It’s a warm July day. The kind of day that makes you thankful for the haze that filters the raging sun. A delicious breeze circulates through the salon as we pass the Weweantic River. Burgee and ensign both come to attention and salute to starboard.
“Man that feels good,” I say, spreading my bare arms, soaking it all in. I set my binoculars down on the chart to keep it from blowing off the table. We are on our way to Pocasset to anchor off Bassets Island.
It’s Sunday and boaters are everywhere. Smiles and waves abound; everybody is happy to be on the water for the first decent weekend of summer.
The predicted wave heights of one foot or less is wrong and we run into a washing machine of confused ocean out near the Cleveland Ledge Channel. Ginger Lee dips into a trough then bravely plows headlong into a four footer. A torrent of seawater floods the deck just moments after I closed the hatch over our bed. But I forgot to close the little flip-up front window and the galley parquet floor gets a salty wash. Not so bad though, nothing that a bath towel can’t handle.

Rough water in the channel.

Soon we’re in the protected waters between Wings Neck and Scraggy Neck and life is good. Our GPS beeps as we near the red-green buoy marked Eustis Rock on our chart. We have re-named it Useless Rock for no particular reason except it sounds funnier.

The southern tip of Bassets Island.

I like to enter the well-marked channel near Hospital Cove so I can look at the hundreds of boats are anchored off the Eastern shore of Bassets. We pass by the loud party people and head to our usual quiet spot near channel marker “RN12” which floats directly across from Patuisset Point. Because of the shallow depth, not many boats dare anchor here. I drop the anchor and it grabs on the first try. Sweet! Our sounder reads two feet at low tide, but that would be two feet under the transducer which is mounted on the lowest point of Ginger Lee’s transom. Plenty of water.

Happy anchored boats.

We’re entertained by a large sailboat that keeps trying to get its anchor to hold. I don’t mean to make fun, but they fail so many times it’s a bit comical. They’ve been trying for an hour and a half now. We could see the problem right away: they have no scope. They’d run the anchor straight down to the bottom then immediately back the boat up. Of course it won’t catch. Ya need to run out at least fifty feet of line to get the right scope, or angle to the water, so that the anchor can do its job and dig in. Finally, somebody dinghies over and shows them how to do it.
We idle the afternoon away reading, talking, and people watching. As the sun gets lower and my tummy says it’s dinnertime, I fire up the grill. Over a delicious dinner of steak tips, zucchini, and olive salad, we try to guess which boats will spend the night, and revel in the luxury of having nothing else better to do.

Steak tips, grilled zucchini, and olive salad.

These few boats stay the night.

Darkness falls; a lovely time to be on a boat; a gentle and velvet-like quiet surrounds everything. Time seems insignificant. We light lamps, something we used to do to save electricity, but even though I’ve replaced all the incandescent bulbs with wicked miserly LED’s, we still prefer the warm glow of our oil lamps.

Pocasset morning.

I wake to the sound of hunting Osprey. Believe me, it’s a nice feeling. The holding ground is so good here that I never worry about dragging. Also a nice feeling. While the world is asleep, and all the other boats nearby still have their anchor lights on, I hop into the dinghy and putt-putt over to the Island for a walk on its beach. There is one small section that has big NO TRESPASSING signs posted every five feet (in case you missed the last one five feet back). I go past them, pull Salty up on the sand, and dig in his anchor. There is not a soul around except a murder of crows. I managed to get within two steps of them before they noticed me. “What are you doing here!” they screech, obviously startled to see a human being on their beach.

Double NO TRESPASSING sign. Okay okay, I get it!

It’s 11:30 Monday morning, the only time you can actually get into the popular Chart Room restaurant without waiting. Ol’ Salty zooms us over to the Kingman Yacht Center, the largest marina on Cape Cod.

Sailing vessel BLACK SEAL in the Kingman mooring field.

Kingman Yacht Center.

