Boat accidents, bad luck and mishaps

How we overhauled our boat and our nerves

Some people buy a boat and set sail. Others buy a boat – and then completely disassemble or rebuild it.

We didn't want a project boat, but we still ended up in the second category without meaning to.

The plan was simple. The reality... less so.

When we took over our boat, we really thought: ‘We'll fix a few things up, check the technical stuff – and then we'll be good to go.’

What we didn't know was that every project we tackled immediately led to at least three new projects. Like a hydra. Cut off one head, and three more grow back. Only more expensive.

Welcome to our very own boat conversion saga.

It started innocently, as always.

‘Oh, let's just take a look at the boat first,’ we said.

‘Most of it's already done,’ we said.

‘It can't be that bad,’ we said.

Well...

Even during the inspection, the port engine emitted a slight cloud of white smoke. Later, the delicate ‘I'm just cold’ cloud turned into more of a ‘papal election in the engine room’ cloud. So that was at the top of our to-do list. Or rather, at the top of Denny's list.

The to-do list grew faster than our optimism, resulting in a list that resembled a medium-sized shipbuilding order rather than a private boat:

• The port engine was emitting white smoke

• The outboard motor was only running in emergency mode

• The solar panels were completely replaced

• The toilets were converted from ‘maritime rustic’ to electric

• Power cables were re-laid – properly this time (some cables had previously just been plugged together, now they are soldered, insulated and hopefully made to last forever)

• The entire boat was cleared out and tidied up because the previous owners left with only their hand luggage

• Complete cleaning of everything that couldn't escape quickly enough

• Shelves in the cupboards

• Cleaning and polishing the hulls

• Sealing windows, air conditioning and ceiling panels

• And what felt like a hundred little things that you don't plan for, but which happen anyway.

At one point, we wondered whether there was anything left on this boat that we hadn't touched at least once.

Number 1 on the list: the port side engine.

So off we go to the engine room. A place that was probably built specifically so that you can only move around in unnatural positions.

White smoke means that water is evaporating somewhere in the system. Where exactly is the question. Asking questions, searching, researching.

Answers such as ‘It's the cylinder head gasket’ or ‘You'll have to replace the entire engine’ didn't exactly fill us with confidence. Maybe Denny's dad's idea will help: flush it. That might reveal the leak in the system that is responsible for the water in it.

Forward – i.e. from above – worked well, but did not bring the desired success. No leak found.

Backwards – i.e. from below – worked too well. Although no leak was found, because there wasn't one, the pressure was so great that the plastic cover of the seawater filter was blown into the air. Parts of the cover flew up to 4 metres away.

Denny was sitting right next to it, but apart from a big scare and a small scratch, he was unharmed. However, the cover may have already had a small crack, and Denny's pressure test may have ‘enlarged’ it.

And that brings us to the topic of learning the hard way – the silent, expensive lesson.

In addition to sweat, time and nerves, we also had to pay for our education. And not just a little.

We simply didn't know:

• Which parts belong to which devices

• Which gas cylinders are from which country

• Which things are better not to throw away

So we threw things away that we later had to buy again.

Or gave away things that we could have gotten a deposit back for.

Or blew lids up that we had to reorder.

That hurt. Not just financially, but emotionally too. That feeling when you think, ‘If only we'd known that earlier...’

But that's how it is when you get into boating. You either pay with money – or with experience. We decided to do both.

Let's continue with the list:

Electricity, solar power and plumbing.

Some cables were simply stuffed into a cupboard and/or loosely connected and laid out in a rather haphazard manner. Today, the cables have been pulled, sorted, replaced, soldered and re-laid. We also checked the fuses, replaced some of them and installed smoke and CO2 detectors. This gives us a good and secure feeling.

Solar panels were already installed on the boat. However, they only provided about 2 kW. Since we want to be self-sufficient for as long as possible, we had to put some work into this as well:

• From a somewhat amateurish installation - to neat and straight screw connections.

• From 1.7 kW - to 2.8 kW.

• From cables that were almost frayed because the installation was sharp-edged – to clean, sanded edges.

• From ‘one cable to one device’ – to firmly integrated into the on-board network.

I already mentioned above that our toilets also needed attention. Both were still in manual flush mode. According to the internet and YouTube, it should take 30-40 pump strokes to leave everything clean ;) Of course, no one does that because it's quite exhausting. In addition, one toilet was dripping. So we converted to electric.

Now that we already have properly installed cables and solar power, we can also flush electrically.

For research purposes, Denny spent a whole day listening to maritime toilet flushing systems on YouTube, including sales teasers: ‘This is the ultimate super-duper all-inclusive mega-quiet maritime must-have toilet...’

After the conversion, more to-dos popped up, e.g. adapting the water pumps to the new toilets.

Leisure time? Only in theory. Our days consisted of:

• Screwing

• Cleaning

• Swearing

• Googling

• Screwing again

With each passing day, it became clearer to us: the boat had charm, but also a past that was better not to question in detail. But we never wanted to give up. Did we despair? Oh yes. Repeatedly. Every day. Sometimes every hour.

We were so exhausted that we just about managed to go shopping.

Sightseeing? No chance.

Relaxation? Only in our vocabulary.

The only luxury in our everyday life: cocktails 50 metres down the jetty. And yes, we managed those 50 metres surprisingly often. Further afield, however, very rarely.

But eventually, the time had come: we were ready for our first test sail. We needed to test the watermaker to see if it was working (we didn't want to run it in the harbour), check the sails, test the autopilot, etc.

All the preparations were complete: the boat had been made seaworthy above and below deck, we had agreed who would take on which tasks when leaving port, and the weather was right for our first harbour manoeuvre.

The last task was to lay our gangway on the jetty – Denny's job.

One big step onto the jetty and we were done. Unfortunately, Denny slipped and fell onto the jetty with the gangway in his hand. There was a large cut, a lot of blood and panic. I treated Denny's wound on the spot.

Today, he has a scar. A souvenir, a memory.

So it's not only physically demanding, but also mentally exhausting.

It's not the romantic ‘we're working together on our dream,’ but rather ‘why am I sitting upside down in a corner that's smaller than a piece of hand luggage?’

You crawl, you lie down, you contort yourself. You clean places you didn't know existed – and that probably no one will ever see again.

And that's when a thought kept popping into my head:

It's good that we're still reasonably young. It's good that we're still fit. And it's good that we took a medical course beforehand.

Honestly, as a pensioner, I could hardly imagine crawling into every nook and cranny to remove dust, mould, oil residues or dirt. Respect to everyone who can do that – I was glad every time I got up without sore muscles.

Was it or is it worth it?

In the worst moments: no.

Today: yes.

Because between all the breakdowns, chaos and exhaustion, something happened: we really got to know our boat. Every cable, every screw, every weak point.

It's not just a boat now. It's our boat. With history. With scars. With lots of anecdotes.

When people ask us today what you need for a project like this, two things come to mind above all else: time and perseverance.

And maybe a sense of humour. Lots of humour. Because every problem brings you closer to your boat.

And when we're comfortably anchored somewhere, cocktail in hand, we know:

This moment cannot be taken for granted. It has been earned.

It was the beginning of something that is now truly ours. And that feels really good.

⛵

Ahoi

Anja