boathealer
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Come on down! Good read - thanks.
The Adventures of Sylphide
- Thread starter Wayfarer
- Start date
The friendliest place on the web for anyone who enjoys boating.
If you have answers, please help by responding to the unanswered posts.
If you have answers, please help by responding to the unanswered posts.
rslifkin
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Good to hear you got underway before things got too frosty!
With the no wake zone thing, some people have a picture in their minds of how slow they expect a boat to be moving and will yell at anything going faster without ever looking at the actual wake. I've been screamed at and told I'm going "way too fast" while doing 4.3 kts with both engines at idle and a slight ripple behind me.
In that area, Albany Yacht Club seems to also enjoy yelling at people for a 3 inch ripple in the water (I got a tongue lashing from them last year, but a bit more polite than what you received).
With the no wake zone thing, some people have a picture in their minds of how slow they expect a boat to be moving and will yell at anything going faster without ever looking at the actual wake. I've been screamed at and told I'm going "way too fast" while doing 4.3 kts with both engines at idle and a slight ripple behind me.
In that area, Albany Yacht Club seems to also enjoy yelling at people for a 3 inch ripple in the water (I got a tongue lashing from them last year, but a bit more polite than what you received).
rgano
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Don't worry about the election, Dave. The country will survive regardless of which fool and his even more foolish party hacks win. I voted too, but I cannot say that it has been a satisfying event for a long time given the sorry choices we are presented. So I am concentrating on boating and enjoying your travels with you. Recommend we all register independent, respond untruthfully to polls and keep the idiots more honest by having to guess. 
OP
OP
Wayfarer
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Thanks Dave! Your writing comes with so much more experience and expertise, and is frankly far more useful than mine will likely ever be. So thank you for that!
Thank you Charlie!
Come on down! Good read - thanks.
Save some sunshine for me, would ya?
I think you're right. Most boats moving at that speed would throw a hellacious wake, and I suspect he just likes making broadcasts like that. It had probably been a while since anyone passed by and gave him a chance to wave his dong around. I'm glad I could be helpful, lol.
Don't worry about the election, Dave. The country will survive regardless of which fool and his even more foolish party hacks win. I voted too, but I cannot say that it has been a satisfying event for a long time given the sorry choices we are presented. So I am concentrating on boating and enjoying your travels with you. Recommend we all register independent, respond untruthfully to polls and keep the idiots more honest by having to guess.
It can just be so hard to look away! lol. I'm honestly just relieved that it's all over, and I'm looking forward to not thinking about it for a while.
rgano
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So, Dave, how 'bout expounding on your plans for those boxes of electronics stuff aboard before departure southward. Makes and models/how mounted, you know the drill we want.
OP
OP
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Thank you, and thank you for reading
I just arrived at Deale, where I’m going to knock out a few projects. The biggest two will be to remove one of my vacuflush systems and replace it with a composter, and installing the electronics.
My current suite of navigational equipment has no radar, no AIS, a manual fog whistle timer (me) and an ancient Garmin GPS 152, which is effectively a speedometer and clock. For navigation, I’ve been using an old laptop with Coastal Exploder and a GPS puck. It’s been extremely effective, but the setup lacks... polish. You can see it here, literally taking up the first mate’s chair, which is tied off so that when we roll, it doesn’t spin around and unplug itself. Ask me how I figured out that would be a problem!
The new setup is a Garmin 1242xsv with 18” xHD radome, a Garmin AIS 800, and a FogMate whistle timer. It’s extremely sexy. It looks like this:
I had originally planned to mount the radome on the mast, but the longer I look at it, the more of a pain it looks like to fish those cables all over the place. It also would make laying the mast down more problematic. So I’m leaning toward putting it on a strut over the forward cabin top.
OP
OP
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November fourth dawned, and I woke up with an election hangover. I was ready to put my screens down and do something productive with my time. Thankfully the weather looked like it would cooperate and leave me enough of an opening to pop out into the ocean for a day.
