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!

"Sternz up, Bowz Down!"

If you don't have at least a mild interest in half-baked physics, skip this post

Those were Snoop Dogg's exact words when I called him to ask for advice on our boat's weight distribution. I thanked him earnestly and began thinking about the situation. As far as I could surmise, the problem was that the moments exerted by the motor, stern leg and (to a lesser extent) the battery, were all significantly behind the boats centre of buoyancy; the pivot about which these torques are applied.

I ran a string line along the boat's bottom and its current waterline, and worked out the rough cross-sectional area every 0.5m. By averaging these and mutiplying them by the waterline length, I came up a point 1.2m from the transom as the boat's centre of buoyancy. I then worked out the torques on the sketch below:

The negative number reflects the torque's direction, ie pushing the stern down. I estimate (based on no evidence whatsoever) that if that were reduced by half or more then the boat would sit about right. But how?

A few options spring to mind:                

1. Move the engine forward

2. Add ballast to the front of the boat to balance it

3. Find a lighter engine, or even modify the transom for an outboard

4. Add displaced volume behind the centre of buoyancy.

I am lucky to have a buddy who works for a prominent yacht building company, and he suggested considering extending the hull, but boxing in the stern leg where it is. I had had a bit too much to drink at the time that this chat took place, so possibly missed some useful tips that might have made the process easier, but I came up with this the next day:

Essentially the plan was to build two hull extension box things, to around half the transom height, and pass it off as a swim platform. I sketched them and came up with dimensions, and found they'd add around 70kg of buoyancy each when submerged. Those with experience in reading kindergarten-quality technical diagrams will see above that they restore net torque on the system to just -20Nm, in conjunction with the battery being moved to the bow.

I can't be sure this will work, since its an assumption made upon previous assumptions, but it will definitely help. If need be the issue can be mitigated with other measures from the list above.

Snoop will be so pleased :D , see ya next time!

Second Test Launch Day!

Wee Dave!

Mine and Hamish's excitement was of such incredible magnitude that it actually threatened to tear the universe apart at its salty epicentre, so its lucky that we were able to get a launch in on the next Friday afternoon. In doing that we believe we've saved humanity, but we may not be completely absolved from blame if 2012 actually happens, we were THAT excited.


I thus had four days between test launches to get everything tickety-boo. I reluctantly conceded that installing the correct number of bolts in the stern leg was neccessary, and sealed the exhaust and the other glaring sinking hazards from the week before. Before I knew it, it was Friday and it was all on. In spite of this, things felt much less rushed than last time, everything felt very ready, and the purchasing of bait and ice was closer to being justified.Things went smoothly in the marina. She came off the trailer fine, and I set to driving around in circles by the boatyard while I waited for Hamish to park. I swung back to pick him up, and we began to learn how boat-driving and car-driving are not tantamount to the same skill. I think a diagram will help here:

1 - Beginning to grasp the beginning of boat driving here. 4 - Hamish has to run to the front to grab a post we're about to hit and push us off again.   2 - Ran aground.   3 - Ran aground.   4 (upper one - haha!) - Notice temp gauge very hot.   5 - Realise flushing tap open so water pump has been pumping mostly air, slowly turn back on and decide to head back to shore believing we've blown the head gasket and cracked the heat exchanger. Whoops!

Haha no but its not all bad! It was probably a good 20 minute trip, as we did about 1kt out the marina (paranoid about another accidental speed record attempt), at 400rpm and as many decibels, and had a grand wee time! Also we did try and get the boat on the plane once we were past the breakwater, and it almost did! There is something of a problem though, in that the motor weighs a lot and is very far back, and thus will undermine our attempts to do maritime things effectively until something changes there. Or somewhere else... (spoilers!)

So anyway that was that. I'll leave you this picture and the weight problem to ponder, until next time!

Test launch Day!!

Hint

For weeks the boat had been creeping closer to sea-readiness, and it was decided that the coming weekend would be the one. Hamish's parents were away (always a catalyst for progress), so after working all Saturday we moved the boat to their garage and continued into the night. A few more jobs were taken care of on Sunday morning, until there came a point where we figured there was nothing more to do. It was terrifying.