LIke most dinghy docks these days, this one is an ocean of rubber. So as not to offend our rubbery brethren, we put out fenders on both sides before we tie Salty up.

An ocean of rubber!

The Chart Room outside.

The Chart Room inside.

We are the first patrons in the place, but by the time our lunch arrives it’s nearly full, and just as the cruising guide describes it: clamorous. A large family is seated next to us. Waitresses push four tables together to accommodate them. The small children begin to whine and cry, having nothing to do and no food yet. To my utter amazement, the matriarch, Nanna, gathers them up and takes them outside to play on the lawn. I nod my approval as she walks by. She, in turn, smiles softly back at me. So respectful! I wanna hug Nanna. Who does that? Me! Years ago I used to do that every time when my wee ones were acting up in restaurants. But sadly, I’ve never seen anybody else do it until today.

XO: crab meat on Caesar Salad.
Me: the search for the perfect Rueben continues.

We dinghy back to Ginger Lee, stomachs full and faith in mankind rekindled.
“I love it here,” I say, probably repeating myself.
“I know”, the XO says. “Me too.”

I love my wife. I mean real shout-it-from-the-rooftops stuff. I love boating with her too. But I have more free time than her and I spend a lot of it on the boat by myself. The XO refers to this as The Secret Life of Rick.
All my life, before the XO, with very little exception, boating was a solitary endeavor. During my child rearing years, I couldn’t for the life of me get my kids to go boating. Oh, once in a great while, one of them would give in to my goading and somewhat reluctantly accompany the ol’ man as I excitedly hooked up the runabout and towed it to Lake Cochituate, or the Charles River.

Larson runabout.

I suppose if smartphones were around back then they’d have their heads bent into them as we cruised past incredible sights and gorgeous vistas.  You can’t tell your kids what to like. All you can do is expose them to things and either they’ll like it or not. In this case they didn’t, so I went boating alone. Like 98% of the time.

The Lone Boater , late 80’s.

Sometimes I would get up real early, have absolutely wonderful adventures on the waterways, come home, and everyone would still be sleeping! Jeez, I couldn’t even tell ’em about it!
I resigned myself to be a single-hander and set up all my boats to this end. I have stacks of log books, detailing at length, years of boating bliss. This is what I did before the internet blogging thing.

Log book page.  I would staple Polaroids on one edge so that you could flip them and read the log.

It all changed when I met the XO. At first I was worried that my boating addiction would scare her away, so I tried to downplay it, but it was as hard to hide as the 28 foot Cruisers Holiday in the driveway.
“I always wanted a boat, but it is a lot to take on, you know,  when you’re alone,” she said one day after I carefully broached the subject.
It was music to my ears, clouds broke from the heavens, glorious sunshine spilled upon the earth, angels wept, birds sang, I was in love, LUV.

Cruisers Holiday, the XO, and the Charlestown Bridge. July 2008

It’s another beautiful day in paradise. I think I’ll take Ginger Lee to Zecco’s for a pump out, and then on to the Narrows, tie her up at the free dock, get a hot dog at Frankenstein’s and a cigar at Brennan’s.
After warming up the diesels, I unleash the pennants and head out to the channel where the vigilant Harbormaster is educating a Sea Ray owner about the newly placed “No Wake Zone”.

Respect the No Wake Zone.

I feel great as I slowly cruise through the Wareham River. It’s so nice to be boating! The channel winds its way past the Tempest Knob ramp, Zecco’s Marina, Cape Cod Shipbuilding, the British Landing, and culminates at The Narrows where a train bridge and Main Street cross over a shallow inlet making it unnavigable for anything larger than a kayak.

Approaching Zecco’s Marina.

The Cape Cod Shipbuilding facility.

M/V Fishbones docked at British Landing.

Approaching the dock.

The Narrows Crossing restaurant.

The Narrows Crossing restaurant is full of patrons eating lunch. I feel many eyeballs on me as I near the dock. Thankfully, the wind and water currents are not a factor here and I pull off a smooth, uneventful docking.

