The Blue View - Watching Out for Hurricanes

We've had a taste of three tropical storms during our sailing days – one in a marina and two at sea. When we were still chartering boats a few decades ago, we learned that the rates were significantly less if we rented a boat during hurricane season. I figured the odds of encountering a hurricane during the 10 days of each season we were chartering were pretty low. The odds caught up with us one year, however, when we took a direct hit from Hurricane Bertha in the British Virgin Islands. We hunkered down in a marina in Virgin Gorda, prepped and secured the boat as best we could, then sat through it. We watched coconuts fly through the air as though fired from a cannon, and had a brief “eye-of-the-storm” party before the second half of the storm assaulted us. It was only a Category 1 hurricane, and was more of an adventure than anything life threatening – especially since it was a chartered boat and not ours.

On Nine of Cups, we got chased down the Tasman Sea off the west coast of New Zealand by a cyclone one year, then got a taste of another cyclone between the Chatham Islands and the east coast New Zealand's north island another year. Neither was a direct hit, but both were certainly unpleasant. Both were out of the normal cyclone belts and weren't predicted until we were en route on passages. The first one caused some rough weather, but veered off before catching us. We caught the edge of the second one and suffered a knockdown and considerable damage from it.

We'd just as soon not have any more encounters with tropical storms, hurricanes or cyclones, especially at sea, and now, as we are heading north up the east coast of the U.S., we're paying close attention to what's brewing out there. Hurricane season didn't officially start until June 1, but Tropical Storm Bonnie beat the gun, hitting the Carolinas on May 29th. We had planned to depart St. Augustine right about then, but it wasn't a difficult decision to postpone our passage until she passed by.

It should be a 4-5 day passage to the Chesapeake, and if another tropical storm develops while we're en route, we should have enough notice to seek shelter. The forecasters usually provide that much warning these days, and you can be sure we'll be downloading weather advisories daily.

The Blue View - When It All Goes Wrong

Most of our passage from Puerto Rico to St. Augustine was idyllic – a nice broad reach with 15-20 knots of wind, a kindly following sea, warm sunny weather, a 0.5 to 2 knot favorable current, and a full moon to sail by at night. The prop shaft generator and solar panels were producing more power than we needed and nothing major had broken. We couldn't have asked for a more perfect passage – at least for the first six days.

Marcie's blog yesterday talked about how things can quickly change. And when things start going wrong, usually it happens just as the wind picks up, at night and in the middle of the shipping channels – and usually the problems come in multiples. Our first problem was a transmission leak. Without our engine, we could have beat our way to the St. Augustine inlet, but with wind on the nose and the gulf stream current pushing us NE, this would have taken awhile. Then once we arrived, we would have needed a tow to make our way through the narrow, dog-legged inlet – an expensive option. A much better option would be to figure out the transmission problem.

One possibility was the heat exchanger. It is about the size of a half empty roll of paper towels. Sea water is passed through the heat exchanger, and the transmission oil is cooled by pumping it through a coil of tubing that is immersed in the water. Over time, the inner tubing deteriorates and eventually begins leaking. Since the oil is under pressure, it will leak out into the sea water. Usually, once the engine is shut down, sea water will leak back into the tubing, filling the transmission. I wasn't getting seawater into the transmission, but I thought the heat exchanger might still be the culprit. I try to change the heat exchangers every three years, but this one had been in place more than four years and was overdue.

I had a spare, and it took only a few minutes to dig it out. To remove and replace the old one, I had to first remove a shelf in the aft part of the engine room that holds a bin of miscellaneous engine spares as well as my compressor. The rest of the R & R process took about an hour, and all together, the whole thing took maybe 90 minutes for the entire procedure. It went well and without a hitch – always a bad sign.

