About a year ago, a good friend mentioned that his smartphone and tablet had become his sole means of onboard digital charting. His comment concerned me. While trying to figure out how to install a basic digital navigation network on my own boat, I had been doing a head-to-head comparison: an iPad loaded with iNavX versus a B&G Vulcan multifunction display.  

At the chart table, they both excelled, but in real-world sailing conditions, the multifunction display had several important advantages.

In calm seas and under the dodger, the iPad looked pretty good, but in direct sunlight, there was a distinct deterioration in contrast. What fully tipped the scale in the MFD’s favor was a seamanship issue that became quite clear as conditions deteriorated: The general rule of “one hand for yourself and one for the ship” left me one hand short while holding the iPad in a rough seaway. I tried a series of clamping devices, but none was as effective as a ­permanently mounted MFD.

I initially coupled the B&G Vulcan to a long NMEA 2000 drop cable. This allowed me to temporarily mount the unit in several locations: at the helm just above the binnacle, midcockpit just forward of the mainsheet, and on the coachroof just under the dodger. Determining the permanent roost was a matter of preference. For me, the right solution was a flush mount on a raised bridge deck just forward of the helm and mainsheet, where I could reach the wheel and the touchscreen controls. (Sailors who prefer to mount the unit on the SS tube guard over the binnacle can check sources such as Edson and NavPod for quality mounting brackets, hardware and housings.)

The most important thing I learned is that the key aspect of installing a basic digital navigation network is the word “basic.” Think of the project as phase one of interfacing cables and components to get the most important features of a digital charting system. 

To complete phase one, you need to learn how to set up an NMEA 2000 backbone, and then use it to connect components to an MFD. It also makes sense to add a stand-alone depth display, because that number, more than any other, can determine a sailor’s fate. 

MFDs have a lot of similarities, but their software does differ. The best way to make an informed choice about which MFD to purchase is to visit vendors at a boat show. Ask for demonstrations. Try your hand at calling up menus, plotting a waypoint, zooming and panning. You’ll likely learn that bigger screens are better, and that if you’re thinking about a 7- or 9-inch MFD, placement on board will be extra important. 

Also take a look at how the NMEA 2000 cables connect to the unit. A sailboat’s cockpit is often more of an aquarium than a patio. High marks go to manufacturers that take extra steps to keep water out of cable connections, and to owners who opt for quality NMEA cables and fittings, such as those made by Ancor.  

It can also make sense to purchase a remote antenna, even if the unit has a built-in GPS antenna. The remote antenna improves reception. 

There’s also a need for a depth-sounder transducer. Add the necessary NMEA 2000 cables, along with the fittings to connect to the network. Carefully reread the manufacturer’s installation guidelines before doing this work.    

NMEA 2000 cabling expedites installations. One of the big plusses is expandability. T-connectors are used to attach “drop cables” that run from electronic equipment to the network backbone cable. Think of this wiring backbone as the mainstream source of 12-volt DC current, along with much of the digital information traveling to and from connected components and transducers. Take note of the cable that connects the backbone to ship’s power. That cable needs to be fused or provided with a circuit breaker. 

The best way to begin a DIY installation is by sketching the path of the NMEA backbone and the junction points where components will connect along the way. Some boatbuilders provide handy wiring ­pass-throughs for a clear run. 

Lacking those, get an angle drill and a set of hole saws. A good rule is to keep the backbone cable as far away from the bilge as possible.

Refine your sketch before you shop for cables and connectors. One option is to use a tape measure or some light line to mimic the backbone’s route. You can determine the length of each drop cable and note where each T-connector will be placed. Extra cable length can be coiled and tucked away, but a cable that’s too short won’t work. 

And remember that the longer the run, the greater the electrical line loss. Select cabling that best fits the dimensions of your NMEA backbone, and heed the ­manufacturer’s advice on maximum-length cable runs.

Once you have installed the basic components and the system is fully functional, you can read up on a phase-two expansion. For example, a radar installation adds the complexity of mounting a dome and installing an Ethernet cable to support the higher data rate. An autopilot installation adds the need for high-amperage current, necessitating a separate 12-volt DC power cable. Adding a digital compass is easy, but the mechanical demands of installing the drive motor and linkage might not be.

For phase one, keep things simple. It will lower the slope of the NMEA learning curve and make phase two much more manageable.

Pro Tip

When it comes to interfacing a diverse gaggle of new gadgets while upgrading your electronics, consider your electronic gear as a navigation system rather than individual ­components. Before focusing on specific brands, create a realistic two-column list of gear under the headings “Must Have” and “Might Want.” Once that’s completed, steer clear of brand-hopping, thus minimizing the need to lash one manufacturer’s equipment to another’s network. Carefully consider the value, cost savings and reliability that come from brand allegiance. Focus on the essentials, and go with the gear line that hits the most points in the Must Have column.

Selecting an MFD

Settling on the right ­multifunction display should be more than a price-point decision. If your plan is to expand the network over time and add AIS, radar, wind instruments, weather data and more, then look at the manufacturer’s entire lineup of products. In most cases, it’s best to stick with one brand for compatibility; when components from differing brands are merged, certain functions become unavailable. 

The “big four” brands among sailors are B&G, Furuno, Garmin and Raymarine. They all offer 7- and 9-inch MFDs, as well as larger screens. Each MFD is highly expandable using NMEA 2000 backbones. 

B&G’s Vulcan 9 and the 9-inch Zeus 3S are excellent candidates for cockpit installation aboard smaller sailboats. Furuno’s ­GP-1971F has C-Map built in, as well as Navionics cartography. Garmin’s GPSMap 943xsv also comes with built-in Navionics charts. Raymarine’s Axiom+ 9 with built-in Lighthouse also supports C-Map and Navionics charts.

The post Adding Onboard Electronics? Here’s How To Get Started appeared first on Cruising World.

Your vessel’s spars undergo a constant torture test, almost from the day they are stepped. They are compressed and tensioned, exposed to cyclical loading, and battered by sunlight, salt spray, rain and potentially extreme temperature variations. It’s a wonder they hold up for as long as they do.

Most spars are made from aluminum alloy, typically 6061 series. Its strength-to-weight ratio, durability and corrosion resistance make it well-suited to the task. When exposed to the atmosphere, it immediately develops an invisible yet tough aluminum-oxide coating, which slows the corrosion process to a veritable crawl, provided a few criteria are achieved. Chief ­among these is near-­continuous exposure to ­oxygen. Herein lies the problem for spars that are painted.  

Aluminum is subject to a type of corrosion called poultice when it is exposed to water (typically, stagnant) that’s oxygen-depleted. When aluminum is painted, its surface no longer has access to oxygen. This prevents the formation of corrosion-preventive film. 

However, because the paint also excludes water—a necessary element in the poultice corrosion process—the aluminum remains corrosion-free.   

The challenge arises in maintaining a contiguous coating of paint. Wherever there is a breach, water can enter, setting in motion the poultice corrosion demon.  

Because spars are filled with holes, fittings and fasteners, and are subject to chafe and the occasional impact, maintaining this contiguous coating can be challenging.  

With nearly all painted spars, and with virtually all other painted aluminum deck components, poultice corrosion begins at hardware and fastener installations. By virtue of the installation itself, the paint coating is invariably fractured. Once water migrates beneath the paint, it interacts with the oxygen-deprived aluminum, generating an aluminum hydroxide blister. Beneath that blister, you will find a ­powdery (if the water has drained away) or gooey and whitish substance. Unchecked, it will cause the aluminum surface to waste away, leaving behind indentations or pits, ultimately compromising the integrity of the structure and leading to failure.

Poultice corrosion can be exacerbated if the paint breach is covered with a material that retains water. A classic location for this scenario is beneath spreader boots, where coatings are often fractured by standing rigging. The damage, even if to paint alone, can be costly to repair. 

I’ve also learned that spar poultice corrosion is relatively easy to prevent. First, wherever possible, avoid damage to paint. When it does occur, touch it up as quickly as possible. 

Because spars are filled with holes, fittings and fasteners, and are subject to chafe and the occasional impact, maintaining this contiguous coating can be challenging.

Second, make certain that every fastener and hardware flange that contacts the spar’s painted surface is thoroughly bedded in polyurethane or polysulfide bedding compound. While this does not prevent the paint breach, it does immediately fill it, preventing water from entering.

 Note that compounds are available for use on the threads of stainless fasteners that are screwed into aluminum substrates. While those are valuable in preventing galvanic corrosion and fastener seizure, they do not address the paint breach issue specifically, and they are not suitable for bedding of flanged components such as padeyes, winches, steps and antenna bases.  

Maintain coating integrity by bedding all hardware and fasteners, and you will keep your painted spars free of unsightly blisters while eliminating most poultice corrosion.