I got myself and Sylphide ready for sea, and threw off the lines. Our slip was buried fairly deeply into the tight and twisty marina, and I was glad that I’d waited for the wind to die down. Even on a calm morning, it took a bit of time and backing and filling to wiggle our way free. We managed to get out without giving anyone a reason to shout at us.
We poked our nose out into the Hudson, found the coast to be clear, and hauled around to the south. We passed all the usual world class scenery and landmarks. The Battery, Ellis Island, and the Statue were all where I’d left them. I bobbed and weaved through the field of sleeping cargo barges on their moorings, and marveled at just how skimpy some of those mooring lines seemed to be.
The traffic in the harbor was manageable, but required a bit of maneuvering to avoid. There was a tug/barge unit coming out of the Kills that I needed to miss, and a couple of light tugs milling about smartly. The ever present menace of the Staten Island Ferry was there too, of course.
I passed a handful of tankers being lazy at Stapleton anchorage, and ashore, an unwelcome reminder of the current state of the world. I then found myself surrounded on all sides by a shoal of thousand and thousands of fishes.
My smelly new friends escorted me all the way out past the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. Fort Wadsworth kept quiet and didn’t shoot at me.
Once clear of the Narrows, life slowed down. The traffic thinned out, the bay opened up, and I could comfortably step away from the helm long enough to take that bathroom break I’d been dreaming about. We cleared Sandy Hook, and entered the wild blue yonder of the North Atlantic Ocean. The nearest land to our east was Portugal, 3,428 nautical miles away.
Closer to home, the forecast had called for a southerly breeze in the mid to high teens. The seas that were supposed to come with it, were predicted to be steep and choppy two footers. That was true in the morning, but they kept on building as the day went on. eventually we were bashing into four footers, and running the windshield wipers more often than not. It wasn’t anything we couldn’t handle, but after a while, it started to get uncomfortable. It also reduced our speed to the point where I wasn’t confident that I’d be able to make it into Barnegat Inlet before dark.
I started looking around for a closer destination, and figured that Manasquan Inlet would be a good escape route. I buried my nose in Active Captain to find out what my options were for the night, and happened to look up just in time to see some sort of sea mammal blowing off in the distance. Then I saw a few more. I thought maybe it was a pod of dolphins at first, but then I saw the big dark back of what could only be a whale. Google tells me they were most likely Humpbacks. They were too far away to get on film unfortunately, but I was delighted all the same. In all of my travels, I think this was my first whale sighting. They swam along parallel to my course for a few minutes, before departing with a big ol’ wave from one of their assfins. It was marvelous.
Yeah, that’s basically what happened.
After the magic of the encounter wore off, the reality of discomfort settled in again. The seas and wind weren’t getting any less unpleasant, and the windshield wipers weren’t getting any less necessary. It was far from unsafe, but the motion was getting tedious. We even had our very first bell ringer, which for you landlubbers is when the seas get rough enough that the ship’s bell starts ringing itself. I decided to put in at Manasquan.
It was mid afternoon when we entered the blessed shelter of the breakwaters. The current was at just about max ebb, and was screaming out of there at some stupid pace more than three knots. Thankfully Hoffman’s marina offered me a nice easy T-head dock, just off the channel and parallel to the current. With a little help from a very accommodating dock dude, we laced ourselves in for the night.
The dock was within pissing distance of a busy light rail bridge. Turns out, I’d traded one sort of bell ringing for another.
I was heartened to learn that some of my salty new fishermen neighbors had also called it quits early due to the weather. I rested easy in the knowledge that I wasn’t just being a big pantywaist. We stayed there for two nights and waited for smoother seas.
I got myself and Sylphide ready for sea, and threw off the lines. Our slip was buried fairly deeply into the tight and twisty marina, and I was glad that I’d waited for the wind to die down. Even on a calm morning, it took a bit of time and backing and filling to wiggle our way free. We managed to get out without giving anyone a reason to shout at us.