At the dock in Wareham Village.

First stop.

Second stop.

Whether you want breakfast, a light lunch, or a full-blown meal, it’s all right here within a few blocks. Chinese, Mexican, Italian, seafood. What’s your pleasure? Also a convenience store, bait and tackle shop, liquor store, banks and a post office.
After so many years of solo boating, I am comfortable with myself and my ability to singlehandedly operate Ginger Lee safely. But ya know, it’s so much better to have someone to share boating with. I am truly blessed.

We were just gonna motor around Bird Island and back; a short cruise so we’d have some hot water for a night on our Wareham mooring. But once we were out there in the brilliant sunshine and sparkling seas we were hooked. So we made a new plan:

The XO at the helm. Rounding Bird Island Light.

“Want to go to Sippican?” I toss it out there. The XO fields the question like Dustin Pedroia and quickly whips it back to me.
“Can we anchor?” she asks.
I scoop it up on one bounce like Mike Napoli on first base.
“I’ll check the Cruising Guide.”
Grabbing the well-worn book, I flip to the correct page.
“There is no anchoring allowed in the harbor proper,” I read aloud.
“But I’m up for a mooring,” I continue undeterred, and call the phone number for Barden’s Boat Yard, the first of three listings. I get a recording saying they are closed until Monday morning.
All three marinas: Barden’s, Burr Brothers, and Beverly Yacht club, have launch service in busy Sippican Harbor, and they all use channel 68, so as soon as we round Bird Island Light, I tune the radio to channel 68, key the mic, and in my clearest, manliest voice, say:
“Sippican launch, Sippican launch. Motor vessel Ginger Lee, over.”
“BYC launch. Go Ginger Lee.”
“Got a mooring overnight? Over.”
“Affirmative Ginger Lee. Length, draft, and current position?”
“Thirty-two, two-and-a-half, just passing Bird Island, over.”
“Solid copy. When you get inside call me and I’ll meet you at green nine.”
“Good copy launch. Ginger Lee standing by six eight.”
We marvel at the phrase: “solid copy” which we never heard before. “I’m definitely going to use that one,” I announce.

Following the Beverly Yacht Club launch to the mooring.

Sippican Harbor, Marion, is the closest port to us. So close in fact, that we hardly ever go here. On this amazing picture perfect day, vowing to visit more often is easy as pie.

Easy as pie.

High maintenance but worth it.

S/V Tabor Boy.

This is one of those rare open harbors where sailboaters can easily maneuver to and from their moorings completely on wind power.
Apparently there is a sailboat race! We watch as dozens of Herreshoff 12-1/2s zoom all around amidst a backdrop of gorgeous waterfront homes.

Herreshoff 12-1/2.

Lovely Sippican scene.

Morning brings us gusty winds and cloudy skies. The water is active, busy and white-capped. I get the percolator going and watch a small boat with three fishermen in drab rain coats leave the inner harbor. Coffees in hand, smiles all around, ready for a fun day of fishing, they gesture and talk excitedly as they disappear from view behind Ram Island. Ten minutes later they return behooded, huddled, and defeated. “Must be rough out there,” I say to myself.
I lay out a dozen pieces of bacon in the big frying pan and set the burner on low. I’m cooking my favorite boat breakfast: bacon and eggs where you scoop the hot bacon fat over the eggs to cook the top. I learned it from my mom.
“Smells sooo good,” the XO says from under the covers.
“I know. It’s almost ready. You up?” I ask. Silly question. Warm arms around my waist and a kiss on the back of neck confirms that she is most definitely up.

Sunny side up.

The trip home is lumpy. Three foot seas give Ginger Lee her first salt water bath of the season. I’m not surprised there are no other boats out here, but like I said, it’s a short trip, and once we get on the other side of Bird Island, in protected waters, it’s smooth sailing.
I would have liked to hang around Sippican Harbor longer. What’s not to like?

