The conventional contents of a well-supplied ditch kit no longer make sense for most cruisers. As we prepared our 47-foot Stevens Totem for a new round of ocean passagemaking, we thought more critically about what belongs in our kit. It now looks very different from the kit we packed to sail south from Puget Sound in 2008.

The point of a ditch kit is to provide resources to survive if we must abandon ship. Necessary resources are contextual, of course. Are you 5 miles or 1,500 miles from the coast? What is the nearest rescue or aid-rendering resource? Is it hours away, or days?

Advice about what to put in a ditch kit abounds, but building the best kit for your particular boat and cruising plan is not so simple. There are big lists out there of all the things we might need (for example, Quantum’s recommended list, which includes 79 lines and far more items to pack) that stem from real examples in the living memory of our cruising community where a major event could mean weeks in a raft. Books have been published, such as Adrift: 76 Days at Sea, Steven Callahan’s recounting of his 1982 ordeal. But the world has changed. Trying to build a kit that contains everything is now a liability, not a saving grace. 

Why? For two primary reasons: The time to abandon, and the time to rescue.

Regarding the time to abandon, imagine that you’re offshore when a serious event happens. Your boat is holed by debris. Or, it’s on fire. You have minimal time to launch a life raft. It’s night. The seas are rough. A crewmember is sick or injured. In this scenario, a weighty, overstuffed kit is less likely to make the transfer as you abandon ship—and if the kit’s not with you, it’s not a helpful resource. What’s better than having everything you might need is, instead, having the minimum resources required. A compact, lighter kit will be easier to grab and go, increasing the probability of the ditch kit making it into the raft with you. 

Now, think about time to rescue. In the past, this amount of time in the life raft was routinely much longer than it is today. Your time between calling a mayday and being rescued is almost certainly going to be measured in hours, not weeks. Fishing gear and hand-pumped watermakers are not necessary to survive hours or even a couple of days in a life raft.  

A friend with the U.S. Coast Guard confirmed for us that time to rescue is now startlingly short compared to what it was in past decades. Today’s sailors have better tech for signaling—EPIRBs, personal locator beacons, weatherproof and portable GPS and VHF radios. We also live in an era when rescue services are better coordinated, better equipped (think: heat-sensing cameras) and better at finding boats in distress. Starlink, even, has helped to effect faster retrieval, such as the recent case of the offshore sailboat Raindancer, which sank 15 minutes after colliding with a whale between the Galapagos and Marquesas islands. Quick coordination among cruising boats with Starlink meant the crew was picked up by other cruisers only 10 hours after abandoning ship. 

One key to a rapid rescue time is being able to call a mayday with your location to people who can facilitate your rescue. After that, think about the minimum resources you will need while waiting for help. 

For all these reasons, our ditch kit recommendations now start with an EPIRB that transmits via AIS. (See products from McMurdo and ACR. Some personal locator beacons also have AIS that can signal to help approaching rescuers find you. Have a waterproof VHF radio, ideally with digital selective calling and separately stored batteries. There also are dedicated, emergency VHF radios with long-life lithium batteries. A handheld GPS, also with batteries stored separately, is another good idea, as is a portable way to communicate offshore in weather, such as a Garmin inReach or an Iridium Go.

Next, add drinking water; weatherproof flashlights with separately stored batteries (a waterproof container for all these batteries is ideal, as is one for all the devices); and flares. Consider the traditional, pyrotechnic type as well as electronic flares. 

Beyond that, think about context. Where are you cruising? If you’re in icy waters, you may have other essential requirements, such as survival suits.

Most life rafts come with some gear packed inside. Identify what yours contains, and adjust accordingly. In late in 2023, we purchased an offshore life raft. Inside were a range of items we didn’t need, such as a signaling mirror and seasickness medication.

Our new ditch kit is about one-third the size of the kit we had when we circumnavigated on Totem. The smaller bag is much lighter and easier to carry—and we have secondary ditch kits that we can also try to bring in an emergency, but that are not essential. These secondary kits include a jerry can with fresh water that will float if thrown overboard, and that can be secured to the raft with a tether; basic first aid supplies for burns, cuts and contusions; laminated copies of personal identification documents; dense sources of nutrition, such as granola bars and peanut butter; and low-weight, low-bulk space blankets.

