Engine Repair (and Other Nightmares)

Part Two of Two
By Dave and Jaja

Getting the alternator off the engine (so that I can shake the nut out of it) is no mean feat. First, I have to remove a centrifugal bilge pump which blocks it. The fasteners securing the pump are rusty, and the hoses going to it are stuck tight. I eventually free them. Then there are all those wires. I disconnect every one.

As I work on the alternator I am lost in reflection. I have made many dumb mistakes at this boat yard--more than an average guy might ever make in a whole lifetime. One of the first really stupid things I do wrong is combine two, half-empty, gallon-sized cans of red bottom paint in an effort to save shelf space; the paint room is overcrowded with opened cans that no one ever uses. As I am mixing the two cans together the foreman walks in. The look on his face matches his abusive words.

He is succinct. "Davey, what the * * * * are you doing? You can't mix Vinylester antifouling with Micron!" As if on cue, the ruined mixture curdles like week-old cottage cheese. Oh well, I say to myself. Chalk it up to experience.

My mind wanders again: A couple weeks after the paint incident, I screw up big time. The foreman has cut a sheet of quarter-inch aluminum plate into four equal pieces, each measuring two foot by three foot. They will go into the bottom of the fish hold on a new trawler. The pieces need drain holes put into them, but the foreman has to go away for the day and he asks me to do the job. On his way out of the shop he hands me the big drill and tells me to use a 3/16 inch bit.

No problem. But somehow I get it wrong and use a 3/8 inch bit. Stupidly, I riddle each plate with hundreds of oversized holes. The next day I catch hell. The skipper of the trawler says that the fish's eyes will fall through these larger holes and clog the pumps. Jeez, you learn something new everyday.

The next mistake I make is when I measure the forestay on a boat for a new roller-furling system. The tape measure reads 46 feet 3 inches. For some reason, however, I write down 43 feet 6 inches. When the new (and much too short) headstay arrives, it dangles high above the stem head fitting...like a noose. I suggest using a lot of toggles to make up the difference. The foreman gives me a look that kills.

Back to reality: I finally get the alternator off of the engine. I am laying on my back on the cabin sole, shaking the heavy device, trying in vain to get the damn nut to fall through one of the vent holes. It's like trying to retrieve a guitar pick that's fallen into an acoustic guitar.

"Come on!" I say. "Come out!" An hour has gone by since I first came aboard to replace the exhaust fitting.

The nut finally drops out of the alternator and hits me in the eye. I figure if I work quickly I can get the alternator and the pump back together in no time. I have forgotten about the exhaust part that started this whole mess.

The boat heels slightly as someone steps aboard. I freeze. Suddenly, the sunlight streaming in through the companionway is eclipsed by the foreman's wide shoulders.

"Davey! What the..."

(The End.)