A float on Miracle - 20ft narrowboat

awh sparky! I am sure he'd be chuffed.

25 February
Engines and floaters.

I have until recently only ever heard the term “floater” in the context of the little turd that remains in the toilet after a flush.
Needless to say my face wrinkled up in disgust when I heard another boater refer to Miracle as such. Repulsed and more than a bit indignant I stood there frozen unsure what action or reply if any I should hurtle back.

He was smiling.

I was not.

The conversation had unfolded when I mentioned that my 9.9 Yamaha outboard was taken out for service (yes, again). It would appear that the first person didn’t actually do anything, or they missed everything and I paid 80GBP for the pleasure.

The Norwegian’s hippy friend has just officially started his marine engine repair service officially after 3 years of “helping people for nothing.”

He’s risking everything of course, quitting his well paid city job to do this full time. Unlike the last person to work on my engine, I have confidence in the hippy.

He’s lived on boats for a number of years and learned from his elderly mentor since before puberty. When I first met him, he was slowly boring a new hole by hand for a piston in a block canal side for his mother. It took 3 days but from two broken engines he made one that’s by all knowing accounts “very good” for her and saved her two thousand pounds in the process.

So when my engine died 3 weeks ago, it was him that came out to have a look.

The good news is, it’s all fixable.

Great.

It may just be the head gasket, so we’ll change that first.

I called and ordered the parts.

They arrive a week later.

I now know that my head gasket is a piece of hard rubber like substance that should under no circumstaces be bent. The packaging made me think it was massive. That was only the packing.

The hippy arrives and with a tea in hand he starts.

He’s checking the timing with some fancy light thingy.
He's excited about it, so I ask how it works.
He explains.
I listen.
I am none the wiser, except now I think of it as a piece of dj equipment.

Well, that’s ok, he says reassuringly.

A flicker of hope crosses my face.

After 30 mins of faffing about and hearing the key repeatedly failing to turn the wheezing into a purr, I'm ready for an update.

I stick my head out the doors.

Bad news I’m afraid, there’s more wrong here than I thought.

My heart sinks a bit.
I’ve already laid out 160gbp and nothing has changed.

My engine is still broken.

I’m going to take her in to my workshop and lay her out on my bench, then I’ll ring you and tell you what we need.

Ok.

I try to stay chipper but I am failing. My uncertainty and fear is evident.

At what point does it become impractical, I mean, at what point do I stop chucking money at her and get a new one?

He smiles and he blinks slowly. It's a facial expression equivalent to the verbal “ah bless” English people tend to say when someone unknowingly does something idiotic with naive good intentions.

This here engine, new is just under 5k, you may be lucky and get one used for 3.
My eyes widen.
We’ve got a long way to go before its a write off.

It’s not a bad engine, it’s all fixable.

So, a list of parts are ordered, and for now and for another week I am, er.. a floater.

Feb 27 - Where there's Smoke

1025pm
My fingers are grey with ash.
My lungs hurt.
The sweet wild cotton air freshening oils I put out in the little glass cube on the counter only this morning have been devoured by noxious smoke.

I should have been paying more attention.

I built the fire.
I lit the firelighter.
I watched it burn for a few minutes and noticed the smoke, not drifting up through the flue, but filling the boat.

I closed the door.
Smoke puffed through the vent; *BUT *less smoke.

it will sort itself.
*
*Its late.
I need to make up my bed.
Bed made, I realise I can't hear my fan.
It works on the heat energy from the stove top.

I turn to confirm my suspicion.
The fan is immobile.

The fire's gone out.

I curse the store brand fire lighters for being useless and grab two more from the pack.

I stacked pine and hardwood up the full capacity of the stove, it should be getting toasty.
Its not.
I light and throw in two more fire lighters.

They blaze happily and reignite the first.

Odd.

It was only half burnt.

Stupid store brand.
*
*Smoke begins billowing out of the open door.
I close it.
I start coughing, and realise the whole front half of the boat is filled with chemical smoke of fire lighter.

I open windows and doors.

I briefly consider sleeping without fire.

Is it coming out my chimney?

I step outside.

No smoke.