This approach to making modern primary and secondary ditch kits is far better than our old kit, which I could barely even lift—and which ultimately was so heavy, it could have sunk. It also was hard to keep track of all the contents that need periodic review, such as batteries for expiration dates. 

We are far from the only experienced cruisers now advocating for a different ditch-kit approach. Capt. Eugenie Russell, whose J/120 was holed by a whale while racing from Southern California to Ensenada, Mexico, has talked about how that boat’s ditch kit drifted away and sank, instead of making it to the raft. But the EPIRB had been set, and the crew had a handheld VHF radio—which meant they spent only four hours in the life raft. 

Russell now suggests having a VHF radio clipped to you. Maybe a waterproof case for a smartphone and passport clipped to you too. Perhaps a backpack-style ditch bag to keep your hands free in an emergency. 

Context really is everything, though. Don’t let anyone, including us, tell you what should be in your ditch kit. The world is rarely that simple, especially when you’re exploring it by boat.

The post It’s Time to Rethink Your Ditch Kit appeared first on Cruising World.

If, while surfing the web, you happen upon a YouTube series called Sailing Blue Pearl, during Episode 15, you might think you’ve found the reality show Survivor. There are grimaces, grunts, gritted teeth, slumped shoulders and a voice in despair, close to defeat.

But the rivalry here is not between tribes in a made-up game. The antagonist is a boat. It’s a used boat, 40 years old, that an American couple found in Mexico. It was full of potential. But at first, as each problem and roadblock surfaces, and as the dream of sailing recedes, the series is almost painful to watch.

“There is so much broken on this boat that we really have contemplated selling this boat even though we just launched it a week and a half ago,” the usually bubbly series producer, Jessica Hanna, says in a voiceover.

Four months earlier, she and her husband, Chris, had acted on his dream to live on a boat. They bought a 1984, 65-foot, 40-ton Irwin ketch. After their first week at anchor, she panned her camera around Mexico’s La Paz Bay, past neighboring yachts floating in paradise, past a visibly exhausted Chris. She had a glass of wine in her other hand and was drinking it before it went bad because the refrigerator, “fixed” five times, still wouldn’t cool. “I look at the other boats out there, honestly, and think their life must be wonderful,” she says. “We thought this life would be wonderful. But there is so much wrong with this boat that all we can think about is, have we made a mistake?”

I’ve watched a fair number of refitting videos, but none so real or so honest, so full of highs and lows. The Hannas ­struggle with virtually every issue that first-time used-boat owners typically encounter. Relentlessly recorded and professionally edited, Sailing Blue Pearl is a documentary of missed problems, misplaced trust, naiveté and the realities of buying an old boat on which to cruise.

That said, each episode also portrays grit, ingenuity and small triumphs as problems are solved one by one. Most of all, what comes across is love and commitment between a wife and ­husband as they pursue their dream, and the faith they share in God and a sunset glass of champagne. If you binge forward six months to Episode 39, “Welcome to Our Home,” and watch the Hannas walk through their yacht, beautifully restored and cruising the Sea of Cortez, you’ll be struck, as I was, by their resolve and vision.

Their story begins in 2005 in a ballroom-dancing class in Redding, California, where Jessica, 45 and an Oregon transplant, hoped to meet new friends. By chance, she and Chris, 65, got paired for a waltz. As schmaltzy as it sounds, they were engaged four months later. They married in January 2006. Their wedding waltz is preserved in Episode 29, “A Love Story.”

After traveling to 19 countries on vacation, Chris retired from civil engineering, and the couple spent two years seeing 30 states while living in an RV. At some point, they drove it to La Paz, Mexico, and began looking for a boat. 

The Irwin, which had been chartered for $12,000 a week, was packed with amenities designed to make living and entertaining comfortable—luxurious, actually, by used-boat standards. It had a good-size salon, four staterooms, a spacious galley, three heads, a generator, a watermaker, an inverter, five air conditioners, two freezers, a refrigerator, hot water, a washer and dryer, a radar, navigation aids, and all the displays that a yacht might need.

While the sails, winches and spars seemed to be in good shape, previous surveys were shallow. Rather than commission another one, they asked local electricians who had worked on the boat to check its many systems. During the sea trial, “everything turned on…there was no problem,” Jessica says. “I mean everything ran, and then we bought the boat, and it was like magic—because there was much that did not turn on for us ever again, until we had it repaired or replaced.”