Sippican sunset.

On June 5 1975, in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch Country, hardworking Amish craftsmen completed the finishing touches on a brand spankin’ new thirty-two foot sedan cruiser. After polishing the mahogany veneer, and stamping the transom with hull number TRJ05620675, they carefully loaded it onto a cradle to be trucked off to parts unknown, at least to this writer. Imagine what adventures she had before ending up in our loving care. If she could talk, what wonderful stories would she tell?

Found on rear window. When was she there?

Yes. Our Ginger Lee, this boat that surrounds us with its warm wood interior, that protects us from rough seas with its strength, and pleases us to no end with its beautiful lines, is forty years old today.

Lotta wood inside.

The F-32, touted as one of the best boats Trojan ever made, was produced from 1972 through 1992; an unprecidented twenty year run in which 2,200 were built. Not big numbers by automotive standards, but for boats, it’s a wicked lot.
I think they used way too much fiberglass; it’s one of the things I like best about Ginger Lee. I can see it the bilge and on the stringers, or wherever the raw fiberglass is exposed. When I added a step to the transom, it took forever to drill through. Unbelievably thick.
In 1949 The Trojan Boat Company was started by two young guys who were sick of working for someone elses boat shop. By 1968 they were the second largest builder of wooden boats in the United States.

ARGONAUT. The most famous wood Trojan from the TV show Sea Hunt starring Lloyd Bridges. It was my favorite show as a kid.

Things changed when fiberglass became the material of choice for boats. The dudes at Trojan thought it was only a passing fancy. They hung a sign in the factory that said: “If God intended there to be fiberglass boats, He would have made fiberglass trees.”
Yeah. They were wrong and suffered financially. Switching from wood boats to fiberglass was so costly they needed to partner up with The Whittaker Corporation. The F-32 was so popular it turned the troubled company around.

Ad flyer. Year unknown.

The Trojan name still exists today but since 1992 it was owned by Miramar Marine, and later the huge conglomerate, Genmar Holdings.
It happens a lot in this day and age; somebody buys a well-known name and makes the product in China, Taiwan, East Overshoe, or in this case, a Carver Yacht factory. They’re probably nice boats. But are they Trojans? Or just Carvers with a Trojan name stuck on it.

There is nothing–absolutely nothing–half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.

Kenneth Grahame The Wind in the Willows

On this forty-year old boat, there’s always something to do, and I like it that way. I need to keep busy lest I become a beer swilling layabout. Well, more so than I already am. I’m comfortable with my current L.W.R. (Layabout to Work Ratio.)
I finished the solar refrigeration project and it works! Yes! The new refrigerator runs full-time on solar power. This is big! I feel so civilized! All the comforts of home! The hardest part, aside from shelling out the money, was finding a place to put four huge lead acid deep-cycle batteries. I had to split them up because their weight would cause to boat to list if kept all on one side.

Solar array mounted on aft deck roof.

New fridge. Long door on the side for chart storage.

I wired all the batteries to the inverter with 4 gauge wire. Saved a ton of money by buying a set of 30 foot heavy-duty jumper cables and cutting the clamps off.

DC management center.

Charge controller. The solar panels pull anywhere from nine amps in direct sunlight, to half an amp in ambient light. I love the pictogram of the smiling battery.

Next on my list was to repair the broken anchor boom. I got the new one in two days just as the manufacturer promised. I feel fortunate that I was able to get a direct replacement for a forty-year old part.

New anchor boom.

Removing the old broken boom was an adventure; the nuts had all turned into rusted blobs. I plugged my electric angle grinder into the new 1500 watt inverter and hacked away. The bolts had also deteriorated. This thing was ready to fall off!

Bad bolts.

The new part was considerably beefier and came with stainless steel hardware. Nice upgrade.

New boom installed.

Another nagging problem was the old transom stairs. They tended to fold up  if you didn’t step on them just right. My wife and I have both stumbled, so they had to go. I built new ones out of three-quarter plywood which I stained, polyurethaned, and screwed together with stainless steel hardware.

rickety old transom stairs.

