Having a few soft spots in the balsa-cored deck of your 50-plus-year-old sailboat is neither uncommon nor all that concerning. However, last season I noticed a not-to-subtle flex in the foredeck of our Newport 41 when I was retrieving the anchor from particularly sticky mud. We’d had the foredeck reinforced from below in 2008, when we’d upgraded our anchor windlass after buying Kate, but now there were spongy areas underfoot.

We decided to tackle the project ourselves. We bought an oscillating saw, a circular saw and a wet-dry vacuum. Then we booked a haul out at Penuwasa Shipyard in Kudat, Borneo, Malaysia. We took a deep breath, and we opened a proverbial can of worms.

Demo Day

Balsa wood has been the preferred material for cored deck construction for decades. It’s light, but extremely strong. It can be laid as small tiles adhered to a scrim (an open-weave material) and can serve as a sandwich between layers of fiberglass, with the grain running perpendicular to the outer skin. The 2-inch balsa tiles are flexible enough to conform to the gentle radius of the deck, and the end-grain application provides superior compression strength because forces are exerted down the length of the grain rather than across it.

The downfall of balsa-cored decks is when water finds it way below the fiberglass skin. Most commonly, this happens when deck hardware is improperly sealed, or the sealant breaks down. Balsa can absorb a lot of water before it begins to rot, resulting in a soft spot. It can be years before damage is noticed, making it difficult to pinpoint how the water ingress occurred.

We first had to determine how much of our deck was affected. We tapped on the deck with a hammer and heard a dead hollow sound, rather than a solid thud. My husband decided that most of the foredeck sounded suspicious. Our problem was larger than we’d first thought. 

To preserve enough structural strength to support the weight of two people while working, we had to open the deck in sections. We removed the anchor windlass, deck hardware and pulpit, and then we marked out our cuts.

Steve used the oscillating saw to cut through the top layer of the deck. He started with a large triangle section that extended from the bow roller to behind the windlass. Then he pulled the crust off the sandwich, removing the fiberglass with as little damage as possible;  we wanted to reuse the piece during reconstruction. Our original fiberglass had no major imperfections and fit the cutout perfectly.

With the top skin removed, we got a look not only at the balsa, but also into the history of our boat. We discovered that a piece of marine plywood ran down the middle of the foredeck under the sail track. Curiously, we found a pair of wires running through the balsa core on the starboard side of the plywood. The boat’s electrical system had been updated long before we took ownership, so we had no idea that the original wiring had been concealed within the deck. Now, the defunct wire provided a conduit for moisture to flow through the balsa. 

We needed to follow the trail, to see how far the wires and the rot went. Steve cut a larger section that covered the starboard side of the foredeck from the toe rail to the centerline, ending about 20 inches from the first cutout. Not only had the wires funneled the water ingress down the starboard side, but we also found a mass of what looked and smelled like tar. The sticky puddle had been injected through holes drilled in the deck. A shortcut solution by a previous owner that disguised the soft spot.

Next was the dirty task of removing the rotten balsa. Armed with a scrapper, a chisel and a lot of determination, Steve spent several hours filling buckets with bits of soggy wood. Some areas peeled away in chunks that resembled canned tuna, juice and all. Others crumbled into a paste and easily scraped away. A few balsa tiles on the outboard edge were dry, so we left them intact.

The injected areas were difficult to move and worrisome. We’d seen injection holes peppered across other parts of the deck when we’d had the boat painted in Fiji several years before. How much of a mess had the earlier DIYer left in his wake?

With rot removed, we sanded the areas to fair the surface, and left it open to the blistering tropical sun to dry any remaining moisture. Steve cleaned the bottom of the fiberglass skin using a flap disc grinding wheel, removing any stuck-on resin and leveling out the surface. 

The New Core

In an ideal world, we would have used end-grain balsa tiles to reconstruct the deck. That wasn’t really an option because importing balsa was difficult and costly. However, because of a nearby wooden-boat fishing fleet, good-quality marine plywood was readily available. 

Marine plywood is strong, but there are trade-offs. Because of the multilayer construction of plywood, the grain runs horizontally. This makes it prone to wicking moisture across the layers if it’s exposed to water. To achieve the correct curve across the deck, the plywood needs to be cut into several small pieces, with each piece coated in resin for waterproofing before installation. This adds time to the project. And, since plywood is heavier than balsa, there will be weight gain. 

We figured a few extra pounds and a little more work were better than a rotten deck. Using the fiberglass as a template, we patterned the plywood by tracing each skin, then divided that shape into rough 4-by-4-inch blocks. We labeled each column and row before making any cuts. I sanded the edges of each block, removing any rough spots.

Then it was time for a dry fit, which is essential. Blocks can be modified to work around any obstructions or high spots. Believe me, when working with a handlaid fiberglass boat, there will be a few irregularities. 

With the dry fit done, we marked a border with a red line that we could match up during the final installation. Some of our edge blocks fit under the existing deck, and the red line let us know exactly how far to knock the blocks into the void.

