Microbe wrecks holiday.

Posted on November 30, 2014 by Colin Lowe

Any boat on the water using a diesel motor can be stopped dead if microbes turn your fuel into a black stringy sticky mess that gums up filters and feeder tubes.  It happened to me and I fixed it by cleaning the fuel system (including both tanks) and installing a magnetic fuel filter.

The three essentials for a smooth operating diesel engine are clean air, oil and fuel. The last item can let you down even if all the filters are brand new. An engine failure caused by unknown contaminants in my fuel tank prompted me to fit a magnetic fuel treatment system.

The De-Bug system comes with good instructions.

The De-Bug system comes with good instructions.

In the process, some research led to some interesting findings.
The engine had stopped just outside Wellington Harbour in rough seas while crossing Cook Strait to the North Island of New Zealand. While motor sailing against a stiff wind into a bay, diesel tank sediments had shifted and blocked the outlet at the base, causing air to be sucked down the breather pipe into the engine which of course spluttered to a halt. After switching tanks, the irksome task of bleeding fresh fuel to the engine in rough seas was a reminder that you don’t mess with Cook Strait.
At anchor, some detective work. The tank outlet valve was blocked, but a hooked wire poked through the outlet pulled out a black, stringy viscous substance that looked like something out of a gunge horror movie. A litre or so of diesel that was tapped off was badly contaminated along with about a small amount of dirty water, and the remainder was a pale and cloudy. IMG_7471
I guessed that the black stuff was Hydrocarbon Utilising Microbes (HUM bug). A shock dose of biocide would knock any remaining blighters off their perch, until I could empty and thoroughly clean the tank interiors. For seven years, I had been using a ‘home remedy’ of naphthalene – the principle ingredient of moth balls – but something stiffer than this was needed to rein in the new problem if we were to complete our voyage to the north coast of the North Island. Grotomar 71 was the biocide of choice. It had been consumer tested by a UK boating magazine as one of the two best on the market.
Microbes or fuel precipitates?
The gunge that came out of the drain was either dead microbes from previous treatments, or a precipitate of fuel fractions. I was stabbing in the dark here, since it was difficult to tell unless professionally examined. However, sifting through Dr. Google’s pages, and some amount of chin wagging with engineers brought up some facts and opinions.
On our cutter Wild Bird, after 20 years of diesel fills, certain distillate products, such as light ashpheltenes (a mixture of paraffin waxes and resinous gums) probably precipitated onto the tank interior. We had sailed between the climatic extremes like Nova Scotia and the tropics. Wax compounds in diesel for cold weather operation probably came out of solution in the warmer climate.
Sediment can also be present in diesel, if you are sourcing from less than optimum outlets. In Indonesia, where I was motoring for days on end to break through the sultry doldrums at the equator, diesel had been sourced from a fisherman’s private supple in a 44 gallon drum.
A little history. The first diesel engine built was designed to run on pure peanut oil, a simple hydrocarbon liquid. Today large diesels use heated bunker oil, and small diesel engines normally are fed a complex mix of refined fractions. Since fuel fractions that make up diesel differ between countries, it is not surprising that when mixed, some components might precipitate out of solution. Thus the story of diesel in your tank is not as simple as it appears. A cocktail of physical and chemical factors conspire to subvert our idea of a perfect fuel, so the upshot is that no matter what occurs, gunge might still form in your tank and the only way it can be removed is by physical cleaning.
Inspection hatch.
Just a small problem existed. The tanks had no inspection hatch. Human eyes had never seen the interior in 20 years so. The tanks were 4mm mild steel welded integrally to the hull, with a longitudinal baffle. Once inside, I found the interior was indeed coated with a black gooey muck that wiped off easily. I mixed a sample of this with water and left it in a warm place for a week to test for microbe growth. A week later, no HUM bug had grown but this was probably because of residual biocide.

Hole cutter first, then cut with hack saw. A new plate was cut and bolted to existing perimeter.

Hole cutter first, then cut with hack saw. A new plate was cut and bolted to existing perimeter.

After cleaning the tank interior, I sprayed biocide on the interior surface, prior to fitting the lid and filling with fresh diesel. Long term I wanted a chemical-free treatment to keep the diesel pristine if that was possible.
De-Bug magnetic fuel treatment system. When Jon Drumm of Advanced Diesel Solutions heard about my plight he recommended their smallest De-Bug unit L140 (for fuel flow up to 140 litres per hour, or for 75 kw/100HP). The fuel circulates around fixed magnets so that the microbes experience a magnetic field which rapidly oscillates between north and south. The De-Bug causes the microbes to burst then break up into particles small enough to pass through filters prior to being burnt in the engine. Drumm was keen to note the differences between De-Bug and other designs. He says that De-Bug tri-stack design incorporating three magnets is superior to a system which has only one or two magnets. During research, they discovered that the oscillating field a microbe experiences in a ‘tri-mag’ stack is much more deadly than the magnetic field in other simpler systems, which might have needed extra anti-microbe measures such as UV treatment. The tri-mag design imposes a strong oscillating N/S and S/N polarity change that is much more destructive to HUM-bugs.

The question was, is the black stuff 20 yrs sediment, or the BUG?

The question was, is the black stuff 20 yrs sediment, or the BUG?