We poked our nose out into the Hudson, found the coast to be clear, and hauled around to the south. We passed all the usual world class scenery and landmarks. The Battery, Ellis Island, and the Statue were all where I’d left them. I bobbed and weaved through the field of sleeping cargo barges on their moorings, and marveled at just how skimpy some of those mooring lines seemed to be.
The traffic in the harbor was manageable, but required a bit of maneuvering to avoid. There was a tug/barge unit coming out of the Kills that I needed to miss, and a couple of light tugs milling about smartly. The ever present menace of the Staten Island Ferry was there too, of course.
I passed a handful of tankers being lazy at Stapleton anchorage, and ashore, an unwelcome reminder of the current state of the world. I then found myself surrounded on all sides by a shoal of thousand and thousands of fishes.
My smelly new friends escorted me all the way out past the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. Fort Wadsworth kept quiet and didn’t shoot at me.
Once clear of the Narrows, life slowed down. The traffic thinned out, the bay opened up, and I could comfortably step away from the helm long enough to take that bathroom break I’d been dreaming about. We cleared Sandy Hook, and entered the wild blue yonder of the North Atlantic Ocean. The nearest land to our east was Portugal, 3,428 nautical miles away.
Closer to home, the forecast had called for a southerly breeze in the mid to high teens. The seas that were supposed to come with it, were predicted to be steep and choppy two footers. That was true in the morning, but they kept on building as the day went on. eventually we were bashing into four footers, and running the windshield wipers more often than not. It wasn’t anything we couldn’t handle, but after a while, it started to get uncomfortable. It also reduced our speed to the point where I wasn’t confident that I’d be able to make it into Barnegat Inlet before dark.
I started looking around for a closer destination, and figured that Manasquan Inlet would be a good escape route. I buried my nose in Active Captain to find out what my options were for the night, and happened to look up just in time to see some sort of sea mammal blowing off in the distance. Then I saw a few more. I thought maybe it was a pod of dolphins at first, but then I saw the big dark back of what could only be a whale. Google tells me they were most likely Humpbacks. They were too far away to get on film unfortunately, but I was delighted all the same. In all of my travels, I think this was my first whale sighting. They swam along parallel to my course for a few minutes, before departing with a big ol’ wave from one of their assfins. It was marvelous.
Yeah, that’s basically what happened.
After the magic of the encounter wore off, the reality of discomfort settled in again. The seas and wind weren’t getting any less unpleasant, and the windshield wipers weren’t getting any less necessary. It was far from unsafe, but the motion was getting tedious. We even had our very first bell ringer, which for you landlubbers is when the seas get rough enough that the ship’s bell starts ringing itself. I decided to put in at Manasquan.
It was mid afternoon when we entered the blessed shelter of the breakwaters. The current was at just about max ebb, and was screaming out of there at some stupid pace more than three knots. Thankfully Hoffman’s marina offered me a nice easy T-head dock, just off the channel and parallel to the current. With a little help from a very accommodating dock dude, we laced ourselves in for the night.
The dock was within pissing distance of a busy light rail bridge. Turns out, I’d traded one sort of bell ringing for another.
I was heartened to learn that some of my salty new fishermen neighbors had also called it quits early due to the weather. I rested easy in the knowledge that I wasn’t just being a big pantywaist. We stayed there for two nights and waited for smoother seas.
Last edited:
Comodave
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We stayed at Hoffmans when we were bringing our boat home from Virginia. Nice docks but the wakes and current were a PITA. We had to stay 2 nights so my wife could have an emergency appendectomy.
rgano
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Thank you, and thank you for reading
My current suite of navigational equipment has no radar, no AIS, a manual fog whistle timer (me) and an ancient Garmin GPS 152, which is effectively a speedometer and clock. For navigation, I’ve been using an old laptop with Coastal Exploder and a GPS puck.