We began the slow journey to the water, and stopped in at the petrol station for boat diesel and gas for the borrowed aux motor. We quickly attracted the attention of two old seadogs, one of whom was full of admiration for the thing, and one who could find nothing better to do than point out every possible flaw and sinking hazard. Though the latter was clearly just old and jaded, it increased my terror level to near breakdown point. I was running low on nails to bite also, and wondered how much of my arms I would consume before we arrived at the boat ramp. Luckily both legs of the journey total less than seven minutes so all limbs and appendages arrived intact.

I rolled one last, sparse cigarette, and walked ahead of the trailer, going through everything needing done before leaving the dry and then the trailer. The nerves had clearly spread to my crew also, as all of us were getting increasingly bitchy. Jumping in the boat as Hamish backed her down, I put her in neutral, checked the bungs for the ninth time, and attempted a deep breath.

Surprising how deep the water in the marina is

Water was creeping in the missing stern leg bolts that Hamish and I had deemed unnecessary, as well as through the unsealed exhaust hole which I'd assumed was above the waterline, not realising the stern floats lower on the boat ramp. Figuring we could just bail all that later, I pressed on. With water now a couple of inches deep, I found my temporary flylead and got the glowplugs going, then gave it a crank. After 10 seconds or so I began to suspect something, as it'd started beautifully every time since I put the primer bulb on, but this time not a murmur!

I opened the vent screw on the injector pump and squeezed through some diesel on the primer, but there were no bubbles. I cracked cylinder 1 & 2's injectors also, and cranked for another 10 seconds. Fortunately at this point a wrench fell and landed on the injector pump, and picking it up I noticed that the Stop lever was on. Thank Neptune! With that off she started up within a second, and after the injector nuts were back on she was purring. If that wrench hadn't landed there I might very well have dismantled the whole engine there on the boat ramp, lucky it did!

For better or worse, it didn't occur to me that if I was capable of that big of an oversight, then perhaps I didn't quite have all my faculties. That I should maybe cool off and have another cigarette, or take a general stock of the general situation (slowly sinking, controls too primitive, brain not working). Worrying.

Looking over the transom though I was pleased to see gallons of water spraying out the exhaust, and the engine chugging away merrily. At Rob's suggestion I tried putting it into forward, and that was all working ok.

From this point its something of a blur, though I distinctly remember saying "It's fine, don't panic" as much to myself as to Rob, after reversing off the trailer with a bit too much vigour, in the process breaking several water-speed records and almost sucking the transom underwater . The "above waterline" openings were spewing water inwards, but I dove for the throttle and gear lever at the same time and halted our journey underwater. The lack of throttle killed the engine however, so we were drifting haplessly away, and I really thought we were going to sink.

I am not ashamed to say that I have never been so afraid in my life. I assume I knew (don't really remember) that we weren't going to die, but I do love this little boat. What's worse is that it sinking would've substantiated every snarky remark I've ever received from defeatists who will never take a risk in their life, and who scorn me for backing myself to pull these things off. Some of my friends are these type of people, and I resent them expressing doubts about their own abilities, let alone about mine. Victory here is the only option, as they have to learn AGAIN,  that Wee Dave never doubts himself and that is why he usually wins.

Anyway, on to what happened next. I am pleased to say I remained reasonably equanimous, found the flylead and got her going again. Memory fails me slightly, but I think that in the preceding hysteria I had knocked her into forwards, so we took off at some speed and were almost on the plane before I could get to the controls, but I got there in time, cut it, and steered her gently onto the trailer. We covered that ten metres or so very quickly!

Just kidding, she's still above water! I just didn't take any photos and needed to keep things exciting.

The other guys couldn't figure out the winch, so I jumped out to the bank alongside and paid out some line, and we got her back on without too much hassle. Naturally the old miserable guy from the gas station was I-told-you-so-ing, but I really didn't care. We'd packed in a whole boat trip's excitement into three minutes or so, and had lost neither life nor vessel! The fishing rods and snacks may have been a bit ambitious though... Haha!

I'm smiling now just thinking about that launch, retrospectively it was the most fun I've ever had! Stay tuned for more Adventures of Wee Dave!

You Bought What?!?!?!?!

What do you do when you're losing momentum on your current project? When you can't be bothered doing anything on it? When it all seems like too much work? You buy something bigger, in worse condition, that demands unrealistic growth of your already over-stretched skills and patience!!

