Troubleshooting starts with the simplest explanations
Issue 31 : Jul/Aug 2003
It was just after midnight. The off-going watch was snuggling into the pilot berths while the on-coming crew adjusted to the darkness in the cockpit. We were west of the Gulf Stream, motorsailing to arrive at our destination on schedule. Suddenly there was silence as the engine sputtered to a stop. Normally this drastic change from incessant noise to blissful silence brings a sigh of relief to a sailor, but not when it’s annoyingly unexpected.
Lifting my head off the pillow, I listened for the predictable four words from my husband. He didn’t disappoint me as he stuck his head through the hatch and anxiously asked the helmsman, “Did you do that?”
The negative reply propelled Ty into action, barking commands to grab the toolbox and flashlight. In the glow of the red lights, his mind was working, I knew, running through the possible causes of the malfunction. As I unhooked the leecloth and reluctantly abandoned my warm bunk, Ty peered into the engine room, shining a light on the despicable troublemaker.
“I’ll bet we’re out of fuel in the big tank,” I offered.
The captain didn’t even bother to look up. “No way. The main holds 90 gallons. There should be plenty left.”
Theoretically, Ty was right. The previous owner had told us our new 1980 Morgan 46 would consume one gallon of diesel fuel per hour, and we hadn’t motored more than 45 hours on this maiden voyage from St. Pete to Annapolis. But maybe the previous owner was wrong. After all, he’d never even left the pier! Why not check?
“Why don’t we just check the tank?” I asked.
The clatter of wrenches as Ty rummaged through the toolbox was deafening.
Hesitant to question the captain, I tried a different tack. “You’re the one who always tells me to check the most obvious solution first. So I think we ran out of fuel.”
Unable to ignore his own wise teaching, Ty stood up from the engine and huffed his way to the tank. The dipstick came out like a dry twig.
Wise enough to keep any smart comments to myself, I shared in the crew’s delight that the problem was easily fixed by switching to the reserve tank. Successfully bleeding the engine restored the captain’s status as a master mechanic, and we clearly annotated in the log that fuel consumption was twice what we’d been told.
Engines are the bane of a sailor’s existence, but they’re not the only thing that can spoil a good day on the water. Just about any piece of equipment on a boat that can break, burn out, clog, or corrode will demand the crew’s attention at the most inopportune time — and usually in maddening succession.
To avoid the BOAT (Bring Out Another Thousand) Syndrome that plagues most boatowners, we believe in the KISS (Keep It Simple, Stupid) Principle of troubleshooting. In the case of our engine, this meant sounding the fuel tank before wasting time looking for more complicated causes of malfunction. For electrical appliances, it can be a simple check to see if the item or its power source is turned on.
Imagining the worst
The concept is basic enough but, strangely, many boatowners immediately imagine the worst. Perhaps this derives from the worn magnetic strip on the credit card in their wallet or the yellow receipts from mechanics that fill a file. Whatever the cause, failure to start with the basics can lead to costly and unnecessary visits by expensive repairmen.
A neighbor at our marina recently fell prey to this Imagine-the-Worst Syndrome and tried to drag us into the quagmire with him. In a casual conversation we mentioned that our boat’s air conditioner was on the fritz. Seeing an opportunity, John’s eyes lit up.
“Mine’s been broken for weeks. I’ll bet it’s the compressor. Why don’t we get a mechanic out here, and we can share the cost?”
The thought of needing a new compressor had also occurred to Ty, but being an avid advocate of the KISS Principle, he declined John’s offer until he could troubleshoot the problem himself.
The first thing to check was the power source. The shorepower cord had not come loose. Next we checked the panel down below. All the required switches were energized, but flipping the air conditioning switch caused the ammeter to steadily rise past its normal 5 amps, pegging out at 50, and tripping the breaker.