Steve D’Antonio offers services for boat owners through Steve D’Antonio Marine Consulting. 

The post How to Protect Your Spars from Corrosion appeared first on Cruising World.

This month, we’re rolling out a new Sailing Totem series featuring hindsight intelligence from our massive refit, beginning with the forward head. Totem’s smallest cabin underwent very big changes and was a showcase for many of the decisions that would shape the refit overall.

When we bought Totem in 2007, the forward head retained the traditional look of a white finish with varnished wood trim. We destroyed that early on for practical reasons: chainplate replacement, better storage and then holding tank migration. They were the right moves, but it was never an appealing space—until now, which goes to show how significantly a boat’s interior can be changed.

This started as a simple repair (this is a theme—the domino effect of a small project). The original sole was a fiberglass shower pan with teak grating, intended as a wet head. In early Totem days we removed the shower, but in its wet head lifespan, the seam between the pan and a bulkhead opened up. Water found its way through and rotted the lower portion of the bulkhead. The area was not visible nor accessible, but Jamie noticed small bits of rotted plywood in the bilge.

He cut a small access hole through the shower pan to assess, and, well, throughout the day it became a large access hole, followed by the decision to rip out the entire pan. A two-foot-wide section at the bottom of the bulkhead was dry rot. (Every boat has it, boss.)

As he cut out the bad section of bulkhead to begin repairs, other possibilities rolled around his head: We could get rid of the 40-year-old cracked Formica. We wanted to decommission the old VacuFlush toilet and upgrade to a newer type, but it would need a new base. Why not move it from the awkwardly narrow location as well? The washing machine sat inside a locker; that placement could be better. Why not rebuild the adjacent vanity while updating that storage? Why not relocate the holding tank seacock that was barely reachable? Heck, why not just rebuild the whole cabin? In the end, only the holding tank (which we installed in Australia in 2011) remained in the same place.

Form and Function

It’s nice to have an appealing cabin after years of strict utilitarianism. It’s also more functional and more comfortable. The bulkhead was rebuilt in a way that no water can ever reach again. Stating the obvious, we made a conscious choice to move away from the wood-paneled interior look of a classic bluewater boat. I expect this will garner some hand-wringing from the traditionalists, and I don’t care. We love the clean, fresh feel and tones of the new finishes. 

To counterbalance the loss of warm tones (still not missing the sterile white Formica), we looked for natural materials to bring back an organic feeling of warmth. A bamboo vanity counter and river rock sole fit the bill nicely.

As for function, the new toilet location and orientation allows easier use while sailing. The washing machine is out of obvious sight and fits the small space perfectly. The existing vanity area storage is more accessible. The vessel style of sink—not normally a favorite—has the subtle benefit of less small counter space. And, it just looks cool!

Material Selection

Bamboo, for the vanity, was honestly a bit of an experiment. It had to be perfectly sealed, as any moisture will wick, stain and damage. Our fingers are crossed for now. We purchased it in plywood sheets from Cali Bamboo, saturated them in multiple coats of epoxy, then used a matte two-part polyurethane finish.

River rock was an unconventional choice for a boat. It feels incredible underfoot. Every time I set foot into the head now feels like a bit of reflexology therapy. To make the install easier, we purchased it in tiles designed to nest together from Pebble Tile Mosaics. They were set in epoxy, sealed, and a boat-friendly grout was applied.

We use AlexSeal for Totem’s hull, and we used the same for the interior. The goal was a durable finish that would feel almost like gelcoat for easy cleaning and permanence. What we didn’t want was the shiny look of a hull, though, which meant adding a lot of flattener. Warmer whites (the cloudlike Fleet White for the headliner, and the warmer toned Lunar White for the walls/bulkheads) give the space a homey glow. The folks at AlexSeal and San Diego Marine Exchange, where we purchased the paint, answered our many questions to achieve the look we wanted.

Product Selections

Toilet. Out goes the VacuFlush, in goes the Tecma Nano. We’ve used Tecma for several years in the aft head, and are impressed. Fresh water (and it doesn’t use much) means no smell. A composting head was never part of our consideration set, since the lone benefit for us is storage space by getting rid of a holding tank. Not compelling, especially when weighed against the tradeoffs. The head’s location changed in the refit. It’s now oriented so when seated you face across the beam instead of fore/aft. Much easier underway.

Sink. The Vitreous China Sink was an affordable (about $60) Wayfair purchase. With a 16-inch by 13-inch oval, opting for a vessel style instead of inset, the counter space was effectively increased, which makes a big difference such a compact space. The faucet is a household Delta model, and while it felt too expensive at nearly triple the cost of the sink, we had been frustrated by faucets and taps that failed quickly and we appreciated that the “guts” of these ones are better made.

Washer. Nothing new here. This is the same Giantex we’ve had since 2018, after finally graduating from the five-gallon bucket. We’ve considered upgrades, but this simple, affordable (we paid around $200) machine has been great. Check out our washing machine discussion for ideas here.

Favorites

I posted a list of reasons I love the new head on our social media, and the response inspired a more detailed summary. So here goes. A few things stand out: First, how clean this looks, even with the open cubbies. Okay, don’t laugh about the peanuts on that top cubby. That container is actually holding kibble for our ship’s cat, Panchita. Her toys, treats and first-aid kit occupy part of the storage locker behind the head.

I finally embraced a feeling of settling into our home again while rolling up a new set of Marmara’s Turkish towels. We treated ourselves to a new set when we moved back abaord, saying goodbye to the prior towels we’ve had for eight years. Fringe-less, this time. For me, hanging a bath-sized towel by the door and a hand towel by the sink was that moment. If you’d like to support small businesses like Marmara, and their yummy, soft organic towels, we highly recommend.

So, what’s missing? Well, the space could use a little more personalization—some artwork, especially. I have a couple of favorite prints that I’m really tempted to put in the head, but I’m afraid I won’t see them often enough. Maybe the right piece will become apparent while wandering a market here in Mexico; something to remind us of this country we’ve come to love.

Reality Check

The understated material, which is not visible and yet we couldn’t have done the refit without, was epoxy. Jamie’s preferred brand is West System, and he sure went through a lot of it—around 38 gallons for the entire refit. He used epoxy and fiberglass to rebuild the bottom of the rotten bulkhead: epoxy thickened with colloidal silica to fill holds and filler inside corners; epoxy thickened a little with easy-to-sand fillers to saturate every interior wood surface to make it waterproof, tougher and prepared for paint. Where there is epoxy, there is sanding—so much sanding—which required sandpaper, respirators, and two overworked random orbital sanders for one very tired sailor who would much prefer to be sailing.

Jamie is very clear about one thing: that he’s not planning to do a refit of this scale ever again.

What do you like about our refit and the changes to this cabin? Got ideas for what to add in our sparse head? Let us know in the comments!

Don’t miss our March TOTEM TALKS, with a special guest!

Notice how I dropped that mention of our cat’s first-aid kit above? We’ve recently been lucky to connect in person with Dr Sheddy, the cruising veterinarian of Vet Tails. She’s been aboard S/V Chuffed for seven years, bringing free health care to animals along the way. (To be honest, I’d never thought about a first-aid kit for a cat, but, as it turns out, of course we need to.) She’ll join us on Saturday, March 30 at 9am Pacific/Noon Eastern to tell stories from her cruising adventures as well as share some highly practical information about taking care of a pet aboard. Register here, and feel free to send questions in advance!

The post Sailing Totem Refit Series: The Forward Head Makeover appeared first on Cruising World.

As sailboat races go, the first Wednesday-night race of the season was off to a cracking start. Our crew maneuvered ungracefully prestart, and we were sloppy tacking aboard the J/35, but our winter fog lifted as we beat toward the windward mark. 

Then the sailing therapy abruptly ended with a crash. 

As dismastings go, this one was uncomplicated. The windward cap shroud failed at the upper T fitting. What had been installed by a rigger the week before became a mess of wires, crumpled aluminum, and torn Kevlar. I was a sailmaker at the time, and my takeaway was clear: Never trust riggers.

Two decades later, I was aloft on our Stevens 47, Totem, to inspect newly fabricated and installed standing rigging. All was fine up to the second spreader, where I found several missing cotter pins. The memory of the dismasting came to mind. Our dream of sailing to the South Pacific with three young children suddenly felt riskier. We had hired the best rigger around, but the entire project was a fraught with mistakes and delays. A couple of bucks’ worth of missing parts could’ve toppled the mast, our dream and our safety.

Most sailors don’t think it’s necessary to inspect a rigger’s work, just as most drivers never inspect a car’s engine before driving away from a mechanic’s repair shop. But there is a difference. If a car repair is faulty, resources are nearby. Rigging problems at sea can be complicated, and there’s not usually an expert rigger around the corner. 