The benefit is twofold; firstly, it reminds you that your current task isn't so difficult - that if you're prepared to even begin such a mammoth undertaking, you should be able to knock out what you're currently working on in no time!

Secondly, the speedy (rushed) completion of the task at hand reminds you how quickly things can get done, and how you do have the skills to pull this off.

That's the theory anyway.

This story begins with Wee Dave again perusing the pages of New Zealand's premier eBay knockoff, TradeMe. Listed in the wrong section, under a confusing title, I happened upon an auction for a 32 foot planing launch hull, with large, vital pieces cut from the hull, and the general appearance of something that would not be prone to floating. Ever.

"Ha!" I thought, "even I wouldn't buy that!" I realised after a few seconds that what I meant was "I really, really want to buy that. I must somehow find the money and space."

When I think of money, space, and a combination of hyper-positivity and unflinching self-belief that almost rivals mine, I think of one person. Hamish. A two minute phone conversation was all that was required to seal the deal - we were going to buy it, we were going to fix it, and we were going to be - LAUNCH-OWNERS.

The following few days were a blur, what I do remember is explaining to everyone that questioned our judgement in this investment that what they were feeling was "launch-envy", and being slightly worried that I may have some kind of manic euphoria disorder.

We ended up winning the auction, and drove down to Raglan (around 2 hours south-west) to pick it up soon after. Hamish and I giggled incessantly for the entire duration of the drive, and arrived to find something that was completely worthy of launch-envy, both in mine and Hamish's definition and the sense in which others' criticism was intended.

As you can see in the photo, it made my giant Bedford Van look small! On the con side, it did have some serious rot and a large hole in the bottom, plus it was only 28 (NOT 32 ) feet long. Still, LAUNCH-OWNERS!!

Help! I think my engine wants to experiment with Seawater!

You've done your best for engine; nurtured it through sickness, given it sustenance and nice things, and a steady home. Its almost ready to go out into the world on its own however, and you're worried it may be lead astray.  You know other engines in the area are ingesting copious amounts of seawater almost every weekend, and stories of ruin and self-destruction are rife. You're worried, as anyone would be!

Ultimately the cost of depriving your beloved motor the "salty" (one of seawater's many streetnames) may cause greater damage than it trying it (and recovering afterwards) with you present. By being responsible and setting boundaries early, you can make its seawater habit far less dangerous and prevent your loved one's slide into ruin.

 Sorry about that, I assure you the substance abuse analogy is now over. Its implication cannot be overstated however, seawater is horrible stuff and you need to protect your motor from it!

Here's a very simple way that I used on my boat. The main 1" seawater line has a T-piece going to a barbed 1/2" hose fitting, with a tap mounted above that. A garden hose can thus be connected after a voyage and used to flush out the horrible, evil, marriage-destroying, demonic, pernicious, insidious... SALT WATER that hides in every pore of your cooling system. The elbow (on the far right) is around 1" higher than the inlet, so that that length of hose will have plenty of water in it, and therefore the pump in the engine won't run dry. NOTE: If the hose tap is left open when you next launch, the pump WILL run dry (or at least suck in lots of air and become very sad), so exercise caution if you implement a similar system.

The hole in the hull was drilled with a spade bit, and then the thru-hull was fitted with both an opposing nut and large amounts of thickish epoxy glue. The epoxy should bolster the mechanical strength as well as provide a watertight seal, and once the excess was wiped off the fitting looked very neat. A large ball valve was fitted immediately after the hull fitting, so that if a hose splits upstream the water inrush can be stopped easily.

These connections (particularly below the waterline where they are under positive pressure) should have two stainless steel hoseclamps per join, and eventually they will. This is definitely not the place to use crappy, zinc-plated $5-for-a-10-pack clamps, as their failure could overheat the engine and/or sink the boat if they fail under certain conditions.

So, that takes care of the saltwater (urgh!) and freshwater flushing (YAY!) systems. Remember: You can't stop your engine engorging itself on the 'salty' when its out and about, but you can slow the effects of salt abuse when the boat's living under your roof. Rad!

