Screwing the sink

Caveat emptor: Those with sensitive stomachs or delicate sensibilities should skip this entry.

I cleared the sink! [Smug]

It was such a triumph that I really have to share.

I went to Svendsen's chandlery and asked one of the nice youngish-middle-aged women there what I could use to snake a drain. She sent me over to the rigging shop and told me what type of cable to ask for. The nice youngish-middle-aged guy at the rigging shop found the right length of wire that was stiff enough, and had an eye conveniently attached to one end. He muttered over it for a few seconds, decided they were never going to use it, gave it to me with a, "good luck," and disappeared.

Svendsen's rocks. The metal shop left some marks on the stern rail, but I didn't have it in me to make them take it back and buff it up, after the rigging shop gave me a free yard of cable and an expensive nugget of hardware.

Besides, I wanted to get back to the galley. I'm such a slave.

I thought I was getting somewhere, until it felt like the cable had somehow changed. I pulled it out, and realized a couple strands were coming undone. Well, that was no good.

I wiped it off with a shop towel, twisting it back into shape as I did so. I lashed the end with some thread I have for a sewing project, binding it in such a sailorly fashion that it stood up to all the subsequent abuse.

It took a lot of jittering to get it through the hardware and the gently curved rubber pipe, but I got through in the end. Confidently expecting results, I sat back and waited for drainage to happen.

Nothing.

I tried that for more times than was sensible, hoping to knock something loose. Still nothing.

You realize what I didn't use a plunger, right? Imagine a plumbing arrangement which consists entirely of plastic and hose clamps. I'm sure I don't need to draw you a picture.

I sat back on my heels and thought, "h'mm. What did they use to clear drains with, before they had Drano?"

The problem, of course, was glucoproteins. That's the term for the main component of mucus. It's gluey and stringy, refuses to dissolve, and in sufficient quantities can form a very effective plug.

I remembered reading, on the back of a bottle of something, that it could dissolve mucus because it had extra bleach.

Not something I'd normally put in the ocean. Under the circumstances, it was probably the least toxic option.

I put about half a cup in. I put the snake back in, wiggling freely.

Nothing.

I sat back on my heels again, looking at everything in front of me and doing a little free association. I remembered the Archimedes screw that farmers in Egypt still use to bring water up from the river. I looked at the gentle twist in my cable. Gotcha.

I inserted the cable again, making sure it went all the way through to the outside. Then, making myself as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, I sat there and slowly twisted the cable clockwise, so that the tiny channels between the twisted wires would carry the bleach down to the obstruction.

Periodically, bubbles rose. I took this as a good sign.

Eventually, I looked down and noticed a froth spreading out from the cable. More chemical activity; I figured it had to be good.

Suddenly, with no fanfare, everything magically went away, giving a last little "blop" as it disappeared. Nothing but shining sink (all right, only mostly shining) looked back at me.

It may be trivial, but that was a very good moment.

I chased the bleach with a few cups of water, to make sure that things still flowed. I mopped everything up, and sat down to dictate this self-congratulatory squeal of delight.

It says something about me that, no sooner have I noticed my little success, then my mind leaps instantly to the next task. No wonder I have trouble relaxing. Excelsior!

Loaded & overloaded

Joyce left a message: "I've been reading your blog, and boy have you been busy!"

It did me some good to hear that today. I've been completely incapacitated by an epoch-marking hangover, which the measured quantity of alcohol couldn’t justify. I didn't know it was possible to get so wrecked by white wine (which I rarely have.) I usually drink about as much water as I do anything else, but I didn’t last night, and have been dehydrated for days. I'll file that under "mistakes to make only once."

To add insult to injury, I realized on arising that my buckets were hiding and I had no bowls; the kitchen sink is now dreadfully clogged. -- It's not that I resent the nature of consequences, it's just a drag to have spew clogging up my drain.

Alcohol (especially white wine) will lose its fascination for awhile. I'm sure it will do me good. Meanwhile, I'm sipping as much water as my stomach will allow.

I'm looking at the beautiful glassy water and the sparkling reflections of boats and masts, unobstructed by the newly fixed stern rail which I was supposed to pick up today and install.

Yesterday, I assessed the entire freshwater path, and discovered a couple more kinks and problems which it will be very satisfying to eliminate. Then I tore apart the boat and the car looking for my 20 feet of polypropylene tubing with which I was going to replumb my fresh water. I found the Y-joint which I had to search half a dozen stores for, but I can't find the tubing, which I could get anywhere. I don't really want to buy it again, but I may have to.