I sealed the blocks with a coat of polyester resin on all sides. Many boaters go with epoxy, but we were working on the cusp of the rainy season, when midday temperatures stretched towards 95 degrees Fahrenheit and rain clouds hung on the horizon. It is possible to slightly adjust the amount of catalyst added to extend the cure time of polyester, which is also advantageous the tropics. Epoxy, on the other hand, requires precise measuring, mixing and temperatures. Epoxy is also less UV-stable, more prone to develop hairline cracks under stress, and cannot be covered with gelcoat. 

And our boat was hand laid in 1973. It is totally constructed with polyester. We figured if the stuff endured the past 53 years, then it is strong enough to use for a few repairs. 

We dried the wet plywood blocks on sheets of baking paper, whose nonslip properties don’t just apply in galley. Dried resin lifts right off it, making it easy to clean up and move the dry, but still tacky blocks. I simply stacked the sheets like a layer cake.

Reconstruction

With more than 100 plywood blocks to organize, pots of resin to mix, and a growing pile of spent gloves and sticky brushes to keep tidy, the process of putting the deck back together was a two-person job. My role was to mix the polyester resin in batches and hand the blocks to Steve. He put them in place, making sure everything was level, sealed and properly fitted.

First, we used resin on the deck cavities and the underside of the original pieces of deck that we had removed. This sealed the surfaces and provided a sticky canvas. The “glue” we used to adhere the blocks in place was polyester resin thickened with fumed silica. It’s a food-grade fine powder that adjusts the viscosity of paints and polyester resin to prevent sagging. I mixed each batch to the consistency of a stiff peak meringue; it needed a little encouragement to plop off the brush. Working in small batches meant we avoided resin setting up before we were able to use it.

When all the blocks were in place, I mixed larger batches to act as a filler and as an adhesive for the top pieces. This layer was thick enough that it smooshed out of the seams just slightly when we laid the original fiberglass deck pieces back down. Using jerry cans and buckets filled with water, dive weights and heavy pieces of timber, we weighted down the two top pieces, making sure the cut seams were as even as possible and there was no buckling or gaps. 

All we had left to do was clean up, cross our fingers and wait. Forty-eight hours later, we removed the weights, and we were delighted that the deck felt more solid underfoot than it had in years.

The next step would be to grind down the seams and reseal the cuts with a few layers of fiberglass mat and more polyester, before a final fairing—but all of that would have to wait. Instead, over the next several weeks, we replaced almost all the balsa core in the foredeck. We also found soft spots farther aft on the starboard side deck, and repaired those as well. 

With each section, our confidence in our abilities solidified, and we thought about all those injection holes we’d seen.

As the rainy season loomed, we bought a tarp to drape over the boom, grabbed the saw and prepared to open the next can of worms.

Heather Francis is originally from Nova Scotia, Canada. She and her Aussie husband, Steve, have been living and sailing on their 1973 Newport 41, Kate, since 2008.

They’re currently in Borneo, Malaysia.

Follow their adventures at yachtkate.com.

The post Balsa Core Decks: Repair Tips for Sailboat Owners appeared first on Cruising World.

A through-hull is the plumbing component that passes through the hull. A seacock is the valve attached to the through-hull. Usually, a through-hull is visible only from the outside of the boat, while the seacock is visible only from inside the hull. 

The American Boat & Yacht Council’s standards for seacocks dictate that every through-hull fitting below the heeled waterline (everything that is “wet” when heeling to the toe rail) must be equipped with a seacock. The one exception to this rule is that fittings above the resting waterline may substitute a seacock for reinforced hose. (I use SAE J2006 exhaust hose with wire reinforcement.)   

Seacocks, like everything else on a boat, require regular inspection and service. Begin by locating every seacock and through-hull fitting aboard. Create a drawing or map, identifying each one and its application.   

Once the map is complete, inspect each seacock for signs of leakage or corrosion. Green or verdigris is normal for bronze fittings. You should expect to see that. However, if it is the result of leakage, that is concerning. 

Conversely, if any of the fittings appear to be pink, this is a sign of dezincification, a type of corrosion that is peculiar to brass. Brass is entirely unsuited to raw-water applications, and under no circumstances should it be used in this application. If you have nonmetallic seacocks, check those for cracks.

A properly installed seacock should be able to endure 500 pounds of static load for 30 seconds, applied to its most inboard rigidly attached fitting. It’s best to keep rigidly attached fittings to a minimum; ideally, this would be only a pipe-to-hose adapter, with all other fittings separated from the seacock by a section of hose. If any of yours look like they may not hold up to this test, then consider replacing them. 

In addition to inspecting seacock hardware, you should also look closely at hose clamps and backing blocks. Hose clamps should be free of all corrosion. Any brown discoloration is too much. It warrants replacement.  

While ABYC standards do not mandate dual clamps on seacock hoses, it’s prudent and cheap insurance to double up. Be sure to use the proper-length clamp. Long, excess tails are a laceration hazard. Even short tails can cause injuries in areas that are accessed regularly, such as under sinks and around engines. These tails should be bent down using needle-nose pliers, or they should be capped.