To prove reliability, you have to own it—really own responsibility for the condition of rigging, steering cables, through-hull fittings and more. This can feel daunting because it’s technical. 

For beginners, forget about rigging terminology and engineering. Also, don’t focus on finding cracked wire strands or fittings. That’s not to say ignore them if you find them, but cracked metal is a late discovery, well past safe limits. Instead, learn to spot clues that indicate early stages of a problem. 

For instance, look for rust on stainless steel and for corrosion on aluminum. Question why a line is getting harder and harder to pull. Sight up the mast while sailing to see if the mast profiles look smooth or lumpy, stable or dynamically bouncing. Look from side to side and from front to back. Note how slack the leeward shrouds are while sailing in different windspeeds. And get to the chainplate behind your bookshelf to look for water stains, especially rusty water stains that trail downward. 

These are all clues to potential problems. You don’t have to know the solution, but rigging failures happen mostly because nobody identified the clues.

Rigging Inspection Tips

Stainless steel should be shiny with a smooth, fluid look. Being rough, dull, splotchy or striated might indicate lower-quality metal, or it can mean that the metal has changed properties from age or use. Stainless steel is least effective at resisting rust when its surface is frequently abraded, such as a clevis pin securing the articulating parts of a boom gooseneck. This is also the case when the surface is deprived of the oxygen necessary to form a protective layer, such as bolts passing through a chainplate and bulkhead. 

Have a 10x loupe to amplify what you cannot see well enough with eyes alone. Look for general surface smoothness, pitting and cracks. Light-orange rust is probably superficial, and is easily cleaned with white vinegar and a rag. Darker red and brown rust can indicate failing or failed metal. 

Does the rust have a pronounced line or edge? This could be a crack, even if it’s not opened up yet. Photograph the area to note the date and condition. Then clean away the rust to assess surface problems. If rust reforms in the same areas within several weeks, the metal is not right and needs further attention.

Additional checks for rigging wire include looking for uneven gaps between the wire strands. Run your hand over the wire, feeling for any strands that are slightly raised. These can be broken strands, which might be hidden inside a swage fitting.

Understanding Alignment

Another thing to consider is alignment. It’s the relationship between the direction of a rigging load (force) and the orientation of the rigging component meant to carry that load.

Take a pencil, grasp each end, and try to pull the pencil apart. You probably can’t. Now secure half the pencil length to a table, with the other half extending past the edge. Push down on the overhanging end. It breaks easily. 

The pencil is surprisingly strong when load is parallel to the length of the pencil. The more misaligned the load is to the length, the easier it is to break the pencil. 

It’s the same concept with rigging. Chainplates should be shaped and oriented to transfer load down the length of the metal and into the bulkhead. If the chainplate has an angle out of alignment with the shroud, then the metal flexes to pull it straight if there is enough load. The more it flexes, the weaker and more brittle the chainplate gets. 

This was the cause of our J/35 dismasting. The T fitting at the top of the shroud was set incorrectly in the mast slot. The forced misalignment was too much for the metal, and it failed.

The most common misalignment I see on rigging is with toggles—the U-shaped linkage used at the bottom of every turnbuckle and numerous other parts of standing rigging. A toggle fitted over a chainplate is often wider than the chainplate. There is room enough that the toggle slides, so one side is against the chainplate. The other side, with a gap between it and the chainplate, is misaligned to the load. The rounded-end portion of the toggle (the bottom of the U) is stressed and flexed, ever so slightly. This cycle loading, coupled with the metal pieces scraping against each other and no oxygen, is a recipe for trouble. 

Where the surfaces come together is a good place to look for dark-red or brown rust on the toggle. This misalignment is easily corrected by adding a few bucks’ worth of nylon washers to keep the chainplate centered within the U of the toggle.

A Sad, Common Tale

We did sail Totem to the South Pacific in 2010. In one year sailing between Mexico and Australia, I counted 15 boats that had dismasted along the way, and a few near dismastings. One occurred on friends’ Tayana 52 after the headstay chainplate sheared off at deck level on passage to remote Suwarrow in the Cook Islands. 

Their chainplate was ­oriented fore and aft. After years of sailing with the wind force in the genoa pushing the headstay side to side, imperceptible flexing in the chainplate without ­structural support to counter the misaligned force weakened the metal to the point of breaking. 

Fortunately, in that case, the inner forestay and a downwind sailing angle (where forces pushing the mast forward create less load on the headstay) were enough to support the mast through the midnight fire drill to reduce sail and destress the rigging. But the lesson remains the same: Try to spot and fix these problems before they reach this point.

As I write this, Totem is nearly ready to sail west across the Pacific Ocean again. Our 30-month refit has left much of Totem new, except the mast, which is original at 42 years old. The standing rigging is only four years young, but I’ll be aloft with my 10x loupe regularly in hopes of keeping the trip uncomplicated, as ocean crossings go.

The post How to Rig Everything in Your Favor appeared first on Cruising World.

Preparing your diesel engine for the upcoming season is a task not to be feared, as long as you follow a thorough checklist and take your time to ensure that each step is completed correctly. Here’s a guide to help you navigate the basics of the de-winterization process, and to ensure reliable performance and optimal engine health throughout the sailing season. 

1. Inspect the engine compartment. Start by looking for any signs of damage, leaks or corrosion that may have occurred during the winter months. Check all hoses, belts and connections for cracks, wear or deterioration, and replace any damaged components as needed.

2. Change the engine oil and filter. Drain the old engine oil and replace it with fresh, high-quality diesel-engine oil of the recommended grade. Also, replace the oil filter to ensure optimal engine performance and lubrication during the upcoming sailing season.

3. Check the fuel system. Look for signs of contamination or water buildup that may have occurred during storage. Drain any water or sediment from the fuel tank, and replace the fuel filters to ensure clean fuel flow to the engine.

4. Inspect the cooling system. Check the coolant level, and top off the coolant if necessary. Inspect hoses, clamps, and connections for leaks or damage. Ensure that the raw-water intake and cooling system are free from debris or blockages that could affect engine cooling.

5. Inspect and test the batteries. Check the condition of the batteries, and clean the terminals to ensure good electrical connections. Charge the batteries fully. Test them to ensure that they are holding a charge and are capable of starting the engine reliably.

6. Pre-lubricate the engine. Before starting the engine for the first time after winter storage, manually turn the crankshaft a few times using a wrench or socket. This helps circulate oil throughout the engine and prevents dry starts, reducing wear on engine components.

7. Start the engine and monitor it. Once everything is inspected, cleaned and prepared, start the engine, and let it run at idle for a few minutes to ensure proper oil circulation and fuel flow. Watch the engine gauges for abnormalities, and listen for unusual noises or vibrations that may indicate issues.

8. Do a test run. Take the boat out for a short ride to ensure that the engine is running smoothly and performing as expected. Monitor the engine temperature, oil pressure and other vital parameters, and address any issues immediately.

The post How To De-Winterize Your Diesel Engine appeared first on Cruising World.

Reaching out of the channel in a moderate breeze, Quiver leaned on her big, overlapping genoa and accelerated up to hull speed. Surrounded by a fleet of vessels of similar speed, we had managed a clean and conservative start to our first Friday night beer-can race on my new-to-me cruising yacht. The headsail was eased and furled slightly before we reached the final red channel marker. As I turned up, the mainsail was trimmed in and the now-smaller jib sheeted home. Quiver powered up, heeled over and took off upwind. The Doug Peterson-designed 34-footer was clearly in her element when going uphill, and I looked forward to working our way through the fleet on the long port-tack beat toward Oahu’s Diamond Head.

Mere seconds after going hard on the wind, there was a loud bang. And then the headstay went slack. Without enough time to contemplate whether the mast was going to stay upright, I quickly evaluated the situation and decided to turn up into the wind instead of bearing away to a run. Once in irons, I handed off the helm and ran two spinnaker halyards forward to help secure the mast. Amazingly, we were still able to furl the jib. Motorsailing back to the dock with just a mainsail up, I played every possible scenario through in my head, unable to diagnose exactly what had happened or what had broken.

Back at the dock, there was ample daylight left to pull the headstay and furler down to investigate — much more easily done with the presence of a few friends. At first, nothing appeared to be broken at the bottom or the top, making it that much more confusing as to what had failed. Once I pulled the furler drum apart, however, I quickly found the smoking gun. The toggle at the bottom of the headstay, which connects to another toggle and effectively lives inside of the furler, was extremely corroded and had failed catastrophically. Fortunately for me and the boat, which I had purchased just five days earlier, the failed toggle could not fit through the furler’s aluminum foil; that was all that kept the headstay from physically separating and the boat potentially dismasting.