The new setup is a Garmin 1242xsv with 18” xHD radome, a Garmin AIS 800, and a FogMate whistle timer. It’s extremely sexy. It looks like this:
I had originally planned to mount the radome on the mast, but the longer I look at it, the more of a pain it looks like to fish those cables all over the place. It also would make laying the mast down more problematic. So I’m leaning toward putting it on a strut over the forward cabin top.
All very good planning. I am not a Garmin fan, having had direct experience with their stuff, BUT that hopefully will not translate to any issues with your stuff. I have long advocated the Fogmate - everybody needs one. Here's a photo of what I did for my radar installation on the Calypso years ago. It saw aft quite well, and I could lower the mainmast to a 17-foot clearance without interfering with the radar. Left photo is original. Top down id radar, masthead light with shield, loud hailer. On port side is the separate AIS antenna (current boat AIS shares the VHF antenna).
BTW, the laptop with CE is my all-time fav. On my delivery down the entire AICW and thence to the Gulf last spring, I was going through mostly new-to-me waters for the first thousand miles and had TWO laptops running CE on the chart table near the Garmin plotter, each unit with a different configuration/display to give me "surround sound" awareness of where I was piloting that 55-ton beast. I had all the research I had done on the trip distilled into the nav object files on the computers; so that's where I looked for the newest warnings and cautions based on the fused inputs from multiple sources. Garmin could not perform in that arena, but it had its own uses.
You are gonna like the AIS, if you are installing a transceiver. My rcv-only is so-so, but fine for my current uses.
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Comodave
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She is pretty amazing. The doctor wasn’t going to discharge her when he found out we were on a boat. He wanted her to stay at the dock for 2 more days and then come into the office. The next morning we got up and she said let’s go, so we did. From Manasquan up the Hudson to Croton on Hudson. Nice long day but good weather and calm seas.
OP
OP
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Oof, yeah I can't recommend that. I didn't enjoy my emergency apendectomy, and I'm glad I got that taken care of while I still had a house to recuperate in.
mmmmm... pogies...
I wouldn't have known about the FogMate if it wasn't for you guys. It's a great idea. The CE has been completely reliable, and I definitely plan to keep using it. The AIS is a class B transceiver black box type. It doesn't have a screen or an interface on it, but I don't need that. It'll be nice to have AIS targets show up on the plotter, and It'll give my dad another way to stalk me from home. I haven't actually used the Garmin stuff yet, so I hope I don't hate it... from what I saw in my research, it felt like the one I'd best be able to get along with. We shall see!
Definitely!
I'm sorry to say I've missed the joke, lol.
Leatherneck
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Dave, I'm on the St Mary's river in southern md. Couple of hours from Deale. If you need a good anchorage in this area the St Mary's is a great place. Little boat traffic, calm waters and peaceful. A lot of local colonial history around St Mary's college. Horseshoe Bend is probably the best anchorage. Enjoy your stories. - Regards, George
OP
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45. The New Jersey Shuffle
The second morning at Manasquan was a foggy boi, but it cleared up pretty quickly. The sun came out, and the wind and seas were calm. The forecast called for light wind and seas out of the south again, but not as much as the day before. It was time to make my escape from my dock at platform 9 3/4.
I wanted to stop at the fuel dock on my way out to empty the loo. The facility was only a couple hundred feet straight behind me, so I figured I’d just back straight up to it. The current had other ideas though, and I was pirouetted around like a leaf on the wind. I got in the way of a few sportfishermen, who were no doubt annoyed by my profound stupidity and utter incompetence. I abandoned my ass-backward approach, and spun around to try it pointy-end-first. This went much more gooderly.
My heroic maneuvers ended up being a wasted effort, though. As soon as I was secured to the dock, I learned that the stupid machine was out of service. You’d think they’d have mentioned that when I called that morning to ask where it was, but they didn’t. These pumps must be made by the same company that makes McDonalds’ ice cream machines, cuz them shits is always BROKE.