Backing blocks can be made from marine plywood (ideally, epoxy encapsulated), fiberglass flat stock known as GPO3, or epoxy stock known as G10. Backing blocks should not be made from solid timber, even if it is teak, as this is prone to cracking. They also should not be made from ultra-high molecular weight polyethylene or King StarBoard.  

Make certain that every seacock handle rotates freely through its full 90 degrees of travel, but no farther. If any are seized or especially difficult to move, they will require further attention. Some types of seacocks can be disassembled for cleaning and lubrication, while others can’t. If yours are the latter, and assuming that the vessel is hauled out, you may have success by removing the hose from the seacock, and then spraying or pouring penetrating oil into the cavity. Let it set for a few hours before you try again.  

At least one seacock manufacturer adds an extension to the handle for increased leverage.  If you have one of these, then it’s safe to use this approach. For all others, you may do so knowing that if the valve stem or handle breaks, it will need to be replaced. If the valve is seized, it would need replacement in any event.

Finally, some seacocks are designed to accept a Zerk fitting, which allows the cavity between the ball and body of the valve to be filled with grease. This prevents water from filling the space, which in turn prevents corrosion and keeps the parts moving freely. 

Steve D’Antonio offers services for boat owners and buyers through Steve D’Antonio Marine Consulting.

The post Seacock Safety: A Must-do Guide for Boat Owners appeared first on Cruising World.

When I bought my Down East 45, the shower in the aft stateroom’s head drained directly into the bilge, where the boat’s regular bilge pump removed it. This is not a good setup, because even with the boat’s powerful automatic bilge pump that discharged the soapy water out of the side of the boat into the sea, there was always a small amount of residue left over. It soon began to smell. 

I considered fitting an automatic self-draining shower system at a cost of $200 or more. Then I thought about making one myself.

These types of automatic shower drains are pretty simple. A small bilge pump is mounted inside a watertight container, along with a float switch. As the shower water runs into the container, the switch activates the pump, which removes the water through a seacock. There is no overspill or leakage into the boat’s bilge. 

I had an old bilge pump I could use, but it needed a container that had at least 6 inches of clearance inside its lid. I found a plastic container with a tight-fitting lid at a big-box store for the vast sum of $7.95. I also bought a float switch for $9.50. 

The container needed an inlet and outlet pipe. I found a nylon fitting at my local hardware store. The fitting had a ¾-inch barbed pipe on one end that matched the shower drain pipe, and a 1-inch pipe thread on the other. The thread just happened to be a nice, tight fit into the 1¼-inch holes I cut in the side of the container with a hole cutter. 

I was not able to find a nylon nut to fit the 1-inch pipe thread to secure the fitting to the box, and I didn’t want to use steel or stainless steel in a water-filled box, so I bought a cheap PVC pipe coupling with the same threads as the fittings in both ends. I then sawed a half inch of each end with a hacksaw to give me two round nuts to secure the fittings. 

For good measure on waterproofing the seal, I also fitted a 1¼-inch internal diameter plastic sink drain washer. All these items cost less than $22.

A short length of rubber pipe from my spare pipes locker pushed snugly into the pump outlet, and equally well into the outlet fitting through the container. There was no need for any pipe on the inlet fitting because the shower water would run freely into the container. I also didn’t see any need for the internal filter that is fitted to shower drains, because only soapy water would flow into the box, and the bilge pump had a filter base. 

I did buy a ¾-inch diameter, one-way check valve that fitted exactly inside the discharge pipe from the pump. This little rubber valve prevents water from running back into the container from the uphill passage of the discharge pipe over the side. 

Next, I drilled tiny holes in the side of the container for the four wires from the bilge pump and float switch. I sealed them with Goop glue. 

My pump was quite heavy on a 4-inch circular flat base. When I connected it to the outlet fitting, it stayed firmly in place with no need to fasten it to the bottom of the box. 

The float switch needed fastening, but I didn’t want to risk a leak by drilling a hole in the base of the box and screwing it in place. Instead, I fastened it with Goop glue, which is superb for waterproof applications. 

I connected one of the float switch wires to the black positive wire from the pump. The other wire from the float switch went to a single pole switch that I mounted near the shower so the pump could be activated at the time of a shower. The switch was powered from a 12-volt contact breaker on the electrical distribution board. 

In the end, I mounted the complete box on a shelf in the engine room adjacent to the shower floor, but a little bit lower so water would drain directly into the box by way of gravity, then pump out through an existing hull fitting. 

Even if I’d had to buy a new pump, which is about $60, I still would’ve saved money by building this myself. Sure, you can spend $200 to $350, but if you are a DIY cruiser, there is always a way to save money.

The post Transform Your Boat With a DIY Shower Drain appeared first on Cruising World.

Our Stevens 47, Totem, is anchored with 370 feet of chain in 90 feet of water off Majuro Atoll. Around us lie the rusting hulks of cargo ships. We are also amid the coral reefs, aquaculture pens, and a mooring area with a half-dozen cruising boats. Squalls are frequent here, just 7 degrees north of the equator, in the capital of the Marshall Islands. 