The entire experience was a shocker, to say the least. I had sailed the boat on a sea trial with the previous owner as part of the purchase. In 20 knots of trade-wind breeze, we sailed into the channel all powered up, with a reef in the main and a partial jib, with not a care in the world. Back at the dock, I had a friend help crank me aloft to complete a rig inspection, something that was very common for me to do in my years of working as a professional yacht rigger and as crew and preparateur on high-end racing yachts in the San Francisco Bay area. When all looked satisfactory up the rig, I bought the boat for $10,000 cash and sailed her back to Waikiki that day. Five short days and a couple more daysails later, the one rigging component that was out of sight during my visual inspection nearly brought the entire rig crashing down on my first Friday race with the boat.

After a trip to the chandlery and an afternoon work session with a friend, I had the blown-apart toggle replaced with a shiny new one, making the boat, in theory at least, perfectly sailable. Without fully knowing how old the standing rigging was, however, I decided that now was the time to fully rerig Quiver. I had planned on doing this before I did any serious sailing with the boat, but after our early mishap, this expensive yet basic maintenance project took on a new urgency. While rerigging the boat, I would also inspect the chainplates and make sure that all was structurally sound with them. I had dismasted a boat before, and as much fun as my time fixing that boat had been, I sincerely didn’t need to dismast another.

First things first: I needed to measure the rig for new stays, so I grabbed my mast-climbing gear and got right to work (see “Going Up,” at the end of this article).

As I headed aloft, I took a minimum of tools and cranked myself up the mast, taking the butt end of a 100-foot tape measure with me. With a helper at the bottom, I held the zero mark on the tape measure tightly against the center of the clevis pin at the top of each shroud (depending on how your stays are attached to the mast, look for the center of the load-bearing point at the top).

Standing on deck with the spool end of the tape measure, my helper pulled the tape tight and measured to the center of the clevis pin at deck level. Once he called out a measurement to me, we would take our respective ends of the tape off of the shrouds and then measure again. Once we were confident that we had it measured as accurately as possible — down to one-twentieth of an inch — we recorded the measurement and moved on to the next. In some cases where there were slight differences between port and starboard (only a couple tenths or a half inch) we just averaged the two sides and took that as our measurement for the new shrouds.

Following the old handyman’s adage of “measure twice, cut once,” my helpers, Mike and Kristen, and I all took great care to get the measurements right before placing our rigging order.

Getting boat parts and work done in Hawaii can often be a challenge because there are fewer marine facilities and resources in the islands than there are on the mainland, and everything is an expensive and slow ship or plane ride away. As a result, a bit of resourcefulness is always of benefit when cruising or living in a remote place. In my case, the resourcefulness was measuring the rig myself and ordering all of the parts from an outfit that I knew could fill the order in a timely fashion, give me great service and get me better deals on parts than I could achieve locally. I called up my old friend Logan at Rigworks in San Diego. He was pumped to get the opportunity to help out and got right back to me with an invoice, all ­done up with some good-guy pricing. Everything was in stock, and they could have my shiny new rigging to me in a week. Perfect.

Comparing apples to apples, it’s interesting to note that the rigging for my Peterson 34 was right at about double what it was for my Cal 27 and Cal 29, owing to the nature in which boats get exponentially more expensive as they get larger.

With the rigging on the way, I needed to have two chainplates made locally. The smallest chainplates on the boat, for the forward lower shrouds, needed replacing as the starboard one had a crack in it. My quickest and most convenient option ended up being a general machine shop located in an industrial zone in an alley in Honolulu. Ed Dang Machine Works custom ordered 316 stainless-steel stock and, using the originals as patterns, built two custom chainplates and backing plates for a reasonable price. Built in the afternoon on a Friday, they came out a bit off and had to be remade. The machinist fully owned up to his mistake, apologized for the inconvenience and remade the chainplates the same day, for the original price, which was greatly appreciated because I was on a mission to get Quiver back on the water on time and on budget.

Installing the new chainplates, backing plates and cover plates was straight­forward and simple. I also made a point to pull a couple of other chainplates out for visual inspections. Like the headstay’s lower toggle failure that easily could have dismasted the boat, it’s usually the hidden part of a chainplate, where it passes through the deck, that poses the biggest potential risk. Corrosion can develop there because of a lack of oxygen, causing the metal to fail.

Once the new rigging arrived, it was merely a job of installing nine shrouds one by one and then tackling the hardest, the headstay, last.

Slacking off all four lower shrouds before going aloft, I cranked myself up to the first of the two sets of spreaders and locked off my block-and-tackle harness with a double slipknot. Carefully unpinning one shroud at a time, I tied a tag line through the marine eye fitting and slowly lowered each shroud down to my helper, who would then remove the old wire and tie on the new one. Pulling the new shroud into place and then untying it from the tag line, I could then pin each shroud to the mast.

Carefully unpinning one shroud at a time, I tied a tag line through the marine eye fitting and slowly lowered each shroud down to my helper, who would then remove the old wire and tie on the new one. Pulling the new shroud into place and then untying it from the tag line, I could then pin each shroud to the mast.

Installing the new shrouds with the rig up, in the slip, is a surprisingly easy job, especially when you have competent help and no major hiccups. With proper techniques and a thoroughly planned, safety-first approach, it is well within the scope of many cruising sailors to measure, remove, replace and potentially repair their own rigging.

With the nine new shrouds in place, it was time to move on to the headstay, which would be by far the most difficult and laborious task. Tying an 1⁄8-inch Dyneema messenger line around a rigging component at the top of the headstay and then securing it to the masthead, I ensured that I could not drop the headstay while unpinning it, which was critical because the headstay weighs so much more than any other shroud due to the furling unit and its aluminum foil extrusion.

After unpinning and lowering the entire unit to the dock, we chopped off the swageless eye fitting at the top. There are methods of splicing an old headstay to a new one to help pull the new headstay in place, but with a foil that looked fairly large and easy to work with, we just pulled out the old wire and fed the new one up the foil, jiggling it around each time it got stuck at a joint between two sections. With the new headstay now in place, I measured it and used a hacksaw to cut it to the proper length. Next, I picked apart the strands and carefully installed a Hayn Hi-Mod swageless fitting, making sure to use anti-corrosion Tef-Gel where needed.

Once everything was ready, I went back aloft, pulled up the new headstay and pinned it back in place. It wasn’t exceptionally easy to pull the shroud up and install it while 50 feet in the air, but again, with a thoroughly planned, safety-first approach, it was quite a manageable task.

Though I still plan to pull the mast and give it a thorough overhaul before any long-distance cruising, Quiver now has brand-new standing rigging and a couple of new chainplates. A few weeks and a few thousand dollars after nearly dismasting my new vessel, I sailed Quiver out of the same channel, hung a left at the last red marker and turned hard on the wind again. The drama of headstay failure was replaced with the sheer pleasure of sailing a good and powerful 34-foot tiller boat upwind.

Over the next 19 hours, the breeze eventually went light, and died altogether a couple of times, but my thrown-together crew of four sailed to Lahaina, on the island of Maui, for Quiver‘s maiden voyage with the upgraded rig.

Power-reaching into Lahaina at 0100 with a stiff offshore breeze, I had my first epic bit of night-sailing on the boat. I had sailed to Maui to attend my close friend “Uncle” Tony’s wedding. He had sailed his previous Kaufman 47 Knot Tide Down to New Zealand from Hawaii, alongside my old Cal 2-27 Mongo. The night before the wedding, Quiver served up a picture-perfect sunset whale-watching tour for the bride and groom and some of their close friends, complete with numerous humpback sightings. It was a fond new memory to add to my collection from the past.

While I still have many more projects to complete before taking off on my first long bluewater cruise aboard the 34-footer, the unfortunate gear failure just after purchasing Quiver turned into a valuable experience that signaled the beginning of another good old boat’s resurrection. Quiver was already in better nick than she had been in years, and the dream of voyaging to distant lands was well and truly back alive after months of boatlessness. After a ripping sail home to Oahu via the north shore of Molokai, Quiver had proved herself. Only one question still remained: Where on earth will you take me, boat?

Going Up: Ascending a Mast

Before working on any mast — unless it’s a crewed race boat with lots of muscle to haul me aloft — I much prefer to assemble my own rig-ascending setup as opposed to being dependent on a helper to help crank me up and down the spar. To do this, I use my bowman’s harness, which is essentially just a rock-climbing harness, and attach a block and tackle to it.

I use a 3-to-1 purchase, meaning that I need roughly four times as much rope as the mast is long. In the case of Quiver, that meant buying about 200 feet of 5⁄16-inch double-braid polyester line. A 4-to-1 purchase is also quite useful; it merely costs and weighs a bit more, along with the additional rope required. There are many other ways to ascend a mast, but for performing work aloft by one’s self or pulling rigging jobs on the side, the block and tackle attached to a harness or bosun’s chair is my preferred method. Once I reach the desired height, I use a double slipknot to secure myself in place.