I departed the defunct defecation depot, and stuck Sylphide’s nose out into the Atlantic, where we found the predicted southerly wind and it’s chop. It was a reasonably comfortable ride at first, but the seas and the breeze slowly picked up throughout the day. By the time we reached Barnegat Inlet, it was mid afternoon, and sloppy enough that I was ready to duck back inside.
I thought about carrying on down the inside waterway for a while, since I had a few hours of daylight left, but then I realized I didn’t feel like it. So I didn’t. I dropped anchor in about ten feet of water, just off a little beach, and proceeded to relax for the rest of the evening. It was beautifully calm and quiet night, and I had the place mostly to myself.
I’d hoped to do the next leg from Barnegat to Atlantic City on the outside, but there just wasn’t a decent weather window on the horizon. So after a lovely night at anchor in Barnegat Bay, we set off down the Intracoastal toward Atlantic City. It was a chilly day, but bright and sunny. The ever present south wind blew all day, and I was glad to have the option to continue moving in sheltered waters.
The trip was quiet and uneventful. The traffic was low, the channels were well marked and deep, and there were no bridges to worry about. Perkins contentedly rumbled us along at our usual stately pace. Life was good.
I was aiming for the Bringantine anchorage across the inlet from sparkling downtown Atlantic City, but the short winter days got the better of me, and I ran out of daylight. The entrance to Brigantine Bay is comedically narrow, and not something I wanted to attempt in the dark. I found a spot in the mouth of Broad Creek instead, and nestled in between some low, muddy, reedy islands. It was very dark, very calm, and very quiet. The lights from the casinos twinkling on the horizon filled the windows on my port side. It was another lovely and comfortable night at anchor.
I got a good early start the next day, and took advantage of the calm morning weather. I upped the anchor and rode the ebb current out through Absecon Inlet, and into some low swells from the east. The swells were on our beam, and Sylphide rolled a fair bit, but it felt good not to be bashing into a head sea like we had been for the last few days. It wasn’t a bad ride, and the day was otherwise quite lovely.
The seas only got calmer as the day wore on, and soon Cape May was in sight, and most of New Jersey was now in my rear view mirror. We made our way in through the jetties with the usual parade of small fishing boats buzzing around us. The full ebb current was dumping it’s way out, but we eventually got ourselves inside.
We stopped in at Canyon Club marina to take a splash of fuel and get that pumpout taken care of. We then scooted across the river to Utch’s, where I’d booked a slip for two nights. It turned out to be the same dock I’d tied to last time I was there. Thankfully this time the weather was calm, so I didn’t avalanche into the slip like a derailed freight train like I did last time!
I took a leisurely day to refresh myself and the boat. I topped off the water tanks, put off the trash, got a load of fresh groceries, and just relaxed.
At one point, I took notice of a boat that appeared to be coming into it’s slip near the marina entrance. Almost immediately, they were departing again. Then they went back into another slip. Then they departed again, and made their way into another slip across the fairway, this time stern first. Then they bounced off some pilings. Then they bounced off some different pilings. It was really starting to look like things weren’t going the way they wanted.
As this roving calamity proceeded, it slowly inched closer to Sylphide, who’s ass was hanging out a few feet past the end of the dock. My dingy was just asking to be removed. I slacked my lines and shifted up into the slip as far as I could.
The marauding vessel got to within chatting distance, and I learned that one of her engines wasn’t working. Trying to maneuver with just one engine was the main source of the kerfuffle. I offered to help them tie up as they careened into the slip next to me, but they were determined to get farther into the marina. I stood by with my longest boat hook until they passed. Luckily, I think they managed it without breaking anything, which is always a win.
I felt for the guy. I’ve had days like that, and if he’s anything like me, he was ready to take a three year nap when it was all over. Boats have a charming way of making you look like a real dope sometimes, but we keep coming back. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.
The second morning at Manasquan was a foggy boi, but it cleared up pretty quickly. The sun came out, and the wind and seas were calm. The forecast called for light wind and seas out of the south again, but not as much as the day before. It was time to make my escape from my dock at platform 9 3/4.
