Winter Refit

Buying the boat was a bit like getting married and then being separated before the consummation. We’d spent years searching for her before becoming acquainted, making a commitment and spending a chunk of our savings on her. And the day after we met her for the first time, we abandoned her in Marseilles with a promise to return two months later. There was no honeymoon. There wasn’t even a wedding night.

She is an Ovni 435 and her name is Alter. We’d considered changing her name, but the two options that we wanted, Nomad or Nomade (French) were already taken, so we decided to keep her as Alter. Patrice, the previous owner had chosen the name because of its Latin roots, which mean “the other (of the two).” He meant it to invoke the idea of an alternate or different lifestyle, something that we, and many sailors, also hanker after.

We used the months before our return to make lists of exactly what it was that we wanted in the way of repairs and renovations. Theoretically there wasn’t anything to do. She had recently returned from a twelve-year circumnavigation, Patrice had spent months sprucing her up for the sale, touching up the paint, cleaning, and doing many of the little jobs that are often overlooked at sea.

But there is always something to do on a boat. She was twelve years old and, with age comes wrinkles. All the taps and water fittings had succumbed to verdigris and needed replacing.  The anti-fouling had to be redone, anodes needed changing, the countertop around the sink was damaged; we wanted to fit fans, a gas alarm, an isolation transformer, replace the stern gland and we had our eyes set on a feathering propeller, to give us an extra knot underway and help with maneuvering in close quarters. The list grew longer by the hour.

Lunch break.

The stove was original, and still worked, but we coveted another. In our endless trolling of sailing magazine articles and drooling over the latest equipment, we’d read countless reviews. Yachting Monthly had done a comparison of some of the popular marine stoves and one stood head-and-shoulders above the rest. They could all boil a kettle, or heat up a pressure cooker, but few had acceptable ovens. All but one were awful at making toast, either burning the edges while leaving the middle unscathed or not managing to burn anything at all. We’d set our sights, and a chunk of our budget, on the GN Espace Levante (a British product, despite the name). In the test it was the only one that produced perfect toast, but also demonstrated its consistent heating by baking a batch of shortbread. It was twice the price of any of the others, but we thought it a price worth paying. It joined the growing list.

When December arrived, instead of packing the skiing gear and heading for St. Anton, we filled our suitcases with working clothes and our sailing gear that had been in storage since the sale of Amajuba, our previous boat, and headed for Marseilles. 

We’d chosen an airbnb in the town of L’Estaque for our base. It was only about two kilometers from Port Corbières, where Alter had been waiting patiently for our return. 

Before we could start work, we had to go shopping for tools and other essentials for the boat. The list seemed infinite. Although Patrice had left us his full spares inventory, there was still a lot we needed, and wanted to make the boat our own. We began our quest at the massive Leroy Merlin up the road, where we started to amass a collection of tools. We also needed taps, shower fittings, hoses, clamps, stainless steel screw, nuts and bolts, straps, glue, paint brushes, overalls, gloves, masks and a plethora of other items.

Our first task was to complete an inventory of everything on board The lazarette lockers yielded an Aladdin’s cave of treasures. They are so voluminous that it took three months to discover a third gas bottle at the bottom of a locker. And once the inventory was done, we measured everything to make sure that the new taps would fit, the pots and pans we wanted were not too big for the cupboards and other details like the exact size of the work surface to ensure that the chopping board would fit.

Nicky had hunted for bicycles online and found exactly what we needed. We both enjoy mountain biking but there was not enough room for full-size mountain bikes on Alter. Most sailors who have bikes settle for the foldable ones with small wheels. Although they are adequate for getting to the shops, they are not suitable for long rides off-road. So, Nicky found a folding mountain bike, made by Montague, with 26-inch wheels that was designed for paratroopers. We located a dealer in France who had two of the correct size in stock. They were the first of our orders to arrive.

The new bicycle!

They were relatively expensive, and we were concerned that they might not be all that we hoped for, or that they might not fit in our equipment room, but they turned out to be perfect. They gave us mobility around the boatyard, particularly for trips to the nearest loo, which was about a kilometer away.

We tackled one of the most challenging tasks first. The soundproofing in the engine compartment was looking tatty. Its black covering was peeling off making a mess of the engine. We had ordered a lead-lined commercially spec’d material to replace it. When soundproofing is fitted to a boat, it is done before the engine is installed and there is consequently room to do the job. Removing the engine was not an option, so we were left with a crowded space that had very little clearance between the engine and the sides. Behind the engine, access was through a small hatch in the aft cabins. It was a job for a non-claustrophobic contortionist.

We pulled out all the old soundproofing and then set about ticking off all the other tasks while we waited for the new material to arrive. I had decided, perhaps a little optimistically, that we would be able to do all the work ourselves, but as some of the more challenging jobs approached, I began to have my doubts.

Wiring the isolation transformer.

The first task that exceeded our confidence was the isolation transformer. For a start, it was twice as big and four times heavier than I imagined. I designed and made the mount, which is probably so over-engineered that it will be there long after the boat has ceased to exist. But when it came to the wiring, I chickened out. I realised that the consequences of making a mistake could be catastrophic.

The washing machine proved tricky too. I imagined botching the mounts only to have the entire thing ripping itself off the bulkhead in a heavy sea. I put my tail firmly between my legs again and we arranged to have it done by the local boatyard. It didn’t go as smoothly as we hoped. 

Our new skew washing machine waiting for its new façade.