I grab my metal hook to stick the handle down, then stop.
The grip is rubber.
I put it back.
I consider my punt pole; 10ft and heavy.
Visions of me breaking things flash before my eyes.

I'm too clumsy.

The only remaining object is a wooden broom.

Hmmm.
Is that smart?
I'm going to stick a broom handle down the flue into my stove.

I wonder how long before it catches fire?

I'll be quick.
I lower it in and make stirring motions.

Lower.
Lower still.
Thump.
I've hit something solid.
Thump.
Its not moving.
Maybe its the stove bottom.
I pull the handle out and try to eye whether hitting bottom is possible.

The handle isn't charred.
It isn't even warm.

The fire is still going.
Smoke is still burping out of the vents, the chimney is cold.
I close the vent.
I wait.
When I open the door its only glowing hot charred wood and more smoke.

The flue is blocked.
I look about trying to decide how best to remove the glowing wood.

**Bare handed and trying to not touch the red parts doesn't seem clever. **
**
**The welding gloves.

In moments the wood is on the back deck and my hands are reaching upward to unblock the flue.

Something wrong.

I feel the solid steel and slide my hand back.

No hole.

My eyes flit between the top where I can see the flue joining the stove and my hand in the blackness inside.

Where's the hole?

Is it that solidly blocked?

Is that possible?
*
*Then in a moment of clarity I recall the diagram of the stove's construction.

There's a plate.

I grab my torch.

Sure enough, a few inches before the front a smooth cressent plate edge.
I contort and manage to get my fingers in and sweep across.

Brownish ash falls.

My fingers arent long enough to get to the back. uspect I suspect majority of ash is there.

I look around.

I need something solid but flexible to make the right angle onto the shelf.

Dont throw anything out before you know what its for, Tim had cautioned when I showed him all the random stuff in the boat.

The gigantic pipecleaner.

In 10 minutes the pile of brown ash is about 4cms thick on the lip of the stove.
I've definately cleared at least some of it.

I've trashed my back deck with burning logs.
My hearth, is covered in ash.
Everything is filthy.
I restack the wood and try another firelighter.

The smoke goes up.

Jacqui, I have just read that for a second time but this time with a Dick van Dyke cockney accent.

I was picturing myself as Lucille Ball, Cliveo...

Hmmm

Perhaps you missed his later and more English work, Mary Poppins

now I gotcha... forgot about the chimney sweep!

if you need someone to give your flues a proper seeing to.. have a look here
http://www.lfgss.com/thread77848-2.html

x

Duckie brought me a LIVE mouse yesterday a.m.
He'd not hurt the mouse he didn't even have his claws out.

He really needs to make kitty friends, he's clearly tried judging by the torn apart ear he's sporting.

Has he been snipped?

The mouse or duckie?

Our cat brings in live mice too, it's a really thoughtful gift for you. The mouse is unhurt but understandably terrified.... if you let Duckie continue to play the mouse will die of a heart attack.

You can release the mouse again if you can do so without the cat knowledge. If you feel the mouse has had it, put it in a container and in the the freezer, it'll just go to sleep.

thanks for the advice CP..

L&W - Duckie has been snipped, at 6 months as soon as he was showing signs of er.. approaching puberty.

Ok that's cool - he'll be a Mummy's Boy then, not out fighting with the big ginger toms.

nah, he just wants to play with the other cats, unfortunately other cats (except the ginger one in enfield) all seem to just want to kick his little duck butt.

I was told about this thread at the weekend. I am planning to buy a project boat soon and work on it over the summer as a live aboard ready for next September.

I have just started reading your posts and intend to catch up on all of them when I have time.

Just thought I'd say hello :)

Wheeeeeere is Jacqui?

On Miracle?

So what had blocked the stove? was it the rotating plate in the flue or something else? bit confused :S

^^ Well why isn't she regaling us with tales of what it's like on Miracle when the weather is nice and other Ducky/stove adventures? I need my fix!

I'm sure that she will make a miraculous return to this thread when the time is ripe.

I saw Jacqui, Miracle and the Norwegian (?) this afternoon! From the bank, had a load of kids with me and I did wave but I don't think she recognised me.
Miracle is teeny tiny. Looked lovely cruising up the canal in the sunshine, a deux.
edit: may have been the Hippy

18.03.2012 - The One That Got Away.