Sturdy new stairs.

Next, I plan to install another fuel tank which will bring our total capacity up to 200 gallons. But first I need to relax in the sun with a cold beer. Don’t want to throw off my L.W.R.!

I can’t wait to get on the water again. There’s nothing like it. Once your foot leaves that dock you are floating free, mind, body, and soul. Turn off you cellphones and hide your watches. They wont be needed for a while. There are no schedules. Not really. You have to work with the weather and the conditions of the ocean. If I absolutely had to be somewhere, I’d rather cruise on a rainy day than a wavy day. Today, however, we have both sunshine and flat seas, and as an added bonus, calm winds. Sure it’s a tad nippy, but the boat is heated.
 Ginger Lee hasn’t been floating or running for nearly 5 months. Special attention must be paid to everything, especially the bilge; this is where the water collects if something leaks. I lift the aft deck hatch and see a steady stream coming in from the starboard rudder stuffing box. Not a problem. It’s actually designed to leak a little. About 5 drips per minute is normal. With a special tool, I quickly make the adjustment. The next problem is totally unexpected. Because we pulled into this slip bow in, I had dropped the anchor onto the dock so people could walk by without impaling themselves. As I was hoisting it, the end of the roller boom simply broke off. I guess it’s better that it happened here instead of while trying to anchor.

Broken anchor boom.

Odd that it failed without any load, but I figure it’s original to the boat which is a 1975 model. Forty years of service is not bad. I call the GOOD AUTOMATIC WINDLASS COMPANY in New Jersey and order another.They tell me that the new booms are much stronger, will bolt up in the exact same holes, and I will have it in two days. Excellent!
The XO unties the dock lines and stows the fenders as I back out of the slip. Good bye Moby Dick Marina. See ya in the Fall.

Dredging operation in New Bedford Harbor.

Fishing fleet. Longboat rowers.

New dragger.

Old dragger.

Wicked old dragger.

I hail the New Bedford Bridge on channel 13.
“New Bedford Bridge. Motor vessel Ginger Lee. Over.”
“Bridge. Go ahead Ginger Lee. Over.”
“Good morning! What time will you open Sir? Over.”
“Ten minutes Cap. West side transit. Bridge out.”
“Good copy. Ginger Lee out.”

Waiting for the swing bridge to open.

Queuing up behind us.

This guy doesn’t have to wait. He can fit under.

The open bridge.

After we clear the swing bridge, I pull over and let a fast fishing boat go through the hurricane barrier first. Hey. He’s at work.

New Bedford Hurricane Barrier. Fishing vessel Sharon K. hard at work.

The rest of the 3 hour trip was uneventful. Just what ya want in a shakedown cruise. A beautiful start to the season. It was great seeing our home port from the water once again, even though he trees had no leaves on them, and there were no other boats in our mooring field, on any other mooring field for that matter. That will change. Soon the trees and foliage will become lush and green; the beaches will be filled with families and sun worshipers alike; shrieking children will frolic in the warm waters; kayakers, paddleboarders, clammers will be here as well; and there will be happy boaters everywhere, enjoying our Warehamian paradise.

All alone…for now.

Jeez! It’s 30 degrees outside. I’ll have to dig out the wool hat and gloves for my morning walk. Probably the scarf too. Silly me for thinking I’d be putting the boat in this weekend. Oh woe is me. Whatever shall I do? Whine about the weather like a true New Englander. That’s what!
Screw it. I’m going to the marina anyway. I’ve got to touch up Ginger Lee’s hull. Thankfully she doesn’t need a full bottom paint job this year, (the paint is almost 200 bucks a gallon), but there are a few bare spots. If I get really excited, I may cut the shrink-wrap off her. Can it snow in late April? Will I be jinxing it? Like when you take down the storm windows and put up the screens ‘cuz it’s so warm, then the weather turns cold. Or when you buy a new generator and the power never goes out. This is the reason I haven’t put the snow shovels away yet.
So on a sunny and chilly morning, I drove to the marina in Fairhaven with a can of Trilux 33, a paint brush, and a bag of sacrificial zinc anodes. I figure if I can spiff up the barnacle ridden running gear I would be very pleased with myself.