Ronnie Simpson, a frequent CW contributor, is a sailor and writer living in Honolulu while he pursues a degree in integrated multi­media at Hawaii Pacific University. He is the co-founder of a wounded veterans sailing nonprofit.

The post Standing Rigging Replacement appeared first on Cruising World.

While it’s easier to check the following items with the boat still on the hard, you should be able to inspect and service critical systems even if you’re a full-time liveaboard and the boat’s in the water. Here then, is the fitting out to-do list I use on a ­periodic basis.

Through-hulls should actuate smoothly. The older cone-shaped valves can be easily disassembled and greased, while ball valves respond well to some grease applied from the outside while they are closed (be sure to work them until they turn smoothly). If the boat’s out of the water, be sure to close any nonessential through-hulls before launching. We usually launch with just the engine’s intake open.

Every hose connection below the waterline should have two hose clamps in good condition, and any hoses should be free of cracking and inspected for weak spots or chafe. Also, be sure that an emergency plug is either tethered to the hose or in a very obvious and quickly accessible location.

Bilge pumps ought to test normally in both automatic and manually switched-on mode. Our ketch, Lyra, also has a high-water alarm, simply a float switch wired into a siren. Consider adding an alarm if your vessel doesn’t have one — ours has gone off twice in the 10 years we’ve owned the boat, saving us our engine and, in one case, a possible sinking. Manual bilge pumps should be crack-free and checked to make sure they are working properly.

Steering gear will operate smoothly if inspected and maintained properly. In the event that the boat’s out of the water, hold the trailing edge of the rudder firmly and throw your weight back and forth on it. There should be little to no play or vibration in the rudder shaft, tube or shoe at the base of the skeg (if your boat has one). Look for any stress cracking around the rudderstock, both inside the boat and on the rudder.

Cable steering should have no wear on the chain or sprocket. Tension should be not quite tight enough to thrum if you tap the wire. Any burrs can be found by running a paper towel along the cable — look for any bits of paper that are left behind. If there is any metal dust below the chain sprocket or any sheaves, it indicates that abnormal wear is occurring, and there may be an alignment or bearing issue. Wiping a light coat of motor oil on the chain and cable will complete the inspection.

Auxiliary power is, in many cases, a modern cornerstone of safe and enjoyable sailing. While many of us prefer to think of ourselves as intrepid sailors battling the elements and braving the salty brine in the grand tradition of Joshua Slocum, the sad fact is that most of us tend to rely on the trusty iron genny rather more than not as we battle tide, weather or simply stay an extra couple of hours at anchor before moving on. It behooves us to ensure that the engine is in tip-top working order.

One of the most important tools at your disposal is a comprehensive maintenance log. Update it frequently and as thoroughly as possible. This will provide a detailed history of the work you’ve done but should also include contact information for parts sources and mechanics, and commonly used part numbers for quick troubleshooting and maintenance later.

Hopefully, your engine oil and fuel ­filters were changed in the fall. With the motor still cold, the motor oil, transmission oil and coolant should be at the manufacturer’s recommended levels, and any clear bowl, such as that found in the fuel filter, should be clean. Place fresh white oil-absorption pads under the engine to show any drips that occur both before and after running the engine. Each fluid in the engine has a distinct color, scent and feel — be familiar with each as it comes new from the container.Engine oil will typically discolor within a few hours of run time, but should never smell like soot or fuel. If there is any cause for concern — or just for peace of mind — an inexpensive way to glean an amazing amount of information about the health of the engine is to send an oil sample to a lab. There are a number of kits and companies, such as Blackstone Labs, that will analyze the engine’s lubricants for about $30 per test. They will check for unwelcome things like water, antifreeze, carbon and fuel in the oil. The lab will want at least 20 hours on the fluid change for accurate analysis.It is time to change the coolant if there is discoloration or you find sediment in the reservoir. Always use the recommended coolant type for your engine; mixing different coolants can cause major problems associated with precipitates or acid.Before heading out for the season’s shakedown run, make sure the intake through-hull is open and the strainer is clean.

While it’s fine to change the impeller on the manufacturer’s recommended schedule, consider removing the water-pump cover and checking for any wear, cracking or missing paddles. Also look for any sign of salt trails or dripping seals, which can indicate a problem. I recently had a virtually new impeller burn up when it lost its prime due to a rushed cleaning of the gasket surfaces. There was a clear salt trail down the face of the water-pump cover. If the motor has a zinc, be sure it’s been replaced.

When I first start the engine after a prolonged period, I like to warm it gently while still at the dock. I’m careful to listen for any unusual noises — tapping valves, squeals, clunks when shifting, etc. Are there fluid drips or seeps on or under the motor? Are the batteries charging?

Also check for normal water flow out the exhaust, and watch for smoke or a sheen on the water.

This is also a good time to check your stuffing box to make sure that it’s functioning properly. There should be about a drip per second on the older-style packing boxes and none at all on the dripless variety. The dripless glands should never be hot to the touch (Take the motor out of gear to check this!), and the ­accordion-style cover should have no cracking. Hose clamps mating either type of stuffing box to the shaft log should be robust and in perfect condition, and the shaft should spin with little or no vibration.

I prefer to run up the engine in steps to full throttle once underway, checking everything each time I increase rotations per minute. Diesel motors need to be run hard from time to time to clean out soot deposits. Doing so will help keep your injectors and turbo in top condition. Also, a few minutes of hard running early on will ensure peace of mind when you need to open it up to make port on an outgoing tide on a windy day. If all is well, cool the power plant down and check all the fluids again before its next use.

A few other items that are often overlooked merit some attention before loading the family aboard and merrily pointing the bow toward the next adventure.

Freshwater systems in cold climates will have antifreeze in the lines and often in the tanks. The quickest way to clean them out and prepare them for use is to add just a few gallons of fresh water at a time while running all of the water-using appliances. Run the tank dry and repeat until water runs clear, and smells and tastes clean.

While the hose is out, spray down ­traditionally leaky areas to locate any new drips. The mast boot, portlights and anything that is through-bolted (particularly over bunk areas!) are all good bets.

Check anchor chain and line for overall health. Are all the shackles moused or zip-tied? Is the rode’s bitter end attached to the boat with a piece of line that will hold the boat but can be cut?

Treat canvas. Sunbrella recommends (we do too) 303 Fabric Guard. This is best done with the canvas laid out on the dock or grass, but can be done in place. Annual treatments will waterproof and protect the fabric, often extending its life by years.

Green Brett spends his sailing season as a charter captain aboard the family’s Reliance 44 ketch Lyra in Newport, Rhode Island.

The post Spring Fitting Out Checklist for Your Boat appeared first on Cruising World.

Like many Taiwanese boats built in the 1980s, my Kaufman 47, Quetzal, was slathered in teak. Side decks, foredeck, cabin trunk, handrails, coamings — a veritable forest afloat. As someone capable of rationalizing almost anything, and because I was able to buy the boat for a great price, I not only accepted the abundance of teak, I embraced it. Of course I knew that practical-minded sailors scorned external wood; indeed, I was one of them before I felt the magic of teak beneath my bare feet, at least on cloudy days when the decks were not scalding. And yes, I knew that teak decks were becoming scarce on new boats and seen as a liability on older boats. But that didn’t stop me from bragging about teak’s unrivaled nonskid capabilities and excellent insulating properties. And I loved the aesthetic, boasting that a handsome renewable resource like teak softened the cold, oil-derived glare of a utilitarian fiberglass deck. I was more than a teak-deck apologist; I was a teak-deck snob.

I bought the boat in 2003, and to my dismay, my decks started to show signs of wear and tear just a few years later. I sail a lot, around 10,000 miles a year, and the decks were subjected to cascades of seawater washing over them and the roughshod treatment of an offshore training vessel doing her job, scribbling rhumb lines across the Atlantic. Although I tried, I couldn’t ignore the screw heads appearing under sprung bungs, the raised and missing caulking on the foredeck and a couple of weathered planks that had splintered. But it was a mugging in Trinidad that hastened the demise of my teak dreams.

I left the boat on the hard for a couple of weeks and hired a highly recommended chap to lightly sand the decks, reseat a few fasteners, replace missing bungs and caulk the worst sections. I returned to a crime scene. My beautiful teak decks had been attacked by a belt sander armed with 16-grit assault paper and smeared with black caulk. At first I wanted to cry, then I wanted to commit a crime of my own. But the damage was done, the life of the decks shortened and, when Quetzal slinked out of Chaguaramas like a shorn English sheep dog, I vowed never again to commission work from a contractor I didn’t know, especially when I was thousands of miles away from the yard.