There's a large piece of hardware bolted to the cabin sole which I'm trying to get rid of. I finally figured out how to remove it... if my arms were 6 inches longer. It's a stupid task, but it looks like I'll have to find someone to just sit there holding a wrench in place, while I work the damn screwdriver.

I'm pretty much tapped out for money. I have to put off taking care of the electrical system until I can afford to pay Russell for his time. He gives friends and neighbors an astonishingly reasonable rate, and he really knows his stuff, but this job will take several hours, and it does add up.

Happily, I realized that I don't have to do as much planning as I thought I did. With two batteries, I've got enough power for anything that fits on this boat. I know exactly where I want the AC plugs to go, so the AC wiring should be straightforward. I'm going to learn how to solder, which I have wanted to do for years.

I guess the trip was not a complete loss.

If I could get the sink clear, I'd head back ashore tonight, to lick my wounds and try to recover a little dignity in my own eyes. Maybe I could turn my attention back to the galley, still in need of organizing. Maybe I'll just have a little more water and delay the decision another hour or two.

The answer is ... 42

Much has been thrown into question recently ... life, the universe, everything.

With electrics acting like they're stoned on weed cut with cyanide, the hull liner fiasco still stinging (they were supposed to tear right out, but remember what a huge process that turned into?), the hull's protective paint nearly gone, the standing rigging leaking belowdecks, and the engine the outboard motor shop said was mine now suddenly promised to someone else, I sat down yesterday (my head spinning like a random orbit sander) and went back to essentials.

The boat can be sailable first, or liveable first.

Either way, because it can't pass inspection until it's close to being both, it's going nowhere for awhile (unless I can find some rules to bend.)

So here's my thinking:

• I can sail with BAADS and with friends, to scratch the moving-water itch.
• T aking care of the engine, whatever I do, will take time. Lots of time, apparently.
  
• Making the boat liveable will make the job of making her sailable easier. (Good onboard electricity means fewer extension cords, for one thing.)
  

These two facts move "sailable" down the priority list.

So what's next: hull liner, hull paint, leaks, or electricity?

• Being without good electric is alarming and a pain in the ass.
• Having good electric makes everything else easier.
• However, leaks contribute to the electrical problems.
• Also, the hull liner is in the way of the existing electrical system.
• I can wire a new electrical system on top of that, and take out the old one later. I hate that sloppiness, but hell, here we are.

I'm beginning to think it's time to hire a big machine and rip out the hull liner foam with the aid of power tools. That will make the boat colder'n hell until I get it relined, and means I have to find money for insulation and fabric, pronto. On the other hand, it makes everything else easier: fixing the leaks properly, rewiring responsibly.

This weekend, while I'm away, I'll hunt up fabric and work on wiring schemes.

Okay, sounds like a decision. Unless y'all have any other ideas.

Ship's log: covering things

Got the title from Dan and went down to the DMV so they could charge me a full year's use tax for the last 2.5 months of the year.

Cathy gave me a matching tarp (sail-cover blue) to fold over the boom & cover the cockpit with. This makes working on the boat in rainy weather much easier, as you can keep the companionway open and improve airflow and light. I folded a big sheet up and slipped it between the sailcover and the tarp, to save the sailcover. Learning from Cathy's expensive mistake, there. Makes the cockpit like an anteroom -- rather nice.

Scrubbed the growth off the bottom of the boat. I'm glad it's so small. That was fair work.

Spoke with Russell a lot about the electricity. Sigh.

Living space good; electricity bad

Yesterday was the first day where I didn't do something madly butch on the boat, like plumbing or carpentry (or not much, anyway.) Instead, I finally conquered the main living space. Now, almost everything has a place, and almost everything is in its place.

The "almost" is a little galling, but closing that gap will involve, you guessed it, carpentry and plumbing.

The Japan Woodworker, that fabulous shop across the island, gives lessons. I think I have to go talk to them about that, and find out if they can help me figure out how to accommodate my arms. Going over to inquire is no hardship [drool].

It's pissing down rain, so I can't get much done here ... the rain has gone on for several days, which is great for pointing out slow leaks, but most of the slow leaks go into the electrical system. This means I can't use the cabin lights or onboard radio; I have to use shore power for everything.

I know that I really ought to strip out the old wiring, so the chronic shorts don't cause a fire. That's a bitch of a job, particularly when you have problematic wrists and have to work in such small spaces. I'm not sure I'm up to it today. But time is not on my side, I know that.