We topped up the transmission oil and started up the engine. I didn't see anything leaking, so we motored for an hour, then I checked the oil level again. Yikes! It was down another quart. We have three hydraulic hoses connected to the transmission – two that go to the heat exchanger and one that operates the prop shaft brake. With the shelf out I had a better view of the hoses, and I saw a small collection of oil on the hose for the prop brake. I removed it, and sure enough, there was a crack in the underside of one of the fittings.

We could do without the hose if I could figure out a way to plug the hole it was screwed into on the transmission. I rooted around in my various parts bins and finally found a brass hose barb adapter with the right size male thread. Using a bolt, nut and copious amounts of Permatex Gasket Maker (the type impervious to transmission and engine oil), I made a plug for the hole that would withstand the pressure. I screwed it into place, topped up the oil, and we motored for another hour. When I checked the oil level again, the good news was that the oil level seemed to be holding. The bad news was that the engine room was awash in seawater. While I was trying to figure out where it was coming from, the high water bilge alarm went off.

There is an old adage that there is no better bilge pump than a panicked sailor with a bucket. While we weren't quite at the panic level, it was obvious we needed to handle the problem. I closed all the seacocks that could possibly be feeding water into the engine room then we turned on both electric bilge pumps, Marcie began pumping the manual bilge pump, and I worked at bailing out the engine room. Even so, we were barely keeping up with the water ingress. Where the hell was all that water coming from?

Then I spotted the culprit. The prop shaft seal, which is located well aft of the engine room, has a vent hose that should be led up above the water line. I had routed it to the top of the engine room and secured it in place with cable ties. Apparently, when I removed the shelf, I inadvertently pulled it loose from the cable ties. It stayed in place for awhile, but the vibration from the engine caused it to slide down and the end eventually came to rest on the engine room floor – well below the waterline. It was a quick fix to put it back where it belonged, and this time I made sure it could never come loose again.

It took another half hour to pump out all the water and clear the engine room. After checking everything one last time, we were on our way. We checked the transmission oil every hour for several hours, and it was no longer losing oil.

What I took away from all this was that while it was nice to be able to find and repair the transmission leak problem, I am most embarrassed that I didn't properly secure the vent line, causing an emergency situation.

Looking at the bright side, we did get to test the high water bilge alarm and all three bilge pumps, which, happily, all worked.

The Blue View - Patching the Dinghy

Our venerable dinghy is well into her ninth year aboard Nine of Cups. She's seen a lot of nice soft sand beaches, but she's also seen her share of barnacle encrusted, concrete jetties, rocky shores and coral reefs. On several occasions, she's gotten roughed up by an amorous fisherman's panga as well. Maybe it's her full-bodied figure or her soft sides that attract these rough characters, or maybe she just likes 'bad boys', but they always seem drawn to her and vice versa. Nine years of the sun's UV rays have also taken their toll. She's made of hypalon material, which is more resistant to UV damage than PVC, but not impervious to the sun's effects.

Nine years of living aboard Cups probably makes her about 80 years old in dinghy years. With a little luck, she has a few more years left in her, but no one is going to mistake her for a young, perky gal. Her color is faded, she's had some transom gel coat repairs and her bottom has been repaired and repainted a few times. She also has a dozen or so patches now – some to keep the air in the pontoons and some to keep the water outside the dinghy.

Hypalon material is more difficult to patch than PVC material. Since both our current dinghy and her predecessor were made of hypalon, I've probably applied 20-25 patches by now, most of which are still stuck. I think I may be starting to get the hang of it.

We used to buy those patch kits sold by the chandleries. They came with a small amount of two part adhesive and several small patches, and were outrageously expensive. Even worse, we found that these had a shelf life of only 6-12 months. More than once we bought one of these kits, only to discover that the adhesive and/or accelerator had dried up or evaporated in its unopened container when we needed it. Plus, on the occasions we got a really big tear, the patches weren't large enough to cover the hole.

