the moment. I was quoted around $300 for the correctly sized commercial equivalent, I can make at least twenty more prototypes for that sum and I'm sure I'll have something that's as good, if not better.

Rad work team, I'll see ya next time for more DIY adventures!

Introducing Chemical Dependance to an Already Strained Relationship:

The boat before me was not the one I'd loved before. From the end of its glossy white exterior, the grafts sprouted as a bulbous mutation; their appearance not altogether unattractive, but alien, and altogether incongruent with everything that made that vessel what it was. Their host was not intrinsically different however - in construction and shape they couldn't be more closely related. Yet all that connected them were two dozen zinc-plated screws. What, I asked, could resolve these tensions and unite the two forever?

Answer: Thermoplastic and woven glass extrusions. Duh.

Here's how we were situated, with a hull extension like the one pictured (left) on each side of the boat. These were not strong enough to cope with any of the forces they were designed for, as all that was holding them together (and on to the hull) was a few screws. Plus there were significant gaps on some joins, and the likelihood of any aspect of them being functional was fairly slim. Luckily, this was considered in the design process, and there was always going to be another step before their boat ramp baptisation - fibreglassing!

In case you were wondering, I mean with epoxy resin and woven boat cloth. As far as I'm concerned that is the only kind of fibreglass. Polyester resin and chopped strand mat existed only so that we'd all have time to practice and hone our skills before the real deal came along. I did not use polyester resin for glassing this boat for the same reason that I did not use Lego to make the engine mounts; both may be "easier to work with" but I would quite like a functional boat at the end of this. Ok!

Hull planed flat with extension, this was done on every contiguous surface

The first step was to plane across where the extensions met the hull, which provides a good surface for the resin to adhere to, and ensures that extension and hull meet at exactly the same level. The latter is crucial for performance and the former is crucial for strength, and with the electric plane it didn't take long.

Well, its now the part of the story where I talk about actual fibreglassing. If you have yet to try fibreglassing the bottom of something, I'm afraid I can't express the misery involved in normal prose, and suggest you imagine yourself trying to escape from a disused well that local residents use to dispose of surplus marmalade and net curtains. Hamish and I did the 'wet lay-up' method, where you brush on resin first, then try and push the cloth up onto it. It was tricky and we ended up with a couple of creases and bubbles on the first side, which appear opaque and white, whereas properly wetted out resin is transparent. These can be sliced or sanded off and then filled, so all was not lost.

The other side went much better, though I'm not sure why. We then glassed strips over all the joins that weren't already coated, then did another coat of resin over the rest. Wherever glass cloth wasn't hard up against ply there were more opaque spots, and these seem much more prone to having pinholes with no resin, so much care was taken in the resin coat to fill these little squares and ensure waterproofness. And that was that, woo!

And thats how two became one, and no stress (hydrostatic or hydrodynamic) would ever turn them apart (probably, don't want to jinx it!). I haven't taken any photos post-fibreglass, but here's what the extensions look like, see ya next time!

Unacceptable Stern Freeboard Ends Here!

After much conjecturing about how much of what force needs to be applied where (see below post), I arrived at the conclusion that making hull extension/swim platform things for each side of the boat would solve the stern heaviness issue. I worked out the exact torques and their net sum, and was able to calculate that they would "probably work ok" as long as they were "quite big." I was now completely convinced and set to make the modifications in accordance with this consummately specific brief.

The first step is always to make a template from wherever your modification will be affixed. I make a habit of doing this first part in a mad rush and with only partial concentration, so that the first piece is always completely useless and must be remade. By doing this I ensure that any excess enthusiasm is quashed, and the fact that I can't make things out of wood very well remains at the forefront of my mind until the project's completion. Once this is out the way things generally go much better. The second attempt at the first piece is on the left.

I nailed a bit of ply to the transom and traced around it, then popped it off again to cut. Its important for performance that there is a smooth transition between the hull bottom and the extension, so I deducted 12mm from these areas, so the ply that runs back from the transom should be close to the same level as the hull. This may not make sense now, but you'll see it in the other photos.

The vertical bits were then measured and cut. These had to fit closely since they form the gussets that hold the extensions rigid when their buoyancy is pushing upwards, or people's weight pushing downwards. Needless to say not all of them were perfect first time, but they were soon sorted, and I could start the longitudinal pieces.

The bottom piece needed careful lining up to ensure its angle was near identical to the hull's angle. I screwed the front end, then adjusted the back with a car jack, till both looked good against a straight edge. After screwing this rigid, I made the side piece, then the angled part that joins them. They had 20mm overlaps at this point, and cutting the shallow angles was a bit of a headache. In the end I used a handsaw, and by holding the blade against the upper piece of ply (in both cases) I was able to get the angle very nearly perfect, as seen in the photo to the left. Woo!

It took me two days to finish this first one, and I was very happy with the result. I figured it should take me like 4 hours to copy it and make the other side - just got to make careful measurements and cut the same thing reversed, right? Wrong!

Both sides nearing completion

It took the remaining three days of the week to make the other side; almost every piece required two attempts (or more), plus I was running out of 12mm ply and had to scavenge what I could from around the place. Hence my work bench is now missing 1/3 of its top surface, and one my mum's shelves in her office has mysteriously transfigured itself into 18mm ply (Shhh!).

Woodworking on boats is especially tricky. When making house modifications everything can be level, vertical or 45 degrees usually, whereas here there is no way to get a reliable level, and thus no way to get either of the other angles. Hence all the crucial measurements were made with a straight edge off the hull, and then a sliding bevel was used for any subsequent cuts. The starboard side took much longer, since as well as matching the hull, it also had to match the other side. Eventually both sides were within 5mm of each other, and most dimensions were within 2mm. It was the most mentally challenging part of this whole project thus far, but I'm sure the results will be worth it.

Next time: The Wee Guys get her glued, glassed and gorgeous - stay tuned!