Even in this most temperate and mild part of Canada, winter is a thing. Ok, so we post flower pictures pretty much every month of the year (except August, when they all die from drought). And I think my Instagram is getting repetitive with pictures of me, my kids and my friends enjoying all manner of outdoor fun in brilliant sunshine. That doesn't mean it doesn't get a little chilly. And, on a boat, a little chilly is a lot uncomfortable, and the chillier it is, the more condensation happens.
Condensation is kind of a creeping evil. You don't really notice it until you go to tuck your sheets in, or get a towel out from a beside-the-hull storage space, and they're soaked. And, if it's been some time since the last time you figured out that condensation was a problem, they're probably a bit smelly, too.
So heat on a boat you are inhabiting is completely essential. Nawitka came with a Webasto hydronic heater. It didn't work at first, but I called my boaty-fixy guy Karl and he had a word with an errant glow plug and it worked fine.
For a bit.
Then it didn't, and we were sad, and it was getting colder, and I could only run one space heater off the dock's AC. (I did learn how to reset the breakers on the dock though, and that's valuable information.)
The other problem was, when it DID run, the Webasto heater sounded like a jet engine, which was annoying for my neighbours. So I considered asking Karl to just fix it again - for about 5 seconds, before deciding that a new heater was justifiable.
KA-CHING $5K or so later... I have a nice Espar heater. It works and it makes the boat toasty warm, although it seems to object to keeping the boat just sort-of-habitable and sometimes has trouble staying on if it's at all in doubt about whether it should be running or not. That's an outstanding problem, but I've kind of figured out how to work around it.
Diesel heat is very, very nice. And the hydronic system means that hot coolant is zooming around the boat behind the settee and through storage spaces and keeping all those bits warm and dry and condensation-free.
I did have a problem after Karl installed a heating vent in the small child's cabin (which previously lacked one, being on the port side - all the hydronics ran down the starboard side). The intake for that vent was in the aft storage locker, which is close to the exhaust for the heater. So the air it blew in, while warm, smelled like exhaust. A carbon monoxide detector failed to detect anything dangerous, but it was still kinda gross. So an air intake had to be mounted inside the cabin. That worked fine, although I can't have any of the port lights or hatches open in that cabin because the intake sucks cold air in at an impressive rate. The warm air emitted by that heating vent doesn't compensate, plus the cooler air getting sucked into that heating vent means the "warm" air coming out actually isn't, so much. So, closed hatch and port lights for that cabin - and open door. Good thing the cabin's inhabitant is 5, and wants it that way.
The other problem that the heater replacement exposed is that the gauge on the fuel tank is completely non-functional. But it doesn't know that, and occasionally it tries to say something about the fuel level, and invariably, it's lying. Mostly it says it's empty, but sometimes it says something that sounds good (3/4 full!) but it's also a lie.
So I have taken to guessing, and randomly chucking in a 25L jerry can of diesel or two. (Amusing side-note: I recently started working out again and one of the exercises in my routines is called a "farmer carry" and it consists of just walking around holding dumbbells. 25L of diesel = 25kg = 55 lbs = honking huge dumbbells, but clearly the weight I can manage, as I can carry 2 full 25L cans of diesel down to the dock. It hurts but it's a good hurt, and I can skip that exercise next time I need fuel.)
One of the good things about these Espar heaters is that the fuel pickup starts clicking really loudly when the tank is low, so I have a tiny bit of warning before it runs out completely.
While much, much quieter than the previous heater, the Espar is still not silent. So, I've taken to running it in the morning and the evening (and through the day on weekends if we're around), but I just use a space heater throughout the night. The Espar will still kick on if it gets too cold, but the space heater doesn't make much noise, and it keeps the cabin at a steady, albeit cool, temperature.
It took a few months, but I finally got the heating figured out, and as I write this, I am delightfully warm. Yay diesel heater. (And before anyone squawks at my profligate use of fossil fuels - screw y'all. I drive an electric car, use less than 10 gallons of water a day, and run my entire home off one 15-amp electrical outlet. I think I can justify a cup or so of diesel every night.)
Monday 4 February 2019
Worst problem first: the heads
I had a very thorough survey done of Nawitka before I bought her. It noted the presence of holding tanks and the fact that the forward tank had a loose gasket on one of the fittings, which probably accounted for the relatively vile smell in that head.
What the survey did NOT mention was that whatever was in the holding tanks had exactly one way of getting out, and that was directly overboard (well, down a hose and out an underwater through-hull.)
NOT cool, if you're going to be using the head at a marina. As the holding tanks were only 5 gallons each, it was a tad impractical to be going for jaunts every few days out far enough into the Strait of Georgia to legally empty them.