The engine and gas tank, which are shoehorned in with about 1 cm of clearance on each side, block access to most of the electrical works. I was planning to do this when all that crap was out to be worked on. argh

Well, what's another essential life-support system under construction? It's not as if this boat could pass inspection anyway. Not yet. And I surely will be glad when it's done.

Ship's log, Ides of October

Repairs:
Patches held up under the recent rain. :)

Engine:
Got another number for an A4 mechanic. Sigh. If I can get it to limp along for 6 months for a few hundred bucks, maybe that's just as well.

Maintenance:
Put sails partway up, until wind got frisky. Cathy (down the dock) helped considerably with the self-furling jib.

Jib is usable, but tatty. The UV shield is almost gone. It can be trimmed up for now, but it will need to be replaced in the new year. Also, the jib sheets are chafing visibly against the standing rigging.

Cathy says she uses the lawn near the main building to lay out her sails on when necessary.

The mainsail is fine as far as I can see. No birds roosting or anything. I'd like to put pinch-catches on the sail ties.

The main halyard (pulls the sail up the mast; think haul-yard) was getting caught on no less than 5 bits of hardware on its way into the first block at the base of the mast, so I moved that forward and moved the forward block aft. Now the main halyard crosses the two little lines that go through that block. H'mm.

I think I'll ask Dan to go over the rigging with me. I don't understand some of it. And I'm not sure why emergency jack-lines are strung up the deck. Also, there's a loose wire belowdecks that he might know something about.

Shrouds [standing rigging -- holds the mast up] are in excellent shape. The bases need to be rebedded as they leak slowly belowdecks, but it can wait.

Improvements:
I finally put up a strand of lights. Not the bulb lights (or fairy-lights) that you string around a Christmas tree -- I put those up last week as a temporary measure -- but the rope lighting you see around some window displays. Eventually, there will be 3 strands, and this cabin will be very well illuminated with relatively little electrical impact.

Meanwhile, the port side of the boat is considerably brighter, and you can actually see what's inside the lockers behind the settee because the rope lies behind the settee back, shining into the locker doors when they're slid open.

Thought for the future:
I have one of those cloth hang-up-in-your-closet things for shoes, the kind that has a little square compartment for each shoe. I think I'll use it in the galley to store food in, especially items that are inclined to clank or to wander. Only question is how to stabilize it for hitting the waves. Perhaps a rail. Perhaps velcro. Either would work well. Velcro may be easier.

Mulling the bookshelf situation. Mainly that there really aren't any. Problem. H'mmmmm.

How to: Get marinated - a work in progress

I'm developing a list of issues that marina harbormasters have about liveaboards, and how to work around them.

In no particular order:

• Holding tank capacity.
  Until composting heads [toilets] are widely accepted, a holding tank of less than 20 gallons (77 liters or so?) is considered inadequate, even for a single person.
• Use a holding tank of at least 20 gallons and arrange a weekly pumpout with one of the head-maintenance services.
  
• Using the boat as nature intended.
  Liveaboards who use the boat as a floating flat are viewed with concern, for reasons that different harbormasters state in different ways, but boil down to losing sailorly sensibilities.
• Discuss my association with BAADS, the fact that I sail at least once weekly, and my aim to be always 10 minutes away from casting off (except when I've got tools out.)
• Prostitution & drug dealing (!!).
  Un-fucking-believable.
• Hang out, chat with them, get acquainted. According to John (no comments on the name, please, I'm not making it up), once they feel comfortable with me, the wait list may just melt away.
  

This post may get edited as I learn more.

Giving berth to contraceptives

Went to Alameda Marina, Grand, and Fortman's. All booked solid, with wait-lists of years.

Went to West Marine on my way home. Spoke to John, a lanky Dane with twinkling swamp-green eyes. After giving me reams of advice (some of which I've remembered) about everything on my list, he gave me a brand new insight into the reason for the wait-lists.

Some single women use it as a base of operations for commercial sex work; women in this country who do that also tend to use it as a base of operations to deal drugs. They had to clean out a marina nearby because the illegal activity was getting out of hand and was having the usual effect on the neighborhood.

The fact that this marina was within sight of the Coast Guard base and practically next to the old military base is the sort of thing that makes me hoot sardonically until I fall off the settee. (Alone, thanks very much, you filthy-minded putz.)

Stripping the hull-liner

I ripped out 1/4 of the fabric hull-liner in the v-berth. I got rid of about 1/3 of the foam behind that. Rather bad pictures follow:

Pulled the fabric away from the hull. Learned the hard way that dealing with the main fabric, and the staples at the edges, separately, was essential. Bled all over the place.

