I was only going down to the boat for ten minutes.
My plan was simple: check one thing, make sure nothing was leaking, maybe wipe something down, and head home.
Three hours later, I was still aboard.
I had opened 14 lockers looking for something and, somewhere up in the v-berth, I forgot what it was I was looking for.
I had crawled into the quarter berth to check the transmission end of the engine and considered crushing out a nap.
Then I checked the engine.
Then the batteries and their connections.
I discovered a hose that looked suspicious and pondered the complexity of replacing it.
I had tightened a screw that probably didn’t need tightening and then stripped it.
And, naturally, on top the stripped screw, I had created at least three new problems that didn’t exist when I arrived.
This is one of the great mysteries of boat ownership.
Nothing on a sailboat takes ten minutes. No repair takes just an hour.
A ten-minute job is simply phase one.
You go aboard to replace a lightbulb and before you know it, you’re wondering why the navigation lights are wired the way they are.
Then you’re tracing the wire to the deep recesses of the boat that haven’t been seen by humans since 1980 - the year the boat was made.
Then you’re looking at the electrical panel.
You’re thinking, I really should clean up this wiring. Because, as we now say on account of Canadian Ken, it looks like a dog’s breakfast.
Next thing you know, you’re online ordering terminal blocks, butt connectors, and an in-line fuse - from your phone.
The boat has won again...
The Five-Minute Rule
We’ve developed a theory at BoatFools Sailing:
Every five-minute boat job has a minimum duration of approximately 45 minutes.
Replacing a hose clamp? Easily 45 minutes depending where it is located.
Changing an impeller? 90 minutes, easy - especially if you don’t have a seal and have to improvise and make one.
Finding the source of a mysterious drip? Clear the calendar.
And anything involving a screw or important piece of hardware that falls into the bilge?
That’s an archaeological expedition. Time for some spelunking!
The “While I’m Here…” Trap
The most dangerous words in boating are NOT “Mayday” or “abandon ship.”
They’re:
“While I’m here…”
While I’m here, I’ll check the oil.
While I’m here, I’ll check the belts.
While I’m here, I’ll look at the stuffing box and check the transmission fluid.
While I’m here, I should really find out why that locker smells funny.
And that’s how you end up sitting in the cockpit at 6:17 p.m., covered in diesel, grease, and holding a 10mm wrench and wondering where the afternoon went.
Which brings us to the good folks at Hamilton Marine in Rockland, Maine.
They know us, and our boats, by name.
And when we walk through the door, it’s like we’ve just walked into an all-you-can-eat buffet.
We came in for one hose clamp and some marine toilet paper.
But there’s that new block.
And that fitting.
And that shiny little tool.
And wait—do we have one of those aboard? (The answer is yes, but we’ll never find it…And, as Josh says, “two is one, one is none.” Best to have a backup!)
Now we’re filling the cart.
They laugh when we walk through the door.
Not at us, exactly. At least not to our faces. And honestly, we don’t blame them.
They’ve seen this movie before. Probably daily in high season.
They know that when a BoatFool walks in and says, “I’m just looking for one little thing,” there is a very good chance that little thing is about to turn into an entire project.
Our chandlery has become our therapist, parts department, hardware store, occasional support group—and, thanks to the beef jerky, M&Ms, Pringles, and Gatorade, an actual buffet.
One stop shopping is great when time is of the essence.
And this summer, with two old Morgans coming and going on charter, those three hours that were supposed to be ten minutes have probably saved our asses more than once.
We’ve caught the little drip before it became a big drip.
We’ve noticed the chafe before it became a failure.
We’ve discovered the bilge pump float switch getting sticky - or a bilge pump that isn’t working at all.
We’ve remembered how something actually works when it’s used correctly.
And occasionally, we’ve even fixed something (see bilge pump that wasn’t working).
That’s the strange arrangement we make with old sailboats.
They demand our time and they consume our money.
They certainly make us question our decisions…
Then they take us sailing.
Which is why, tomorrow, I’ll probably go down to the boat again.
Just for ten minutes.
Yeah. Right.
This is priceless!