Between downpours, my husband, Jamie, and I dinghy in to collect a package at the post office. It’s filled with pure convenience. Two weeks earlier, our portable gas generator wouldn’t start. This isn’t a problem in mostly sunny places, where Totem’s 1,215 watts of solar typically exceed our power needs, but here in the Intertropical Convergence Zone, thick cloud cover blots out the sun for days at a time. 

Without solar power, the suitcase-size generator is essential for charging our batteries. Jamie tried everything to diagnose and fix the issue: carburetor, fuel pump, spark plug, coil, oil sensor. No luck.

There was no suitable replacement available locally, but a shipping agent in Honolulu, for a nominal fee, helped us purchase and deliver a new Honda EU2200i. We might have squeaked by without it, but with more remote islands ahead and a desire to avoid running engine hours just to charge batteries, this felt like a worthy investment. 

Since then, we’ve found the generator’s portability to be vitally useful. At a remote atoll, we once hauled it ashore to power our tools for repairing a rudder on a boat that had struck a coral reef.

Back aboard Totem, Jamie marinized this new generator. A single hour spent adding protective coatings will make future maintenance far easier. Jamie started by removing the exposed fasteners one at a time to apply Tef-Gel to the threads. Once reinstalled, the exposed heads got a coat of CRC Heavy Duty Corrosion Inhibitor or Boeshield T-9.

Next, Jamie marinized the rubber feet that help dampen vibration and sound. Each foot is held on with a bolt—one that tends to rust, stain the deck, and eventually fail. In the past, Jamie tried protective coatings, but none lasted. This time, he filled the inside of the rubber feet with silicone to create a water barrier. If you try this, keep the generator upright if there’s any oil or gas inside.

For the exhaust muffler, Jamie removed the plastic cover and the muffler itself, then sprayed the muffler with high-heat paint for protection. Covering the generator when not in use also helps keep internal components protected from rain and spray.

Once this was all done, and after the engine oil and gas were added, there was one final step before putting the generator into service: installing an hour meter. Ours is activated by engine vibration, giving us a quick visual cue for tracking run time and performing scheduled maintenance. No guesswork. No forgotten log entries. Just change the oil, clean the air filter, and stay on top of maintenance based on real hours run.

With electrical convenience restored, we’re able to top up the batteries and water tanks once again. We’d be catching up on laundry too—but the generator doesn’t keep squalls away, and we’ll need a little more sun to dry our clothes.

The post Why A Marinized Generator is a Must for Cruisers appeared first on Cruising World.

At some point, all of us classic-boat owners are faced with the expensive, time-consuming task of replacing the decks.

Teak is the preferred material, right?

Maybe. Maybe not.

I was faced with this predicament 20 years ago, when the teak decks on Searcher, our Bowman 57 ketch, needed to be replaced. The teak on the working decks was 30 years old and getting paper-thin. Bungs were missing, screwheads were showing, and the seam caulking was coming adrift.

So, I went looking for teak options. One alternative was cheap, plastic linoleum that tried to look like teak. There was real African teak or iroko, greenheart and tigerwood, but these, I thought, were better suited for a patio deck. Costa Rican teak might cost around $160 per square meter. I could have saved that money and instead painted the decks with antislip, but I never liked its look or effectiveness.

In 2004, I replaced the teak on the bow and working decks with Lewmar’s Treadmaster, an aggressively nonslip decking material with a diamond pattern. It comes in 3-by-4-foot sheets, is easily cut with a knife or shears, and is glued down over metal or fiberglass decks with a two-part epoxy. It’s maintenance-free and inexpensive.

A square meter of Treadmaster costs around $200. Teak is about the same, but far more labor-intensive and might require hiring professionals at $90 an hour. Treadmaster, I could install myself.

It took me a month to remove the old teak and fair the fiberglass decks, which were severely damaged during the removal process. I also had to remove and rebed the jib sheet tracks and other deck fittings.

Once the decks were faired, I drew out the pattern on the deck in pencil, cut out pieces of brown wrapping paper to fit, taped them down, and took a look. Nice. I then labeled the templates and the deck, and cut the Treadmaster to match. It took me a week to epoxy the Treadmaster panels in place, weighting them down with sandbags. Done.

Today, all I have to do is hose it off. But don’t fall on it, or you’ll wind up with a diamond imprint on your knees.

Another Option for Teak Decks

Five years later, the teak on the aft deck and the cockpit seats needed replacing. I wasn’t about to use Treadmaster here, with aesthetic considerations and soft behinds to take into account.

I found Stazo marinedeck, a Dutch product that’s available here in the United States. The distributor was in Thomaston, Maine, just 10 miles down the coast. This marine decking is made from compressed cork combined with a binder. It looks like teak (well, close enough) and comes in strips and sheets, all one-third of an inch thick. It does not absorb moisture, is much lighter, is a better insulator, is maintenance-free and is cooler underfoot than teak. After 15 years, all it needed was a light sanding to return to its original condition.

I also found it less expensive than teak, at $400 a square meter. It was easily cut and shaped, and I could do the installation myself. 

For that project, it took me two weeks just to remove the teak and fair the fiberglass subsurface. Cutting and fitting the cork was fun, like putting together a jigsaw puzzle. This part, I did dry: cutting the strips, fitting them in place and numbering each one with corresponding numbers on the deck. 