The corners were tricky; cutting all needed fabric, not cutting wood, not chipping glass, not slashing myself. Whee.

Some of the foam came away naturally. But not much. The rest was glued on well.
After considerable experimentation, I found that scoring the foam heavily with the 5-in-1 was the trick. After that, you could scrape the loose bits off with the 5-in-1 ...
... and get the rest off with a spiral grill brush like this one. 2 things to note about this brush:

1. It’s brass. You don’t want to prep any surface in a boat with steel, because when microscopic bits of steel get lodged somewhere (as they always do), they’ll rust and disrupt whatever surface you put over it. The oxidation of brass is a lot less problematic.


2. It’s hand friendly. The bristled head is transverse to the grip, which lets me cover a lot of surface area without a lot of effort. The handle is wooden, and provides room for both of my small hands to hang onto.
   

The trick to my getting something like this done is to work for a few seconds, sit back and stare at it for a few seconds, work for a few seconds, and so on. It looks incredibly dilatory – even lazy – but the thing is, if I spend about half my time sitting back, I can keep this up for quite some time.

I get a lot more done in a day this way, because I can remain functional for so much longer. And it makes me stronger without provoking bad flare-ups. So far, I’ve been able to beat back flare-ups with ice and one day’s rest. That’s pretty amazing, considering how bad it was a few months ago.

Persistence, I find, is the key to success these days. Sheer blazing effort served me well … right up until it led to multiple arm surgeries. But it was satisfying as hell while it lasted. There’s nothing like tearing into a job, then turning around to find it’s done.

As I dictate that remark, I realize that the satisfaction of doing work this new way is quieter, but a lot deeper. I overcome a buttload of obstacles to do something like this, mentally picking my way through the minefield of that task until I figure it out. And then, as I do it, I refine the process more, until I figure out something that works for me and works for the task.

That satisfaction is subtle, but widely permuted: it’s the satisfaction of several different trains of thought arriving safely at their stations, and of several different physical tasks coming intelligently together to do a better job (in fact) than I had anticipated being able to do:That’s cool. That’s super cool.

Ship's log: stern rail and stern wail

Got block ice and food, and I'm happy to say the shelf works exactly as intended. I'm pleased.

Sorted my tools & hardware into bins. Great to be able to lay your hands on exactly what you want. It also reduced the chaos level to have all that stuff put away.

Oooooh, I love an orderly space; I look forward to really having one. I tell myself this mess is not as bad as it looks.

I started on the project of running extension cords to where they'll do the most good. I ran aground on it, though. I really want to rewire, not string shit around. Hard to come up with a temporary measure that is reasonably safe, useful, and non-ugly.

Repairs:

Russell sanded down the fiberglass repair, which is still sticky underneath but hard as rock on top. He slapped Marine-Tex on it, a white patching/bonding compound that's UV resistant and a lot better to finish than fiberglass.

I took the bent & twisted stern rail to Svendsen's (boat yard, chandlery, metal works, all stuff boatish) and they were as kind and helpful as their rep, which is saying something. Should get it back in a couple weeks. I have to take some measurements of the stern tomorrow and take it over.

I used to wonder why more stuff wasn't available for boats. I wondered if boaters really were making it all up as they go, when it's time to fix something, and why they felt they had to keep reinventing the wheel (or tiller, as the case may be.) It's because boats are so different from each other, and indeed people are making fixes up as they go. Fabulous opportunity for someone like me, who really gets a charge out of fixing and creating things.

People:

Met another neighbor: he watched me try to fit the stern rail in my car, and when it obviously wasn't going to work, wandered over and offered to take it & me to Svendsen's in his eNORmous old diesel truck. Neither of us knew exactly where to find Svendsen's, so we wandered around a bit, but he refused to accept gas money. I offered beer, but he had to head back home.

I've noticed that men can get squirrely about being offered a beer by me, and I don't know what to think. Not sure whether to wear a paper bag to cover the worst of it, or to post a sign on my forehead saying, "Relax. Despite the boobs and hair, this chick makes Mother Teresa look like a floozy."

Residency status:

Bad news: this marina is part of a growing conglomerate, so the powers that be feel they can't possibly allow someone on a smaller boat to live aboard. Hell, blast, and damn!