I kept sailing and mending as I went, but the decks became more and more of an eyesore. When they started to leak, I knew something had to be done. My friends and shipmates grew weary of my incessant fretting over the decks. “Stop complaining and do something,” I told myself, but I could not decide what to do.

I considered replacing them with new fastener-free decks manufactured from templates and mounted with adhesives. These modern teak decks are lovely in every respect except price. When I received an estimate from Teak Decking Systems of $55,000 to $60,000, I became less of a teak-deck snob.

I looked into synthetic teak, also known as fake teak, and was impressed by its appearance and practicality. I gathered a box full of samples and laid them on deck like playing cards. But after boasting about real teak for years, I just couldn’t pull the trigger on installing a synthetic replacement.

I looked seriously at cork and invited myself aboard several aluminum and steel boats to inspect their cork decks. Cork is a natural, sustainable product, but it’s also expensive, the installation seemed beyond my talents and my wife, Tadji, really didn’t like the look. “Cork,” she assured me, “is for wine bottles.”

With the realization that every option required the same process to prepare the sub deck, I finally decided to remove the teak, fill the thousands of fastener holes with epoxy, and fair and then spray the decks with nonskid mixed in the paint. My teak-deck days were behind me, alas. It was on to whiter pastures.

The decision was liberating, but I underestimated what a massive job it was going to be to create a utilitarian, low-maintenance fiberglass deck.

I chose the boatyard at Spring Cove Marina in Solomons, Maryland, just south of Annapolis, for the project. Spring Cove has been Quetzal‘s home away from home, and the talented crew had already made many valuable upgrades and repairs over the years. Full disclosure, the yard is owned and operated by my sister and brother-in-law, Liz and Trevor Richards, vastly experienced sailors who have been cruising off and on aboard their Endurance 37, Wandering Star, (including a circumnavigation) for many years.

My cost-controlling plan called for a mix of DIY and professional work. My friends and I were responsible for the destruction phase of the project, removing the old decks. Time was of the essence, as the gap in my training schedule gave us one month to complete the entire project. The doubters were plenty.

The first step was to pull the mast, haul the boat and block it up in the paint shed. Working under cover freed us from weather concerns. Next, we removed every deck fitting — every cleat, clutch, track, anything mounted directly on teak. Fortunately, designer Mike Kaufman and builder Kha Shing used several solid fiberglass islands to mount high-load winches and the traveler base. Still, this was a time-­consuming process, requiring one person on deck, one below, and the removal of just about every headliner to gain access to the stubborn nuts anchoring the through-bolts.

The next task, removing the teak, filled me with emotion. With a heavy heart and cold chisel in hand, I surveyed the once-beautiful teak deck and sighed, remembering times I’d gone forward to reef the main or set the staysail, always with secure footing.

I imagined a process for removal that combined controlled physical effort with a sense of quality and renewal, something Robert Pirsig, author of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, would understand. “A person who sees quality and feels it as he works is a person who cares,” he wrote. I cared. I was even filled with a sense of tranquility; it was going to be OK. I imagined saving teak planks and sending them to former shipmates as keepsakes.

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In the most caring of ways, I slipped the chisel under the teak on the coachroof and pried. Nothing happened. I pushed harder; still not much movement. I pushed even harder (I have been accused of having the touch of a Russian midwife) and the chisel popped out and gashed my hand. I cursed, then caught myself. "Come on, Quetzal, I care." I reset the chisel and pushed with all my might. An inch, maybe 2, of teak popped free and cracked at the fastener. Hmm? This was going to require a lot less caring and better tools or it might take a year to strip the teak off.

My team and I regrouped at Lowe’s. Bigger chisels, propelled by 3-pound sledgehammers, started to get results. Then we discovered the rotary hammer and demolition bits. Soon, wood was flying and dust filled the air. So much for Zen and deck souvenirs, this was hand-to-hand combat. The Art of War, by Sun Tzu, became our new playbook. “If you know your enemy, and know yourself, victory will not stand in doubt.” Stubborn teak planks, tenacious old caulk and too many stainless fasteners were the enemy.

My fellow soldiers were dear friends and frequent Quetzal crewmembers. Alan Creaser, from Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, was our captain, pushing us through low moments when our knees buckled, backs ached and spirits drooped. Alan, who is currently managing the operations of the legendary Bluenose schooner, reminded us that the original Bluenose, built in 1921, went from "tree to sea in 96 days," crafted entirely with hand tools — surely we could knock off old teak decks in just a few days.

Ron Sorensen, an engineer by trade who has crossed the Atlantic twice aboard Quetzal, has round heels when it comes to my pleas for help. He's a pushover. Bruce Steely fell for Quetzal in the Caribbean, and came to work by boat. His small trawler was loaded with tools, and by the end of the project we had used them all.

I have, unfairly I must say, been accused of being the Tom Sawyer of the sea, working my friends to the bone and offering them nothing but lunch and a few slaps on the back in return. It’s not true. I am in the sail-training business, after all, and I could have been charging them for this invaluable experience. Tom Sawyer wouldn’t have missed an opportunity like that. All joking aside, I am incredibly fortunate to have many talented friends. There is a camaraderie about offshore sailing that breeds genuine friendships.

We have had many shared adventures aboard Quetzal, and those of us who sail her feel a deep connection to her. She's our conduit to blue water and the good life waiting at sea. And when she needs work, we all pitch in. It's just not always easy to explain this utopian ideal to spouses. "You paid this guy how much to sail with him and now you're working on his boat for free?"

By the end of Day Two, the teak was in serious retreat. We had most of the cabin top cleared and were making progress on the more challenging side decks. Nothing about the task was easy. We discovered that leaving fasteners in place and zipping them out with a drill afterward was the best tactic. When the head was stripped, we used vice grips to remove them, and of the 3,000-plus screws that once littered the deck, fewer than 20 remain entombed in fiberglass today.

After four days, every last bit of teak was in the scrap bin. We then went after the remnants of the caulk, a tough slurry concocted in Taiwan, but it couldn't hold out against four determined air sanders. Six days after we started, Quetzal's deck was clean. We didn't rest on the seventh day; we celebrated at the tiki bar down the road, a questionable call as the next morning proved.

Quetzal's deck is a composite construction with Airex foam coring. The top layer of fiberglass is ½-inch thick; the Airex is about 1¼ inches; and the bottom layer of fiberglass is ¼ inch, making for a very stiff deck. A key attribute of Airex is that it resists water, and a close inspection and some heavy-footed stomping about the teakless deck revealed no obvious delamination. The next step was to fill all the screw holes using West System epoxy filler. Yard manager Don Reimers then suggested adding a layer of fiberglass to ensure a watertight deck. Don, who has also crossed the Atlantic aboard Quetzal, joked, "I don't want to be leaked on again on my next crossing."

While the yard crew worked on the deck, a new team of volunteers — Bob Pingel, Dan Stillwell and Earl Bennett — arrived to relieve Alan and Bruce, while Ron soldiered on for a second week. With the mast in a rare horizontal plane, we seized the opportunity to replace the standing rigging, add a new wind transducer and pull fresh wires through the spar. We also serviced the winches. In typical Quetzal fashion, a full-blown refit was sandwiched into the deck project.

When the new layer of fiberglass cured, the decks were primed with Awlgrip. It would have made sense to finish painting before reinstalling the deck fittings, but my tight schedule dictated otherwise. Every fitting would have to be taped before the final three coats of Awlgrip were applied. Another friend and Atlantic-crossing shipmate, Danny Peter, flew in to lend a hand. The two of us bed and remounted every piece of hardware, including new stanchions and mast rails, using a case of 3M 4200 and squeezing into tight corners below to wrestle a wrench onto wayward nuts.

Eighteen days after we started, I flew to France to captain a canal-boat trip, and returned a week later. I had four days before I was scheduled to set sail on a training passage to Nova Scotia.

To my surprise, Don had not only finished spraying the deck while I was away, he also sprayed the topsides. Quetzal looked stunning, at least 20 years younger. My sister and her son, Will, had cleaned the disaster below, vacuuming out bags of dust and grime. In short order, the mast was stepped, the rigging tuned, the cushions, cutlery, tools, books, charts and everything else was carried back aboard and hastily stowed.

I was still working when my new crew turned up, and after I introduced myself, they promptly went to work, schlepping provisions aboard. Thirty days after the project began, we pushed off the dock and headed north. It’s amazing what you can do with a lot of help from your friends.

The post Replacing Teak Decks is a Monumental Job appeared first on Cruising World.

