She bangs! She bangs! She moves! She moves! The Ricky Martin tune resonates through my brain. I think the words even escape through my grinning lips. Suzanne interrupts my glorious moment, "You know when you say it that way, it doesn't sound like a good thing." Okay, so the words aren’t the best. But can I still do my happy dance? She concedes and lets me express some of my jubilance.
Condor's Westrerbeke 27 had been declared dead by a marine surveyor. That's a fairly large engine to remove from a sailboat sitting on the hard. 434lbs dry. Not like the little Yanmar 1gm that Sam hauled out of the J29 by himself. This was a real engine. Four cylinders; fresh water cooled. With the halyards deteriorated by 25 years in the sun, we weren’t easily going to lift this beast out.
The previous owner told us that the surveyor had said it ran for a little while and died. Hmm. What exactly does that mean? He wasn't able to offer any more insight. He did say that he had never had any trouble with it. He even topped up the tank when he put her away for the winter.
Okay, so she ran a little. That means she was at least getting some fuel and must have had some compression. But why would she die? Well, this was going to take some investigation. And besides, if Sam was going to work on her, he’d probably have to do it in the boat.
She cranks! She cranks! Okay, doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it? But the broker had said she cranks, and the surveyor said she ran and died. So she’s not seized. Next step is to get some batteries there and see what’s going on.
I’m not an idiot, though at times it takes some work to convince others of that fact. I wasn’t going to crank the engine with who knows what for oil. We took our handy vacuum oil changer and went to suck the oil out. Westerbeke added this neat hose to the bottom of the oil pan which when attached to my handy vacuum oil changer thing, allows all the oil to get sucked out. Yeah, kinda black, but not too uncommon for old diesels. Four quarts of fresh oil back in.
Now on to the fuel. It ran, then died. That sounds familiar. Flashback to the Pony days. Pony Express was our 1984 Express 30. Great boat that left many fond memories. Among the favorites was the trip with Scott to the start of the Chesapeake Bay Schooner Race. I knew that Pony had developed some scum in her diesel tank. And I knew the best way to get it out was to take the tank out and clean it. But what’s the rush? And being cheap, I couldn’t just waste the good fuel. So, the plan was to run her almost out of fuel, then pull her for the season and remove the tank. Scott’s plan was to go watch the start of the schooner race – on my boat. We headed from Middle River down the bay under sail. With the wind from the north, we hoisted the spinnaker and sailed to the rendezvous just south of the bay bridge. With the schooners congregating there, we dropped the sails and motored around them. This was the year of the no breeze start. And how exciting it was! After the start, schooners dropped anchor to keep from being pushed north by the current. Crew abandoned ship for a swim rather sitting around with nothing to do.
We motored around them, careful to keep out of their way. After all, they were racing, even though they weren’t moving. The excitement was killing us and we decided we had seen enough of the non-race, so we started making our way toward the bridge. The engine surged a little then sputtered. I knew in an instant that I had found the sludge in the tank I had been looking for. I shut the engine down and we drifted. A tiny breeze from the south registered about 1 knot on the anemometer. The current was pushing us north at about one quarter knot. We quickly hoisted the quarter ounce spinnaker with the 3/16” light air sheets. The previous owner had called this the “deli wrap” chute because it was so light. But we were moving and out of the way of the schooners. At this rate, we would make it back to middle river by noon the following day. Fine by me, but Scott needed to get to work. Hmm. I seem to be digressing again. To wrap up this little mise-en-abyme, the wind clocked and built, bringing rain and a breeze up to twenty knots. We made it back to the slip and docked under sail. I pulled the tank a few days later and cleaned the sludge.
This little meander down memory lane was brought to you by a clogged fuel filter. Sailboaters (I can’t speak for powerboaters) have this wonderful habit installing a 2 micron filter in the primary filter. Think about it, if it is primary why do we put the finest filter in there? Anyway, it would make sense that Condor’s primary filter was clogged. After sitting for over six years, allowing all the wonderful flora and fauna to grow in the fertile fuel, it wouldn’t take much to clog a two micron filter.
And into the filter we dove (not literally, or course). It was black as night. We removed the filter element, bowl and separator. It took some work, but we were able to remove the black scum that had been deposited. With a West Marine just down the road, we were able to get a new element for it. And, of course, being sailboaters, we opted for the 2 micron.
Westerbeke has all kinds of neat features including an electric fuel pump which makes the system self-bleeding. A few seconds of the ignition switch being on and the system is filled with nice clean fuel. The Westerbeke manual recommends 20 seconds of preheat from the glow plugs for the 38 degree air temperature. A little prayer, a cross of the fingers, and a push of the start button and Condor’s Westerbeke whirs. A sputter. Five seconds more of the glow plugs, and another push of the starter button. She bangs! More precisely, she purrs. The old Westerbeke purrs like a kitten. She responds to the throttle with no hesitation. No cloud of smoke. No strange noises.
