On a rather beautiful sunny Friday morning, Birchwood and I headed out on a local river in a small aluminium dory. The plan was simple, motor down river a couple of miles, find the campsite, put a brew on, clear the tree that came down in the storms, and prep the site for a future camping trip. On this boat we had a new electric outboard motor, two 12V Lead Acid batteries, a 4.5HP petrol outboard, and of course, if everything failed we had the oars.
Things started out well, if slightly chilly. We motored down the river watching the bird life and spotting all the bits of flood and storm damage. The river was lined on both sides with numerous overhanging willow trees that made things just that little bit more interesting when driving the boat:
"Duck!"
"No. tree"
We switched drivers half way down and I had a go, it felt good to be back at the Helm of a boat, I haven't driven an outboard in years, the last one was a 30HP on the back of a 4.8M RIB, this was also quite a contrast from the Rigid raider I learned to drive powerboats in... But with the quiet hum of the electric motor, it was very relaxing in the sunshine.
We reached the destination, I spun the boat round and landed it at the bank perfectly. All was well.
Camp was made, tea was brewed, I played with my poncho and hiking poles, practicing how to pitch it without the use of trees:
"What is the name for this knot?"
"A Mess?"
Between us we took a selection of saws to the willow that was straddling the campsite, and reduced it to two piles, a "Burn" and a "carve" pile.
We decided to have a pootle further down stream to have a look around. Which was fine upto the point when the motor went:
"Beep!"
Which it turns out is the sound it makes when the battery is flat. I assemble the oars, Birchwood swaps the outboards over, and I content myself with rowing about.
"The last boat I rowed was a Viking longship!"
Then as the need for more tea became ever greater, I turned her round, started the petrol up, and headed back to camp.
More tree chopping, more tea drinking. I pulled out my big telephoto lens to take some pictures of the birds, which of course meant everything with wings for half a mile in each direction, disappeared...
Eventually we repacked the boat, and readied to go home.
Birchwood pulled the starter cord.
Nothing.
Repeat...
Disassemble engine, fettle spark plug... pull cord... nothing...
After 15 mins of fettling and and conscious that we had a small window of slack tide, I put the oars on the rollocks, cast us off, and started to row. It can't be that far...
And it wasn't far, just 3km to row. Occasionally we could persuade the electric outboard to suck a very small amount more power out the battery. You start to wonder if you're going to get back to the slipway to find that the sides of the battery are concave... But for the rest, oar in, pull, oar out, forward, repeat...
We made it home eventually. Somewhat later than expected, but largely intact. The day a qualified success. I realised I am fit enough to row 3km upstream... I also conclude that it's not something I want to have to do too often...
Now it's time to put the battery back on charge, and collapse in a heap with a beer.
Julia
Things started out well, if slightly chilly. We motored down the river watching the bird life and spotting all the bits of flood and storm damage. The river was lined on both sides with numerous overhanging willow trees that made things just that little bit more interesting when driving the boat:
"Duck!"
"No. tree"
We switched drivers half way down and I had a go, it felt good to be back at the Helm of a boat, I haven't driven an outboard in years, the last one was a 30HP on the back of a 4.8M RIB, this was also quite a contrast from the Rigid raider I learned to drive powerboats in... But with the quiet hum of the electric motor, it was very relaxing in the sunshine.
We reached the destination, I spun the boat round and landed it at the bank perfectly. All was well.
Camp was made, tea was brewed, I played with my poncho and hiking poles, practicing how to pitch it without the use of trees:
"What is the name for this knot?"
"A Mess?"
Between us we took a selection of saws to the willow that was straddling the campsite, and reduced it to two piles, a "Burn" and a "carve" pile.
We decided to have a pootle further down stream to have a look around. Which was fine upto the point when the motor went:
"Beep!"
Which it turns out is the sound it makes when the battery is flat. I assemble the oars, Birchwood swaps the outboards over, and I content myself with rowing about.
"The last boat I rowed was a Viking longship!"
Then as the need for more tea became ever greater, I turned her round, started the petrol up, and headed back to camp.
More tree chopping, more tea drinking. I pulled out my big telephoto lens to take some pictures of the birds, which of course meant everything with wings for half a mile in each direction, disappeared...
Eventually we repacked the boat, and readied to go home.
Birchwood pulled the starter cord.
Nothing.
Repeat...
Disassemble engine, fettle spark plug... pull cord... nothing...
After 15 mins of fettling and and conscious that we had a small window of slack tide, I put the oars on the rollocks, cast us off, and started to row. It can't be that far...
And it wasn't far, just 3km to row. Occasionally we could persuade the electric outboard to suck a very small amount more power out the battery. You start to wonder if you're going to get back to the slipway to find that the sides of the battery are concave... But for the rest, oar in, pull, oar out, forward, repeat...
We made it home eventually. Somewhat later than expected, but largely intact. The day a qualified success. I realised I am fit enough to row 3km upstream... I also conclude that it's not something I want to have to do too often...
Now it's time to put the battery back on charge, and collapse in a heap with a beer.
Julia
even if it sounds like an, 'it needs done, do it', kind of efforts.