Then began the messy part: applying tubes of deck caulk in a caulking gun, spreading out the gooey stuff with a serrated trowel over a small section of deck, fitting a few strips in place and applying pressure, scraping up the goo that oozed out, and spreading it over the next section.

When I asked the guys at a nearby yard for suggestions, they told me they used their wives’ old dresses as smocks. “You’ll get this stuff all over yourself,” they warned. I did.

Once the cork was placed and rolled out, it needed a few days to cure. The next step involved filling and troweling the seams. This created a real mess. I began by taping the seams but then gave up, as troweling the caulk just spread the stuff outside the tape. The decks were covered in black goo. 

After a few days, the seam compound had set, and I hit the entire deck with a belt sander. It was a joy to watch the new and now-clean decks emerge from the black mess I’d created.

After 14 years of ownership and three voyages down to and back from the Eastern Caribbean, I sold Searcher in 2014. The boat sat neglected by the buyer in a Belgian marina for eight years after that. Matthi Pieters, a Belgian shipwright, then acquired it, and over the next two years, he rebuilt a significant portion of the boat’s interior, excluding the decks.

Matthi shared his progress with me and other Bowman 57 owners in our Facebook group. He recently sent me photos and this report: “We had to do some work on the cork deck, but now it looks very good again. There were some little gaps in the seams, which we cut out and filled. Water had gotten under some planks in the cockpit, which we removed and re-bedded. After a light sanding, the cork looks new. Some of the Treadmaster decking had become porous and discolored. So, we painted it with a thin epoxy. The edges of some sections of the Treadmaster were lifting. We need to re-epoxy these to fix the edges. Next summer, we’ll repaint the entire deck. The best thing would be to replace the Treadmaster. But to save costs, we try it this way for now.”

I wrote to Matthi recently about a newer product: Treadmaster’s Treadcote, an epoxy paint. It’s Lewmar’s answer to restoring heavily weathered and stained original Treadmaster decking.

Searcher has been renamed We’ll Sea and is now back in the water, with a new engine and rebuilt interior. The jade-green hull is now painted light gray. Matthi and his family sailed We’ll Sea from Belgium to London this past summer, with plans for more ambitious adventures down the road. 

She may have lost her teak, but she’s gained a new lease on life, and she’ll have a few more stories to tell from the other side of the spray.    

Based in Maine, David H. Lyman has owned and sailed four yachts in his more than half a decade of cruising in the Atlantic and Caribbean.

The post Teak Deck Replacement Options for Classic Cruisers appeared first on Cruising World.

High-performance lighting manufacturer Streamlight has introduced the Sledge rechargeable headlamp, designed to meet the demands of professionals and outdoor enthusiasts alike. Compact yet rugged, the Sledge offers hands-free illumination with multiple power options and extended run times, making it a versatile tool for boat owners.

Ideal for maintenance, DIY projects, or nighttime sailboat work, the Sledge provides up to 600 lumens on High for over four hours, 300 lumens on Medium for more than nine hours, and 100 lumens on Low for over 13 hours. Its dedicated THRO® mode delivers a momentary 1,000-lumen burst for situations requiring maximum visibility.

“The Sledge is engineered to power long work shifts and deliver dependable performance, even in harsh environments,” said Michael F. Dineen, Streamlight President.

The headlamp is designed for flexibility, operating with the included SL-B26 rechargeable Li-Ion battery or with two CR123A lithium batteries. USB-C charging allows the SL-B26 battery to recharge fully in five hours, and a status indicator keeps users informed.

Built for durability, the Sledge features a polycarbonate thermoplastic body with an aluminum faceplate, an unbreakable lens, and impact resistance up to two meters. The IPX4 water-resistant design ensures reliable performance even in wet conditions. A 45-degree tilting head allows precise beam direction, while rubber hardhat and elastic straps provide comfortable, secure hands-free use.

At 1.57 inches high, 3.74 inches wide, and 1.73 inches deep, the Sledge weighs just 4.6 ounces with the battery pack and is priced at $120. Streamlight backs it with a Limited Lifetime Warranty.

For sailors, the Sledge headlamp is especially suited to work in bilges, engine compartments, stowage areas, and any situation where reliable, hands-free illumination is essential during nighttime sailboat operations or DIY projects.The Sledge headlamp is available now in black at streamlight.com.

The post Streamlight Launches Sledge Rechargeable Headlamp appeared first on Cruising World.

Repairing Awlgrip paint can feel intimidating, but with a little patience and the right technique, it’s possible to get a result that protects your boat and looks good from a boat length away. This step-by-step method is based on a completed repair our Cheoy Lee 41, Avocet, that’s been out in the weather for a year, imperfections and all.

Our repair began, as they all should, with a close inspection. Scratches had cut clean through the Awlgrip topcoat and primer, but stopped at the gelcoat. That was good news because no filling or fairing was needed. A careful sanding would suffice to prepare the surface for new paint.

