INVERTED & SOOTY

Yes. I was. Saving our piece of history comes with complicated positions in small spaces.

Janice Anne Wheeler Apr 27

I went cross-country to Arizona State University and joined an Air Force that promised to train me as a pilot and was not remotely suited to my independent spirit. I forfeited the scholarship, returned east and did a 180, career-wise, cashing in as a bartender, working a winery, choosing a life of hospitality. At twenty-one I got into my Mazda RX-7 and drove to Montana, solo, for a Glacier National Park restaurant management job that I was flattered to have and unqualified to fill. I filled it anyway, a drink-slinger in charge of fifty-two peers serving 600 meals a day. I pay to swim with sharks, jumped out of a perfectly good airplane, rafted the Grand Canyon, flew half way round the world unaccompanied, untracked.

I am one of those people who doesn’t really fear the unknown. I’m not being boastful; that trait can be construed as highly impractical and dangerous as well as eccentric (discussed last week). I went places and took chances I didn’t consider or calculate. It’s ironic that the engine space of my wooden, floating home was a far more intimidating thing. More foreign, somehow, than any foreign land.

Too many interconnected moving parts.

Too much lubricant required.

Sailing seems simple and the concept certainly is, but the reality of our motorsailer and the components thereof is anything but. Five feet below the pilothouse lies a rock-solid 1980 Detroit Diesel 4-71 and an impressive 8k generator along with four 150-gallon fuel tanks, a watermaker, half a ton of batteries and the most astonishing array of hoses, pumps, filters, valves and wires I have ever seen anywhere. These type of cruising vessels are self-sufficient and complicated! Atop the fuel tanks are boxes, crates and bins of spare/replacement parts for the items listed above, gallons of oil, cleaners, corrosion blockers and tools; everywhere there are tools. An oil change takes five gallons. That’s a whole lotta lube.

Before…

Three feet below the engine room floor in the potentially claustrophobic space, (I don’t have that affliction, but if you did, there would be trouble) is a tray designed to catch any water ingress through the drive shaft system. It comes complete with a small pump and a really big pump, as it should. Water ingress, even when controlled, understood, and utilized for the good of all (usually cooling the exhaust system) is a nerve-wracking thing. There are indicator lights at the helm for when those pumps kick on, so we know if they run unusually long.

QUESTIONS YOU DON’T WANT TO HEAR Janice Anne Wheeler   ·   Apr 13 Read full story

“Do you want me to take that tray out so you can get underneath it?” Hmmm. The trick questions just keep coming during this project. I couldn’t quite imagine the next layer down. Little comic strip words in a bubble pop up around my head with alternative answers to this inquiry. They include, but are not limited to:

No. Not really.

I guess so?

Ummm. If that’s the only way.

Is that the only way?

How am I going to reach that, exactly?

I’m hanging off of what?!

I really don’t have anywhere to put my feet. That one I said out loud.

I was left to tackle my task. I like to do things well, but I don’t like to do all things; you know what I mean. The wet vac is awkward, top-heavy and short-corded, with a mind of its own. I gathered that along with myself and headed down the ladder. You volunteered for this one, the final cartoon bubble said, bursting in a fit of giggles. I thought it best not to respond to me and pondered where I had stashed those weirdly-lined and now-crucial long yellow dish gloves. I dug them up, saviors.

That first fine afternoon a thirty-pound board was delivered to span the cramped yet cavernous space. While cumbersome at first, it did make the upside-downness a little easier. No paid-for yoga class inversions were required during those two weeks; my blood flow was primo as I tackled different kinds of strength and balance without the grace, peace or intention.

I’m more comfortable in there now, and that crucial space is degreased, scraped, sanded, and protected with two coats of primer and two coats of a tough-as-nails enamel called Bilge Coat. Eleven floorboards were removed, and all have shiny white paint on every surface. The pants I wore deserved a ceremonial burning but there are rules against that here in the boatyard. I’m sure I’ll break them someday. ~J

As I write this we are en route to Hope Town, Bahamas to reunite with our friend (and Sophie the little dog) on S/V ANTARES who lost the man in their life. After five days of SPARRING WITH MOTHER NATURE, and by the time you read this, we should be moored snuggly in Vero Beach, Florida, ready for other volunteers to crew her north up the Intracoastal Waterway. RIP Will Heyer. We got your girls.

Thank you, as always, for being part of the SPARRING community. I relish your comments and deeply appreciate all the new folks that are aboard. My work is free to peruse, critique and consider. Think it’s shareable? Do it!

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I don’t have a ‘buy me a coffee’ button because I’d probably spend it on wine and I always try to be honest. 😉

Here’s a spring shot in lieu of sunrise…these Wisteria are stunning & inverted, the opposite of sooty.

THANK YOU AGAIN for supporting STEADFAST and her caretakers, mates! It’s not an easy task!

© 2025 Janice Anne Wheeler
Living aboard Sailing Yacht STEADFAST again soon!
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