However, I'm berthed here for the meantime, and can continue here indefinitely as long as I restrict my (traceable) visits to 2 days/week. This is true of all marinas owned by this conglomerate, which wants to cater to the richer crowd: "We want to give our clientele a resort-like experience every time they come to our marinas. So no pets, no bikes, no living with non-relatives, and no liveaboard boats under 35' even if they are to-die-for classic fantastics."

Not sure what their definition of resort-like actually is. Sounds pretty lame to me.

Planning:

We're buckling down for a blow tonight. The boat is quivering in its dock-lines, wanting to sail nearly as badly as I do. If it rains thoroughly, I'll get to check my leak repairs -- and see if any new ones develop.

As for living aboard, I'm debating the value of paying rent at 2 marinas (here and Moss Landing) and splitting my time between the two. There are a lot of advantages to this system, not least the fact that it gets me through the probationary period at Moss Landing before you can be a liveaboard.

I can't move the boat until I have a working engine, full paperwork, a stern rail, and at least one shakedown cruise. Looks like I'm here for another month at the very least. Not a bad thing, I suppose, but the indeterminacy of my homelife is getting to me.

Ship's log: fiberglass and 'frigeration

Repair:

Russell helped me deal with the bent stern rail and the hole in the fiberglass under the port stanchion supporting it. We did that yesterday. It's taking a long time to cure. Theoretically, that means that it will set up amazingly tough. I like tough. I just hope it stops sagging; it's becoming concave. Patching it in would be no problem, though.

Upgrade:

I noticed part of the roof of the cooler was not insulated. I got some heater insulation (two layers of bubble and foil) cut it to size and glued it in.

I put a shelf in the cooler that will hold two blocks of ice near the top of the cooler. There should be room above them to slip in a couple of cold packs, for injuries and to settle down a bad flare.

This involved cutting down a wire shelf, cutting two lengths of pine and drilling a pair of holes for the straight side of the cooler and drilling two holes plus chiseling drop-in slots for the slanted side of the cooler. (In a smaller boat, pretty much everything has a least one slanted side to accommodate the shape of the hull.) It was fun to try to find random objects that were just the right height and size to hold the wooden brackets in place as the glue dried. Really.

This morning, I oiled the wood and set the fan in there to blow out the last of the smell. I inserted the rack... and it almost fits. Close enough, in fact, that I'm going to use it just the way it is.

Also, the lift-out cover of the cooler, which is heavily insulated, was coming apart. I had just gotten clamps, and they were exactly big enough to clamp the lid and no bigger. I used Gorilla Glue all along the edges, as it would fill the gaps. I clamped two sides with my three clamps, let it sit for the day while everything else happened, took off the overflow with my new chisel, and am hesitant to drop it back onto the cooler because it can't possibly have been that easy to fix.

Projections:

A delightful Coast Guard who lives at the marina said he had buddies who'd be happy to fix my Atomic 4 for food and beer. He's got something on the ball, or I'd normally dismiss the offer is nothing more than a friendly gesture, but I'm not sure I can wait around for his buddies to be bored and hungry enough that working on a 30-year-old engine, in unbelievably tight quarters, sounds like fun.

It’s about time for the boat yards to refurbish the engines people traded in, so over the next couple weeks I’ll have more options.

How to: Replace non-square windows

From Willow in BC, I got a very sensible reply to the question I posted on sailboat owners.com:

• I had them cut the plexi to the same shape but 1" larger all the way around.
• I drilled holes about every 6" around the perimeter of the pieces, 1/2" in from the edge, and
• screwed them to the outside of the cabin.
• I sealed with 'Dow Corning 795' on the advice of a local boatbuilder.

This way I retained the distinctive window shape, removed a source of leaks (the old windows leaked between the frame and the lens), and updated the look of the boat significantly.

Sound slick. She says the whole thing took just a few hours.

Note: after reading some of the documentation on this adhesive/sealant, I'll mask off the frame, since the weakness in my hands makes it impossible to apply a straight bead.

Complete instructions for the overstressed:

1. Cover cabin & remove old windows.
2. Take to TAP and have them cut new ones that are 1" larger at each edge.
   
3. Prep surfaces. Sand as needed, and use non-oily SOLVENT, not water, to clean the surfaces.
   
4. Template existing holes, if any, in cabin top.
5. Mark outline of new windows on cabin's outside surface.
   
6. Drill windows to match template, or every 6" if no existing holes.
1. If there are no existing window holes in the cabin top, drill holes to match those in the window.
   
7. Mask off 1/4" outside the edge of window outline.
   
8. Wipe exposed area with clean dry cloth; no oil, soap, or water.
   
9. Apply sealant and flatten slightly, so it goes up to masking all around and to 1/4" inside window line as well. Use FRICTION to help smooth it along; no water.
   