During our nearly four-year cruise of Mexico, my husband, Mark, and I lived almost exclusively on 555 watts of solar power charging a 640-amp-hour house battery bank. We anchored out virtually every night aboard our 2008 Hunter 44DS, Groovy, and relied on the sun for power. During one 10-week stretch, while we waited for a replacement engine alternator to arrive, our boat’s solar panels were our sole source of power. We had no backup charging system to turn to, and yet we lived and sailed comfortably the entire time. Mounting solar panels on a sailboat was not difficult, but a few key decisions made a huge difference in how effective our panels were.

A solar-power installation on a sailboat is made up of two independent systems: one system to charge the batteries, and another system to provide 120-volt AC power for household appliances. In the charging system, the solar panels convert sunlight into electrical current and deliver it to the batteries via a solar charge controller. Similar to a voltage regulator, the charge controller acts as a gatekeeper to protect the batteries from receiving more current than they need as they are being charged. In the AC power system, an inverter or inverter/charger converts the 12-volt DC power in the battery into 120 volts AC whenever it is turned on.

Panel Positioning and Wiring Considerations

One of the biggest challenges for sailors installing solar power on a sailboat is finding a place on the boat where the panels will be shaded as little as possible. Just a few square inches of shade on one panel can render that panel all but inoperable. Unfortunately, between the mast, radome, spreaders and boom, shadows cross the deck all day long, especially as the boat swings back and forth at anchor.

What’s worse, if the panels are wired in series rather than in parallel, this little bit of shade can shut down the entire solar-panel array. When we installed solar power on Groovy, we had already lived exclusively on solar power in an RV for over two years. Our RV solar panels had been wired in series, and we had witnessed the array shutting down current production when just half of one panel was shaded.

Choosing whether to wire the panels in series or parallel on a boat affects the wire gauge required, which is why many solar-power installers lean toward wiring the panels in series. Panels wired in series can be wired all the way to the solar charge controller with a thinner-gauge wire than those wired in parallel. This is because the voltage of panels wired in series is additive, while the current remains constant, so the current flowing is just that of a single panel. In contrast, the current flowing from panels that are wired in parallel is additive, while the voltage across them is not. This means that in a parallel installation, the current going to the charge controller is several times higher and requires much thicker cable to avoid any voltage loss over the length of the wire.

Not only is thinner-gauge wire less expensive, but it is also more supple and easier to work with, making the job of snaking it in and around various crevices in the boat and connecting it to the solar charge controller much less of a struggle. Thus the choice between series and parallel wiring boils down to a trade-off between system performance, expense and ease of solar system installation.

Luckily, the size of the wire can be reduced if higher-­voltage solar panels are chosen. Since watts are determined by multiplying volts by amps, a higher-voltage panel that generates the same watts as a lower-voltage panel will produce less current. Therefore, selecting nominal 24-volt panels instead of 12-volt panels allows for the use of thinner wire sizes no matter how they are wired.

Our Marine Solar Panel Design Choices

In our installation, we decided to mount three 185-watt, 24-volt (nominal) Kyocera solar panels high above the cockpit, well aft of the boom, as far away as possible from potential shade. Our Hunter came with a big, solid stainless-steel arch, and we turned to Alejandro Ulloa, a brilliant metal fabricator at Baja Naval Boatyard in Ensenada, Mexico, to build a polished stainless-steel solar-panel arch extension onto the existing structure. He designed the arch extension with integrated telescoping davits to hoist our dinghy as well as support the solar panels. These davits were strong enough — and the lines and blocks had enough purchase — that either of us could lift our light Porta-Bote dinghy with its 6-horsepower outboard without a winch.

We spaced the panels about a half-inch apart and wired them in parallel. Using two twin-lead wires, we snaked the three positive leads and one common ground down through the inside of the arch tubes so they wouldn’t be visible, and placed wire loom over the exposed wires under the panels.

The junction points for the three parallel panels were on positive and negative bus bars inside a combiner box, all mounted in a cockpit lazarette. Inside the combiner box, we installed three breakers, one for each panel. This gave us the ability to shut off any or all of the panels if we needed to (we never did).

We mounted a Xantrex solar charge controller (model XW MPPT 60-150) in a hanging locker, as close to the batteries as possible, in a spot where it was easy to monitor and program. We ran twin-lead wire from the combiner box to the charge controller and from there to the batteries.

Our boat came with three new 12-volt Mastervolt 4D AGM house batteries, all wired in parallel, for a total of 480 amp-hours of capacity. We wanted a bigger house battery bank, and because it is best for the age, type and size of the batteries to be matched, we added a fourth new Mastervolt 4D AGM house battery, which brought our total to 640 amp-hours. Our batteries were installed at the lowest point in the hull, below the floorboards, and they ran the length of the saloon, from just forward of the companionway stairs to just aft of the V-berth stateroom door.

The best way to charge a bank of batteries that are wired in parallel is to span the entire battery bank with the leads coming from the charge controller. We did this by connecting the positive lead from the charge controller to the positive terminal of the first battery in the bank, and the negative lead from the charge controller to the negative terminal of the last battery. By spanning the entire bank, the batteries were charged equally rather than having the charging current focused on just the first battery in the bank.

We feel that AGM batteries are superior to wet cell (flooded) batteries because they can be installed in any orientation, don’t require maintenance, can’t spill (even in a capsize), and charge more quickly. Our Mastervolt batteries, like almost all AGM batteries on the market, are dual-purpose, combining the very different characteristics of both deep-cycle and start batteries. Our batteries work well, but if we were doing an installation from scratch today, we would consider the new Trojan Reliant AGM batteries. These batteries are engineered strictly for deep-cycle use and have been optimized to provide consistent current and maximize battery life.

Our boat came with a Xantrex Freedom 2,500-watt inverter/charger wired into the boat’s AC wiring system with a transfer switch. The inverter/charger performed two functions. While the boat was disconnected from shore power, it converted the batteries’ 12-volt DC power into 120-volt AC power, allowing us to operate 120-volt appliances, like our microwave. When the boat was connected to shore power, it charged the batteries.

Because this inverter/charger was a modified-sine-wave inverter, mimicking AC ­current with a stair-stepped square wave, we also had a 600-watt pure-sine-wave inverter to power our potentially more sensitive electronic devices. We chose Exeltech because its inverters produce an electrical signal that is clean enough to power medical equipment, and they are NASA’s choice for both the Russian and American sides of the International Space Station. For simplicity, rather than wiring the inverter into the cabin’s AC wiring, we plugged ordinary household power strips into the AC outlets on the inverter and plugged our appliances into the power strips. Like the charge controller, the inverter must be located as close to the batteries as possible. Ours was under a settee.

Shade’s Impact on Sailboat Solar Panels

Once our solar installation was completed on our sailboat, we closely observed the effects of shade on our solar-panel array. We were often anchored in an orientation that put the panels in full sun. Just as often, however, we were angled in such a way that shade from the mast and boom covered portions of our panels. It was fascinating to monitor the solar charge controller’s LCD display whenever the sun was forward of the beam — the current from the panels to the batteries fluctuated up and down as we swung at anchor.

Taking notes one morning, we noticed that the charging current was repeatedly creeping up and down between 9.5 and 24.5 amps as the boat moved to and fro. When the entire solar-panel array was in full sun, it generated 24.5 amps of current. When we moved so the mast shaded a portion of one panel, the array generated 15 amps. When it shaded portions of two panels and only one was in full sun, the array produced just 9.5 amps. Of course, it would have been preferable to see a steady 24.5 amps all morning, but this sure beat watching the current drop to zero whenever a shadow crossed a panel.

We discovered that shade makes a huge impact while sailing, too. Surprisingly, it is far worse to have the panels shaded by the sails than to have the panels in full sun but tilted away from its direct rays. One afternoon, we noticed that while we were on a tack that tilted the panels away from the sun, they generated 24.5 amps of current, whereas on a tack where the panels were tilted toward the sun but two of the three were partially shaded by the sails, the current dropped to a mere 10 amps.

Reflections On Our Solar Panel Installation

A wonderful and surprising side benefit of our large solar panels and arch system was that the setup created fabulous shade over the jumpseats at the stern end of the cockpit. Our metal fabricator, Alejandro, placed a support strut at hand-holding height, and sitting in those seats feels secure and comfortable while sailing, no matter the conditions.

After living on solar power for eight years of cruising and land-yacht travel, we’ve learned that you can never have too much solar power. Groovy’s 555 watts was enough to run all our household appliances as needed, including our nearly 4-cubic-foot DC refrigerator, two laptops, a TV/DVD player, and lights at night. However, it was not quite enough power to run all that plus our stand-alone 2.5-cubic-foot DC freezer during the short days and low sun angles of the winter months without supplemental charging from the engine alternator every few days. For the 10 weeks that we did not have a functioning alternator, our solution was to turn off the freezer, which enabled our batteries to reach full charge every afternoon.