I wanted to stop at the fuel dock on my way out to empty the loo. The facility was only a couple hundred feet straight behind me, so I figured I’d just back straight up to it. The current had other ideas though, and I was pirouetted around like a leaf on the wind. I got in the way of a few sportfishermen, who were no doubt annoyed by my profound stupidity and utter incompetence. I abandoned my ass-backward approach, and spun around to try it pointy-end-first. This went much more gooderly.
My heroic maneuvers ended up being a wasted effort, though. As soon as I was secured to the dock, I learned that the stupid machine was out of service. You’d think they’d have mentioned that when I called that morning to ask where it was, but they didn’t. These pumps must be made by the same company that makes McDonalds’ ice cream machines, cuz them shits is always BROKE.
I departed the defunct defecation depot, and stuck Sylphide’s nose out into the Atlantic, where we found the predicted southerly wind and it’s chop. It was a reasonably comfortable ride at first, but the seas and the breeze slowly picked up throughout the day. By the time we reached Barnegat Inlet, it was mid afternoon, and sloppy enough that I was ready to duck back inside.
I thought about carrying on down the inside waterway for a while, since I had a few hours of daylight left, but then I realized I didn’t feel like it. So I didn’t. I dropped anchor in about ten feet of water, just off a little beach, and proceeded to relax for the rest of the evening. It was beautifully calm and quiet night, and I had the place mostly to myself.
I’d hoped to do the next leg from Barnegat to Atlantic City on the outside, but there just wasn’t a decent weather window on the horizon. So after a lovely night at anchor in Barnegat Bay, we set off down the Intracoastal toward Atlantic City. It was a chilly day, but bright and sunny. The ever present south wind blew all day, and I was glad to have the option to continue moving in sheltered waters.
The trip was quiet and uneventful. The traffic was low, the channels were well marked and deep, and there were no bridges to worry about. Perkins contentedly rumbled us along at our usual stately pace. Life was good.
I was aiming for the Bringantine anchorage across the inlet from sparkling downtown Atlantic City, but the short winter days got the better of me, and I ran out of daylight. The entrance to Brigantine Bay is comedically narrow, and not something I wanted to attempt in the dark. I found a spot in the mouth of Broad Creek instead, and nestled in between some low, muddy, reedy islands. It was very dark, very calm, and very quiet. The lights from the casinos twinkling on the horizon filled the windows on my port side. It was another lovely and comfortable night at anchor.
I got a good early start the next day, and took advantage of the calm morning weather. I upped the anchor and rode the ebb current out through Absecon Inlet, and into some low swells from the east. The swells were on our beam, and Sylphide rolled a fair bit, but it felt good not to be bashing into a head sea like we had been for the last few days. It wasn’t a bad ride, and the day was otherwise quite lovely.
The seas only got calmer as the day wore on, and soon Cape May was in sight, and most of New Jersey was now in my rear view mirror. We made our way in through the jetties with the usual parade of small fishing boats buzzing around us. The full ebb current was dumping it’s way out, but we eventually got ourselves inside.
We stopped in at Canyon Club marina to take a splash of fuel and get that pumpout taken care of. We then scooted across the river to Utch’s, where I’d booked a slip for two nights. It turned out to be the same dock I’d tied to last time I was there. Thankfully this time the weather was calm, so I didn’t avalanche into the slip like a derailed freight train like I did last time!
I took a leisurely day to refresh myself and the boat. I topped off the water tanks, put off the trash, got a load of fresh groceries, and just relaxed.
At one point, I took notice of a boat that appeared to be coming into it’s slip near the marina entrance. Almost immediately, they were departing again. Then they went back into another slip. Then they departed again, and made their way into another slip across the fairway, this time stern first. Then they bounced off some pilings. Then they bounced off some different pilings. It was really starting to look like things weren’t going the way they wanted.
As this roving calamity proceeded, it slowly inched closer to Sylphide, who’s ass was hanging out a few feet past the end of the dock. My dingy was just asking to be removed. I slacked my lines and shifted up into the slip as far as I could.