HUM bugs in diesel can vary in size from 3 to 10 microns. These are normally bacteria or fungi. Therefore if the primary filters are between 10 and 30 microns, then the fuel should polish up or purify well with each pass through the De-Bug unit, filters and then back to the tank via the overflow. Although in my case, since only about three litres per hour is being burnt, the remaining returned fuel (see below) contains destroyed microbes that either become part of the tank sludge for removal later, or are burnt in the next pass.
Of course, in commercial vessels, fuel doesn’t get much chance to settle. Most dead microbe matter will remain in suspension until it is burnt in the engine.
In my case, the test will be long term, the results measured by clarity of fuel and lack of problems. Shortly after using the De-Bug system, the fuel in the sight tube changed from a cloudy light brown to a pale clear solution, and now after four months remains clear.
Fitting the De-Bug filter.
Installation was a breeze. The De-Bug unit is simply included in the fuel line in an upright position, before the primary filters, which allows the broken down microbes to pass through to the engine for destruction. 97.6% of microbial matter is destroyed on each pass through the De-Bug, and the unit should last 20 to 50 years. To work properly, the flow rate (used fuel plus fuel that is returned to the tank) should be sufficient to allow good ‘polishing’ of the fuel.

The magnetic filter was first in line before two fine cartridge filters and a water filter

The magnetic filter was first in line before two fine cartridge filters and a water filter

I had measured the return rate for my 38kw/50HP Nissan SD 22 at 20 litres/hour. This was done by taking the return line and measuring a small amount and timing it so I could then extrapolate using simple maths. Jon Drumm confirmed that 20 litres per hour would be sufficient for efficient operation. Over time, fewer bugs should be present. However remembering the tango rule, microbes can under optimum conditions (warm and on a water interface) go to town. They can divide once every 20 minutes. One randy HUM bug can wreck your summer.

[Sidebar:] Survey of users.
Mike Chaplin of Seapower, in the Opua Industrial Estate services commercial craft operating in the Bay of Islands. He has installed large De Bug units on boats operating there. He also mentions the need to have sufficient flow rate through the filter for it to be effective, otherwise the polishing effect on the diesel does not take place. Obviously, the tanks have to be clean to begin with, and the best results are in boats with a constant use of fuel so that fuel is not lying in the tank for considerable lengths of time. Mike says that diesel conditioner and biocide is usually used in conjunction with the De-Bug unit.
Mike has had good reports from frequently used boats where the unit is installed. Seapower usually installs a full ‘sterilization’ process utilizing UV, water traps, De-Bug, and both primary and secondary filters. On the other hand, in private craft, a good inspection hatch is important so that accumulated ashpheltenes and dead organic matter can be cleaned out.
Other private users surveyed who use De-Bug report good results. No one with an installed De-Bug system has had microbe problems, although one person who had an early generation De-Bug had white deposits on his filters. (The early generation De-Bugs had only two magnetic rings, but that was improved when three were incorporated into the design.)
Occasionally I came across people who used neither De-Bug nor fuel conditioner. One launch boat owner in Westpark Marina uses a small secondary diesel tank that is fitted with a hospital grade UV light that kills microbes prior to filtering.
Several years ago I was delivering a sail boat to Brisbane from Samoa when the De-Bug unit became clogged with a black gunge after some rough water motor sailing. However, the 20 year old tank had no inspection hatch and without an analysis, we could not tell if the gunge was microbial in nature. It could well have been normal fuel fractions precipitating out which were then picked up by the outlet.
Conclusions:
Good housekeeping should ensure minimal problems. Clean tanks, clean fuel, removal of bottom water, (since it drops below diesel) appropriate primary and secondary filters, a De-Bug unit and regular use of the engine should keep you going. Otherwise, add biocide and fuel conditioner if your engine is not used on a regular basis.
[Sidebar:] Analysing diesel fuel for contaminants.
If you are unsure of your fuel condition, Gough’s fuel analysis lab has a sample kit that is posted to you. They claim that with optimum conditions, a single microbe can multiply to a mass of 10 kilograms in 12 hours resulting in a mat on a fuel/water interface of several centimetres thick. Jovar Bonagua from the lab informed me that the kits can be purchased then sent back with your fuel sample for testing in their lab. Fuel should be taken out of the tank bottom drain. The kit contains bottles, label, shipping bucket with yellow lid, and a courier label all designed around the problem of shipping a hazardous substance UN3082. The samples must only be shipped to Goughs in the special containers to prevent any possible environmental spills.
Your results are given by accessing their website Oil Commander www.oillab.co.nz or given as hard copy.
24 elements are analysed in ppm. Also, the flashpoint (°C), viscosity, water, particle count, PQ index (magnetic particles) and microorganisms (HUM bug) readings are given in an understandable form.
In my books, that is an extremely comprehensive and useful test if you are seriously worried about the purity of your diesel. There are ISO standards against which your results can be compared. From these results you should be able to make an intelligent decision on what measures to take to ensure that clean fuel in the tank enables you to reach your destination safely.
PS Advanced Diesel Solutions supplied the author with a L140 De-Bug unit for testing in his 12 metre yacht ‘Wild Bird’.

Post script.   The fuel that I can see in the sight glass is clear two years after installing the bug and cleaning things out.   Can’t definitively say it was the unit, since we have been using Grotomar biocide.  However,  last week’s fuel filter changes were  indicationg very little contaminants.

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While sailing from Gibralter to the Canary Islands we were becalmed off the coast of Morocco.  Sometimes, we just cut the motor and lay adrift until wind came our way, voted by the family who preferred this to the noise of the motor for hours on end.

A version of this story was printed in Yachting Monthly in 2006.  Editor Paul Gelder noted ‘Like Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Colin Lowe finds himself afloat with neither breath nor motion … as idle as a painted ship upon a painted  .’  He called the story ‘Dead Calm’ and here it is,  slightly tweaked up eight years later.  (It’s amazing how 8 years mulling in the subconcious can bring to the surface improvements.)

Becalmed off Moroccan coast. Midnight near the Oasis.