Preparation is the make-or-break stage. We cleaned the damaged area thoroughly to remove salt, grime and oily residue that could sabotage adhesion. We laid painter’s tape about an inch beyond the damage, giving enough room to feather the edges without accidentally sanding into sound paint. 

Sanding started with 220-grit paper to knock down the rough spots, then moved to 320-grit to smooth the transition until the repair area blended into the surrounding surface. The goal was to make the edge disappear to the touch before ever opening a paint can.

Ideally, a compatible Awlgrip primer would have gone down next, but in this case, none was on hand. The job went straight to topcoat—because in the real world, repairs sometimes must happen with what’s available. Using the roll-and-tip method, we applied a thin, even coat of topcoat with a roller, then tipped it immediately with a clean, high-quality brush to pop any bubbles and level the finish. Once the first coat was tacky, we repeated the process until three coats had built up enough coverage for durability.

Fresh paint is fragile, so we shielded the repair area from sun, wind and airborne grit with a simple protective cover. Even a draped cloth or improvised shelter can make the difference between a clean cure and a dusty mess.

A year later, the repair is still intact. There’s no peeling, no major fading. Up close, a slight sag in the middle reveals where a little too much paint was applied in one pass, but the topsides look far better than with those deep, visible scratches. From the dock or under sail, the flaw is invisible.

Looking back, there are lessons for anyone tackling Awlgrip repairs. Airbrushing or using a small spray gun can make it easier to feather edges and blend new paint with the old. And while Awlgrip’s hardness is great for longevity, it’s less forgiving for small touchups. Alternatives like Alexseal, though designed for spraying, can be wet-sanded and buffed to create near-invisible repairs.

The takeaway? You don’t have to chase perfection to get worthwhile results. With solid prep, careful application and a little protection during curing, an Awlgrip repair can keep a boat looking cared-for and ready for the next voyage.

Follow SV Avocet’s Chris and Marissa Neely at svavocet.com. 

The post Awlgrip Touch-ups: Secrets to Long-lasting Success appeared first on Cruising World.

In marinas, it’s common to see freshwater hoses connected to boats—especially liveaboards. A hose runs from a dockside faucet to a pressure-­reducing inlet on the boat, ­typically lowering municipal water pressure from around 60 psi to 35 psi. This allows consistent water pressure at all onboard faucets without relying on noisy pressure pumps. It also means no battery drain, as well as fresh water straight from shore.

The downside? If a hose or fitting fails, the ­uninterrupted water flow can flood—and sink—a boat.

On my schooner, Britannia, the original shore-water ­system had no fail-safe. The plastic pipes dated back to the boat’s construction in 1978 and ran in a confusing tangle deep in the bilge. My Downeast 45 has an unusually deep and long bilge—53 inches from the salon sole to the keelson, and 27 feet long. To access it, I had to build a wooden ladder. Inside this cavernous space: the Perkins main engine, a Kubota diesel generator, a 22-gallon water heater, 10 batteries, eight electric pumps—and that snarl of old plumbing. Fixing leaks was always a contortionist’s job.

When a pipe fractured, the automatic bilge pump would kick on, and I’d have to scramble outside to shut off the dockside water. I made it a habit to turn off the supply whenever I left the boat—disconnecting the hose entirely for longer absences—but memory isn’t the most reliable safety system.

Some people suggested skipping shore water entirely and drawing from the tanks. While that avoids pressure-related flooding, a low-placed leak could still siphon water from the tanks, though probably not enough to sink the boat. Still, the comparison to shore ­power is fair—everyone leaves it plugged in for battery charging, and that has caused its share of fires.

My wife and I liked the convenience of shore water, ­especially on weekend stays. The challenge was making it as foolproof as possible. First step: new plumbing.

I found PEX piping at a local hardware store. It’s commonly used in homes and buildings. It’s flexible, color-coded and easy to connect, with no special tools required. The fittings are rated to 100 psi and don’t leak. I bought 100-foot coils of red and blue half-inch pipe for hot and cold water, and then taped them to the old lines to pull them through the boat. In areas where I could reroute them for better access, I did. 

It took four days to replumb the entire system. The color coding and tidy connectors looked downright professional.

But that didn’t solve the bigger problem: automatic shut-off.

I found a 12-volt solenoid valve online. Normally open, it closes when powered. I installed it just after the inlet and wired it to the bilge float switch. When the bilge filled with water, the float activated the valve, cutting the flow. Simple, right?

Wrong. As soon as the bilge pump did its job and dropped the water level, the float turned off the power, reopening the valve and allowing water to pour in again. The cycle repeated.

After consulting an electrician friend, I installed a ­latching relay. Unlike a standard relay, it stays closed even after the triggering power shuts off. I can manually reset it with a contact breaker. Problem solved. I later added a bell to sound when the system trips—an effective high-water bilge alarm.

For additional peace of mind, I installed a manual shut-off at the boat’s inlet, in case someone on the dock turns the shared faucet back on while we’re away.

Feeling satisfied, I surveyed 20 boats in our marina with visible water hoses. I spoke with 12 owners. Not one had a safety system in place, and many had never considered the risk. All said they “always” remembered to turn off the water.