Before.

After.

After touching up the hull, changing the oil on both engines, and cutting away the shrink-wrap, I proclaimed Ginger Lee ready to be commissioned for the 2015 season. If only the weather would cooperate.

The XO defeats the shrink-wrap.

A few days later, on a nice weekday afternoon, I was at the marina happily messin’ about the boat. From inside the cabin I could hear the familiar sound of the boat launching tractor backing out of the building. “Wow! It’s high tide. I bet they’re launching boats, maybe I should ask when they can put me in, ” I thought.
I approached co-owner Arion.
“Hey hey Rick! How’s it goin’ buddy?” he gushed, holding out his big calloused hand. I shook it firmly, ignoring the diesel dirt, my hands being equally grubby.
“Arion! Good to see you. Sorry about the marina,” I said sweeping my gaze out towards the floating slips which were damaged by the icy winter. He seemed to brush it off.
“We got a handle on it,” is all he said about the subject.
“So when can you put me in?” I asked, fully expecting to wait my turn; there was only one other boat floating.
“How ’bout right now?” he asked. “Too soon?” he added.
“Nope. I’m all set. Just waiting for you guys,” I answered with a huge smile.

John and Arion splashing Ginger Lee.

And that was that. John and Arion went about the business of launching Ginger Lee. I put her in a slip where she will wait for the XO and I cruise her home to Wareham. Maybe April is not such a cruel month after all.

Ginger Lee waits to go home.

It’s been a long hard winter here on the South Coast of Massachusetts, and even though it’s Spring, big fluffy snowflakes are falling as I write this. It’s so deflating! I have much to do to get Ginger Lee ready for the 2015 boating season. But mostly, I just want to get outside and do something. Cabin fever has infected me.
I have a few projects planned. First and foremost is the solar refrigeration project. I’m excited about this one. The idea is to have full-time refrigeration on the boat without being connected to shorepower, without running the main engines, and without using our generator.
“How do you do this Captain Rick?” you ask. “Witchcraft? Voodoo?”
“Why no dear reader. No sorcery is involved at all. In fact, anyone can do this. All you need is the right equipment.” In my case, about 1,500 dollars worth.

New, energy-efficient fridge to replace the 40-year-old original

I’m wicked psyched. Do you know how much ice we have to lug onboard for a typical weekend trip? We were constantly looking for the stuff, because as any boater knows, there is no boating without ice.

Forty pounds of ice.

When your boat lives on a mooring, you can’t just “plug-in”. You have to make your own electricity and store it in large batteries. Power management is critical; you’re screwed if you drain your batteries and can’t start the engines. Solar panels connected to a dedicated battery bank solves that problem nicely, and with no moving parts.

Solar panels.

Battery bank, pure sine wave inverter, charge controller

The head needs more work as well. Last year I replaced the old toilet with a brand new Raritan PHII. A real beaut! Standard of the industry and known for its reliability. This year I’ll replace the faucet and shower head.

Raritan PHII.

New head fixtures.

Check out these props and rudders! Barnacles just adore the warm Cape Cod waters. I haven’t found a good way to keep ’em off the running gear, but I keep trying. Last year it was a liberal coating of STP oil treatment. Obviously with no success. This year who knows. I heard pure lanolin works. Maybe I’ll give that a shot.

STP doesn’t work.

Jeez I love looking at boats. It doesn’t matter if I’m cruising the waterways, at anchor, moored, or just driving down the street in my car. Wherever I am, I notice boats. Their size, their shape, their lines, their dinghy’s, the name of the boat, the name of the dinghy, their boat dogs, their burgee. How about the people on these boats? What are they wearing? Clean, pressed, yacht-y Thurston Howell type clothes? Rumpled cut offs and tee shirts? Muscle shirts and bikinis? I always have my binoculars handy.