The Unfathomable Depths of the Propulsion Conundrum:

The recklessness of my youth returned on this one, with results that would make a grown man weep. Upon finding that the fast idle function wasn't working on the remote engine/gear controls we'd bought, I set to work on them a bit too vigorously, and in the process broke a vital piece of plastic. A family of gears, linkages, bearings and splines depended on this plastic matriarch, for her stoic leadership and resolute equanimity were the thread that held together their uneasy seams; and without her they quickly descended in anarchy. Not threats, nor sobs, nor pleas would restore order, and I was forced to dismantle with the hope of rebuilding a more harmonious system in the future.

Throttle level on the right, gear lever (grey thing, barely visible left of throttle),
and linkages inside

Since they refused to work under the guidance of one lever, I resolved to add another one. This way the throttle could be controlled with the original lever, and the gear with another. The gear-change system was very simple, based around an M10 bolt running through the remote casing, connecting the lever on the outside to a shorter lever on the inside, the shorter lever was then connected to the gear-shift cable. The levers were made from flat-bar steel, and both were threaded, so their position could be adjusted, and then locked to the central bolt with a locking nut. In the end, all this threading and locking business proved pointless, since they were prone to coming unlocked, even with all the torque on the nuts we could muster, and were thus welded.

All cable clamps/pivot things I make are of the same type, as this is the best I've come up with given my lack of fancy tools. They are made by grinding a small flat spot just under the head of a bolt, then drilling a hole just bigger than the cable through the flat spot to the other side. The cable goes through this hole and has a washer each side, then a nut can be tightened towards the head of the bolt to clamp the cable. These were made on the other end of the cables in M8 (stern leg gear linkage) and M6 (throttle control). In testing so far they seem totally satisfactory, hooray!

I was inching ever closer to D-day, stay tuned for the haps and mishaps that followed!

Steering: Quite an Important Activity

The title is right you know, though only tenuous academic evidence exists in support of the theory, I have long suspected that boats which are unsteerable are less enjoyable to use and more likely to sink, and I believe my position on the matter is gaining favour in several boating circles. As keen as I am to prove this theory, I am now too attached to this little boat to take it out to sea without steering, even for the benefit of nautical science - thus I decided to install a steering system.

Long time readers of The Adventures of Wee Dave (this blog's stats suggest there may be as many as two of you) will remember that I purchased one with the infamous 'Parts Boat.' Sadly I sold this, believing that I would use the cable-over-pulley system supplied with my boat instead. This turned out to be too much work and associated expense, so I purchased a teleflex system and engine controls, with a few more bits thrown in, from a boat that was being scrapped.

Really the purchase and installation of such a system should've taken place before the engine was in, but funding issues prevented this, so I was forced to work in the cramped space immediately behind the engine as best I could.

Cable Mount 2.0

The teleflex system works by the helm unit pushing or pulling on a very heavy, thick cable, which in turn pushes or pulls on the stern leg, or onto an arm and linkage that takes the actuator just inside the transom, as is the case here. Installation is therefore fairly simple, all the tricky stuff is taken care of by the helm unit. All that needs doing is to mount the helm, fasten the cable sleeve on the other end so it can't move, and affix the end of the cable to the stern leg's steering linkage.

In spite of this, cable mount 1.0 was slightly under-engineered. It was a simple steel bracket that was screwed tightly over the cable's metal end-sleeve, but in the end the cable worked itself loose, and a redesign was required. Hamish suggested a much simpler system, which clamped onto the flexible cable rather than the metal sleeve on it's end, and thus allowed some lateral play as the steering arm moves through its arc. The same kind of bracket was used, but a second was added 100mm or so further down the cable. Whilst this would likely have been strong enough, we decided that putting hose clamps on the inside of these brackets would be good insurance and would keep the whole assembly more rigid.

Hamish quickly whipped up a helm station at the back of the cabin, and it all worked great! One less thing to do before launch day, yes!

Painting the Deck

The deck of this boat is made of plywood, and it didn't respond very well to varnish. It all looked a bit grubby and was bringing the whole boat down. I had been told by both my boatbuilding buddies to varnish the rest of the wood, but paint the deck in grip paint, and for once I decided to follow their advice! After enquiring at my local paint shop, I was recommended a product called 'Don't Slip!', which they recommended over other products in spite of the name. I figured any product that survives in spite of marketing blunders of that magnitude must be good, and decided to give it a shot, and kiss goodbye the mankyness of varnished plywood forever!