The marauding vessel got to within chatting distance, and I learned that one of her engines wasn’t working. Trying to maneuver with just one engine was the main source of the kerfuffle. I offered to help them tie up as they careened into the slip next to me, but they were determined to get farther into the marina. I stood by with my longest boat hook until they passed. Luckily, I think they managed it without breaking anything, which is always a win.
I felt for the guy. I’ve had days like that, and if he’s anything like me, he was ready to take a three year nap when it was all over. Boats have a charming way of making you look like a real dope sometimes, but we keep coming back. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.
RT Firefly
Enigma
Greetings.
Mr. W. Nice. "If that’s not love, I don’t know what is."
Mr. W. Nice. "If that’s not love, I don’t know what is."
cardude01
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I’m a couple of weeks behind in my blog posts. I am currently no longer looking for pump outs
Excellent! How do you like it so far? Not that I should be enquiring about your bodily functions [emoji30], but we really like ours! My wife has a very sensitive nose and she can’t smell the toilet. She even made me install one in our little converted cargo trailer camper this year!
OP
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- USA
- Vessel Name
- Sylphide
- Vessel Make
- Kingston Aluminum Yacht 44' Custom
Y'all are welcome to as much intimate knowledge of my gastrointestinal tract as you want! lol. I've got a couple weeks of use out of it now, and so far I really like it. I've only gone through one fill/empty cycle, and it was all quite painless. It's actually a good deal more comfortable than the old setup, which has been a pleasant surprise. I have noticed that depending on the wind, I do get a slight smell inside the boat, but it's not a sewagey crappy smell. It's an earthy, soily smell. It's not offensive at all, but I may tinker with how my vent line is run. Overall though, I'm glad I decided to go this route.
How's the stealth camper working out for you? Getting much use out of it?
cardude01
Guru
- Joined
- Nov 26, 2012
- Messages
- 5,290
- Location
- USA
- Vessel Name
- Bijou
- Vessel Make
- 2008 Island Packet PY/SP
We’ve been on a few camps. Mostly to this cool windsurfing spot we found. It’s a national park (Padre Island National Seashore) and not very busy.
We took the little sailboat there last time and found some cool sand dunes.
We took the little sailboat there last time and found some cool sand dunes.
Wayfarer -
Hey Dave:
We had a similar earthy smell, and last year on a layover day lark, I called Nature's Head. The chap who answered gave me his cell # and asked me to text photos of our setup.
It turned out that our fan had been installed on the wrong side of the commode in relation to the vent. (It's hard to explain.)
Anyway, Hubby Dan switched the fan to the proper side in about 15 minutes and Voila! no earthy smell any longer. I could have done it, but I enjoy my lofty status as The Pampered Skipper.
You might try calling Nature's Head the next time you are enjoying a weather layover.
Oh, and Congrats on becoming dirt-homeless! Sylphide has turned out to be a perfect home for your gypsy spirit.
Cheers and Stay Safe,
Mrs. Trombley
Hey Dave:
We had a similar earthy smell, and last year on a layover day lark, I called Nature's Head. The chap who answered gave me his cell # and asked me to text photos of our setup.
It turned out that our fan had been installed on the wrong side of the commode in relation to the vent. (It's hard to explain.)
Anyway, Hubby Dan switched the fan to the proper side in about 15 minutes and Voila! no earthy smell any longer. I could have done it, but I enjoy my lofty status as The Pampered Skipper.
You might try calling Nature's Head the next time you are enjoying a weather layover.
Oh, and Congrats on becoming dirt-homeless! Sylphide has turned out to be a perfect home for your gypsy spirit.
Cheers and Stay Safe,
Mrs. Trombley
Dave,
Glad to hear you are once again on your way to warm!
Your comments about earthy smell caught my attention as I've done a lot (both research and modifications) of out typical holding tank set up to avoid odors. The light bulb flickered and I wondered whether any of my learnings applied to your eco-loo? Specifically whether sodium percarbonate (SPC) could be used & effective in your situation.
