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   In the midst of sorting out a fuel delivery problem that would leave us without an engine at the most inopportune time, we discovered that the current fuel filter setup aboard Ariel is unacceptable. As we were approaching the channel at Pentwater, MI, after a quick cruise north from Muskegon with 20 knot winds, we decided to start up the engine earlier than we normally would because we had a sneaking suspicion that the surging we experienced earlier in the day was indicative of something serious. Sure enough. She wouldn’t catch. She was cranking fine, but she didn’t seem to be getting fuel. I went below and took a look at the engine, cracking bleed points to check for fuel. It seemed as though we had fuel, but the 5-8 foot seas and the 20-25 knot wind made working below rather difficult. By this point we’d sailed past the channel, rounded up to a beam reach, and were sailing straight out from shore, the channel directly behind us. With the sun quickly setting, and no desire to sort things out on the water, we decided to tack onto a reciprocal course and head into the channel under sail alone. As we approached the channel, I scurried around the deck putting fenders in place—the channel is quite narrow, and it was clear that if we didn’t make it through the channel and into Pentwater Lake there wouldn’t be an opportunity to tack, much less turn around and head back out. We entered the channel at a blazing 7 knots, the wind over our starboard beam, Ariel heeled way over giving the people on the breakwater a show. Half way down the channel, the wind became incredibly fluky, eddying around a large dune to the south. Suddenly the wind seemed to be coming from 360 degrees. At one moment we were on a starboard tack heading straight down the channel; the next, the wind was coming over the port bow, forcing us toward the southern breakwater. At this point, realizing that the staysail was just blowing Ariel’s bow downwind—and closer to the seawall—my dad yelled to let the staysail sheet fly, allowing the main to drive Ariel forward so he could head her back up into the wind. Shifting yet again, the wind now blew us sideways toward the opposite breakwater. I positioned myself at the bow, ready to fend Ariel off of the corrugated steel barrier, as my dad uncleated the main and staysail halyards, letting the sails fall to the deck. By this time, quite a crowd had gathered along the pier to watch our progress. I glanced up into their faces as Ariel slid closer and closer to the pier. Once within reach, I leaned into the pier with all my strength, letting out a horrendous grunt, quickly glancing aft to see if my dad was doing the same at the stern—he was. Somehow, we were able to prevent 16,000 lbs. of boat from crashing into the seawall, saving Ariel from some nasty scrapes to her gelcoat and rub rail—none of the fenders was of use, both of them managing to settle into the valleys of the corrugated steel wall. A few from the crowd gathered along the wall offered to take docklines as they inquired about our predicament. “Yeah, you have to be really careful in here,” one of them, apparently a local, said knowingly. “The wind can be very unpredictable.” Before long, a motor boat powered alongside and asked if we needed a tow. I tossed the husband and wife duo a long line cleated to our bow, which the husband proceeded to wrap around a skimpy metal eye on his stern intended for the weight of a skier. I shook my head in disbelief, imagining the thing snapping off his boat and flying back at me as he throttled forward. “This thing weighs 8 tons,” I yelled. “You might want to...” He couldn’t hear me over the roar of his engine. He dropped the boat into gear and throttled ahead. The line drew tight, groaning a bit under the load. Walking aft to collect the stern line, I noticed that Ariel’s rear port-quarter was about to slam into the seawall. In a moment of enlightenment, I grabbed the wheel and steered counter-intuitively, throwing the rudder hard to port— swinging her stern to starboard and away from the wall. With centimeters to spare, Ariel’s rear slid by the wall, narrowly avoiding a nasty scrape. Things got exciting one last time as we prepared to anchor. Failing to recall Newtonian laws, the motorboat driver put his boat in neutral to ease the tension on the line so his wife could cast it off. Panic spread over his face as he realized that we were bearing down on him. Jamming his boat back into gear, his wife stumbled aft as the boat lurched forward, the line drawing tight again. A moment later he gave it another go, this time running aft and untying the line himself. Like the first attempt, we bore down on him. This time, however, he worked quickly with the line, made a lame attempt to toss it to me, and throttled forward just as Ariel’s bowsprit was about to pass over his transom. I waved goodbye, waited for Ariel to lose her momentum, and dropped the anchor (Chart of Pentwater Lake). When we finally tackled the fuel issue—a day later—we discovered that Ariel was suffering from a major buildup of crud in her diesel tank. After removing the Racor spin-on element, catching it and the spilled fuel in a ziploc baggy, I gave the bag a good shake and held it up against the sunlight