The paint is extremely viscous, almost sour cream-like in viscosity. After spreading over the deck, the anti-slip profile is applied using a roller that resembles rough velcro. It has a tendency to flick paint all over everything, so if you're going to give it a jam then mask everything carefully, or be very cautious! I was a bit sparing with the stuff, and used only a litre over the whole deck(remember its super thick!), which has led to do darker patches around the place, but it still looks great I think. I'll touch up these patches later. Grip wise its very good, certainly a rougher profile than the type that uses aggregate mixed in with the paint.

I put the bow rail and deck fittings on a couple of days later, and the thing looks transformed. Painting may not be the most exciting job out, but its unbeatable for instant gratification :{D

Onwards and nextwards!

Giving the New Engine What it Needs!

Diesels aren't typically very needy (older ones anyway) when it comes to outside connections. Most will run with just:

Fuel send line (from tank)
Fuel return line (to tank)
+12v to diesel solenoid (not always a neccessity)
Battery negative wire to the block
Positive wire to the starter
+12v to starter solenoid

My Volvo has mechanical stop control rather than a solenoid, so its just the other five!

The boat came with the fuel tank pictured, and all the framing is the for it to fit snugly under the port berth. It has a couple of downsides however. The first is that it only holds around 30 litres, which is only an hour and twenty mins or so at cruising fuel consumption (calculated at 70hp). The second is that it has no baffles.

Baffles are internal plates inside a fuel tank designed to stop fuel sloshing around, which its prone to do both during changes of pitch or roll, and changes in direction. With a petrol engine this is less of a problem, because the fuel tank pickup can suck up a bit of air from time to time, and this will escape from the vent in the top of the carburettor. With a diesel however, the injectors need hundreds of PSI of pressure to open and squirt fuel into the cylinders, which is supplied by the injector pump. If air gets into these high pressure injection lines, it acts as a cushion, since it is compressible, whereas diesel is not. The cushioning effect means the pressure in the injector lines drops and the injectors don't have enough pressure to open, and the engine stops running. It won't run again until the injector lines have been bled of this air, which is a time-consuming and sometimes difficult process. Hence baffles are a good thing!

Anyway, thats of small concern until we're actually close to boating, so we'll focus on the neccessities. First, a send line must be run from the fuel tank to the fuel inlet of the diesel filter housing. This was made from 6mm ID copper, flared to fit the tank fitting and connected with hose to the filter at the other end. A return line was also made from the same tubing, which takes excess diesel (used to cool the injectors) back to the tank.

Since the tank was designed as a petrol tank, it has no return fitting. In the photo above you can make out the return fitting I made, from an elbow of steel fuel line (has a hose attached in photo), glued with epoxy into the tank. Epoxy has good resistance to diesel (and many other things) plus a high mechanical strength, so it made sense to make the fitting this way. With that taken care of, it was just electrical matters to take care of. Or was it (spoiler alert)?

I then put battery terminals on some heavy gauge wire I took from the SR20. The negative was connected to ground, and the positive to the non-live copper bolt connection on the starter motor solenoid. I put an alligator clipped wire on the solenoid trigger, so that when the other end was touched on the +ve terminal, the engine would crank.

I'd half bled the diesel send with an old primer bulb, and expected it to fire up without too much difficulty. I pulled up my car alongside with jumper cables to the batt expecting to have to crank it for a bit to get diesel through everywhere it needed to be.

After several minutes of glowing and cranking on and off (ah forgot to mention, the other connection needed is lots of amps to the glow plugs, done here with a jumper lead from the battery) there was no sign of life. I tried all kinds of things; checked and cleaned the glow plugs, tried some WD40 in the intake, tried running the primer bulb in-line and bleeding that way, cranking with injector lines off till diesel came out, but nothing worked.

Sexy primer bulb can be seen here, at the front of the motor

The next day I got it going briefly, but it couldn't manage more than 30 seconds at a time. I noticed the feed pump pictured in the manual hadn't been supplied, so suspected that it needed one. Knowing that some cars had 'lift' pumps, I thought I'd have a look around a junkyard.