The mounting was very strong, but the machine was not straight. Nicky has an eye for detail, but even my forgiving eye could see the slant. And then when the cupboard door went back on, the opening was too small to open the washing machine door. Unfortunately, we were not there when they rectified that problem. Let’s just say that when Nicky and I saw their solution for the first time, we were horrified.

So, the cupboard had to be removed and we found a carpenter to fit a new façade. 

While this was going on, it was winter in Marseilles. Most of the boatyard was closed and we lived our little world, layered against the biting wind. Our hands split from the cold and stung from the turpentine and spirits that found its way into the cracks. Our backs ached from wedging ourselves into lockers to fit anti-slip mats, from lying flat on the cabin sole to clean out the water tanks and from wedging ourselves upside down into cupboards to fit conduits or to reach water fittings.

We worked ten hours a day every day, returning to our little apartment shattered and fulfilled. Each day meant a little more done and a little less to do. By the end of January, the bulk of the work had been done, but the list still stretched to the horizon.

We went back on contract for two months to help pay the bills, and returned to the boat at the beginning of April. We intended to launch in the middle of the month. The stove and propeller had yet to be delivered and there was a mountain of work still to do. Nothing went smoothly. The propeller was not going to arrive before our launch, so we drove to Fréjus to collect it. DHL managed to get the stove as far as their depot near the airport, but all their promises to deliver to the boatyard were false and we had to collect that too. And a week before we were due to launch, we found that the radar wasn’t working.

Our online shopping was waiting for us when we returned to France.

It transpired that it had been hit by lightning at some stage and the PC board had to be replaced. All of this was made more complicated by the fact that Nicky’s and my French, is normally limited to ordering meals and exchanging pleasantries. Our learning curve soared when we began discussing the intricacies of radar, installations of AC systems and debating the problems of running a business under the weight of the French tax system with people whose English was no better than our French.

The launch date slipped while we waited for parts for the radar and sought help to get the propeller installed. Our efforts had been thwarted when the old one refused to budge. (We subsequently added our own blowtorch to remove reticent screws.)

Trying to fix the radar.

On the day before the original launch date, we went shopping, because the rental car was due back. As with many other things, it was a last-minute adventure. We were still filling our trollies when the store security began herding us to the exit. Nicky piloted two overladen trollies while I ran back and forth, scooping stuff off the shelves, avoiding the security guards, trying to get the last few things on the list. 

The following morning we returned the rental car and moved out of our apartment and into the boat. It was almost a relief because it meant that there would be no more quick trips to Leroy Merlin or lightning expeditions to Ikea.

Living in a boat on the hard stand is a little like living in the second story of a caravan. We couldn’t use the water system, nowhere for it to drain to, or the toilet. Dish washing was done under a nearby tap and the toilet and showers were still a bike ride away, making it just a little inconvenient when the call came in the middle of the night: head torch, ladder, unlock the bike, pedal, loo, pedal, lock, ladder and back to bed.

Nicky painting on the antifouling.

Getting to work was easier though. After we had cleaned the hull with a borrowed pressure washer, Nicky got the short straw and started painting the first of four coats of black anti-foul while I changed all the anodes and epoxied the rudder.

We set a new launch date for the 30th April and, despite it being two weeks later than planned, the deadline came at us like a runaway freight train. The isolation transformer was hooked up, the propeller and stern gland fitted and the radar repaired all within days of launch.

The new four-blade Maxprop feathering propeller.

And then, with one day to go, everything was done. We arranged to have the boat lifted into the slings the following night so that we could paint the last patches of anti foul where the pads that had held the boat in place had covered the hull.

We spent the time in a bit of a daze, tidying, securing, and not daring to believe that we would soon be in the water and on our way. But we were two weeks behind schedule and that meant that our leisurely cruise down the coast towards Antibes was merely a dream. We had to cross to Corsica as soon as possible in order to get to Marina Balistrate in Sicily. Our flight to Wales for our nephew’s christening was only three weeks away.

11 thoughts on “Winter Refit”

  1. Looks amazing. Where have you been during lock down? I hope to be sailing next week as we are now able to stay on our boats overnight. Stay well.

    1. Hi Mike. I have been in the DRC on contract and Nicky is in Wales with her sister. Trying to get to Greece to the boat, but it doesn’t look promising. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get to London in about a week and then we’ll see…
      What boat do you have and where?

  2. Absolutely a dream guys. Well done. I look forward to the next installment

    1. Thanks Mike. Seeing as though we can’t sail this year, I’ve decided to write about it instead.

  3. So very very impressive. Well done and congratulations! Wish you many happy and blissful years and sunsets on the open water!

    1. Thanks very much De Wet. All a bit dry at the moment, but we’ll be back once this is all over. Hope you are well.

    1. Thanks Stefan! Trying to get them out a bit more regularly now to catch up. Should have the next episode ready by Thursday…

  4. Hi Nicky & Brady
    Stumbled across your blog when looking for reviews or comments on the GN Espace, as we’re in the same position of wanting to buy one, but wondering whether they’re worth it! Now it’s been a few months, how have you found it? Did it meet your expectations?
    Fair winds!

    1. We are more than happy with it! It’s met all our expectations and is perfect for making toast and we often bake our own bread with consistent results. Do check the space available carefully if you don’t have an Ovni. It fits snugly into the standard space in a 435, but is bigger than the original.
      You won’t regret getting one; we wouldn’t have anything else.

      1. Thanks for the reply and the comments that you’re pleased with it – that’s great to hear, and now we just confirmed our order 🙂

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