Chris adds: “The previous owner was less than forthcoming with regard to the condition of the boat. Let’s just put it that way.”

Wearing what they now admit were rose-colored glasses, they paid $200,000 for Jersey Girl II and renamed it Blue Pearl for the rare pearls that were once cultured nearby. The grins on their faces in Episode 3, “We Bought a Boat,” didn’t last long.

What follows in Jessica’s weekly video series is a medley of ­color exploring La Paz’s tourist port, and visits to beaches with their two dogs in their dinghy mixed with daily work on the boat. Two scenes that stick in my head: Chris emerging from yet another hatch, wearing kneepads and a headlamp, holding a broken wire or clogged tube or the rusted Vice-Grip that held the autopilot together; and their daily sunset toasts with a kiss.

They had budgeted $50,000 for upgrades. As of this writing, they were at $75,000, much of it spent on technicians who came and went erratically. A windlass rebuild set them back $1,000, and though they have a 620-gallon diesel-fuel capacity, they installed 500 watts of solar panels on the cockpit frame to charge new lithium batteries. A Starlink antenna and subscription significantly improved internet communications.

Their YouTube channel, with 65 videos, has attracted 2,875 subscribers and more than 130,000 views of their finished walk-through. Comments have helped them cope, tweaking what they should have done, and praising them for their pluck. 

“You two are such great inspiration,” Greta Geankoplis wrote. “The dream of cruising, and the love for it that can follow later, almost always begins with complete ignorance of sailing.”

Neil Campion commented: “Don’t give up. Cruising is taking the good with the bad.”

Another fan wrote, “Blue Pearl—my new National Geographic.”

Stan Owens added: “And we had all thought RV life was challenging. Think the S.S. Owens will stick to life on land a bit longer.”

After a year as boat owners and 1,100 miles up the Sea of Cortez, Chris and Jessica plan to cross the Gulf of California to Mazatlan on Mexico’s mainland to watch the solar eclipse in April 2024. From there, they may enter the Panama Canal to cruise the Caribbean.

When you watch their videos, filled not just with angst, but also with the beauty around them in the Sea of Cortez—breaching whales, dolphins, fresh fish caught off the stern, friends and family laughing, a cup of coffee in a quiet dawn—one can be forgiven for thinking that Chris and Jessica Hanna have nothing to prove. They are, in real time, starring in their own sailing dream.

The post The Reality of Fixing Up an Old Boat appeared first on Cruising World.

As many a seasoned boat owner can attest, onboard systems are the leading cause of technical issues on boats that have more than a rudimentary electrical system. But most of these problems are preventable. They arise from a failure to abide by core design and installation principles.

To take a deep dive into both design and installation issues, OceanPlanet Energy (OPE) is sponsoring an intensive two-day seminar developed and presented by tech guru Nigel Calder, author of the best-selling Boatowner’s Mechanical and Electrical Manual.

The seminar is grounded in the American Boat and Yacht Council (ABYC) standards for safe installations, though it is not an ABYC class because, according to Calder: “You can have a safe installation that nevertheless functions poorly. We will go beyond the standards to explain how to optimize performance.”

Topics include key design criteria for both DC and AC systems; how to keep batteries in a healthy state; newer technologies that are transforming the performance of electrical systems; sizing and installing electric circuits in compliance with ABYC standards; critical safety issues related to AC systems; corrosion; and grounding systems. The course curriculum will highlight commonly seen electrical installation errors, including on new boats, and how to rectify them—including hands-on terminal crimping practice, because “poorly made terminals are the bane of many an otherwise decent electrical installation.”

Calder will showcase a demonstration board that contains core pieces of equipment referenced in the presentation, which, in tandem with related equipment supplied by OPE, will be used to simulate electrical faults and explore multimeter troubleshooting techniques.

“We’ll be covering a lot of ground,” says Calder, who acknowledges the difficulty in absorbing such a volume of information in two days. “While the seminar is designed to be accessible to the inexperienced, that doesn’t mean it will be easy, even for those with prior experience, including some professionals.” 