One hundred miles off a coast in the North Atlantic, a yacht wallows, becalmed at night. Inside, three people are deep asleep, their breathing barely audible. A structural piece of woodwork under stress groans softly. The chart table reflects a dim red  light. Visible perceptions of movement are the fruit bowl gently swinging its load of apples and the curtains swinging in unison. The dark cabin interior looks motionless, but is rhythmically accelerating to the port and then to the starboard, while also pitching slowly fore and aft. I only realise this because I need to balance, gripping the furniture as I gently pad through the yacht during the graveyard watch. I hear water gently sloshing outside, mast halyards tapping to the swing of the boat, loose pots clanging and the oven squeaking on its gimbals. My muscles are involved in calisthenics tonight, although I am not acutely aware of this as we have been at sea for five nights. My body unconsciously anticipates the rhythmical and perpetual motion.

Wild Bird under sail. Cutter rigged sloop.

Wild Bird under sail. Cutter rigged sloop.

When I go on deck, there is no sound of wind, but I imagine that I can hear the faint Brownian hiss of air particles on my ear drums. However in the distance a ship’s engine rumbles and far above a passenger jet whines as it descends to unseen islands. The stainless steel self-steering paddle tinkles as it stirs the still black water. Water also gurgles around the stern as the transom dips then rises. Something mysterious creaks as the yacht continues its non-stop motion, encouraged by the long languorous ocean swell lifting and falling.

Tonight an anonymous (and probably curious)  cetacean dozing on the surface nearby exhales a subdued whoosh of pulmonary air and moisture into the inky night.
Next, I am leaning on the pushpit, staring open-mouthed at the cosmos. The deck is wet, and all surfaces are clammy under my clenched fist. The cool air is a pleasant contrast to the heat of bright daytime sun. In this unusual hushed world, the thresholds of my senses are extended to accommodate many subtle stimuli. My imagination also runs free.
The night vista is an inverted black bowl peppered with holes of various sizes through which light shines through. Some are so big that the light casts a shimmering path to our boat. Above, the bright port and starboard lights of a jet plane change to bright fixed white plus a white strobe as it begins its descent towards my destination. If I were lost, I would follow these trailblazers in the sky. On this moonless night there are so many holes in the bowl the deck is illuminated in a ghostly pale version of daylight.
Moved by ocean swells, the mast scribes a crazy arc across the black sky. The wind indicator at the top of this wild pendulum glows luminescent orange, illuminated by the light of the mast tricolour.

Destination, Grasiosa Is, Lanzarote. Massive volcanic layered island strata in background.

Destination, Grasiosa Is, Lanzarote. Massive volcanic layered island strata in background.

The horizon is indiscernible. The bowl and its holes fuzzes out where the water horizon should be, not like the distinct sharp edge I saw on other nights. Some of the dots near the horizon may be ships, defined only if you see one move. When it does, a dim green light appears below the two motor lights of a phantom ship.
The ocean is the murky portion of the universe below the inverted bowl. Ephemeral bursts of light appear where a gentle wash from the boat activates bioluminescence from sea creatures. A slosh of water from the yacht will traced out by thousands of green spots. Sometimes, a large spontaneous blob of soft green luminescence will suddenly explode then fade. The best views are out on the periphery.
Meanwhile, the ship is getting closer and its green light becomes paired to a red light. Then the green disappears and the red becomes quite distinct along with two whites above.  Curse the great steel behemoth in the dark.  When I start the engine all sensations are ruled out by the grumbling, the indistinct whirring, the vibrations, the hum of the engine blower, the crunch of the gear change, the smell of the exhaust, the squeak of the pitching lever, the rattle of cogs and all the horrible imagined sounds that come from an engine compartment at night.
The magic is shattered… until the next time we are becalmed somewhere at night on an ocean.

Posted on September 20, 2014 by Colin Lowe | Leave a comment

Once a year The Admiral and I get to work on our boat out of the water.   This is the annual dry docking when heaps of money is spent and we engage in some good honest hard work.  It’s not a vanity thing. It is simply the yearly scrub and paint necessary to keep Wild Bird sailing at a good speed, unencumbered by marine growth.  At the same time systems are checked that would otherwise be difficult while floating.  In the early days we did not have travel lifts and huge hard stands at hand.  At high water we would float our 10 metre yacht onto a grid of wooden beams in the ground and tie it to piles.  We then rushed to get the work done while the water was out, hoping like heck the jobs were done before she floated at high water.  Not unlike Captain Cook careening the Endeavour.  Today, resource problems and the huge number of boats afloat have made this activity impractical.

We used to regularly ‘grid’ Wild Honey’ at Mt. Maunganui.  It wasn’t always plain sailing so to speak. Once we were neaped and had to ask a ferry skipper nearby to deflect some prop wash our way.  This also happened once at Opua in the early eighties but that time it was the car ferry that helped.  One spring day on a lee shore half metre waves were lifting us near high water, resulting in several big bangs on the wooden grid beams before we extricated ourselves.  The harbourmaster Titch Hodgekinson tod me at the time his staff enjoyed the boat gridding as it provided good entertainment.

Today we are caught in a black hole of compliance, but large haul out yards can do the lot for you if you have the means.  The Admiral and I do as much as possible, so it’s a week or two of good ‘character-building’ work rewarded at the end with a revamped boat.  Well, it looks good from a fish-eye point of view.  We notice the extra speed and efficiency in the water.   Deep down, we are happy that Wild Bird is again coated in a gossamer of protective paint.

We used Jotun 88 for primer, and Jotun 30 for antifouling.

We used Jotun 88 for primer, and Jotun 30 for antifouling.