Incredible! There’s $9k we won’t be spending! And the Happy Dance! She bangs! But in a good way.
Condor's Westrerbeke 27 had been declared dead by a marine surveyor. That's a fairly large engine to remove from a sailboat sitting on the hard. 434lbs dry. Not like the little Yanmar 1gm that Sam hauled out of the J29 by himself. This was a real engine. Four cylinders; fresh water cooled. With the halyards deteriorated by 25 years in the sun, we weren’t easily going to lift this beast out.
The previous owner told us that the surveyor had said it ran for a little while and died. Hmm. What exactly does that mean? He wasn't able to offer any more insight. He did say that he had never had any trouble with it. He even topped up the tank when he put her away for the winter.
Okay, so she ran a little. That means she was at least getting some fuel and must have had some compression. But why would she die? Well, this was going to take some investigation. And besides, if Sam was going to work on her, he’d probably have to do it in the boat.
She cranks! She cranks! Okay, doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it? But the broker had said she cranks, and the surveyor said she ran and died. So she’s not seized. Next step is to get some batteries there and see what’s going on.
I’m not an idiot, though at times it takes some work to convince others of that fact. I wasn’t going to crank the engine with who knows what for oil. We took our handy vacuum oil changer and went to suck the oil out. Westerbeke added this neat hose to the bottom of the oil pan which when attached to my handy vacuum oil changer thing, allows all the oil to get sucked out. Yeah, kinda black, but not too uncommon for old diesels. Four quarts of fresh oil back in.
Now on to the fuel. It ran, then died. That sounds familiar. Flashback to the Pony days. Pony Express was our 1984 Express 30. Great boat that left many fond memories. Among the favorites was the trip with Scott to the start of the Chesapeake Bay Schooner Race. I knew that Pony had developed some scum in her diesel tank. And I knew the best way to get it out was to take the tank out and clean it. But what’s the rush? And being cheap, I couldn’t just waste the good fuel. So, the plan was to run her almost out of fuel, then pull her for the season and remove the tank. Scott’s plan was to go watch the start of the schooner race – on my boat. We headed from Middle River down the bay under sail. With the wind from the north, we hoisted the spinnaker and sailed to the rendezvous just south of the bay bridge. With the schooners congregating there, we dropped the sails and motored around them. This was the year of the no breeze start. And how exciting it was! After the start, schooners dropped anchor to keep from being pushed north by the current. Crew abandoned ship for a swim rather sitting around with nothing to do.
We motored around them, careful to keep out of their way. After all, they were racing, even though they weren’t moving. The excitement was killing us and we decided we had seen enough of the non-race, so we started making our way toward the bridge. The engine surged a little then sputtered. I knew in an instant that I had found the sludge in the tank I had been looking for. I shut the engine down and we drifted. A tiny breeze from the south registered about 1 knot on the anemometer. The current was pushing us north at about one quarter knot. We quickly hoisted the quarter ounce spinnaker with the 3/16” light air sheets. The previous owner had called this the “deli wrap” chute because it was so light. But we were moving and out of the way of the schooners. At this rate, we would make it back to middle river by noon the following day. Fine by me, but Scott needed to get to work. Hmm. I seem to be digressing again. To wrap up this little mise-en-abyme, the wind clocked and built, bringing rain and a breeze up to twenty knots. We made it back to the slip and docked under sail. I pulled the tank a few days later and cleaned the sludge.
This little meander down memory lane was brought to you by a clogged fuel filter. Sailboaters (I can’t speak for powerboaters) have this wonderful habit installing a 2 micron filter in the primary filter. Think about it, if it is primary why do we put the finest filter in there? Anyway, it would make sense that Condor’s primary filter was clogged. After sitting for over six years, allowing all the wonderful flora and fauna to grow in the fertile fuel, it wouldn’t take much to clog a two micron filter.
And into the filter we dove (not literally, or course). It was black as night. We removed the filter element, bowl and separator. It took some work, but we were able to remove the black scum that had been deposited. With a West Marine just down the road, we were able to get a new element for it. And, of course, being sailboaters, we opted for the 2 micron.
Westerbeke has all kinds of neat features including an electric fuel pump which makes the system self-bleeding. A few seconds of the ignition switch being on and the system is filled with nice clean fuel. The Westerbeke manual recommends 20 seconds of preheat from the glow plugs for the 38 degree air temperature. A little prayer, a cross of the fingers, and a push of the start button and Condor’s Westerbeke whirs. A sputter. Five seconds more of the glow plugs, and another push of the starter button. She bangs! More precisely, she purrs. The old Westerbeke purrs like a kitten. She responds to the throttle with no hesitation. No cloud of smoke. No strange noises.
Incredible! There’s $9k we won’t be spending! And the Happy Dance! She bangs! But in a good way.
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