How We Fixed Our Fuel Problem

Every cruising boat has an incessantly constant list of chores that need attention.  Often it is hard to tell if things are breaking faster than they are getting fixed or vice versa.  With four kids on the boat, the problem is compounded.  They swing like monkeys from the handrails and provide continuous high impact wear and tear that test the limits of all components on the boat.

Still, our trip down the ICW was fairly free of major issues except for the one time our engine quit way back in Connecticut. A mechanic and I worked on the engine back then and found that there was some sort of contaminant in the fuel tank.  We cleaned what we could at the time but never found the source of the problem.  That was a long time ago, and things have been fine since then.

So went my story to a new dock mate at Weech's Bimini Dock.  The fellow sailing captain, Hyde, who is South African but more recently has lived in Australia and Florida, took a long look at me, then shared his story:  A hard to locate fuel problem, a single engine propeller plane, a little bit of floating gunk, some bad timing.  His engine stalled out seconds after take off, nearly costing him his life.  "You just have to fix that one mate, or it will bite your a** at the worst moment."  In typical Hyde fashion, he said all that and and then sauntered off, leaving me to think it over for a few sobering minutes.

Over the next few days, stormy weather held us in Bimini and we got to know Hyde and his lovely family better.  Finally one rainy morning, he popped his head into C-Spirit's companionway and said, "Come on Jamey, let's have a go at cleaning out that fuel tank.  It shouldn't take more than a day or two, and the weather isn't getting any better."

It was something I had put off for months. I had chosen to not run the engine when the boat was sloshing around in big waves to avoid stirring up whatever contaminant might be lurking at the bottom of the fuel tank.  My reasoning was something like this: if the boat is moving roughly enough to stir up the fuel tank, there must be wind making the waves, so therefore we can turn off the engine and sail.

I looked skeptically around to Nancy and the girls.  I knew this would be a major mess and could take way longer than a couple of days.  Would it be pushing my luck too much to ask them to basically vacate their home for a few rainy days while it turned into a construction site?  But I knew that this was fair warning: fix this problem now or don't complain when your engine quits right when you need it the most.   Hyde and I dove in.

Hyde and I discussing our strategy.

Literally dove in, since cleaning the fuel tank meant first getting to the fuel tank, which is wedged deep into a narrow, impossible to reach, unfinished, fiberglass-lined cubby hole in the very back end of the boat.  After taking out all the cushions and all the hatch covers and removing the wooden shelf that blocks access, I could poke my head deep into this locker and see the fuel tank.  Then, by pushing with my feet against the far wall, I could force my head and shoulders deep enough into this locker to touch the tank with one hand, though doing so meant rubbing my arm against raw fiberglass and snuggling my neck against a row of sharp protruding screws.  

This is after we started cleaning up a bit. 

OK GREAT! WE ARE IN! That was Hyde's attitude, and it was infectious. So we alternated back and forth in that space for a full day. We worked to get the fuel tank unwedged from its spot and somehow out where we could clean it out.  Finally, after five or so backbreaking hours, we had moved the tank about twelve inches, far enough to know that it would never fit out the hatch opening, so on to plan B!

Did we have a plan B? HMMMMMM...

Ok, we drain all the fuel out of the tank where it is now, then see if anything gross comes out with the fuel. Hope for the best after that.  The challenge is how do we drain out the fuel from a tank that is essentially at the lowest level of the boat already?  After a few false starts, we determine that we need an electric fuel pump.  Hyde, ever optimistic, resourceful and outgoing, has met someone earlier in the day who has a spare pump we can borrow.

Finally, late that afternoon, we have the pump wired up, the tank plumbed up, and we drain every drop of fluid we can from the fuel tank, first through the engine fuel line, then later by sticking a hose down into the fuel tank through a fuel gauge access port. The last half gallon of liquid from the bottom of the tank is a cloudy grey liquid filled with debris.   Imagine the stuff you clean out of clogged bathroom sink drains. Yecch!  There are globs of old marine adhesive, black gunk and generally gross stuff  -- and lots of it.
 

I have never been so happy to see gunk before. 

Hyde sees this stuff, sniffs it, slowly swirls it around in its container, then turns to look at me and asks, "Do you have any enemies? Anyone out to get you for something? Because this is just an impossible amount of contamination." My answer is basically, "So you think that grey water could have been the problem in Connecticut when we were bashing C-Spirit up a choppy Long Island Sound?"

"Yes Jamey, most definitely."

For me that was a relief. Even though the back of the boat was torn apart, reeked of diesel and both of us were beaten and bleeding, I knew that when we were done, I could rely on the engine to work when I needed it to do so.

It took us both all the next day to put everything back together.  Wedging the fuel tank back into place was a breeze once we had doused all the contact points with baby oil, borrowed two scissor-type car jacks, scrounged a few scrap pieces of lumber, cut them to size and assembled all this to bear firmly but not too firmly on the plastic sides of this hidden gem of a fuel container.  I wish there was a photo of this process, but all you would have been able to see was my hind side sticking out of a hatch; not a pretty sight.

The captain with the spare fuel pump agreed to let me buy it, and Hyde wired it up and installed it inline making the formerly onerous chore of priming the fuel lines a breeze.  Finally, around 5 O'clock that second afternoon, I walked down the road and bought some fresh diesel fuel from the gas station, walked back and fueled up the boat.  C. Spirit started up like a dream and has been running smoothly through choppy waters and rough waves and whenever called on to do so.

It is much more comfortable to run the boat with the trust that you have done everything you can to address known issues.  It is a great lesson to realize that even big problems, ones that seem TOO BIG TO DEAL WITH, can be worked on and can often be solved.  They might take some time.  You might get some bumps and bruises.  But you also might meet new people.  You might gain a deeper understanding of your connection to your community.  You might even see your own situation in a whole new way.

So that is the (shortened version of the) story of how we fixed our fuel problems (for now).

Even with the back berth torn apart and stuffed into the V-berth, the girls were able to continue their routine. We did accept Hyde's invitation to spend the night on their catamaran, and the girls had a blast with their first sleepover in the Bahamas. 

Phoenix loves playing the ukulele. 

Jane helped occupy Skye and Sage.