Finished! Spiffing new paint on bottom. Topsides 2 yrs old

Finished! Spiffing new paint on bottom. Topsides 2 yrs old

This year, it wasn’t just about sprucing up the underwater and checking systems. The stern area of most boats is a bit of a black hole.  Dark and cramped, it is not the most desirable area to slide into unless one has a definite inclination for satisfying Freudian theories. Inside this womb sized area I repainted the steel work that had not been tickled by a paint brush for ten years.  Wanna know technical details?

Two coats of Carboline Rust Bond (previously a Altex product that used to be called 168 from memory, and was a thin epoxy that soaked less than pristine rusty areas.  Coated over with conventional epoxies, it has lasted 20 years without new rust.  The new stuff is a little more thixotropic and is coloured up luminescent green.   It requires minimal prep of rusty areas, and will eliminate problems for a long time.  http://www.carbolinenz.co.nz/vdb/document/314   This is the tech sheet.   It’s sticky as heck for a few days, but bleed on other top coats and it effectively buries your corrosion problems.

I put two coats, then a coat of epoxy undercoat, then a layer of bog where needed, then two more epoxy coats then two of polyurethane.  Your effectiveness of paint is dependant on paint thickness in this case.  You are locking out water.

SAFETY:  I used a carbon cartridge breathing filter in this smelly confined space. It cuts out ALL stink. Reason: One gram of activated charcoal in the cartridge has a surface area of three football fields.  (We’re talking on a molecular basis now. )  It  is because of this enormous surface area that chemcals are bound to the charcoal. I cannot empasise how rotten this job was, mainly due to my six four frame squeezing into such a tiny space.

 

Previously dark and inaccessible, now opened up and white with 8 coats and lots of bog.

Previously dark and inaccessible, now opened up and white with 8 coats and lots of bog.

Over the years a monthly summer task involved scrubbing barnacles off the propellor.  I did this holding my breath and was tiring work, but never 100% complete as the tiny crustaceans that remained always grew bigger for next time.   The propellor then slowly  fouled again and we watched our motoring speed reduce.   ‘Hey,’ The Admiral suggested, ‘lets treat ourselves to a special prop coating that lets the growth just slough off.’  The idea of avoiding this lunar (yes, both monthly and  crazy) scrub was fine and dandy to me.

Propgold, a Kiwi paint. Silicon over bronze primer

Propgold, a Kiwi paint. Silicon over bronze primer

It was hard graft getting Wild Bird  done but we also need to be philosophical about it.  Here we are, a couple of sexigenarians 11 years after returning to New Zealand, no longer living permanently aboard.  Can we justify owning Wild Bird for the amount of effort required to maintain her?  At this stage, yes we can rationalise owning a 12 metre boat as a hobby, sport and weekend or holiday destination.   It’s like any other hobby where you put the money in and reap the dividends.  The Bay of Islands is the perfect location in which to sail a boat (and to fish) and our weekends are three days, not the shorter as  normal mere mortals suffer.

 

 

 

Posted on September 18, 2014 by Colin Lowe | Leave a comment

Leaking toilet

Posted on April 21, 2012 by Colin Lowe

The marine toilet can be a leaky affair after a while.  The problem is confined to manual toilets where the plunger that is used to pump ‘stuff’ into a holding tank for disposal later.  Salt water will bubble out just under the pump handle and leak onto your floor.

Years ago I fitted a homemade affair which stopped the leak. It was a cobbling together of brass hose fittings that entrapped a pile of gland stuffing and grease around the pump plunger shaft.  It worked a dream but took up a little room on the shaft so the plunger travel was restricted, but we never had a drop of water leak out, and if one did, it was just a matter of screwing down the cap to tighten the packing.

After fitting a new Jabsco toilet in Nelson before we headed north, we enjoyed a dry compartment.  However, once after a couple of weeks of not being used, the new seal must have stuck to the shaft and the little rubber seal was ruined.

Chandlers sell the whole caboose which costs a bit.  Simple solution to just purchase it and screw it in.  However, that is not my philosophy to replace more than needed.   I wanted just the seal and nobody sells it.  Seal Imports in Auckland sell the little blighters for a couple of dollars each and will post it to you.  I ordered five and they are 7 X 19 X 8  low pressure oil seals, with stainless spring rings.   I coat everything with Vaseline before installing.

On the new twist and lock Jabsco toilets the handle and gland assembly unscrews.  The old gland needed to be destroyed when pulling out, but it does come out with long nosed pliers.  The new one is simply pushed in hard where it does the job. Lots of Vaseline on the o rings and pump shaft will keep the pump working well.

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Simple but tasty no knead bread.

Posted on February 27, 2012 by Colin Lowe

This was written before we took up caretaking jobs on the coast.  Today we make bread in the breadmaker, but sometimes revert to this recipe using dough that has to be panned in an oven.

Warning:  Before you read on, you should be aware that hot bread made this way is highly addictive.

I use small bread pans in a Flavel gas oven.

We have the time, and the raw materials.  In the late seventies we had no oven on our first boat and made a rudimentary bread by putting batter into a pan and cooking slowly over the paraffin (kerosine) stove.   The product was ok if you ate it immediately.  A little too  much heat and the bottom would burn like heck.

A bit of experience and the consistency will be right.

Batter bread recipe.  This is not a knead bread.  No knead to get your hands mucky.  It is a stir bread, and is all done in the mixing bowl. This batter bread just involves a bit of beating with a spoon in a bowl for a few minutes, then pouring the result into two pans for cooking, which takes about 40 minutes.  The bread comes out as a moist dark bread much like a Vogels loaf.