Class sizes will be limited to maximize interaction with the participants. At a minimum, participants should walk away with the ability to check a boat for common installation mistakes, to understand and be able to do basic wiring and electrical installations, and to be able to safely conduct simple multimeter troubleshooting procedures that will enable most electrical problems to be identified.

“We send everyone home with a to-do list of critical checks for any boat, and a deck of almost 600 slides for future reference. The objective is to raise the confidence levels of boat owners, and to provide professionals with a perspective that goes beyond ABYC standards to optimized functionality.”

OPE will hold the seminars in the spring and fall (April 17-18 and October 29-30, 2024), just outside of the main tourist season, in the newly renovated Hyatt Place hotel in downtown Portland, Maine. The Hyatt is situated in the center of the vibrant old district, surrounded by historic buildings, with excellent restaurants and numerous places of interest within walking distance. The hotel has a free shuttle service to and from the easy-to-transit Portland (Maine) regional airport. Buffet-style breakfast is included in the seminar’s discounted room rate. OPE will provide lunch and refreshments throughout the day. Seminar participants are on their own for dinner.

To take advantage of this unique opportunity to hone your systems skills under the guidance of expert Nigel Calder, participate in a strictly limited and intense marine electrical education opportunity, and enjoy Portland, Maine, in the spring, contact OceanPlanet Energy for more information at seminar@oceanplanetenergy.com.

The post Sharpen Your Knowledge of Boat Electrical Systems appeared first on Cruising World.

Cruising World Editor at Large Tim Murphy had a project pop up for his Passport 40 Billy Pilgrim, so he knew just where to go for supplies. Before getting started, Tim stopped at West Marine to pick up all of the gear he needed to install a new set of solar panels on his sailboat:

• Solar Panels
• Electronic Controller(s)
• Cable (Duplex conductor, sized per ABYC)
• Wire Terminals (preferably heat-shrink)
• In-Line Fuse Holders (2 per panel)
• Fuses
• Cable Ties
• Cable Loom

With the help of the pros at West Marine and Navtronics, Tim and the crew successfully installed new solar panels and is ready for his next journey aboard Billy Pilgrim.

Got a project? Need some supplies? Stop by your local West Marine or visit www.westmarine.com before getting started.

The post How to Install Solar Panels on Your Sailboat appeared first on Cruising World.

Our pal Ian Scott, the skipper of the Swan 36 Coco, was in need of some new rigging in order to set sail this season. With the help of our friends at West Marine, Cruising World walks through the steps to re-rig your sailboat. Want to get started on your own project? Make sure to visit the Rigging Shop at your local West Marine or visit their website.

The post How to Re-Rig a Sailboat appeared first on Cruising World.

My wife, Tenley, and I do a lot of coastal cruising in New England, mostly short 6- to 20-mile hops on our 1972 Pearson 36, Snoek. I did a refit to Snoek in 2016 in my backyard that was chronicled in a series of CW articles, and we have since done tons of great cruising on her. One thing I installed in the original refit was an Engel 12-volt DC/110-volt AC free-standing cooler that draws about 3 amps when it kicks (it runs off the Solbian dodger-mounted solar panels) and is super-efficient. It’s perfect for chicken, fish, milk, butter and other perishables. But where do we keep the beers and soft drinks cold?

That was something we still needed to address.

At first we used the original built-in ice chest to starboard, but insulation technology in 1972 wasn’t so dialed in; a block of ice would last about 12 hours on a good, cool day in June but not on a scorcher in August. I suggested to Tenley a proper compressor-style refrigeration system for the old ice-chest space, but “the boss” said: “No, I like using ice. Let’s improve that system some and keep our little boat simple.” Music to my ears.

I did some research and figured out that there was enough room in the original ice-chest space to fit a Yeti Tundra 45 cooler without having to rebuild the whole galley countertop. I did have to enlarge the access hole to the ice chest by about 3 inches on the long side and about 2 inches on the short side. This was done with a jigsaw. I then filled the exposed foam edges with wood strips that I epoxied in place with Thixo Flex. I then filled, faired and painted it. It looked like new.