After many hours of sweaty, grimy junkyard perusing with no success in finding such a pump, I thought I'd try a better quality primer bulb with nicer check valves. For $25 it was worth taking a chance on, as it'd be an easy fix if that was in fact the problem. After bleeding at the filter, injector pump and the injectors it started after 15 seconds of cranking, and has since run fine. THANK GOD.

Out with the Old, and In with the New!

 The Sr20 gazed pleadingly at Wee Dave's rugged, bearded face. They'd been through a lot together, but they both knew its time was up. Mustering all its inanimate persuasion, it tried one last time to reason with him, but it was much too late. He had a new love, and there was only room enough in his boat for one of them. Tear tracks lined his face like the streamers of yesterday's foam party, but he pulled the chain, and the engine rose, as if in resurrection, out of the boat in a catharsis of emotion and strident protest above the mounts that once imprisoned it. It was the end.

It was the end -  of the banging-one's-head-against-a-brick-wall phase of the operation! Sayo-fucking-nara!

Right: Volvo Penta MD 21 A, Left: Stricken Nissan SR20DE

A week earlier I'd been stumbled upon a diesel engine, with low hours since a rebuild, all the appropriate bits, and soft green paint that seemed to whisper "I'm an actual marine engine, use me." I very much intended to, and I was lucky enough to be the only bidder in the auction! $500 later I had it back in the drive, and was absolutely besotted with it!

The first thing to do, as far as I was concerned, was to make up a connection between the driveplate (or failing that, the flywheel) and arrange a connection for the stern drive (takes a universal joint). I cracked off the bell housing, and the drive plate, and found no existing easy way to do it. However, by carefully measuring around the splined insert in the drive plate, I was able to drill holes to attach the UJ, and all was good. I popped the bell housing back on, and arranged for Hamish's A-frame's and block and tackle, and that night Hamish, Euge and I got her in there.

The only tricky part was lining up the bolts and the sterndrive UJ, as I'd welded the bolts to the back of the drive plate, but it turned out that the drive plate was some kind of metal that didn't produce strong welds to the bolts. We quickly unbolted the bell housing and the drive plate, and popped some new, longer bolts in there, and just hope that they'd find enough resistance on the weld-roughened drive plate to tighten properly.

With the extra length of these new bolts, it was a bit easier to line up and thankfully the nuts did tighten up ok. We laid in some new girders (2x1" box steel) and sat the front mounts on those. All in all a much easier mounting system than the SR20. In the end we had to lay another piece of 2x1 across the girders to raise the front, as the sump was hitting a crossmember of the boat's skeleton.

Next, a back mount was required, to take the weight off the UJ. Euge kindly donated a engine mount tie-bar he had spare for his mini, and I got to it the next day. I used the bushings in a short length of 25mm tubing, which bolted to the engine's sandwich plate. An M10 bolt was then welded to that (aligned vertically to take the weight of the engine), and a piece of box section drilled and tapped, to provide a base that could be rotated to allow for height adjustment. A nut is tightened onto the base plate to stop rotation when its adjusted to the right height.

The cross piece for the front mounts was then centred, and welded rigid with the girders. This piece was drilled and tapped once the engine was properly aligned, so the mounting feet could be bolted down. Height adjustment is provided within these feet, so unless I'm mistaken, that takes care of that!

"Now I just have to get it running!" thought the wee fella gladly.

"Just" turned out to be the wrong word. Read on!

Timber Sealing

From my experience, this is something that should be done as soon as possible, providing the boat's dry. I made the mistake of putting this off, and spilt a bit of oil and power steering fluid on the unsealed timber whilst fitting the engine. The affected wood had to be planed off, and where that wasn't possible, delicately pared off with a chisel.

I used epoxy resin, in most places just one coat, and that has provided a very satisfactory seal. I did the sternmost part of the boat in the middle of winter, after removing the SR20. It was raining incessantly, so I made a frame under the boat cover so water wouldn't drip through, then put a halogen worklight and dehumidifier under a piece of old carpet to facilitate drying.

This worked very well, and I was able to seal the rearmost part. For the rest, I again called upon my good buddy Cal, who provided his garage for a coupla days to dry, then I was able to seal the whole bottom in about 4 hours.

Its not a very difficult job, I would recommend vacuuming the hull carefully, and using disposable brushes. I think I used about 10 in the process, and maybe 5L or so of resin.Also, epoxy is a mild irritant and gets worse this way the more you use it, so gloves and possibly overalls are a good idea!