Ingredients are:  2 mugs of luke warm water, one can be salt if you are at sea.  1 t salt, 1 T milk powder, 2 T oil of choice, 1 t sugar, a handful of ground flax seeds,  a handful of sunflower seeds, a handful of bran and any other groovy additive you fancy.  A  1/2 cup w/m flour, and enough white flour to make a stiff batter.   You can also add a little treacle to give colour (color) and flavour. (Flavor)  Sesame seed oil is great too.

You should be just able to pour the batter. It needs coaxing out.

Method.  You will build big biceps.   Mix to a good consistency until you feel stuffed.  Keep mixing past the stage where it becomes stringy.  Leave in a warm place.  You can rest it half hour and mix again.   Let it double in size.  Punch down with some more mixing, then pour into two bread pans.   Cook  until it is brown and sounds hollow when tapped.  I use teflon paper on the base of the pans to stop sticking.  You have to realise this was cooked in paeleolithic oven (Flavel gas). It’s an old caravan oven that cooked two loaves like this every other day for four boat crew.

 

Best eaten hot

Devour at lunch with slabs of butter laid on.Hot bread405

 

Rita and Wendy enjoying hot bread

Rita and Wendy enjoying hot bread

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Cetacean encounters with Wild Bird

Posted on February 27, 2012 by Colin Lowe

I wrote this ditty but it was never published.   Might as well put on cyberspace and see what happens.   No use keeping it on a thumb drive, so here it is.

I have read or heard somewhere that whales could communicate very long distances by using their special sounds produced at ultra sonic frequencies. These sounds (which are also used for echolocation) were able to carry huge distances by virtue of the relatively high density of the water compared to air, the medium through which land beasts communicate. However the advent of motorised vessels, with the attendant noise pollution, put paid to that cetacean gossip across the oceans. Have you heard whales? Have you ever heard that high pitched squeal inside your boat while sailing? The almost inaudible sounds most certainly herald a pod of whales in the area.

How common are whale sightings? What would a personal survey reveal? In twenty-two years of sailing I can recall a significant number of events relating to encounters. This is a casual recollection and is in no way meant to be a formal survey.

The killer whale (Orcinus orca) , 9 metres in length with a large triangular dorsal fin, and well defined black and white markings has never been known to kill a man intentionally. This fact was not the first to surface in my mind when, during a spell from building my first boat Wild Honey in New Zealand (NZ), I was fishing in a small dinghy when a large pod of killers cruised close by. The dumbstruck expression on my face conveyed the thoughts in my mind. I was then very mindful of the pictures in books of killers forcing seals (and maybe a sealer if caught by accident) into the water by tipping the ice floes they were on.
David Attenborough’s famous documentary scene where the killer whales swam close in shore to attack seals near the water’s edge was similar to the scene I saw at my home town of Mt. Maunganui, NZ, in 1978 when a family of a bull, cow and calf chased bream into the shallows, feeding on them while half grounded among a swirling mass of foam and suspended sand. This event took place in front of a popular stretch of sandy surf beach very close to my previous orca encounter.

Orca Home Bay, Mercury Is. Sizzles past Wild Bird in shallow water

Orca Home Bay, Mercury Is. Sizzles past Wild Bird in shallow water

Kaikoura is the town in NZ where tourists bet on a whale sighting (usually humpack or southern right). When I was returning up the east coast of the South Island during a circumnavigation of NZ with my family we decided to pass five miles off the coast to check our luck. No major whales were sighted, but on that windless blue morning while motoring over an oily sea and a building swell, we passed a magnificent lone killer. Later that evening the weather almost became the killer as we surfed under bare poles at up to twelve knots before a southerly gale.

The pilot whale (Globicephala melaena) gets its scientific latin name from the way it looks; black, with a large bulging forehead. Sometimes it is called the blackfish, although it is certainly not a fish. The name pilot whale is probably an inappropriate name however, because of its propensity for getting stuck in shallow waters. We have seen close up the tragic consequences of this at Great Barrier Island in NZ . However far from land they are seen in large numbers accompanying boats in transit over oceans. In 1981 I was in Wild Honey sailing in the Malololailai Port Vila regatta when a pod of pilots rushed up to us beam on in moderate seas, diving under us at the last moment and later riding the bow wave. Anything for a break in the day’s work of catching fish they squealed. I hung my feet over the side to touch their smooth skin, their friendly eyes looking at me as we surfed downwind.

The southern right whale (Balaena australis) grows to twenty metres and was so called
because their mouths contained the sought after flexible baleen plates, then a substitute for flexible steel. One surfaced very close to us, spraying whale breath and spume over us when we were cruising Rossel Island in Papua New Guinea, 1982. It slowly rolled over, revealing the white barnacle-like encrustations lining its dorsal surface and lateral fins.

I think whales were there in the rough water, but were difficult to see. Just beneath the surface of a storm tossed sea, the turbulence is much reduced and I imagine they were there in the relative calm laughing at the sailors. After a gale tossed Tasman crossing to Brisbane with my family in 1997 we were becalmed sixty miles short of our destination, but greeted by the sight of four humpback whales (Megaptera nodosa) feeding on the surface. These baleen feeders were rising vertically from the deep with their cavernous mouth open before rolling over on their side to dive and repeat the process. At Great Barrier Island, NZ I saw this behaviour close into shore, but in deep water. Our yacht Wild Bird was able to coast up to within fifty metres of them after we turned off the motor.

The Balearic Islands, Spain, was the most recent stage for a large whale sighting from Wild Bird in 2001. They were probably humpback whales again. I have seen large whales from a distance on half a dozen other occasions around Fiji and Tonga, but could not identify them.