Next, I built a subfloor in the bottom of the ice-chest space from Starboard, first measuring it with a cardboard template. I then cut it to fit with cleats on the side of the box fastened with stainless self-tapping screws. Obviously, the Yeti cooler had to be lashed down in the space, and this was achieved with 1/8-inch, low-stretch Spectra tie-downs through newly drilled holes in the top lip of the cooler. I looped the Spectra through two side holes directly below the Yeti in the starboard subfloor.

RELATED: Brewing Beer on a Boat

The last thing I had to do was make a new, larger lid for the Yeti’s access hole. I used a piece of 3/8-inch plywood (varnished on all four edges and the bottom), and with more Thixo epoxy, glued a veneer of ¼-inch teak to the top. The teak was then oiled to seal it from spills and the hard environment of the galley.

To sum it all up, it works like a champ, and the ice lasts for days with no worries about keeping the house batteries topped off—just the occasional trip to get a bag of ice and another 12 pack of beer. The two items seem to last about the same time!

Award-winning marine ­photographer Onne van der Wal is a frequent contributor to CW. His most recent Rizzoli coffee-­table book is Sailing America. For more on his work, visit his website.

The post Installing a Cooler in the Galley appeared first on Cruising World.

High-Temp Red: This paste, rated to 650 degrees Fahrenheit, will dry in one hour and is fully cured in 24 hours. I’ve used this for general sealing applications for 40 years. It resists coolant, water, automatic transmission fluid and oil, and comes in a squeeze tube. It can be used to make or replace a pre-cut gasket. Permatex Ultra Blue is very similar to Red, but is rated to 500 degrees Fahrenheit.

Ultra Copper: This bronze paste is rated to 700 degrees Fahrenheit. It will dry in one hour and is fully cured in 24 hours. Well suited for high-temperature applications, such as exhaust manifolds and turbocharger flanges, it too comes in a squeeze tube and can be used to make or replace a pre-cut gasket.

After applying a bead of either product, the parts should be immediately assembled finger tight, allowed to sit for one hour then fully torqued. Don’t apply too much sealant, because it tends to squeeze out into the assembly; a 1⁄16-inch to ¼-inch bead is sufficient. Be sure to surround all bolt holes. Don’t expect paste gasket material to fill large gaps or irregularities (certainly nothing more than 1⁄16 inch, and less if under pressure).

It’s worth noting that, other than in threaded applications, few if any paste gasket-makers are rated for continuous immersion in fuel. For instance, fuel tank sender gaskets should seal without the need to be augmented with sealant. Highside Chemicals’ Leak Lock — a blue paste dispensed from a brush-in-lid bottle or squeeze tube, is a thread sealant that is designed for use with fuel as well as many other onboard liquids, including potable water. It’s a must-have for your gasket kit.

High Tack is a purple liquid (with brush-in-can lid) that’s rated up to 500 degrees Fahrenheit. Cure time is almost immediate, but surfaces can be coated in advance and allowed to dry to a tacky film. It’s effective on threads as well. This product is designed to be used with gaskets, as a dressing, rather than in place of them. I’ve used High Tack to adhere gaskets to surfaces where they may otherwise fall off or out of place during assembly. I learned the hard way that it’s called High Tack for a reason: It is a tenacious adhesive, so use it sparingly if you ever intend to disassemble the part.

In addition to the above gasket-makers, there will be times where you’ll want to duplicate an existing gasket that has failed. Rather than using the cover of HO249 or a chart, it’s best to stock a generic gasket material kit. These are available online and in auto-parts stores; they include a selection of gasket materials, including rubber, paper and cork (but don’t use cork with fuel applications).

To make and install gaskets, the necessary tools include a heavy-duty set of scissors and a gasket-cutter kit. The latter includes a series of round punches that allow you to cut circles in almost any gasket material. Failing to completely clean away the remnants of the previous gasket often leads to leaks. This can be accomplished using a proprietary gasket scraper, which is available in two types, with and without a replicable blade. I prefer the latter because they can be sharpened over and over again using a file. They are also less delicate, and you can lean into them on stubborn gaskets without fear of breaking them. These are available in several widths.

Final surface preparation often benefits from scouring with a 3M Scotch-Brite pad followed by cleaning with a solvent such as brake cleaner, mineral spirits or 3M general purpose adhesive remover.

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

The post Make Your Own Gaskets 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.

