No, I was not out early on Monday hauling traps. I was out having smelled a not so good smell and seen a little erratic electrical activity on the volt meter. I was out listening to the engine not running and very glad the breeze was blowing away from the bluff as I waited for a tow back into the harbor.
I didn't know it yet, but I was going through alternators like Frank Sinatra and wives. All I knew was the engine quit and the key wouldn't even muster its formerly annoying but now very comforting squeal. The whole thing was unresponsive and in need of major defibrillation.
My ignorance of diesel motors-with their hulking cast iron, pipes, hoses, wires, rust, ooze and such going all ways incomprehensibly-is vast. I knew there was a breaker panel, but had not a glimmer of awareness that there was an engine circuit breaker ("port side aft of the cylinder head" "ok, what's a cylinder head?"). It didn't help that whoever spray painted the engine entirely obscured the breaker button and box.
What ensued was an unbroken sequence of paddling off the boat, driving home, calling the boat doctor, driving back down, paddling out, trying this or that diagnostic or remedial procedure. The result was ordering a new alternator.
The low point, or if you will, the boilover of my sympathetic nervous system and anxiety juices occurred this afternoon, when I tried to go the extra mile and disconnect the main power cable to make sure it wasn't fried and likely to fry another alternator. I'm no macho man, but I managed to break off a very unusual and specialized looking brass bolt from the starter. This was despair on par with Pooh getting stuck in the honey pot down in the heffalump trap, but far less endearing and full up with curses. Fortunately, the boat Doc thought I could just crank what was left together and be fine. Me, I was thinking an odd, specialized and expensive bolt must have a particular purpose. I liked his answer.
Bless the good boat docs at Art's Marine for taking all those frantic calls and getting me the new part just as I was surrendering and flying off for a couple of days of office work. Those plans got reversed in a hurry.
I had great focus and determination which withered rapidly when I got the new part mounted and could tell something was wrong. The fan was loose and flopping.
There were the tense moments of holding a tiny nut in an impossibly cramped position over a yawning and inaccessible bilge and trying to get it started with two fingers before the washer slips off, along with fervent appeals to patience and fortune. Then I had to take it off without losing it when it was clear something was amiss. And then put it back on after Clayton figured out that the washer they sent with the new unit was a few thousandths too thin and used the one off the old unit.
Many trips to Clayton's shop, requests for advise, tools. Many calls and drives to the airport. Many feelings of helplessness and of being the village idiot.
Now the crickets are chirping, kids are doing what they're supposed to which is run around outside as dusk turns to dark.
The peapod I could just row, bail out and put on a little trailer for the winter. The solar setup was simple and easy to fix. There was no engine circuit breaker anywhere aboard.
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