Dolphins are also part of the mammal order Cetacea. Intelligence is certainly a defining characteristic of this mammal species, and play is a manifestation of this. Marion and I were on our honeymoon voyage aboard our first yacht Wild Honey in 1980 when we sailed into Mimiwhangata Bay, NZ, and found several common dolphins (Delphinus delphis) swimming in shallow water. Well, we had to don our masks and snorkels to swim with the dolphins in the shallows of that remarkably clear cool water. They appeared to be enjoying themselves darting at great speed around us, not quite within touching distance. I have seen common dolphins in a group of many hundreds off Durville Is, NZ, in 1995. It must have been a dolphin jamboree, and some were leaping metres into the air, sometimes spinning, and landing on their backs. A great meeting on one of those magic glassy calm Cook Strait mornings.

Dolphins are gregarious. When we were safely tucked into a cove in D’Urville Is, a lone dolphin called Durvo by our two children, came to the stern of our boat while we were tied back to a tree. Durvo was tossing around a piece of seaweed, squealing all the time, coming to our duckboard and offering the seaweed . We could touch this chap. Durvo hung around for a day before he lost interest in us.

Not so common are the tiny Hector’s dolphin that inhabit Fouveaux Strait and Banks Peninsula, NZ. We were drifting slowly east through the Strait in light conditions at night under a full moon. Little Hector’s dolphins were trailing only metres behind, keeping pace with Wild Bird all night. In our cockpit that night we were reminded of their presence by the constant gentle woosh of air moving through their single nostril. Why were they there? What interest did we provide? Did they enjoy our company?

Of course nothing compares with the magnificent show put on by dolphins on a dark moonless night when they ignite their rockets and light up the waters with ribbons of glowing phosphorescence.

The dolphins are always there to play with, admire, and photograph from the bow of our boat. I hope they will always be there, and likewise their cousins the larger whales. After all, if mankind perishes and whales survive, they will be able to communicate across the oceans again.

INFORMATION BOX

Some thoughts on whale behaviour.
The brain size of cetaceans is large in comparison to its body size. Complicated communication signals between whales would require a large brain as does a complex repertoire of behaviour patterns. Sleep is a necessary adjunct for a functioning brain and I think that some whale collisions are simply crashing into sleeping whales. Of course I also think that some collisions may be the result of defensive behaviour when
calves are with the parent whale. I have heard anecdotal evidence of using depth sounders to warn off a whale or even the use of certain coloured antifouling as a visual repellent. Nothing proved here though.
Dolphins certainly have extremely good eyesight as they do not accidentally take trailed lures in my experience.
The sound we hear through the hull of the boat is carried easily in cold, dense water, and passes through high density media like steel very easily. It is analogous to the way sound travels a long way on a still cold morning, as opposed to mid day when air is warmer and less dense.
Play is a function of intelligence. It is necessary in young mammals to develop adult behaviour to its full potential. However the play and curiosity exhibited by adults is typical of most ‘intelligent’ mammals such as dogs, cats, and primates such as humans.
Riding the bow wave of boats appears to be a play behaviour, an initial curiosity aroused when whales hear the motor or water disturbance around a sailing craft. Thumpng on the hull or playing a musical instrument seems to attract them in the same way that the sound of the motor seems to bring dolphins from a distance.
The large brain size is necessary for complex learned behaviour and also for the production of sounds that are used for both communication and echo location.

 

 

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Well, blow me down mate!

Posted on January 27, 2012 by Colin Lowe

It is indeed a small world.  A Suzuki outboard in the cockpit was half way reassembled after a good stripping and clean up, when an associate was aboard looking at our boat. He was a Bermudian, where the Admiral had grown up in her youth.  I volunteered info that I had found the half dissected machine on the seabed while swimming.  His eyes bulged a bit and he announced that it was his father in-law’s.   It shows how small the nautical world is.  (We had been BBQ’ing with the Bermudian and father in law about ten days previously, with a common cruising friend from years ago.)

I was quite dumbstruck at the connection, and my immediate thoughts were of my new project slowly dissolving in a cloud, and a vision of the original owner enjoying a spiffing, done up machine.   My intentions were that it would be as good as my last Suzuki that accompanied us around the world.  I rowed ashore later and told the father in law that his renovated engine was ready to pick up.  He said keep it. I said no, it is yours.  He said he had bought a new one, so enjoy it. I  said thanks mate, and shook hands.

The drowned suzi being oiled up.

Later I put together the bits lying around and the machine sprung into life.   It’s a bit slow on the high end throttle, sounding like it is wheezing at the exertion.  I’ll take the carb apart and look at that.

Post script:  After sitting in the basement after a very busy two years as caretakers – every other job on the estate seems to take priority – we have sold the Suzuki 2HP.

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Free fish!

Posted on January 15, 2012 by Colin Lowe

Today’s brag is about the half dozen fish, some of which are shown here.

These are not record beating, but they sure were tasty… and being small (but of legal size), they were not loaded with roe.  I am beating my chest over these as I had not spend a penny on bait.  The previous evening the Admiral and I were walking on the beach where we spied evidence of pipi (bivalve, clam, shell fish or whatever).  A dig down produced several dozen fat pipis that we kept alive in the seawater, in a plastic pipe with holes drilled into the sides to allow the oxygenated water to bathe them.

When I was a teenager, prior to a fishing expedition, I would cycle south down the stretch of sandy coast to where the big tuatuas were, and if the tide was high, dive under, madly  digging into the beds before I ran out of breath, meanwhile dodging the random waves.

Besides the pipi bait, I had caught a half dozen pilchards off the back of the boat using a line and baitless hook system with shiny little fluffs attached.  Brilliant!