Maybe they’ll read this ­article.

The post DIY Shore Water Safety System for Boats appeared first on Cruising World.

It has been four years since my husband and I restepped the mast aboard our 1979 Cheoy Lee 41, Avocet, following weeks of DIY refit work. Our project list included upgrading the hardware, extensive sanding and, as the final touch, applying Nyalic as a protective coat.

My husband would have preferred to leave the mast bare, but I wasn’t on board with the idea of aluminum looking shabby over time. Aluminum is one of the most popular metals for marine use because it’s durable and lightweight, and it forms a natural oxide coating that prevents corrosion. However, exposure to salt water can leave it looking rough, prompting many boat owners to turn to paint, which can fail, lead to corrosion, and deteriorate the mast. Paint can also starve aluminum of oxygen, preventing it from maintaining its protective oxide layer. 

Another option—anodizing—is an electrochemical process that hardens aluminum’s oxide layer and offers excellent protection. Unfortunately, in California, there’s only one anodizing tank large enough for masts, and the cost for us would have been equivalent to buying a new mast.

We did consider leaving the aluminum bare, but I discovered Nyalic, a clear protective coat designed to seal aluminum against saltwater damage, oxidation and pitting. Used on spacecraft, Nyalic seemed promising. After hearing glowing reviews from industry professionals, as well as a trusted friend who had used it on his mast, we decided to give it a try.

Our initial testing came from Avocet sitting in its slip in Ventura, California, where it endured frequent sandblasting by prevailing winds. The Nyalic finish held up well, maintaining its shine.

In September 2022, we began cruising, starting with a sail up the coast to San Francisco Bay. Heavy rains and salty sea spray tested the mast’s protective coat, which continued to shine. During the next month, the bay’s salt-heavy environment and industrial soot put Nyalic through its paces. After washing down Avocet at the Berkeley Yacht Club, we found that the mast still showed no signs of wear.

Nyalic isn’t as hard as paint, and it is more susceptible to scuffs in high-wear areas, but touch-ups are simple, with no need for extensive prep.

We shared our experience online and heard from other sailors who’d tested Nyalic with similar success. Our friend Peter, who applied Nyalic to his 1978 38-foot Hans Christian, Kessel, reported no need for touch-ups after a year. “The spar is shiny and protected from corrosion,” he said. “The application process was straightforward, using aerosol cans to apply even coats. I’d absolutely use Nyalic again.”

Another couple, Ben and Allie, aboard their 1989 Sceptre 41, Kiana, used Nyalic after reading our blog. They’ve since sailed from Canada to Mexico and are preparing for a Pacific crossing. “With so many projects to tackle on an older boat, it’s nice to keep some things simple, and Nyalic totally fits the bill,” Ben said.

Four years in, we remain impressed by Nyalic’s performance. As we continue to add miles under our keel, we’ll keep testing its durability and share updates.

The post Shining Armor: 4 Years of Real-World Nyalic Mast Protection appeared first on Cruising World.

The Pacific Ocean has about 30,000 islands spread across it. That seems like a lot, but given the Pacific’s 63.8 million square miles of ocean area, these islands are few and far between. About 4,000 years ago, humans in Eastern Asia set sail in canoes and found so many of these islands that today we attribute their success to navigators who read subtle signs, such as wave patterns and bird behavior. 

I think it was a party trick. Waves and birds? Pfft.

With a second Pacific Ocean crossing in my wake aboard our Stevens 47, Totem, I’ve concluded that ancient humans’ success at discovering islands was possible only because of sailmakers making sail repairs. 

Think about how often the tough, synthetic sails on modern cruising boats need care and maintenance. The pandanus fiber sails of those ancient voyagers must have been a disaster. Back then, a blown-out sail meant stopping dead in the water. Clearly, the drivers of success were the heroic sailmakers working tirelessly through fierce storms and under the blazing sun, repairing sails to keep moving onward to the next island discovery.

Maybe I’m a biased sailmaker who appreciates the value we get from working sails. This point is most evident to me when a sailor in a remote place with broken sails reaches out for help. Ironically, cruising sailors often know more about diesel engines, watermakers, solar chargers and outboards. Boats are complex machines, but sails are key.

To me, the primary ­ingredients of DIY sail repair are simple enough: sailcloth, thread, webbing and attachment hardware. Their purpose is to resist being pulled apart in the tug-of-war between wind and rigging. When a portion of sail is pulled apart—as in torn sailcloth, broken luff slides or clew straps ripped off—a good repair will ­reestablish material strength. 

Making Sail Repairs in the Field

Field repairs don’t need to be pretty; they need to be reliable enough. A sewing machine is a primary sailmaking tool but is not necessary for most field repairs. Often, the challenge in doing field repairs is the awkward area for hand-sewing or bonding pieces together on the side deck, in the cockpit, on a dock or parking lot, or—trickier still—when the sail is still up. 

Preparing the sail and space for the work needed will make it easier. A good example of this happened a few years back when the owners of a catamaran sailing off the coast of Tanzania asked for help. Their Dacron genoa was rotten from ultraviolet damage. They expected to replace it when they got to sailmakers in South Africa, but the passage was a sporty 1,600 nautical miles down the Mozambique Channel, and they realized that the sail wouldn’t make it. 