Troubleshooting is a step-by-step progression from the simplest solution to the more difficult. It requires a process of elimination. Having first determined that power was getting to the air conditioner, we next moved on to the cooling water. I stood on deck, peering over the side at the overboard discharge through-hull while Ty flipped the air-conditioner switch.
Nothing. The ammeter went through its now-familiar pegging routine, but not a drop of cooling water came out. Now we were getting somewhere!
First stop: strainer
Up came the floorboards for access to the maze of hoses and valves. First stop: the saltwater strainer. Ty closed the through-hull, noting a little resistance, then opened the strainer assembly. He removed the wire mesh basket and cleaned out a little gunk and a few barnacle particles. Putting it back in place, we held our breath as he opened the through-hull valve. Since the strainer was below the waterline, seawater should have flowed through, but there was none. The circulating pump appeared to be working, so it didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out there was blockage somewhere leading up to the strainer.
Joe the Mechanic might rush to grab a screwdriver, but the KISS Principle says “not so fast.” Moving from simplest to most difficult, Ty went topside. With the possibility that a plastic bag or other piece of garbage might have gotten sucked against the hull, he used the boathook to sweep under the hull. Inside, I turned the valve. No flow. Now it was time for tools.
Taking a straight screwdriver to the clamps, off came the 3⁄4-inch hose between the valve and the strainer. A red liquid trickled out. We looked at each other, puzzled. It looked like hydraulic fluid, but that made no sense at all. Shrugging that mystery aside, Ty peered through the 2-foot length of hose. It was clear. We had narrowed down the location of the blockage to the through-hull itself.
It’s always a little disconcerting looking at a valve that is the only thing standing between you and water up to your armpits, but with the handle in the closed position, Ty carefully unscrewed the elbow connector on top. I shined the flashlight onto his work area, and the two of us leaned in for a closer look. Off came the connector, and the cause of the blockage was revealed.
Unexpected stench
The shock of the unexpected and a stomach-turning stench sent both of us tumbling backward in a scene straight out of Laurel and Hardy. Two pairs of wide eyes gaped with revulsion into the single beady eye of a slimy, dead eel that had managed to swim a full four inches past the through-hull before becoming irrevocably stuck. The puzzle of the lack of cooling water was solved, as was the mysterious red liquid and the resistance Ty had felt when he initially closed and re-opened the valve. Our slimy intruder had done as good a job as the emergency wood plug lying in the bilge next to the through-hull.
Using a paper towel, Ty pulled out the offending eel. Unfortunately, what remained of the carcass continued to block the through-hull. We shoved a second paper towel down and out through the hole in the hull with a long screwdriver. We now had water — lots of it — gushing through the inlet. A quick turn of the valve and all was well. High fives were the order of the day, as we congratulated ourselves on successfully solving the problem at no expense and with no outside help.
Self-sufficiency is a laudable goal for any sailor, but it’s a necessity for those who plan to go cruising. Murphy loves to visit remote and exotic locales, and equipment won’t wait until landfall to fall apart.
Get owners’ manuals
Common sense can solve many a malfunction, but owners’ manuals are the next best things. At the back of most instruction books are troubleshooting guides to walk owners through most common problems. A good onboard reference library is also essential for dealing with breakdowns. Two indispensable books for every sailboat are Nigel Calder’s Boatowner’s Mechanical and Electrical Manual and Marine Diesel Engines: Maintenance, Troubleshooting, and Repair. Both contain explanations simple enough for laymen to understand, with excellent troubleshooting sections.
Malfunctions that appear to be major often turn out to be easy fixes. Before abandoning ship in search of professional help, start with the basics and work your way through all possible causes. If the problem proves to be beyond your capabilities, then it’s time to call in reinforcements.
I’ve always thought the “Stupid” part of “Keep It Simple, Stupid” is rather crass. But stupid would have quite accurately described our feelings had we paid a mechanic to tell us our fuel tank was empty or there was a dead eel in our through-hull. Smart boatowners start with the easy answers.
Keep it simple, skipper!
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