My plan all along had been to replace the forward (smelly) head with a composting head, and eventually replacing the other head as well. This became a much more urgent task, and I replaced both of them at once. Well, I say it like *I* did it, but I totally didn't. I have this full-time job thing, and it seriously interferes with me being all awesome and fixer-upper-y. I found a guy who does all kinds of boat stuff and asked him to do it.
The new composting heads went in reasonably easily, although with a few tweaks, including a solid base for each (as the base from the original head was too small). I had planned to spend about $1500 replacing one head. The final price tag was well over $3500 for both, including labour and materials. However, they were WELL worth it.
Aesthetically they are not the most graceful of appliances, and using them is a trifle daunting to start, but their thronelike aspects (the bases make them a little high) and the complete absence of loo-blue-chemical/holding tank stank makes them infinitely superior to standard marine heads. They just do. not. smell. I had read of this and was skeptical, but it's true: if you spray vinegar after you pee, there is no smell. When you have to change out the compost substrate for the solids container (which is obvious, when you can't turn the tosser wheel easily), it just smells like inoffensive dirt/compost.
I cannot overstate how nice it is to have a boat that does not smell like a holding tank.
With 3 of us (and guests) using the heads I have to change the solids compost every 2-3 weeks or so on the forward (more used) head. Less frequently, if I'm super zealous about rotating which head one ought to poop in. Changing the compost stuff is slightly more physically demanding than using a toilet brush. But it's not unpleasant, and I'm getting faster at it. It's also nice because the whole toilet can come out of the head, and it's really easy to give the space behind it a good wipe and clean.
Final verdict: Thumbs up to the composting heads. I was rushed into them because of the shitty (ha ha) holding tanks that came with the boat, but it turned out for the best.
Also: I now have 2 more storage areas where once there were holding tanks. Haven't filled them yet though.
What the survey did NOT mention was that whatever was in the holding tanks had exactly one way of getting out, and that was directly overboard (well, down a hose and out an underwater through-hull.)
NOT cool, if you're going to be using the head at a marina. As the holding tanks were only 5 gallons each, it was a tad impractical to be going for jaunts every few days out far enough into the Strait of Georgia to legally empty them.
My plan all along had been to replace the forward (smelly) head with a composting head, and eventually replacing the other head as well. This became a much more urgent task, and I replaced both of them at once. Well, I say it like *I* did it, but I totally didn't. I have this full-time job thing, and it seriously interferes with me being all awesome and fixer-upper-y. I found a guy who does all kinds of boat stuff and asked him to do it.
The new composting heads went in reasonably easily, although with a few tweaks, including a solid base for each (as the base from the original head was too small). I had planned to spend about $1500 replacing one head. The final price tag was well over $3500 for both, including labour and materials. However, they were WELL worth it.
Aesthetically they are not the most graceful of appliances, and using them is a trifle daunting to start, but their thronelike aspects (the bases make them a little high) and the complete absence of loo-blue-chemical/holding tank stank makes them infinitely superior to standard marine heads. They just do. not. smell. I had read of this and was skeptical, but it's true: if you spray vinegar after you pee, there is no smell. When you have to change out the compost substrate for the solids container (which is obvious, when you can't turn the tosser wheel easily), it just smells like inoffensive dirt/compost.
I cannot overstate how nice it is to have a boat that does not smell like a holding tank.
With 3 of us (and guests) using the heads I have to change the solids compost every 2-3 weeks or so on the forward (more used) head. Less frequently, if I'm super zealous about rotating which head one ought to poop in. Changing the compost stuff is slightly more physically demanding than using a toilet brush. But it's not unpleasant, and I'm getting faster at it. It's also nice because the whole toilet can come out of the head, and it's really easy to give the space behind it a good wipe and clean.
Final verdict: Thumbs up to the composting heads. I was rushed into them because of the shitty (ha ha) holding tanks that came with the boat, but it turned out for the best.
Also: I now have 2 more storage areas where once there were holding tanks. Haven't filled them yet though.
Inaugural Post
I'm late starting this blog, but I've been a little busy.
In October, 2018, I sold my townhouse in Victoria, BC. Townhouses in "good" neighbourhoods go for ridiculous prices so I was able to put half the proceeds into our new home, with plenty left over:
Nawitka is a 1996 Beneteau Oceanis 400 - a 40' sloop. She is roomy and quite lovely inside, with lots of warm wood, comfy seats, a nice galley, and all the comforts of home, in 1/10 the space. Or less.