The best catch of bait was after using a Piper net gifted by Graham and Lois Gilmore.    On a high tide in Army Bay at BOI, at morning smoko time when I spotted a school of sparkling silver fish being chased in towards shore. Luckily we had the net, and soon after had scooped a bucket of bait fish.

A bunch of piper for bait!

A bunch of piper for bait!

The final clincher for catching these fish had been a predawn start, much the same as when my two daughters at 4 and 5 used to wake me in the dark for an early start in the tin boat, coasting down the driveway so as to not wake the Admiral.   No wind, no crowds, no chop and lovely conditions for admiring the Bay of Islands scenery.  Best of all, I get to see a gorgeous sunrise every time.

Part of the tasty snapper catch

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Occasionally I get melancholic about old boats, especially the one I built in the early seventies when I was in my twenties.   Wild Honey launched the Admiral and myself into a fun ten years of cruising.  It was as basic as you get, since we never had a ship’s chandler to shop from, but she took us around the Pacific and up and down Northland’s coast many times. I’ve heard some stories about what happened to her, including one preposterous story that it was professionally built.   That was in a fishing magazine.  Here’s an unedited version of one aspect, the launching.  It was published in Cruising Helmsman, last year in a slightly different form. I don’t usually blog big pieces for fear of boring you to death, but this is an attempt at a humourous ditty. Cheers and good luck.

Building My First Boat: Inspirations and Practicalities

Wild Honey in New Caledonia

 

When the first hairs grew from my chin, I developed an irresistible urge to own a boat. The desire to go sailing was innate.  My psyche was affected by living on a sandy peninsula near the ocean and harbour.  It had nothing to do with needs – this was an unstoppable urge to construct a craft that would take me past the shores of my playground.

 

The first urge developed when the air was dank with salt spray and my equally motivated mates and I conspired to set sail, in a metaphorical sense.  Through employing eco principles before they became fashionable, we decided to build a craft that would be biodegradable if left long enough on the foreshore.

 

At our age, financial insufficiency inspired creativity.  An apple box rescued from Dad’s fire stack was the kindle of our first boat.  The boat was made of untreated pine like a Turkish Gulet boat but without the same graceful lines or speed.  A maritime architect would have been challenged to create a viable design based on the apple box concept.  The blunt bow countered the established idea of a fine entry.  Athwart ships and directional stability would be a challenge for the kinesthetic skills of the helmsman.  The idea of constructing a catamaran-style stable platform did not occur to us.  However another issue would override these design flaws.

 

We caulked with blue plasticine the large cracks in the apple box, originally designed for ventilation for respiring apples.  It never occurred to us that this adventure would influence our later lives when he would become a cool store engineer and I would become a cruising enthusiast and would occasionally write boating stories.

 

As the most gullible crewmember, I was promoted to rank of skipper for the maiden voyage.   Soon after launching and before I had the chance to discover the effects of the aforementioned two stability factors, I discovered the negative effect of just 250mm of positive water pressure on our low-tech caulking.  The now renamed sailing vessel Sieve sank a few metres from the shore. After this disappointment our yen for boating took a literal dive, so we took up terrestrial hobbies like sand surfing and constructing hideouts overlooking the harbour entrance instead.

 

Only ten years later, I needed a sink into which I could pour my earnings.  While my mates were purchasing property or using the big silver birds for their overseas trips, I became consumed by the desire to have a real boat.  This was an intense, focused time of youth when all well-intentioned and intelligent advice from adults is spurned.  At this stage motivation was fired by want, not need.  Any deficiencies in our knowledge base would be removed by research and the brain was a blotter for information.

 

My island country of New Zealand was separated from any other nation by almost a thousand miles of ocean.  If I could build a real boat powered by the wind, like a kiwi explorer before me, I could say I had knocked the bastard off.  A real boat would also be an overseas ticket and accommodation rolled into one.  My dream of a seaworthy yacht creaming north on lazy ocean swells was too irresistible to ignore.

 

At the time, designers were supplying full size plans of boats to satisfy the lust of boating neophytes.  No prior experience in small craft construction was required.  Robyn Lee Graham’s circumnavigation on the Dove was showing in the movies, some years after the inspirational 1966 surf movie The Endless Summer had prompted surfers to search for the perfect wave.  Every town had a dreamer building a boat, and against the advice of my parents, I decided to build.  My mother used to worry, “What do you know about yacht construction, boy?  You haven’t even built a letter box!”  These concerns were conveniently crushed by youthful impulsiveness, which bode well for the ‘just do it!’ philosophy needed to kick-start such a complex project.  Typically, lack of hindsight is extremely useful when you are in your early 20s.   If I knew the effort required for such a project, it may never have got off the launching pad.

 

I began the journey after a talk with an amateur boat builder who showed me through his almost-finished project.  It was a heavy displacement ten metre sailing vessel, with sufficient below-decks headroom to prevent bloodying my scalp (I am 6 feet 4 inches tall).  I could see this design had six berths, and was quite capable of offshore sailing.  My vision was clouded by images of bikini-clad girls lounging above and below decks.   The boat builder told me, as a glaze-eyed visitor, to start the project by purchasing plans and a set of frames.  Avoiding frame lofting would circumvent a technical stage, and allow immediate hanging of frames.  I immediately purchased a set of frames and plans of that very same design, as I had visions of a blue horizon, despite having done little research.  This one had the headroom, and had six berths, which was what mattered to a hotheaded 21 year old.

