(Coffin Bay, South Australia)
21/3/2014 The Heritage of
Frustration.
On our sailing around Australia adventures we have had a couple of
nagging problems with Easy Tiger. One of the biggest concerns has been that the
port motor just decides every now and then to have a rest. That is it stops.
Literally in the middle of nowhere it shuts down. It has done it when we are
trying to anchor, when we are coming into a port and it stopped in the middle
of the Great Australian Bight.
Before we left Mandurah we paid a specialist mechanic charge over $700 to
fix the port motor. “no problem, it’s the lift pump” he said. “Hooray”, we said,
finally a logical solution to our dilemma. Wrong. Half way to Albany after
running like a dream for 48 hours the port motor stopped as if switched off.
After limping into Albany, I investigated. Nothing of significance
was noted. B5 was consulted. We came up with the idea that the fuel tank was
not venting, therefore the pump could not draw up the fuel after a while. A
hole was drilled in the most inconspicuous place to let air into the tank.
Problem solved, so we thought.
To it’s credit, our port motor performed well right round to
Esperance and on to Middle Island. At least 30 to 40 hours of work was
performed as it should be until the middle of the Great Australian Bight, when
out of the blue it stopped again and refused to be restarted.
After again consulting with
everyone I knew who had an opinion, somehow fuel fungus became the next thing
to investigate. Apparently, when diesel fuel sits for some time it can
condensate. The water created then sits in the bottom of the tank, as oil
floats on water. In between the water and the diesel a layer of fungus can grow
(in the right conditions). The spores then are mixed in with the fuel, finding
their way into the filters and injection system of the engine.
Bio-cide was ordered off the internet after Leanne researched the
possibilities. We applied Biocide to the tank and then set up a program of
filter changes every ten hours to clean out the dead fuel fungus.
I also installed another filter into the system as a back up for the
primary fuel filter.
Since then, the engine has performed well again. We used it for
about 20 hours in between Streaky and Coffin bays.
Today I decided that I would tackle the ten minute job of changing
the fuel filters. We know what happens to 10minute jobs don’t we? I started at
9.00am and finally got the engine going at 4.15pm.
Lot’s of lessons learned here today, folks. One of them is that
shouting at the engine will not make it go. Lesson 2 is to start with the
simple things first. I shouldn’t have pulled all the fuel hoses out, modified
them and then put them back, only to come up a bit short on one end. Lesson
three was that if I had retraced my steps backwards from the moment I started
the job, I probably would have found the screw that I had unwound and not wound
up again, which was the cause for the pump to be sucking air instead of fuel.
At times like these, I do wonder why frustration sets in so early
on. From my memory though I come from a long line of shouters, cursers and
spanner throwers.
I particularly remember a time when we still lived on the farm. My
Dad had gone quite bald at an early age. He had taken to wearing a toupee as
was quite common in those days. Unfortunately it wasn’t really the right
fashion accessory for rounding up frisky young cattle.
I was in the passenger seat of an open top tractor working with Dad
who was trying to get the cattle to go through a couple of gates. The cattle
did not follow the plan, Dad started to get agitated. The tractor was driven at
a greater speed. The cattle still did not comply, the tractor was thrashed
around after them as they ran off in the wrong direction, The shouting started
from Dad. I learned six new words in a minute. The cattle took off again in the
wrong direction, so we hurtled after them attacking them with a tirade of abuse.
That’s when Dad’s toupee decided to fly off and land somewhere in the grass.
During the search for the toupee, the cattle gathered and then
wandered through the gates.
Unfortunately I only recalled this story after I have spent the day
cursing and swearing at our port engine. It didn’t actually make it go. It was
only after a lunch break and taking a breath did I realize the problem.
Getting frustrated with things on the boat is like beating ones head
against a brick wall. It feels damn good when you stop.
But if you come from a line of swearers, cursers and spanner
throwers it can be very hard to deny your heritage at times.
 |
| Leanne took a nice photo of the Coffin Bay Pelicans while I swore and cursed at the Port Engine. |