Solar power made a world of difference in our cruise. Not only did it allow us to live comfortably and with ample electricity for weeks on end when our engine alternator went on the blink, but as a “set-it-and-forget-it” system, it also gave us the freedom to anchor out for as long as we wished without worrying about the batteries. In our eyes, the solar-panel arch enhanced the beauty and lines of our boat, giving her a sleek and clean appearance. It was true icing on the cake to discover that the panels and arch system also provided much-needed shade over the cockpit and helm from the hot tropical sunshine. If you are preparing for a cruise, consider turning to the sun for electricity and outfitting your sailboat with solar power.

The Installation:

Emily and Mark Fagan offer cruising tips and share their stories and photos on their website, roadslesstraveled.us. They are currently enjoying a land cruise across America aboard an RV.

The post Adding Solar Power to a Sailboat appeared first on Cruising World.

Whether you’re new to the sailing life or an old salt, the truth is that cruising boats can be complicated and a fair amount of work. Especially if you have a boat in need of some refit projects, there are an almost overwhelming number of skills to know. Even if you’re planning to have a yard do the bulk of any repairs, being able to handle small projects yourself will save money and make you a more self-sufficient cruiser. But where do you start? Fortunately, there are plenty of ways to gain the knowledge ­necessary to handle boat projects large and small.

Books, Videos and Webinars

Look on just about any cruiser’s bookshelf, and you will probably see a copy of Nigel Calder’s Boatowner’s Mechanical and Electrical Manual and a volume or two by maintenance guru Don Casey. Having even a small library of marine maintenance books aboard is a good idea for reference purposes, and books are a great place to start if you’re the type of learner who is comfortable reading about a project and then giving it a shot. A modern alternative to this, especially if you have a specific question, is doing a Web search and checking out forums and videos. A great place to begin is the ABYC’s website for recreational sailors and powerboaters (abycinc​.org/mpage/­recreationalboaters). Here you will find a video collection that covers topics such as using a multimeter and servicing a stuffing box. ABYC has also recently launched an online learning platform that offers a complete course in basic marine electrical DC and AC systems and how to prevent galvanic corrosion. The best part? You can take the course on your own schedule. Take a look on the website (abycinc.org/page/ELearning_Home) for more information.

Whether you’re installing a new through-hull or a cleat, few things are more nerve-wracking than drilling a hole in your boat. And if your boat needs fiberglass or gelcoat repairs, you want to know that you’re doing it correctly. West System has put together a library of articles and videos that cover topics ranging from repairing cracks in fiberglass to replacing balsa core and installing deck hardware. All the reference materials are available for free on the West System website (westsystem​.com), and if you run into a jam, the company has technicians available by phone.

Rhode Island-based marine supplier Jamestown Distributors also has a comprehensive website (jamestowndistributors.com) that includes hundreds of videos and how-to articles and an active forum. Be sure to take a look at the company’s YouTube channel for even more videos (youtube.com/user/JamestownTV).

To learn about canvas projects and repairs, you can’t beat the resources on sewing-­machine manufacturer Sailrite’s website (­sailrite​.com). From simple projects like how to install lifeline netting or make an interior hatch cover, to more complex cushions, sailcovers and splices, these videos will help you get on your way to adding personal touches to your boat and making it more comfortable.

Most refits involve a coat of paint somewhere, which is really just the finishing touch after lots of surface preparation. If you’re wondering where to start with your boat’s bottom, deck or topsides, check out the resources on Cruising World’s website (­cruisingworld.com/1702DIY) as well as West Marine’s helpful West Advisor series (westmarine.com/westadvisor/west-advisor-articles). When the time comes to put on the first coat, all the major paint manufacturers have DIY information on their websites that can help you with preparation and paint compatibility.

There are some areas, however, where hands-on instruction from a professional is the way to go. Veteran offshore voyager and owner of Mahina Expeditions John Neal recommends that sailors who are planning to cruise long-term take courses in sail repair, diesel-engine maintenance and troubleshooting, and electrical systems. He suggests finding comprehensive one- or two-day classes, which are more feasible than longer classes if you need to travel to attend. “I also believe most people learn and retain more in an intensive learning environment, versus an hour or two once a week for several months,” Neal says.

Get Your Hands Dirty

“When it comes to mechanical skills for sailors, a good hands-on technical course certainly beats learning the hard way,” says circum­navigator and Annapolis School of Seamanship instructor Ralph Naranjo. “This is especially true when it comes to marine diesels and electrical systems.”

Options for such courses range from a free hourlong seminar at a boat show to multiday classes that can cost upward of several hundred dollars. Basic seminars will cover an intro to marine ­diesels — how they work and how to take care of them — while more advanced offerings dive deeper into troubleshooting and hands-on repair.

Annapolis School of Seamanship offers two levels of diesel classes: a marine-diesel basics course, which is a combination of lecture and hands-on training, and a two-day advanced course, where students are involved in the disassembly and reassembly of a sailboat-sized diesel. “The school owner, John Martino, likes to say that when your engine quits halfway to Bermuda, you’re on your own, and that’s when knowledge really counts,” says Naranjo. Classes are held throughout the year in Annapolis, Maryland. Check the website (annapolisschoolofseamanship.com) for tuition and schedule information.

When thinking about the DIY skills you need, make sure you don’t overlook your boat’s main mode of propulsion: the sails. Carol Hasse of Port Townsend Sails offers a popular sail-repair course that covers using both a palm and needle and sewing machine for such jobs as mending a seam, attaching a mainsail slide, patching holes and adding leather chafe patches. The intensive two-day schedule and small class size ensure that students have plenty of time to practice. For the schedule, check out Port Townsend Sails’ website (porttownsendsails​.com/seminars.htm).

If you’re interested in diving deeper into specific topics, or if your project boat requires an extensive refit, consider a boatbuilding school. These specialized schools, such as The Landing School (landingschool.edu) and the WoodenBoat School (thewoodenboatschool​.com), both in Maine, and the International Yacht Restoration School (iyrs​.edu) in Newport, Rhode Island, offer full curricula covering all aspects of boat design, ­construction and more. There are other programs ­sprinkled around the country. A quick online search can put you in touch with schools in your area and their course offerings.

Putting It All Together

Martin Skelton and his partner, John Kiriluk, were starting from ground zero with nothing but a desire for the adventure of an open-ended cruise. After plenty of research and guidance, they chose their boat: a 2007 Hylas 54, which they named Genevieve. “She was probably a bit bigger than was prudent and a bit more complex than advisable,” admits Skelton. “But she was lovely and we were smitten.”

Skelton and Kiriluk tackled learning to sail by attending a weeklong course in the BVI with Offshore Sailing School, but realized that they needed much more instruction in how to maintain the boat. “The Cruisers University courses that run at the Annapolis Boat Show were a great resource for us,” says Skelton. “We signed up for a week of courses and ended up learning a great deal about everything from thunder­storms to refrigeration design, and cool boat gadgets to piloting in the Bahamas. But more important than the courses were the interactions and the people we met: other new sailors like ourselves, seasoned salts and, most important, some of the faculty, who are without exception world-class experts in their fields.”

From the foundation of knowledge that Skelton and Kiriluk acquired at Cruisers University, they realized that the next area they needed to tackle was the diesel engine. “Having never been the owner of a diesel engine before, I thought the monster under the companionway steps was mean and ­foreboding,” says Skelton. “So we drew the two weapons of choice to slay it: Nigel Calder’s Marine Diesel Engines book and both the basic and advanced marine-diesel courses at the Annapolis School of Seamanship. By the end of the course … the engine monster had morphed into a kitten.”

Confidence will come from using your boat and successfully completing a few projects; knowledge builds on itself. Just getting your hands dirty will teach you so much about your particular boat’s systems and quirks. “We have realized that we never will stop learning about how to keep Genevieve working, but also that it is not necessary to know everything at once,” says Skelton. “Just start with the basics, and eventually a better understanding of the systems and components will fall into place.”

Quick References

Online Learning
• ABYC (abycinc.org)
• Jamestown Distributors (jamestowndistributors.com)
• Sailrite (sailrite.com)
• Seven Seas U (ssca.org)
• West Marine (westmarine.com/WestAdvisor/West-Advisor-Articles) • West System (westsystem​.com)

Hands-On Training
• Annapolis School of Seamanship; Annapolis, Maryland (annapolisschoolofseamanship.com)
• Cruisers University; Annapolis, Maryland (annapolisboatshows.com)
• Orange Coast College School of Sailing and Seamanship; Newport Beach, California (occsailing.com)
• Port Townsend Sails; Port Townsend, Washington (porttownsendsails.com)
• The WoodenBoat School; Brooklin, Maine (thewoodenboatschool.com)

Jen Brett is CW’s senior editor.

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