Boring, but neccessary. Onwards and seawards!

SR20DE: Nice engine, but is it right for me?

No! It isn't!

The motor makes 145hp, and weighs less than 120kg. These are intoxicating figures when other engines are compared. It was also free, quite compact, and the turbo version makes 250hp reliably in standard form, which bodes well for this one's aquatic life. For all I know it could be a great marine engine, but the cost and effort required outweigh the potential benefits, and when I chanced upon a marine diesel for less than the cost of a heat exchanger and I realised it was a better option.

Reasons for Rejection:

Cost: A raw water pump, heat exchanger, exhaust mixer and other miscellaneous parts in serviceable condition would've cost at least $800, and may not have worked reliably with the SR. On top of that there was things I didn't immediately think of, like a waterproof box for the ECU ($30), seawater proof wiring and connections ($50), marine engine paint ($60), plus many other little things like that which add up.

Time: I spent several days welding a tank around the exhaust manifold (marine manifolds should be jacketed where possible). I also spent a couple of days making a mount and adjuster for the raw water pump. It would've been more time still wiring the thing, painting it, putting sealing silicone on every injector, plug, and join, as zinc plated connections just don't last in a saline environment. On top of that I'd have to make a water mixing standpipe, which may not have worked first time - it all seemed like a huge amount of work for a result that may not be all that great.

Engine Design: One problem I noticed was the small, shallow oil pan on the SR is mounted at the very front. It seemed likely that when the boat is trying to get on the plane and the bow is lifting, that the oil pickup would run dry, and thus oil pressure would be lost. The engine wouldn't last long if that happened every time.

Also things like the dsitributor being right at the back, and completely inaccessible should a problem arise at sea. Similar story with the air flow meter.

I couldn't help but wonder if having an engine so dependant on electronics was such a good idea. If something goes wrong with an older style petrol or diesel, its much easier to troubleshoot. Having EFI means that the fuel lines are under pressure also, so if the send line becomes damaged it will spray petrol everywhere at 60psi or so.

As such, the diesel was deemed the better option and the SR was keelhauled. I'm a bit miffed at having put so much work into the old configuration, but it was a learning experience and I'm super excited for the diesel!

L'interieur!

After many weeks of attempting to navigate the boat by standing on the framing (and consequently many a mild ankle injury), it was decided that a floor should be made in the cockpit, plus seating on the already constructed berth frames. I called my builder friend Hamish, and we began construction that weekend.

His parents were away so we were able to put the boat in their spacious garage and have access to all the woodworking tools a man can dream of! The deck came together very quickly, largely due to Hamish's incredible efficiency at such tasks, and I mostly kept back and attempted to take in the effortless brilliance of the man. The carpeted ply that came with the parts boat was used, and before long we had something that closely resembled a complete floor.

Saturday's progress was the floor and berths

The original builder had done a majestically good job on the berth frames, all perfectly joined and finished to his exacting standards, so all we really had to do was trace the tops onto ply, then cut them with the jigsaw. At this point a box of cider was retrieved from the fridge and progress slowed to a complete standstill while we "tested" the seating arrangements with our friend Euge. I'm pleased to say that they performed completely adequately and that they facilitated me and Hamish's consumption of no fewer than 18 bottles of cider without missing a beat. All three sailors had an excellent evening of boating without ever having to endure the safety risks and unpleasant rocking motion of a real ocean, so the day was deemed a complete success!

The next day we groggily resumed the process, and made an engine box around the SR20. This came together rather quickly, but we were spent, and took the rest of the day off to recover.

On Monday I resumed woodworking, and made the back two seats on either side of the engine box. I was quite pleased with myself, as these came out very nicely. The last few days progress really spurned my enthusiasm, and I couldn't wait to push on. I made the panels to cover the boat's skeleton from 7mm ply (one is visible in the photo on the left) and then cracked on with marinising the SR20.

The period of the boat's history that followed is known as "the Great Fuck-Up", as ultimately I wasted several months making bits to get the engine marine-ready, but ultimately it was a sub-optimal choice. Most detail will be omitted, but the next post will explain my logic in reaching this conclusion. The interior (happened March 2011) was the last significant piece of progress until around a month ago, but I'll get to that later. Adios readers!