 

The designer had supplied me with a shopping list of the hardware necessary to build the boat.  Several months later, although no tangible boat hull was in sight, I had a collection of shiny hardware and some tools for the fitting out.  These were useful for a virtual construction, and kept the project viable, until a physical site for assembling was found.   Apart from large items, stuff was transported on my 350cc motorbike bit by bit.  Even heavy pieces of lead were mute passengers on the 100-mile trip from the foundry to home.

 

I had no idea of where I could build the imaginary boat, and with the frames in storage, I toured the country talking to other amateur boat builders.  Those who had been regarded as eccentric by their suffering neighbours inspired me.

 

I found a man called Bruce building his boat on an elevated sand dune, which had to-kill-for-views.  He turned out to be my guru.  At the time he was about to dismantle his large open sided construction that supported his boat’s hull frames – these designs were built upright.  For just $100 I took his pre-loved building frame off his hands.  Furthermore, Bruce’s neighbour had a plot of sand dune on which I could construct my boat and gaze at the Pacific Ocean.  In return for his building frame, I painted his holiday home one summer.   This was a good deal and one that satisfied both parties.  Bruce was my mentor, and also lent me tools.   After Bruce launched his boat, Marion (at that time my girlfriend, now my wife) and I helped crew it to Fiji – but that is a story in itself.

Construction Wild Honey. by Claziena Cornelison, Bruce Collier

Construction Wild Honey. by Claziena Cornelison, Bruce Collier

Curiously, the shots on the right are the only ones taken, one by a friend Claziena who was visiting, and another by Bruce, my mentor from next door.  The bottom shot below shows the cage prior to plastering.  (Yes this has let the cat out of the bag re construction).

I learnt about building permits when an irate inspector discovered my motley group of friends lifting up the $100 building frame, which was not a good look for the beach suburbs.  The building inspector asked me, as the leader, to report to his office.  Meanwhile the large edifice, looking very much like a flimsy roof on stick supports, was to become a landmark of the area and provide inspiration for other wannabe boat builders and cruisers.  Luckily, I was excused from the considerable expense of being required to have a permit on the grounds that the temporary construction had no foundations.  The frames were hung and the tangible shape of a graceful ocean-going yacht took form.  At that age I often worked on site until midnight, relishing the completion of each incremental job.Wild HoneyColin on Wild Honey

 

A secure hut was necessary to store my tools and materials.  The hut became pretty hot in the sun because it was made of corrugated steel.  The first piece of woodwork I made was the rudder, and it was required to be completely dry before being encased in fiberglass.  The rudder assumed a permanent curve while propped up against the inside of the hot wall, due to the difference in grain direction of two wood layers.  Left as it was, it may have given the boat a permanent starboard bias.   On the advice of another boat builder, I reshaped the rudder to prevent this from occurring, and then inserted some horizontal hardwood stringers that locked it into proper shape. The first lesson I learnt was to make sure dry timber is used.  I learnt by reading, talking to my mentor Bruce, and by experimenting.

 

Although the boat was built to a budget, it also had to be a strong and safe seagoing vessel.  Previous amateur boat builders had become legends for their ingenuity in economising, and I aspired to emulate their craft.

 

Using the same philosophy, Bruce had completed his boat next door, all the time providing a sort of apprenticeship training to me.  He was the master of improvisation and inventiveness.  Bruce ran marathons, and once while running past the local tip (at a time when there were no access restrictions), he discovered hundreds of metres of rejected mahogany door flashing.  The salvaged strips provided perfect laminating timber for varnished cabin top beams, a tiller and fine cabinetwork.

 

Three years after hanging the frames, the backyard project was ready to launch. However, non-celestial events conspired to prevent my launching.   Before construction I obtained permission to move my boat after it was built across my neighbour’s property.  It was the only practical way out.  Ominously, a new owner was now landscaping and preparing to barricade his property with a fence.   This was starting to look like an episode of The Great Escape.  Luckily, my neighbours left during the week.  Since the escape route was on a slope, I rushed in a trucking firm to bulldoze their land.  A large flat trench was reinforced with stone base to prevent a crane and truck sinking into sand.  The script did not run to plan, and there were delays and technical problems.  At three o’clock on a Friday afternoon, just hours before the owners returned to their remodeled property, my proud project was carried out on the boat trailer, grinding into the lawn and garden.   A week later, the property had been returned to normal, ready for fencing.  The launching marked the beginning of a ten-year period of sailing through coastal and tropical waters.

 

In retrospect, the hurried exit via the neighbour’s property sounds like an exercise in how to attract litigation, but the event ended amicably, the author having returned the neighbour’s land to a better state than before the exit.  Later, the author built several houses then swapped one for a boat in which his family (wife and two daughters) lived for ten years, circumnavigating the world. 

 

Posted on January 12, 2012 by Colin Lowe | 4 Comments

Eccentric sailor rinses anchor chain!

Posted on January 8, 2012 by Colin Lowe

galvanised 3/8 chain

I sometimes see stainless steel link chain these days, especially on visiting overseas boats.  We can purchase the stuff in NZ, but probably at a price beyond me.

Years ago, before we set off on a Pacific jaunt with the kids we purchased new galvanized chain for about $700.   A  couple of years later it required new galvanizing (I’ll use the US spelling) at a cost of $600.  This new galvanizing from a Whangarei plant lasted the distance around the world.  Which goes to show, the coating on new galvanizing is only for show, and a proper hot- dip process which is quite a process, is long lasting.  In order to preserve this valuable coating I wash the chain with fresh water if it is to be stowed for any length of time, and end for end it when one end is getting a bit thin on zinc.IMG_1928

Avon Industries in Whangarei does a grand job of galvanizing items.  Lately I had the anchor done, and it should last ten years plus.  They put lead back into the sharp end, but I removed mine using a blow torch.

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