We're back in Tottenham.

Being "a floater" isnt' fun. You're reliant on others to take you with them.
It's a savings on Petrol but without an engine you lose the freedom of choice.

You might as well be on land.

Yesterday between the showers, the Hippy re-installed my outboard.
After much faffing and patient explaining it was time to take Miracle out for a test run.
I was so excited.

Engine = FREEDOM.

300 meters from where we started the engine suddenly stopped dead.
There was no sputter, no whine; just silence.
The Hippy's head snapped back to the outboard instantly.
**Not good. **
We've caught something on the prop.
He uses the tiller to rotate the propeller raising it into view, sure enough, something bright blue is entwined around behind the blades.

He hands me the tiller.
Hold it here, and here.
He puts my hand onto the back of the engine and hops over the rail onto cage on the back that protects my engine.
After a few seconds he looks up.
*It's a net.. *
After a minute or two of unwinding it he asks me to get a knife.
It's big. His face is showing discust and anger.
He hands me a soping wad of blue rope and fishing net.
There are rocks tied to it and proper fishing weights.

We need to pull it up, so no one else gets caught, wind it in he directs me.
I begin to pull the line while the Hippy continues to untangle the prop.

It takes me a minute to realise that we're pulling up something not big, but massive.
I've pulled up about 2m and I can see the blue line extending several meters behind us.
What is this for I ask, has someone just disgarded it?
*No, they'll weight it down and tie it to the bank then come back in a few days. *
It's illegal fishing.
The hippy is clearly raging. He's muttering about what he'd do if he caught the person who layed the net.
The Hippy, unlike most on the river has grown up on boats and on this river, his passion for nature revolves around the Lee. The Hippy's a strapping broad chested and muscular man in his late 20's; I've no doubt he means it when he says he'd teach the illegal fisherman a lesson if he found out who it was,

I've stopped pulling the rope when I listen to him explain about what the net means.
In a moment I notice the rope is sliding backward out of my fingers.
Weird.
Must mean there's another cement block.
I begin to reel it back in toward me.
The line jerks and the pressure increases, drops and increases again.
I know that movement.
In a flash I am in my childhood memories. My father and I are fishing, we've caught something.
I call the hippy. There's something in the net, I squeal.
Are you sure? There's a look of anxious surprise on his face.
Yes. I know this feeling. It's fighting me.
I pull gently. I feel the struggle below, then it fades.
We're staring into the murk and in a moment a large whiteness begins to appear.
It's huge. the size of a large platter begins to emerge.
It's only a few inches from the surface, the fish struggles again and we see the dinner plate size of white is only its fattest part.
The head is at least 8 inches to the side and the tail the same.
I release the tension in shock. The fish flaps the surface and tries to dive.
He's HUGE.
Holy wow, do you have your camera, take a picture the hippy says excitedly.
Um. I turn away to find my phone.
Nevermind, he's gone.
We look at eachother.
That was the biggest live fish I have ever seen. He was so heavy!
He was a carp, a big one.. I'm glad he got free.
Me too.
The rest of the line, strewn with weights and shimmery silver decoys comes up uneventfully.
It was around 20 meters.
We bag it and hide it among the rubbish in the BW bins.
I don't know how much a ground net that size would have cost the illegal fisherman, but I'm glad he won't have it again.

on another note.. despite their best efforts the Hippy and his partner have puppies. Their lurcher bitch Lino has given birth to nine healthy strapping and stunning puppies. NINE. I've been to see them and can confirm they are being well treated, well fed and socialised. They're in a clean environment and are on a diet of mother's milk and raw meat currently. They're 7 weeks and will be needing their forever homes shortly.. if you are looking for a large or meduim large addition to your household and are interested please let me know. I've put picutures below... beware they're adorable.

The father is a black lab cross and the mother is a lurcher so make no mistake these are not small dogs. I know both parents and can attest that both are very mild mannered , cat friendly and intelligent.

https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/419293_10151400213465150_850960149_23602131_1529251597_n.jpg