We Made it to Plymouth

PM's Perspective

On the basis of the recommendation from Darren and Kathy, the owners of the fine vessel named Sea Spirit home docked at Wentworth Marina, we headed to Isles of Shoals, a mere 5.8 nautical miles away, on Saturday morning.  The moorings within Gosport Harbor are on a first come first serve basis.  We arrived at the harbor about noon to find that this was a popular spot with boaters from the nearby mainland.  We were able to find one of the last available moorings.  Many boaters rafted up on the same mooring -- one such mooring had seven boats neatly tied together.  The harbor was not quite as quiet as we anticipated, but with all systems working (or so we thought), we spent a fine afternoon just enjoying the scenic beauty of the area.

Hotel Flagstaff on Star Island

The Isles of Shoals is a grouping of nine islands and numerous ledges just off the coast.  The boundary between Maine and New Hampshire splits the grouping.  Development is limited by the geology of the islands that consists primarily of granite outcroppings.  The major structure is a retreat center, Hotel Flagstaff, located on Star Island and operated by the Star Island Corporation.  The Isles were well known for their cod fisheries in the 1700s and 1800s.  Smuttynose Island is notorious for the grisly murder of two women in 1873.  Today, the isles are summer getaways.

Seven Boats, One Mooring

As darkness approached, the day trippers left and the noise level remarkably decreased.  We spent a very bucolic evening watching the spectacular sunset, the antics of the seabirds, and enjoying a fine meal created in the kitchen of Velomer.  Our plan was to leave early in the morning and head to Constitution Marina in Boston for a three day stay and lots of socialization with friends and family.  We awoke early the next morning eager to be on our way.  The sky was slightly overcast, the air still, the coffee aromatic.  The engine started without a hitch.  We slipped off our mooring and headed southwest for bean town gliding past that mooring with the seven boats rafted together.

While underway, I used the rear head only to discover it would not flush.  What a ghastly situation!  Bob and I had spent an entire afternoon just a few weeks ago rebuilding the seals and gaskets on both the fore and aft heads.  After we finished, both heads worked worked just fine.  Grrrrrrrrrr.  The remainder of the journey to Boston was delightful, especially when we spotted a pod of dolphin roiling the water off to our port.  As the Boston skyline came into view we looked forward to visiting friends and family and dreaded dealing with the head issue.

We eased into our slip at Constitution Marina and felt right at home.  We had left at 6:40 AM and arrived at 2:30 PM, just under 8 hours to go the 50 nm from port to port.  Sally and Randy were due to arrive at the marina at 6:00 PM with takeout from their favorite Italian deli, so we had a good two hours to investigate the head problem before we had to take showers and get ready for an evening of great conversation, something Sally and Randy can be counted on to generate.  Bob disconnected the various fittings exposing the drain pipe which spilled its contents on the floor of the head.  The odor was unpleasant, but tolerable.  The odd thing was that along with black water, the drain spilled out whitish pea-sized solid chunks of something.  Bob decided that there was a clog in the drain pipe from the aft head to the holding tank located just to the rear of the V-berth in the hull.  Bob figured the best way to deal with the clog was to blast it out with water from a hose.  This didn't sound like a very good idea to me, but I didn't have any better suggestion.

Bob connected our hose to the water spigot on the dock and brought the end of the hose into the aft head which is right in our stateroom at the rear of Velomer.  There was no way this was going to have a good outcome.  I spent the next few minutes quickly clearing everything out of the way -- rolling the throw rugs up and off the floor, covering the bed with plastic, putting the toiletries off the counter.  After looking at the hose and down the drain pipe, Bob wisely decided that blasting the drain pipe with water was not going to be the solution.  Phew!  I got on the internet and started to research clogged drains.  I came across an eco-friendly solution of mixing a cup of vinegar with a cup of baking soda and pouring it down the drain, waiting overnight for this solution to take effect, followed by two gallons of very hot water and a cup of grease-dissolving detergent.  So this is the process we decided to follow.  Fortunately, we had all supplies on board.

Bob disconnected the aft-head drain pipe from the holding tank and we poured the vinegar/baking soda down each end of the drain pipe.  We cleaned up the rear head floor, still curious what the whitish solids in the drain pipe were.  Again, the internet was consulted.  The whitish solids are probably fat globules created by pouring copious amounts of vegetable oil (to keep the parts lubricated) down the head mixing with salt water (used to flush the heads) coming into contact with the cooler temperatures in the hull over a long period of time.  I envisioned our drain pipe blocked with cholesterol.  To keep the heads lubricated and relatively odorless, the recommendation is to put grease-dissolving detergent and vinegar in the heads, not vegetable oil and vinegar.  Now we know, but the drain pipe was still clogged.