I assessed the sail from afar and then conveyed a plan to make patches that would reinforce large areas. Materials with fiber reinforcement such as a plastic tarp would add ­necessary strength when oriented across the tearing sailcloth. 

To join the new material and bad sailcloth, they needed reasonably strong adhesive. Some marine-grade polysulfide sealants work well; so might spray glue, contact cement or superglue. If you have ­something on board but are uncertain about the bond strength, a small test run can show how strong it is when cured.

The crew acquired an old Optimist dinghy sail from another cruiser for the patch. With tubes of marine sealant they had on board, they glued wide strips from the dinghy sail across the worst areas of rotten sailcloth. The genoa wasn’t pretty, but it was enough. A few weeks later, the crew sailed safely into port in South Africa, headsail repair intact.

Another tough lesson ­happened last year with a ­cruiser we’d met while ­preparing to sail from Mexico to the Pacific. He reached out with a passage tale about an unexpected squall and an ­unplanned jibe that had resulted in a number of broken mainsail luff slides. He hadn’t thought to bring spare luff slides, so he needed a work-around. 

Hand-sewing on luff slides is an easy DIY repair, but ­unfortunately, there weren’t enough good slides to work. The sailor had to go without a mainsail for the last few ­passages of the season. He learned a lot about advance planning for a sail-repair kit.

Yet another incident happened about a third of the way between Fiji and Japan, when solo sailor Raffi Patatian noticed a tear in the in-mast furling mainsail of his Hallberg-Rassy 43, Wind River. As Raffi’s weather router, I was aware of his situational context: thousands of miles from anything resembling a sail loft, and 25-knot winds pushing up 8- to 10-foot waves. The tear ran vertically up from the foot, just forward of the clew reinforcement patch. It was only 5 inches long, but the location bears high loads that would tear apart the sail unless he repaired it.

The passage was a sporty 1,600 ­nautical miles down the Mozambique Channel, and they realized that the sail wouldn’t make it.

What is a high-load tear? By deflecting wind, a sail gains force—or load—across its entire surface. That force becomes directional as it pulls against the corner attachment points, head, tack and clew; to a lesser degree, it also pulls luff attachments. Load paths form between any two corners. In Raffi’s mainsail, the vertical tear was being pulled apart by the horizontal load between the clew and tack. This is a high-load tear, which requires a stronger patch than a low-load tear.

When the tear and the load are parallel (a low-load tear), there isn’t force pulling at the tear, so it’s an easy fix. Clean and dry the damaged area, and slap some sail-repair tape (or even duct tape) over the tear on both sides of the sail. That’s an adequate, temporary repair. 

Taking this approach on a high-load tear, however, would quickly fail. Raffi had a nicely stocked sail-repair kit, including a sewing machine. Unfortunately, the machine stayed in a locker because the boat’s motion made using the machine impossible. Instead, hand-sewing and 3M 4200 Fast Cure (a polysulfide sealant) would do the job. Rather than taking down the sail to repair it, furling the sail most of the way and stabilizing the boom would be easier and faster because of the tear location.

The first task was to hand-sew heavy webbing along the foot, spanning the tear. Before leaving the cockpit, Raffi cut the webbing about 18 inches long and used a marker to make dots in a zigzag pattern as a sewing guide. He then prepared the hand-sewing needle with a long length of four-strand waxed thread. 

Tethered to the dodger, he sewed half of the webbing to the foot, forward of the tear. Then he pulled the torn sailcloth sides together, held webbing in place across the tear, and secured them with a clamp. No sailmaker would rate this sewing as pretty, but it was strong.

To finish the repair, we wanted to add a Dacron patch over the torn portion so that it would be joined by more than webbing. Hand-sewing the patch was an option, but bonding the patch in place would be faster and stronger. The key to a bonded repair on a high-load tear is surface area. The patch needs to be four or five times wider than a sewn seam would be on each side of the tear (and wider still on sails with higher loads, such as roachy ­catamaran mainsails). 

Raffi had spare sailcloth to work with. First, he oriented the strongest yarns to the load path across the tear, and then marked and cut out the patch. With the repair area cleaned and dried, he spread the 4200 Fast Cure all over one side of the patch. Then the patch was placed across the tear and firmly pressed to the sail. The last step was sail-repair tape (or duct tape) around the ­perimeter to ensure that it stayed in place until it cured.

Raffi made it safely to Okinawa, Japan. The patch held, but near the end of the passage, more tears near the patch formed. The sail should be replaced, like the genoa on the boat off Tanzania. Or should it? 

Make the materials strong again with more DIY repairs. When the Tanzania boat got to South Africa, the crew bought a new genoa but didn’t bend it on. That mangy sail repair crossed the Atlantic and lived to see the Caribbean, believe it or not. 

As those ancient voyagers learned, your sails will get you there—if you can keep them together. Just watch for changes in the waves and seabirds to reveal when you’re almost there.

The post Sail Repairs That Keep You Sailing appeared first on Cruising World.