The Anecdotal Life Part. 104
A long time ago I received from my mother, a book called Through The Alimentary Canal With Gun and Camera. Count on it, if it was from "Gram" , it was funny. I was reminded of it when I tried to describe the process of emptying the bilge after a small pump failure. Pump failures will never be small to any boater, but there are degrees of failure. This was, on a scale of one to ten, a two. The water never went over the pump, bless it's worn-out heart, but it was clearly on its way home to God, as was the automatic pump switch when I timidly peeped under the forward bilge hatch. Neither one of them looked too fine. If I had placed them by the door at Halloween, people would have backed off. I called Elmer, my trustworthy mechanic, and he said pump it all out completely, go buy this and that and I'll try to get there in a day or two.
Naturally the store didn't have this and that , but by running around town I finally got new parts ordered. By the way I am always the go-fer; I am so used to being the go-fer in the family lineup that I list that as one of my competencies.
Now to the pumping out process. I had to use a manual pump. It needed an extra long hose attached to it so that I could snake it through the cabin across my nice little pink rugs , then up, out, and over the side. I attached it and started pumping. Snake was the right word for the hose. It writhed in my hand, split apart at the juncture I thought I had well connected, the pump refused to stop sucking up, and the loose end of the hose gyrated about the cabin spewing happily forth. ...." the sewers of Paris will hold nothing for me."
It dawned on me that the sucking up process was supposed to continue to happen, but I would have to ditch the long hose over the gunwale part of the plan. An hour later, after I had used every extra piece of material loose on board to mop up, i.e., my old jeans, shirt, sheets, paper towels and toilet paper rolls, I realized I would have to pump it all into a bucket held tightly between my legs so that it wouldn't fall over due to the writhing hose, pump like the devil with both hands, and stop at two thirds of the depth of said bucket so the subsequent suction wouldn't cause the water to boil over the top. Twelve buckets later, I started mopping up again. I am unable to describe the odor involved in a task of this nature, but the boats next to me now can. Nor is it possible to describe the residual detritus at the bottom of the bilge. Suffice it say that I know there were several artifacts left over from the Holy Roman Empire.
So the "blonde boater" had prevailed again when Elmer came back aboard to install the parts. But.... when my ever faithful mentor came back in town, he made sure to scare the bejabbers out of me by telling me what could happen if my stuffing boxes weren't in great condition. Stuffing boxes, as I understand it, are designed to contain a specialized cotton packing which, when wet, protects the whirling shaft to the propeller from undue friction and also keeps water from running back into the boat. The one thing that is brought clearly to the fore as one learns about one's boat is, how many different ways there are to sink, blow up, burn down and destroy a boat. I had just heard of two boats nearly sinking from stuffing box problems. I really didn't need convincing....." I do believe in spooks, I do, I do." Happy Halloween everybody!
Copyright: October, 24, 2010.
Naturally the store didn't have this and that , but by running around town I finally got new parts ordered. By the way I am always the go-fer; I am so used to being the go-fer in the family lineup that I list that as one of my competencies.
Now to the pumping out process. I had to use a manual pump. It needed an extra long hose attached to it so that I could snake it through the cabin across my nice little pink rugs , then up, out, and over the side. I attached it and started pumping. Snake was the right word for the hose. It writhed in my hand, split apart at the juncture I thought I had well connected, the pump refused to stop sucking up, and the loose end of the hose gyrated about the cabin spewing happily forth. ...." the sewers of Paris will hold nothing for me."
It dawned on me that the sucking up process was supposed to continue to happen, but I would have to ditch the long hose over the gunwale part of the plan. An hour later, after I had used every extra piece of material loose on board to mop up, i.e., my old jeans, shirt, sheets, paper towels and toilet paper rolls, I realized I would have to pump it all into a bucket held tightly between my legs so that it wouldn't fall over due to the writhing hose, pump like the devil with both hands, and stop at two thirds of the depth of said bucket so the subsequent suction wouldn't cause the water to boil over the top. Twelve buckets later, I started mopping up again. I am unable to describe the odor involved in a task of this nature, but the boats next to me now can. Nor is it possible to describe the residual detritus at the bottom of the bilge. Suffice it say that I know there were several artifacts left over from the Holy Roman Empire.
So the "blonde boater" had prevailed again when Elmer came back aboard to install the parts. But.... when my ever faithful mentor came back in town, he made sure to scare the bejabbers out of me by telling me what could happen if my stuffing boxes weren't in great condition. Stuffing boxes, as I understand it, are designed to contain a specialized cotton packing which, when wet, protects the whirling shaft to the propeller from undue friction and also keeps water from running back into the boat. The one thing that is brought clearly to the fore as one learns about one's boat is, how many different ways there are to sink, blow up, burn down and destroy a boat. I had just heard of two boats nearly sinking from stuffing box problems. I really didn't need convincing....." I do believe in spooks, I do, I do." Happy Halloween everybody!
Copyright: October, 24, 2010.
posted by The Anecdotal Life at 7:40 AM
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