Seen off Bassetts Island.

Older boats with character and classic lines usually catch my attention, but not always. Most of the time I don’t know why I like a particular vessel. It’s like music or art. Ya just like whatcha like. Right?

Seen in Sippican Harbor.

I don’t care for the newer style boats with swoopie lines that look like you could slide right off the deck. I wouldn’t want the bow of my boat to point downward towards the water. A big wave could plow you right under! My wife has dubbed these Sneaker Boats because they remind her of footwear. Have you ever tried to buy a plain pair of sneakers? Can’t find ’em. They’re all weird like they were designed for space aliens.

Sneaker boat.

Sneaker.

Seen in Vineyard Haven.

Annabelle Barnes. Great Hill Point, Marion.

Seen in Onset Bay.

Nice Lyman

Unlike cars, boats aren’t so restricted by size, which makes the variety virtually endless.
Whether they’re tiny or massive, power or sail, diesel or gas, working or pleasure, ugly or beautiful, there is nothing more wondrous than watching the comings and goings of boats.

Every once in a while, the old Honda outboard on our dinghy gets temperamental: shaking, puking gas, refusing to idle, and running rough. The remedy is a twenty-minute procedure. The only tools needed are a ten millimeter socket and a screwdriver.

10 mm socket.

Remove two 10mm bolts and the carb is in hand.

Remove four screws to expose the float assembly.

Brown crud collects everywhere inside the carburetor. I’m not sure where it all the comes from, but I suspect it has something to do with the ethanol they add to the gasoline. Oh yeah. It’s a government conspiracy.

You can see the brown crud on the float and the side of the bowl.

Once I clean everything up, it runs darn good for a couple of weeks.

No tools are needed to remove the float and the needle valve. I clean everything with cotton swabs and carb cleaner.

All the so-called ethanol solutions I tried didn’t work. I added a screw-on type water separating filter. No joy. I even switched from a 6 gallon tank to a 3 gallon one, figuring the fuel will be fresher if I fill up more often, but it made no difference at all. About every two weeks I’ve got to clean the carburetor. Marvel Mystery Oil added to the fuel extended the interval a few more days.
I suppose it’s a small price to pay for a motor that usually runs great. Besides, it gives me something to do while messing about the boat, otherwise I’d just sit around on my arse all day drinking beer, but as any boat owner knows, there’s always something to do, so I’m a busy beer drinker.
I really like this little Honda. It’s a four cycle (no mixing oil in the gas), has electric start, and pushes our dinghy along at nearly twenty MPH, which is pretty fast on the water. We go zipping around in it all the time.
In general, outboard motors are low maintenance; it’s part of their appeal. At the end of the season I simply flush it, fog it, pick it up, and put it the basement.

Hibernating in the basement.

Five years ago, I think I paid 700 bucks for it. Probably overpaid; it’s older than dirt. But what the heck, it was really hard to find a small motor with electric start. I love electric start. No more pulling your arm out of whack! Just push a button and presto, it’s running. Of course it needs a car battery to make it work, but the extra weight is negligible, and I hooked up an electric bilge pump to it. No more bailing out after it rains!
I bought the dinghy brand spankin’ new, a birthday present from my wife. It’s a Tracker Guide Lite. I peeled off all the fancy graphics it so it wouldn’t look so attractive; there’s nothing worse than a cute dinghy. I also added a wooden center seat because it was almost impossible to row from either of the two seats it came with. One was too far forward and the other was too far aft.

Since we favor moorings and anchorages, we rarely cruise without Salty. If we do take a slip, we always pull bow in so we can tie him off the back of the boat, where he, along with his old Honda outboard, wait patiently for us to employ them.

Salty hangs off the back.