Since arriving in Brisbane with SCOOTS last November, we've been working on all sorts of boat projects. I wasn't going to chronicle them, but I've been repeatedly told that some people find this sort of thing interesting, so I've changed my mind. This post is for all you people who enjoy reading about other people working. : )

GOAL: ERADICATE THE BOAT SMELL.
If you've spent any time at all on a boat, you know that the air inside the cabin can be an interesting melange of scents. This gemish can include some or all of these lovely smells: diesel, oil, solvent, food, head-related odors, mold and mildew, and so many more. Many boat owners--ourselves included--distribute strategically-placed canisters of tea tree oil throughout the boat to absorb and eliminate odors. While this approach does freshen the air a bit, it doesn't address the underlying sources of Boat Smell. So we decided to go all-in, and hunt down and kill the sources of SCOOTS' hull-itosis.

Project #1. Replacing the head hoses. We'd been dreading this one for a long time. For the obvious reasons. But we knew from its distinctive, signature scent, that the head hoses had permeated (i.e., smells leak through) and needed replacing. *Note for non-boaters: "head" is the nautical term for "bathroom."

There were many hoses to contend with--beginning at the head (toilet, for you non-boaters; I know it's confusing), one hose went up into the cabinet behind the head, where it branched into two hoses going either to the holding tank or dumping overboard. These two hoses then dove back down through the cabinet, making their way toward the back of the boat, down through the vanity, under the shower seat, through the lower parts cabinet, and through the watertight bulkhead into the workroom. Once here, the one destined for dumping at sea ended at a through-hull valve; the other continued along a low shelf, through another bulkhead, terminating at the holding tank, which is nestled in the very bottom of the aft storage locker.

After much research, Eric selected and purchased what he described to me as "the Cadillac of sanitation hoses": Poly-X, with a lifetime guarantee never to permeate. I'm not sure whose lifetime this would be--Eric's, mine, SCOOTS, or the hose's-- but it cost a lot, it looked very rugged, and all indications were that it would nix the smell. So we splurged.

Before we could put these new Cadillac hoses in, we first had to take the old stinky hoses out. This is the part we'd been dreading. You see, even though we'd flushed the hoses out when we were offshore last November, and we'd been using the bathrooms on shore since arriving in the marina, there's always at least a little bit of residual, um, liquid remaining in the hoses. And it's been there for awhile, so it's not particularly pleasant to deal with.

So, armed with gloves to protect our hands, and a small plastic catch basin to protect SCOOTS' floor, but absolutely nothing to protect our olfactory receptors, we embarked upon our adventure with sewage. And an adventure it was!

Getting the old hoses out was the first challenge. If you read the description of the circuitous journey the hoses make from the head to their final destinations, you may have noticed the words "under" and "through." Anytime you see these prepositions describing places where something goes on a boat, you can assume that accessing things there will require: (1) relocating all of the items stored in these spaces, (2) one crew member to contort his/her body into an very unnatural, very uncomfortable position in order to work in the space, (3) a tool you didn't bring with you when you crammed your body into the space the first time, and (4) outside assistance by the non-contorted crew member to extricate the contorted crew member from his/her pretzel-like working position when the work is done or another tool is needed.


One of the easy places to access the hoses.

I won't charm you with the nitty-gritty details of what ensued, but here's a sanitized summary: after the smaller one of us assumed the required pretzelated body positions numerous times, and with much tugging and twisting and swearing, we removed and discarded the old, stinky hoses (becoming acquainted with all sorts of nasty smells in the process). Then, after the smaller one of us assumed the required pretzelated body positions again, and with much pushing and twisting and swearing, we fitted the new hoses down and through and under to the through-hull and the holding tank.

Hours later, when we were finally done, we flushed some water through the system, and...

...the fitting at the through-hull leaked. Damn. It had leaked a little bit before we started, and we'd assumed that re-wrapping it with teflon tape would fix it, but no. Eric determined that the adapter to the nylon T attached to the through hull fitting actually had the wrong thread pattern. Seacocks have straight pipe thread and the adapter had tapered threads. The current joint would always leak since it didn't make a tight seal. So we needed a different adapter.

After an exhaustive search didn't turn up a nylon fitting with the correct threads, Eric bought a longer adapter from McMaster-Carr (do they deliver to Mexico?) and using his lathe, cut one end off and threaded the pipe with the appropriate straight thread, which worked fabulously. (We're really going to miss that lathe when we're living on the boat.)

Now, all the water stays in the system, and though we haven't "tested" it yet, we're hoping that the new hose will live up to its elite billing and keep the stench on the inside, where it's supposed to be.

If you liked reading about this project, stay tuned for more exciting installments of Fixing Adventures...