We spent a lovely evening with Sally and Randy discussing where we were in our respective lives: Sally running a very successful European tour company, Randy retired and focusing on the uniqueness of the here and now, and Bob and I taking off on our two-year adventure and the daily challenges thereof (such as clogged drain pipes).  The next morning, not surprisingly, the pipe was still clogged.  The vinegar/baking soda mixture was not enough.  Bob said that maybe the only thing to do was replace the entire length of pipe.  We followed the length of pipe and realized that the run went from the rear head into the hull then into a chase within the hull that is totally inaccessible for about ten feet then out of the chase, turned then ran to the holding tank.  Replacing it was going to be nearly impossible, particularly because it was wire tied to another pipe.  The only reasonable thing to do was to clear the clog.  We needed a snake for that job.

We met my elementary and high-school classmate, Joyce Stephens, for lunch.  Joyce is about to have at least seven years of good luck because just as she was warning us not to walk under the fire escape of a particular building due to the activities of pigeons, one of the birds christened her left shoulder! She took the bullet for us!  Thank you, Joyce!  After lunch, Joyce, a walking encyclopedia of Boston, took us to the True Value hardware store on Salem Street in the North End where we bought a snake, a bottle of grease-dissolving liquid Tide and lots of other things.

We returned to the boat, changed into our grubbiest clothes and started the attack.  We decided to start the snake at the holding tank end of the line.  Bob carefully placed the snake in the pipe and found the clog about five feet into the pipe.  At first we delicately rotated the snake with the hopes of dislodging the clog.  More and more whitish globules came to the surface at each end of the drain pipe.  We got more vigorous as time went on rotating the snake envisioning that clog being smashed to smithereens.  After about an hour, I went into the rear head, and there was the end of the snake -- we made it through the clog!  At this point I had a brilliant revelation -- let's tie a rag or something to the end of the snake and pull it through and really clear out the clog.  At least it sounded like a good idea at the time.

I got a length of quarter inch line, tied it tightly around the end of the snake and Bob started to pull the snake back through the drain pipe.  After retracting about half the snake, it budged no more no matter what we tried.  I was having pangs of regret thinking we should have just pulled the snake back through and twisted it through again until the clog was gone versus tying a piece of line and pulling it through.  Then I had the idea of straightening the drain pipe as much as possible and then try pulling the snake through.  To accomplish this feat, I  opened the trap door between the engine compartment and the V-berth, requiring the removal of boxes of tools that were in the engine room and tied down (so as not to roll around in rough seas) and asked Bob to straighten the pipe and hand me the snake.  I braced my feet against the sides of the trap door, grasped the snake with a towel (for a firm grip) and pulled with all my might.  I had this image of the clog letting loose and the snake whipping out of the pipe and hitting me in the head.  Not a pretty image.  Bob slowly moved out of the way saying, "Pull, PM, pull!" I eased up on the tension, then pulled again, eased up and pulled again several more times.  Nothing.  Then Bob once again yelled, "Pull, PM, pull!"  Again, I pulled with all my might, feet firmly planted against the trap door jamb.  I felt a minor shift.  "Pull, PM, pull!" I eased up and pulled again.  This time not so hard.  The snake eased out some more.  The clog was dislodged!Once cleared, we reconnected all fittings, treated both heads with about a quarter cup each of Tide and vinegar.  We now had fully functional heads!  What a relief.  We could enjoy the remainder of our stay in Boston!

Alice and Bob in front of the Charles W. Morgan

 The next day, we met up with Randy and walked down to Chinatown having a wonderful lunch of dim sum and touring the Boston Commons.  Later that afternoon my sister and brother-in-law, Alice and Bob, came to spend some time with us. These two folks are extremely knowledgeable about the colonial way of life, artifacts, marine history and the like.  It just so happened that the Charles W. Morgan, a restored whaling ship, was in port locally situated next to the USS Constitution and within walking distance of our marina.  We visited the whaling ship and came back to Velomer for another wonderful evening of conversation and dining.  We had such a good time that we were thinking about staying another day at the marina.

The next morning we went into the marina office to see if we could extend our stay to find that there was another boat waiting to use the slip we were occupying.  The marina dock master pointed to a lovely young woman with a baby in a stroller that was also in the office indicating that it was her boat that needed the slip.  She looked at me and said, "I think I know you."  That young woman is Katie Turner, a classmate of Phoebe's and Erik's in the Cumberland school system.  Small world.  She and her husband, Bob Bateman, are aboard Nelson's Wake, a 47' Benneteau sailboat.  They came in the prior night from Portland and are on their way down the east coast.  The crew they just sailed in with consisted of our friends Pete and Lise Wilson and Katie's dad, George Turner.  Small world indeed! Hopefully we will hookup with them down the road.  With no room at the inn, Velomer headed to our next destination, Hingham Shipyard Marina.

Bob has related our woes upon leaving Constitution Marina.  I figure with the GPS issue, the head issue and the bow thruster issue, we have gone through our stint of bad luck with fair winds ahead. Our bow thruster issue was made more tolerable by the hospitality and competence of the staff at Hingham Shipyard Marina.  They are among the best of the best.  Also in favor of HSM is its location in proximity to Fresh Market, an organic and gourmet foods store; Trader Joe's where I stocked up on delicious frozen entrees; and Stop and Shop.  With the bow thruster repaired, we moved on to Plymouth, MA, our next destination.