coming in through the companionway. It was virtually opaque; I could just make out thousands of tiny black specks held in suspension. We were able to source a comparable replacement for our R24S (2 micron) filter from Snug Harbor Marina, an R24T (10 micron) filter, and returned to the boat. Rather than just replace the filter, bleed the engine, and be on our way, we decided that it was time to change the order of the filters to a more logical progression: Fram CP1110PL (˜10 microns), primary; Racor R24S (2 micron), secondary; engine-mounted Fram, tertiary. For some reason, the previous owner had the Racor as the primary filter, meaning that the most effective filtering took place first, leaving the other filters virtually clean. At 25.00 dollars a pop, we decided that the Racor, with its 2 micron filtering and built-in primer, ought to function as the secondary filter, saving money by filtering the major particles with the cheaper Fram element. This arrangement would have worked well enough had it not been for the 24 years of accumulated sludge and crud at the bottom of our tank. Every time we encountered any weather to speak of, the next time we ran the engine it wasn’t long before she’d start surging—revving up two hundred rpm or so, then returning to the appropriate rpm every few minutes. We quickly learned that there was only minimal engine running time left once she started to surge and made for harbor post haste. We discovered the severity of the crud build-up during one of our many filter changes when I noticed that, despite being lower than the tank, a disconnected fuel line was not seeping fuel as expected. Thinking it odd, I grabbed the line and blew through it. To my surprise, it required a bit of force before air actually bubbled into the tank with a burst. Relieving the pressure, fuel began flowing freely from the line—something was occluding the pick-up line. After investing over 100 dollars in filters, we finally spent several hours one evening while at anchor in Holland, MI, drawing out as much of the offending sludge as we could with our Oil Boy fluid extractor. Shining a flashlight through the Oil Boy’s clear plastic tube, we could see clumps of growth being siphoned from the tank. We continued fishing the end of the tube around the bottom of the tank as best as we could given the limited access through the fuel gauge access hole. Approximately 8 quarts later, we had run out of storage containers for the pumped fuel. Fortunately, however, it seemed as though we had gotten most of the goop out of the tank. We bled the engine—for about the 10th time in a week—fired her up, and let her idle for a while. She ran perfectly, without a hint of surging. Once back at our home port of St. Joseph, my dad decided to do a more thorough tank cleaning. Armed with a Baja filter, a 30 gallon trash can, and a drill powered impeller pump, he transferred all of the diesel out of the tank, through the Baja filter, and into the trash can. With the tank emptied, he attempted to scrub and rinse as much of the sludge out of the tank as possible—again, this was done through a 4 inch access hole designed for the fuel gauge assembly. He also disconnected the pick-up line and discovered that sludge had accumulated at the screen filter—a first line of defense against particles. After giving that a good cleaning, he reversed the earlier pumping process, pumping the fuel out of the trash can, through the Baja filter, and back into the tank. To date, we haven’t had more issues with fuel delivery. This experience, however, was the genesis of a new approach to fuel management and delivery. During Ariel’s winter layup, I will be draining the tank and doing another thorough cleaning to ensure a fresh start for next season. The most important part of our approach, however, is the addition of two Racor 500FG turbine filters in series, with our old Racor R24S plumbed on a manifold as backup so that we can switch to a fresh filter if the 500’s begin to show signs of restricted flow. This setup will drastically improve the engine’s reliability factor, but it is something called “fuel polishing” that will make our crud woes a thing of the past. Unlike tractor-trailers, trawlers, and other vessels that have a high fuel turnover rate, sailboats—especially here on Lake Michigan where tides and remote, inland slips are non-existent—often have fuel that is months old. Invariably, condensation forms inside the tank, dripping into the fuel, creating a wonderful environment for growth. It is this growth—unchecked for 24 years—that caused all of our woes. Without a higher turnover rate, there is little that can be done to prevent this problem. Even biocide will not solve the problem once it presents itself; once the creatures are dead, their carcasses will still clog filters. But how to get a higher turnover rate? Fuel polishing. By plumbing an electric fuel pump into the fuel system that circulates fuel through the filters and back into the tank, it is possible to keep old fuel clean and free from devastating blooms of crud. Completely turning over the fuel at least three times a week is the recommended practice. This is what we hope to accomplish this winter with our dual Racor 500 fuel filter installation, and a basic fuel polishing system. |
