An everyday tale of determination, blood, beautiful theories, agonizing reality, comic moments, elation and cursing. It about a simple notion that evolves into “what was I thinking”. If you’ve owned a boat you’ve already guessed where this is leading.

It began simply enough. Just felt like buying something. If I’d been at, say, Starbucks, a fancy coffee would have satisfied the urge and there would be no saga. But, no, it was my luck to be at West Marine. Worse yet, a sale was on, so I just had to get something. Trouble was, QT was not in need of repairs – yes I was deluding myself, but a fella can dream.

A stereo caught my techie eye. The side panel was a complete alphabet soup of standard this and that, so it must be good. I never knew QT needed a stereo. It had been years since I’d last turned on the existing unit; rather listen to the sea, the crew, and QT.

So an hour later a shinny new stereo in a appealing box was stowed aboard. Just a bit of prelim planning and Bill and I would get this upgrade done in no time.

The sea called, so we sailed then we maintained then sailed again. That appealing box got moved fore and aft and back and wasn’t looking so fine. It had gathered salt for over a year until accumulated guilt asserted itself.

So discussion ensued. Bill and I work under the illusion that a thorough plan will somehow reduce effort. We’re  still waiting for dividends on that account. The holy grail is ZERO trips to West Marine. However, I pretty sure such an event can only occur when the moon turns to cheese. A guy can dream.

The survey went like this: stereo there, replace wire here and there, re-purpose the defunct Loran’s power. Just a few strands of wire to run, a few holes to drill and voila. Ought to be easy, a few hours. When will I learn that merely thinking “easy” starts some gremlin laughing.

First task, run new wire to the existing stern speakers. Thus ensued hand-to-wire combat. I’m not sure we won. There was torn clothes, there was  blood, and a scene or two taken from Laurel and Hardy. We followed the old wire along the port side. Unlike houses, boat wiring must be secured every 12 to 18 inches in locations just out of reach. We, well mostly Bill, squirmed this way, twisted that way, and finally fell into the port locker with only his feet sticking out. “Hand me the dikes” is all he said.

I pull out the old wire; which had a lot in common with the scarfs that magicians pull out, multicolored and tied every few feet. Bill ran the fancy new marine grade tinned copper wire from stern into the cabin following ABYC rules. Done.

Thus ended day 1, 12 feet from whence we started and 6 hours later. We both silently think the hard part is over. That thought must of pissed off another gremlin.

Day 2, a week later. New day, new enthusiasm.

First the stern speaker wire must cross the cabin. We run it behind the cabinet, along the diesel fuel tank behind the nav station and up to…dang it needs a hole. So drill and run into something metal. Drill a bit further out, good. That went fast.

I stood back to admire the work. In the back of my head I swear i heard laughter as it dawned on me. Following the old wiring was not our best choice. Running on starboard would have been through the wide-open, easy access quarter berth; and have used less wire. I refrained from mentioning this to Bill – all the blood and sweat verses laying on a cushion. He’d have found a plank for me to walk.

Bill says lets bench check this sucker stereo. From experience we know if it’s bench checked we might not have to re-install the unit as many times.

So we pull out two 70 lb house batteries, serviced them, etc. Next we connect the red and black and nothing. Hmmm. Manual says yellow to a non-switched power source. So I touch yellow to red and, nothing. Unit appears to be DOA. Sailor words ensue for a few moments. Gremlin laughter. Which was louder is debatable.

Crew council decides to continue the day’s plan and re-purpose the Loran’s power source. This will save the effort of installing a new switched and fused line to the panel. Get out the Harbor Freight $3.99 voltmeter and do a voltage check. 2 volts not so good. Fuse OK. Conductivity check, not so good.

Ah, a bad connection, just need to follow that grey cable. 3 feet later it breaks out and splices to a red wire and  black wire. 3 feet more and it is spliced to another red wire and the black a foot later. Bill, says I, the red splice is unnaturally green. On touching it falls apart. Obviously not tinned copper marine grade and a substandard splice. Landlubbers use wire nuts or solder – Neptune devours them. Best is a mechanical splice protected from water molecules with adhesive shrink wrap.

Now this splice is along the fuel tank just under the quarter berth. Above is the cockpit sole. Within easy reach. So tell me, how many times, can two grown men forget that the cockpit sole is harder than their heads? At least enough to see stars.

Anyway, the red is re-spliced, but still no joy. Just for grins decide to inspect the black splice. After unwrapping two feed of electrician’s tape it turns out not to have been spliced, just two wires taped together. Good joke on us. There be power! But Murphy was not done.

Now that we’ve power we called it a day. Just need to take unit to West Marine. They monkey with it, conclude it is not alive, but we need to come back the next day for the “man” to test it.

Sunday. the man tests it. Goes through the same procedure. Holds the red wire and black leads as before. And as before no joy. Adds in the yellow and fumbles around for a few seconds. Oh my, it works. Apparently it needed a few seconds to charge up. Be nice if the manual mentioned that. Everything back into the nicely packed box – oops almost forgot the control panel. He retrieves it whilst I buy some unrelated item. Box goes into trunk. Another day, a bit closer.

The next Saturday.  Bill starts early, well tries to, but the unit is in my car. So an hour later, the nicely packed box arrives on-board. Things are moving along when Bill asks for the control panel. The hunt begins. First the boat, then the car, then the path, then to West Marine. The back room, under the registers, and even in the sun glass case. Not freaking anywhere. WM declares we’re having a really hard go at this. Taking pity, they loan us another control panel, so we can continue this saga.

Bill wanting the first sounds to be from his iPod inspires me to declare the need for another bench test. Wired up and we listen to nada, nothing, not a whisper. Once the throbbing and din diminishes and a few deep breaths, we calmly start diagnosing. There’s no power. A fuse blew. 2 amp fuse blown. Wait isn’t it supposed to be 10 amps? Luck, please be a lady. Ah have one.

We have music.

We’ll finish up next weekend. And much to our surprise it actually happens. Of course, not without hitches. And the errant control panel, it surfaces a few weeks later.

As for re-wiring the boat, perhaps it can wait a few decades.