A quick Google search and the first article mentions using sodium percarbonate in various toilets including composting.
http://www.australiasomuchtosee.com/toilets.htm
I didn't do an in depth study but thought it might be worth considering. SPC has worked very well for me and I read about its use in many applications including treating sludge in treatment plants.
Safe cruising and keep the log notes coming!
Glad to hear you are once again on your way to warm!
Your comments about earthy smell caught my attention as I've done a lot (both research and modifications) of out typical holding tank set up to avoid odors. The light bulb flickered and I wondered whether any of my learnings applied to your eco-loo? Specifically whether sodium percarbonate (SPC) could be used & effective in your situation.
A quick Google search and the first article mentions using sodium percarbonate in various toilets including composting.
http://www.australiasomuchtosee.com/toilets.htm
I didn't do an in depth study but thought it might be worth considering. SPC has worked very well for me and I read about its use in many applications including treating sludge in treatment plants.
Safe cruising and keep the log notes coming!
cardude01
Guru
- Joined
- Nov 26, 2012
- Messages
- 5,290
- Location
- USA
- Vessel Name
- Bijou
- Vessel Make
- 2008 Island Packet PY/SP
My Nature’s Head doesn’t emit an earthy smell until I open up the bin. I suspect some kind of vent issue.
My vent line run is pretty long and it exits into the chain locker because I didn’t want to drill a hole in the boat. There was a def earthy smell in the chain locker when I opened up the forward hatch, so I installed one of those solar powered hatch vent thingies and that has worked out well.
My vent line run is pretty long and it exits into the chain locker because I didn’t want to drill a hole in the boat. There was a def earthy smell in the chain locker when I opened up the forward hatch, so I installed one of those solar powered hatch vent thingies and that has worked out well.
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OP
OP
Wayfarer
Guru
- Joined
- Aug 29, 2014
- Messages
- 2,228
- Location
- USA
- Vessel Name
- Sylphide
- Vessel Make
- Kingston Aluminum Yacht 44' Custom
Oh hey gang Thanks for the inputs! I have a couple of ideas on what might have been causing the slight smell. I think I may have over hydrated the first round of coco coir, so I'm going to try a little drier next time.
I think the main issue is that my vent line doesn't completely exit the boat. It's kinda hard to explain. In the engine room, I have a couple of blowers. There's an intake and an exhaust, and some duct work to circulate air around the engine room. These blowers are mounted to a box, one side of which is a louvered vent in the side of the hull. I tied my head vent into this box, thinking that it would be close enough to the big grilles to just vent overboard. The head vent is maybe six inches from the open air.
I think some of what's leaving the head vent is making its way into the engine room ducts, and back into the boat. I noticed it most when the vent was on the windward side of the boat on a few blowy days. The smell also got a little stronger when I powered up the blower, which backs up the theory.
I may fiddle with the routing at some point, but for now, it's not anything I'm worried about. The head itself doesn't smell at all, so I think the vent fan is right.
Thanks for the inputs! I have a couple of ideas on what might have been causing the slight smell. I think I may have over hydrated the first round of coco coir, so I'm going to try a little drier next time. I think the main issue is that my vent line doesn't completely exit the boat. It's kinda hard to explain. In the engine room, I have a couple of blowers. There's an intake and an exhaust, and some duct work to circulate air around the engine room. These blowers are mounted to a box, one side of which is a louvered vent in the side of the hull. I tied my head vent into this box, thinking that it would be close enough to the big grilles to just vent overboard. The head vent is maybe six inches from the open air.
I think some of what's leaving the head vent is making its way into the engine room ducts, and back into the boat. I noticed it most when the vent was on the windward side of the boat on a few blowy days. The smell also got a little stronger when I powered up the blower, which backs up the theory.
I may fiddle with the routing at some point, but for now, it's not anything I'm worried about. The head itself doesn't smell at all, so I think the vent fan is right.