People ask me why I wanted to move onto a boat, and there are multiple reasons. First and foremost, I love sailing, and I love being on the water. Genetic engineering to give me gills isn't yet practical and I sort of like cooked food, so a boat is as close as I'm going to get to living *in* the ocean.
Secondly, I LOVE living in small spaces. I love the simplicity of it, I love the challenges of making do, I like not being able to spend money on stuff, I like having to Marie Kondo my stuff all the time, I like knowing where everything is. (Full disclosure: I don't know where my knife sharpener is right now, and it's driving me crazy.) I love that I can thoroughly clean the whole cabin in about an hour and a half. I love the way I get rocked to sleep every night. I love the marina community. I love my view. I love the way the air smells when I open a port light or the main hatch in the morning. I love that I can take my home with me on vacation, and it can be ready to go in less than an hour. I love that I can take my home crabbing, or fishing, or just wake up on a sunny day and say "hey kids let's go for a sail" and they literally stash their stuff, throw on their PFDs, and we're good to go.
A short story to illustrate: when this move was still in the planning stages, my son (who is 5) told an old family friend that "mummy's going to buy a sailboat and we're going to live on it" and they laughed and said "Oh yeah we've only been hearing THAT for 20 years."
This has been a long time coming. Many years ago, during my first marriage, my then-husband and I lived aboard his parents' sailboat for a semester or so while we went to school. I loved it. The boat was cramped (27') and built for racing. Condensation was a problem. We had no water tank. The head was located under the berth. We had a non-gimballed propane 2-burner camp stove. And to make it all more fun, we weren't at a dock, we were "on the hook" as they say. In Cadboro Bay. And not the nice sheltered part behind the yacht club - we had a 6' draft, so we were out in the part that got the southeasterlies full-on. We had to move off the boat because we nearly missed more than one exam as the waves were too big to safely get off the boat into the dinghy, and the dinghy wasn't safe to take to shore. But I loved it. I loved the motion of it, the maintenance rituals, the coziness. And ever since then, I've wanted to live aboard again, but this time, to do it right.
So now I have the closest thing to a luxury yacht that I could stomach. To be honest, I would have liked something smaller and more simple. But, I have two children who need to be comfortable and happy, and they did have a say in the form of our new home. We all liked Nawitka the moment we saw her, and while she wasn't entirely problem-free, she was a more-than-acceptable compromise.
She's quite a novel experience for us, though.
She is twice the length of my first sailboat:
Well, technically the Wren is not my first sailboat - I previously co-owned a 22' MacGregor (and lived aboard that 27' racing sloop)... but the Wren was my first all-mine sailboat. When I bought Nawitka, I'd had the Wren for a couple years and was getting fairly comfortable single-handing her. Wren has no electronics, no winches, no lifelines, no wheel - she is a beautifully unencumbered, pure sailing vessel. (And don't worry, I'm keeping her! She is not a thing to be dumped when a new thing comes along. Part of why I wanted to live aboard a sailboat was so that I (and all my tools) would be close to the Wren and I can work on her more easily. She needs a LOT of work. That hasn't quite happened yet, but to be fair, it's, like, -10C and there's snow on the dock and I have no way of heating the Wren plus a head full of cold viruses, so although I *finally* have time, the universe had other plans. Like a blog, it seems...)
Nawitka, on the other hand, is a house that sails, and getting used to her has been a process - one that is very much still under way. There's the sailing part and the living part. There are some factors keeping those two parts separate for now: work, our inexperience, the kids' school, and the weather. So, I'll document the sailing and the living separately.
For this first entry, because the saily people want to know these things, I'll just go over how Nawitka is kitted out:
Furling main & jib (more on that later)
45 HP Yanmar diesel engine
3-cabin layout (so necessary with 2 kids, aged 13 and 5)
All the mod cons: fridge (way too big), 3-burner Force 10 stove with oven, double sink, pressurized hot & cold water
2 heads (more on that in a later post)
6'4" headroom (yeah like I need that, laughs everyone who knows me)
oodles of storage
colour GPS chartplotter thingy (more on that later)
VHF radio
12v DC/110v AC systems (no inverter)
big ass fuel tank
2 big ass water tanks (550L combined - but more on that later)
Espar diesel furnace (more on that too)
Everything with (more on that later) was a problem in some fashion. But who writes a blog where just lovely things happen? Sit back, relax, and be entertained by my problems. Spoiler alert: I solved most of them. But only most.
In October, 2018, I sold my townhouse in Victoria, BC. Townhouses in "good" neighbourhoods go for ridiculous prices so I was able to put half the proceeds into our new home, with plenty left over:
Nawitka is a 1996 Beneteau Oceanis 400 - a 40' sloop. She is roomy and quite lovely inside, with lots of warm wood, comfy seats, a nice galley, and all the comforts of home, in 1/10 the space. Or less.