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The dinghy is an invaluable piece of equipment on board a cruising sailboat. It’s the family car, the tour boat and the workhorse. Some people consider their dinghy a life raft, or at least another floatable vessel in case of emergencies. We’ve used ours to help pull boats off reefs and to assist disabled vessels maneuvering in tight quarters. Several times we rafted our dinghy alongside our own boat and used it as an auxiliary engine. Like any important piece of equipment on board, it pays to take good care of the dinghy. To protect our inflatable and prolong its life, I sewed a custom canvas cover for it, commonly known as a dinghy chap.

The main purpose of chaps is to provide UV and chafe protection to the inflatable pontoons. Both PVC and Hypalon are susceptible to UV damage, and no inflatable is impervious to rusty nails and jagged edges when pulling up to a dinghy dock. Despite how complex the finished ­product might look, sewing dinghy chaps is not a difficult project. A heavy-duty machine able to handle three to four layers of 10-ounce material is required, but only the basic ability to sew straight seams is needed. If one takes time when patterning and has patience to work in small sections when sewing, the fit will be snug and professional-looking.

Fabric Selection

Choosing fabric for your dinghy chaps is the same as choosing fabrics for all other exterior canvas projects on board. You want something that is both abrasion-resistant and UV-stable. A heavy-duty marine canvas like Sunbrella is purpose-made for just such projects. It is solution-dyed to prevent colors running or fading, and is shrink-proof, stretch-free and easy to work with. It is woven to be water-, mildew- and stain-resistant and, perhaps most important, is rated to block 98 percent of damaging UV rays. All these features mean your finished project will not only fit well and look great, but you can count on it to stand up to years of use and abuse. Sunbrella is available in a wide spectrum of weights, but the best choice for this project is the standard marine awning fabric, which is a 9.25- or 10-ounce cloth.

There is some debate as to whether using darker colors can be detrimental to inflatable pontoons. Opponents argue that dark fabric will raise the interior air temperature quicker than a lighter-colored fabric would. Over the years I’ve seen and sewn dinghy chaps in a variety of colors and never heard any complaints from boat owners. Checking the surface temperature of the pontoons on our dinghy with an infrared digital thermometer gun — one covered with dark green chaps and the other uncovered — I found little difference between the two. If your dinghy serves as a life raft, you might want to consider a high-visibility color like safety orange.

For rough fabric ­yardage, you need to measure the length of both pontoons (I consider this straight sides only), the distance around the bow and half the circumference of the tubes, adding 1 inch for seam allowances. We have an 11-foot dinghy, but it has oversize tubes, so the chaps need to be 28 inches wide. Most Sunbrella colors are available in two widths: 46 inches and 60 inches. For my dinghy, I estimated that about 8.5 yards of 46-inch fabric would be needed, or to minimize waste and cut down on cost, I could purchase 5 yards of 60-inch material.

On the bow and around handholds, lines and oar locks, I like to use a marine-grade vinyl as an extra chafe guard and for color accents. Depending on the amount of extra protection you would like and the width of the vinyl available, you might need between 1 and 3 yards.

Patterning

Patterning is perhaps the most important and time-­consuming step of the whole project. However, taking time to make a careful and correct outline will make the sewing and fitting go much more smoothly. I use medium-weight ­plastic sheeting to pattern. This sheeting gives me maximum flexibility and very low stretch, makes tracing and placing cutouts a snap because you can see through it, and has enough body that it drapes well and can hold basic shapes. A light plastic sheet like those sold in painting kits will be frustrating to work with.

I have made chaps from start to finish while the dinghy was in the water, but I do not recommend it. You will have a much easier time if the dinghy is high and dry. Hoisting it up on deck is great if you have ample space to work around it, but taking it ashore is preferred.

If you look at the construction of your dinghy, you will see the lines of your pattern. There are usually seams at either end of the long, straight pontoons to accommodate the tapering of the tubes and the curve of the bow. The bow itself is often broken into three, or perhaps five, sections so a graceful point or rounded edge is achieved.