Then I found several online suppliers that provide gear for river rafting companies, many of whom use hypalon boats. I could buy the hypalon patch material by the foot, and they had some great two part adhesives. Even better, both the material and the adhesive were much more reasonably priced. I found that the adhesive goop itself had a good shelf life – years instead of months, and the accelerator was just MEKP, a chemical available at most boatyards and chandleries. It only lasts a year or so, but it's easy to find and inexpensive to replace.

On to the patching process … I cut the patch so that it will extend at least an inch beyond the chafed area or hole. I'll be seeing this patch for a long time, so I want it to look nice – or as nice as a dinghy patch can look. I use a pen and straightedge to mark the sides of the patch. The corners should be rounded, so I use a bottle cap or something similar as a template to make the radii uniform, then carefully cut it out. I position the patch and mark the outline on the dinghy.

I use toluene to clean the area to be patched, then lightly sand the area with 220 grit sandpaper. The objective is to scuff the surface – not sand through it. If the area to be patched is more than just a pinhole leak, I deflate the pontoon. (If it's a cut I'm repairing, the pontoon will already be deflated). If the hole is really large, I stitch it together first with whipping thread and needle.

The glue is a two-part adhesive, and the mixing ratio of the two parts varies with the brand. The particular adhesive I'm currently using requires adding enough MEKP to equal 4% of the adhesive. If my math is correct, this equates to 15 drops of MEKP per tablespoon of adhesive, and this ratio seems to work. I measure and decant the amount of adhesive I'll need (I save old tuna cans for this purpose), then use an eyedropper to add the appropriate amount of MEKP. I use a small craft stick to thoroughly mix it.  The pot life of the adhesive after it is mixed is short – it starts getting thick after 10-15 minutes, so there isn't time to dawdle before applying it.

One or two thin coats are applied with a brush and allowed to dry completely, then a final coat is applied and allowed to dry until it is barely tacky. If I rush it and don't wait long enough, which is my tendency, the patch will not stick well or take forever to cure. Depending on the adhesive and the ambient temperature, it might take 2-4 hours to dry completely and another ¾ to 1-1/2 hours to get to the 'barely tacky' stage. A fresh batch of adhesive, a clean can and a new brush will be needed for each coat.

The adhesive is black, and will be quite apparent if it is smeared outside the patch. On the other hand the patch will not adhere anywhere there is not a good coverage of adhesive, so when I'm painting it on, I try hard to get the adhesive right up to and not beyond the outline of the patch.

The back of the patch must also be painted with adhesive. I tape some waxed paper to the dinghy near the area to be patched and set the patch on it - I want the adhesive on the patch to dry at the same rate as the adhesive on the dinghy. If it's windy out, I use some double-sided tape on the under side of the patch to keep it from blowing away.

Once the adhesive has been applied and cured the correct length of time, I carefully position the patch and stick it on. This is contact adhesive, which means that the patch cannot be re-positioned once the two surfaces come into contact with each other, so this step takes some care. I use my fingers to press it down thoroughly, and follow up by using an epoxy roller to work out any bubbles and ensure the patch is bonded.

I use a rag dampened with a small amount of toluene to clean up any unwanted glue, then use alcohol sparingly to remove the pen marks. The patched area should be allowed to cure at least 24 hours before re-inflating or returning the dinghy to the water.

Since we will be without a dinghy for a couple of days, it takes a little planning if we aren't in a marina. I've patched the dinghy on passages, but only when conditions were benign enough to ensure that the  glue wasn't contaminated by sea spray as it was drying.

While in Puerto Rico, I added a patch that will hopefully stop the ingress of seawater. We like a dry dinghy, especially when we're transporting groceries or our backpacks, and while it's easy to find an air leak using soapy water in a spray bottle, finding the source of a water leak is usually more difficult.

As I see her at the dinghy dock nestled among all those younger, newer, prettier inflatables, I wonder whether she is embarrassed by her age and multitude of scars and patches, or whether she is regaling those youngsters with of the tales of her adventures and her sea stories. I hope it's the latter. Since they are all tethered to the dock next to her, they are certainly a captive audience -  unlike mine.