10. Screw in windows.
11. Remove masking tape.

It takes a few weeks to cure fully, but I imagine the boat will be sailable in a few days.

• 
  

Ship's log: at berth

Maintenance:
Holding tank pumped. I now owe Mugsy for 2 times.

Work:
Dry-sanded then oil-sanded almost half the teak in the galley. Only up to 320 grit but it's looking a lot better and feels fantastic.
Built, edged, oil-sanded, and installed a red-oak shelf in the galley.
* Notes: aft edge is too high. Lower forward edge or insert shim into aft support; probably the latter, for my wrists' sakes.
* Future: Shelf is 16" wide and hinged 2/3 of the way in; rout edges of flap so it can be lifted clear of the surrounds. Below the shelf, set up a cupboard for kitchen equipment.

Supplies:
Navigation Tools
Dan and Allison gave me marvelous things for my boat-warming:
1. a beautiful, shining brass, gorgeously solid set of navigator's calipers (only they call them dividers) which outshine everything else on the boat. (I really have to get to work now, so as not to be hopelessly outclassed by my instrument.)
2. Map #121, a top-quality plasticized nautical chart of the San Francisco and San Pablo Bays -- my playground -- suitable for framing, either before or after it gets stuffed in a 12-year-old's backpack. Practically bulletproof, very beautiful, and immediately useful.
Galley Gear
2-burner camping stove. To go on a sliding drawer under the lifting shelf, once built.

Research:
* Headliners. Marine fabric is insanely priced. Looking into alternatives which would be up to code.
* Source of leak beside compression post. I think I'll have to get under the toilet and inspect the seacock that provides flush-water and the seawater path into the toilet. I may have to take the head apart entirely. Because I didn't have enough to do.

Thinking:
There are 4 interdependent priorities which keep this boat too close to trouble for comfort:

* Engine.
The inboard hates the sight of me, so I intend to hang an outboard off that perfect perky stern. Perhaps she will forgive me one day. Nissan/Tohatsu make a 9.9-hp engine that weighs only 84 pounds and is highly rated.
- Drain gas & oil.
- Remove gas tank.
- Disassemble engine.
- Remove propeller.
- Check hull integrity & clean up grease.
- Build rails on transom, with anchor roller to move engine up and down w/ foot.
- Get outboard and mounting bracket. Play erector set.

* Headliner.
- Get rid of the headliner. The foam-backed fabric that lines the living areas of the boat is original. That means the foam's usefulness degraded 24 years ago, and ever since then all it has done is soak up mold, head fumes, and whatever poisons were sloshed onto it to kill the mold.
I should hire help so it can get done in 1 day. I've already got the scraping implements and one respirator mask.
- Reline the hull for warmth, sound reduction, and appearance. Naked fiberglass looks even worse than most naked people. It's also damn cold and winter's coming.

* Electricity.
+ Once the upper half of the engine, and its enormous gas tank, are out of the hull, it will be a lot easier to get to the battery and the electric panel.
+ Once that festering crap that used to be tasteful headliner is out, it will be much easier to find and assess all the wiring.
- The cabin lights need to be rebedded from the deck side, as their wooden backing plates are soaked with slow leaks and turning on a second light shorts the whole DC system. (Can you spell 'fire hazard'?)
- Move the battery breakers. They're in a dark corner behind the knife block, and that just looks so wrong to an old ER nurse. They belong near the electric panel.
- Move the one AC plug. It's right in front of whoever is standing at the galley sink pumping water from a pump that farts & splashes like Vesuvius on the rag. Another hazard.
- Redo the math and, subsequently, the circuit board & wiring to accommodate liveaboard and workfromhome needs in the 21st century. Consider positioning alternative power sources in these schemata.

* Plumbing.
- Investigate that leak under the compression post. Looks like it's seeping up from under the head floor?
- Install 20 gallon holding tank. Pretty sure I've got all the right parts now.
- Rebed the head gaskets. No question, that sucker's got a slow leak. Looks like the pump assembly. Would prefer a foot pump anyway.
- Replumb the fresh water. I'm pretty sure this will fix the nonworking sink in the head and the hand-pump problem in the galley (the farting and splashing, and taking 38 pumps to get half a glass of water.) If not, look around for a good used foot pump. Otherwise, save the foot pump for later.

Curious Voyager-related fact:
The original owner worked with NASA. He named this boat after the Voyager probe! How cool is that.