The pattern for the tubes will be a basic rectangle with various cutouts to accommodate the handholds, oarlocks, grab line, transom and the seat. The rectangle is naturally defined by the rubrail on the outside, where the straight tubes meet the curve of the bow up forward, a straight line parallel to the floor, and where the tube begins to taper at the stern. I do not try to encapsulate the aft sections of the pontoons, as in my experience such chap designs tend to pick up water and cause drag. To transfer the lines onto the pattern material, lay out the plastic smooth and flat over the tubes with a few inches overhang on all sides, and hold the plastic in place with low-tack tape. I like to trace around the oar locks and other hard protrusions and cut them out first so the plastic can lay truly flat before continuing. Next trace the outline using the above-mentioned guides and any other cutouts that need to be made.

In theory you need to ­pattern only one side of the dinghy because the tubes and placement of things such as oarlocks should be mirrored on the other side. However, I have encountered small variations between port and starboard pontoons, so it is best to check your ­pattern and make any ­notations on your pattern using a ­different-­color marker.

Patterning the bow requires a little more patience. The chaps are held taut by creating a pocket that the bow slips into. To do this without also creating a water scoop, first watch your dinghy in action and make note of how far the bow dips when the boat is under load.

Using the seams of the dinghy’s construction, cut and lay out the several pieces of pattern material needed for your particular dinghy. Where seams will lay, overlap the plastic and mark both pieces with corresponding dotted lines. You might need to add darts to achieve the proper shape if your ­dinghy tubes are particularly rounded. Carefully cut away excess plastic where necessary to allow for a smooth layout. Don’t forget to add a cutout where the painter attaches if your bow pocket reaches down that far.

With the main ­patterning done, you can then make ­patterns for the vinyl that will be sewn on top of the Sunbrella. Since vinyl doesn’t fray, you don’t need to account for seam allowances and aren’t as constrained with the design of shapes for accents and chafe guards.

Once all your patterning is complete, you will need a large, flat area to lay out your fabric and cut out your pattern. I use a tailor’s chalk to make any notations and to transfer any cutout areas to the fabric. To prevent the fabric from fraying, it is recommended that you use a hot knife to cut the Sunbrella.

Sewing

As for all canvas products that live outside, it’s recommended to use a UV-stable thread such as a UVR-bonded polyester. You may choose a thread that is the same color as your fabric or use a contrasting color so your seams will appear as accents. Like fabric, thread comes in various thicknesses. If using a 9.25- or 10-ounce Sunbrella fabric, 92-weight thread is needed, as well as a No. 18 needle.

I prefer to work in ­sections and sew the two straight tubes and bow separately. Plastic sheeting acts and drapes differently than fabric, so I check my progress as I go along by doing several fittings where I take semicompleted sections out to the dinghy to try them on. During this phase I use an invaluable tool called Seamstick, a type of double-sided tape that is designed to hold fabric pieces where they are to be sewn together. Seamstick eliminates the need for straight pins, which could accidentally puncture the dinghy.

When you are satisfied with the fit of the bow and the lay of the tube sections, double-check the final seams where the two meet, ­making sure they match up nicely before sewing the three large sections together. With the chaps essentially complete, all that is left is to add the vinyl chafe guards and accent pieces, and to finish the hem.

A quick and tidy way to hem dinghy chaps is to use webbing in place of the more traditional double-fold-and-sew technique. Mark and trim the chaps to the exact length that you want them; I use the top of the rubrail as my guide. Then encapsulate the raw edge in the fold of 1-inch webbing and sew in place. This not only reduces the bulk at the hem but it also adds a little weight so the chaps will lie down nicely. Some designs utilize the rubrail to capture a drawstring, but again I find this design picks up water because the rubrail also acts as a chine, dispersing spray while motoring. Others glue the hem in place, which means you cannot remove the chaps. A snug-fitting pair of chaps will not flap about in the breeze if the hem is simply finished and not secured. If desired, a piece of elastic cord can be sewn to the chaps and stretched around the end of the pontoon to hold it in place.

This practical sewing ­project can easily be completed in a weekend by the experienced and novice alike. A little attention to detail and the proper tools and materials are all that are needed. Handsome dinghy chaps not only make your ride easy to spot at a crowded dock, they will also protect and preserve the pontoons, extending the life of your tender.

Heather Francis is originally from Nova Scotia, Canada, and has been living and working on boats around the world for the past decade. In 2008, she and her Aussie partner, Steve, bought Kate, a Newport 41, and have been sailing full time since. To follow their adventures, log on to yachtkate.com.

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