People ask me why I wanted to move onto a boat, and there are multiple reasons. First and foremost, I love sailing, and I love being on the water. Genetic engineering to give me gills isn't yet practical and I sort of like cooked food, so a boat is as close as I'm going to get to living *in* the ocean.
Secondly, I LOVE living in small spaces. I love the simplicity of it, I love the challenges of making do, I like not being able to spend money on stuff, I like having to Marie Kondo my stuff all the time, I like knowing where everything is. (Full disclosure: I don't know where my knife sharpener is right now, and it's driving me crazy.) I love that I can thoroughly clean the whole cabin in about an hour and a half. I love the way I get rocked to sleep every night. I love the marina community. I love my view. I love the way the air smells when I open a port light or the main hatch in the morning. I love that I can take my home with me on vacation, and it can be ready to go in less than an hour. I love that I can take my home crabbing, or fishing, or just wake up on a sunny day and say "hey kids let's go for a sail" and they literally stash their stuff, throw on their PFDs, and we're good to go.
A short story to illustrate: when this move was still in the planning stages, my son (who is 5) told an old family friend that "mummy's going to buy a sailboat and we're going to live on it" and they laughed and said "Oh yeah we've only been hearing THAT for 20 years."
This has been a long time coming. Many years ago, during my first marriage, my then-husband and I lived aboard his parents' sailboat for a semester or so while we went to school. I loved it. The boat was cramped (27') and built for racing. Condensation was a problem. We had no water tank. The head was located under the berth. We had a non-gimballed propane 2-burner camp stove. And to make it all more fun, we weren't at a dock, we were "on the hook" as they say. In Cadboro Bay. And not the nice sheltered part behind the yacht club - we had a 6' draft, so we were out in the part that got the southeasterlies full-on. We had to move off the boat because we nearly missed more than one exam as the waves were too big to safely get off the boat into the dinghy, and the dinghy wasn't safe to take to shore. But I loved it. I loved the motion of it, the maintenance rituals, the coziness. And ever since then, I've wanted to live aboard again, but this time, to do it right.
So now I have the closest thing to a luxury yacht that I could stomach. To be honest, I would have liked something smaller and more simple. But, I have two children who need to be comfortable and happy, and they did have a say in the form of our new home. We all liked Nawitka the moment we saw her, and while she wasn't entirely problem-free, she was a more-than-acceptable compromise.
She's quite a novel experience for us, though.
She is twice the length of my first sailboat:
Well, technically the Wren is not my first sailboat - I previously co-owned a 22' MacGregor (and lived aboard that 27' racing sloop)... but the Wren was my first all-mine sailboat. When I bought Nawitka, I'd had the Wren for a couple years and was getting fairly comfortable single-handing her. Wren has no electronics, no winches, no lifelines, no wheel - she is a beautifully unencumbered, pure sailing vessel. (And don't worry, I'm keeping her! She is not a thing to be dumped when a new thing comes along. Part of why I wanted to live aboard a sailboat was so that I (and all my tools) would be close to the Wren and I can work on her more easily. She needs a LOT of work. That hasn't quite happened yet, but to be fair, it's, like, -10C and there's snow on the dock and I have no way of heating the Wren plus a head full of cold viruses, so although I *finally* have time, the universe had other plans. Like a blog, it seems...)
Nawitka, on the other hand, is a house that sails, and getting used to her has been a process - one that is very much still under way. There's the sailing part and the living part. There are some factors keeping those two parts separate for now: work, our inexperience, the kids' school, and the weather. So, I'll document the sailing and the living separately.
For this first entry, because the saily people want to know these things, I'll just go over how Nawitka is kitted out:
Furling main & jib (more on that later)
45 HP Yanmar diesel engine
3-cabin layout (so necessary with 2 kids, aged 13 and 5)
All the mod cons: fridge (way too big), 3-burner Force 10 stove with oven, double sink, pressurized hot & cold water
2 heads (more on that in a later post)
6'4" headroom (yeah like I need that, laughs everyone who knows me)
oodles of storage
colour GPS chartplotter thingy (more on that later)
VHF radio
12v DC/110v AC systems (no inverter)
big ass fuel tank
2 big ass water tanks (550L combined - but more on that later)
Espar diesel furnace (more on that too)
Everything with (more on that later) was a problem in some fashion. But who writes a blog where just lovely things happen? Sit back, relax, and be entertained by my problems. Spoiler alert: I solved most of them. But only most.
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