The Genset from Hell

The genset: It looks so innocent just sitting there plotting its next suicidal move.

You've heard of a serial murderer? I have a serial genset, one that kills itself off piece-by-piece, day-by-day. A generator (or genset) is the lifeblood of a cruising boat (i.e. one that doesn't have other sources of electricity such as lots of solar panels or a wind generator). First, a little background. We are primarily a 24-volt boat, only the instruments and a few other devices are 12-volt. When we are motoring an alternator on the engine makes sufficient electricity to charge our 400 amp/24-volt house battery bank. A smaller alternator on the engine charges for our 12-volt starter battery. The 400 amp house bank has a convertor to charge the 12-volt house bank.

The problem begins when you are at anchor. Especially when you are at anchor for weeks on end such as we are in Salinas. We have an older refrigeration system driven by a humongous 24-volt electric motor. It sucks down 18 to 20 amps an hour and runs several hours a day. (It also has a sadistic side, it usually starts running just after we've shut off the main engine.) Add to this three computers, monitors, overhead lights, TV, stereo with a powered amp, microwave, pumps, fans and all sorts of other electrical devices that we probably don't need and it means we consume approximately 150 amps a 24-hour-day ( I haven't done the exact calculations but that's my guess). We do have two 135-watt solar panels that kick in about 40-50 amps (@24v) on a good sunny day. That leaves about 100 amps to come from somewhere, and the somewhere is the genset.

When we bought the boat the surveyor described the genset as "problematic." It was an Ample Power Ample Power Genie G24 unit produced by Ample Power in Seattle, and in its day was a great genset. It's powered by a small 4-hp Kubota EL300 (2900 kW) diesel engine. The good news is that while the main engine consumes a gallon/hour of diesel when running, the Kubota probably uses a cup of diesel in the same period. It's noisy, but it does the job producing between 40 - 80 amps per hour (the charge is controlled by a computerized Balmar MC-624-H regulator that varies the charging rate depending on how much charge that batteries need. If the batteries are low, it pours in around 80 amps and then ramps that down as the battery charges up. This type of phased charging is much easier on the batteries and promotes longer life.

When we bought the boat many key components of the electrical system had been removed from the boat, such as the batteries, inverter, etc. We replaced the main distribution lines, added a new Mastervolt charger/inverter, new Balmar smart regulators, and other electrical components. When we checked out the genset, we found that the alternator (we could never figure out the brand) had a bad stator and since we couldn't id the brand we couldn't get a replacement part. We bought (to the tune of $1000+) a new Balmar 9594-140-24-IG alternator that is rated at 140 amps, but was deregulated by the electrician to 75 amps. The logic was the larger alternator was more heavy duty with better bearings and would last longer in its de-rated state. And a 75-amp load is about all we think the 4-hp Kubota will power. So far, all is good.

Oh, I forgot about this little incident. When we had the boat up on blocks at Elite Marine in St. Petersburg to have it's bottom painted (and we were in Seattle), it decided to rain. It rained biblical amounts. Apparently leaves had blocked the drains in the cockpit, which filled up like a big bathtub (the boat was on stands and it would have been difficult for anyone to realize this was happening). Since we had the removed the steering pedestal (for road clearance when the boat was trailered from Ft. Lauderdale to Tampa), there were essentially two 1-inch holes in the bottom of the cockpit. You can guess the rest. Water poured into the engine compartment and bottom of the boat. Someone at the yard finally noticed it and got the rugs dried out, etc. But when we got back the genset wasn't working. We disassembled the waterproof (the key word here is "waterproof") electrical control box and it was full of water to the to top. Brown algae-looking junk coated the electrical connections. We had to have our diesel mechanic get a new switch, rewire the panel, and clean out everything else. At least it was fresh water and not salt water. Water had also gotten on the new Balmar alternator so we hoped that wasn't ruined (before we ever used it).

As we began cruising we found some chinks in the system. At first we had no idea of the electrical consumption of the boat. After leaving the boat for three days in Key West (assuming the solar would run at least the refrigerator) we came back to a boat with totally dead batteries (not good). No problem, we thought, we have a genset so we'll just recharge them. Didn't work. No problem, we have an engine so we'll just recharge them. No luck. We finally dug our Honda 2000 Eu gas-powered genset out of the bottom of the storage area and ran it seemingly forever (at 14 amps/hr) to charge the batteries. This scenario repeated itself several times during our first four months (we're slow learners).

Someone mentioned to me that reason the system wouldn't charge is because of some sort of computer-controlled circuit in the charger/inverter that is designed to protect the batteries when they are severely discharged. Since we were in The Bahamas and phone/Internet connections were sketchy at best, it took forever to contact the tech rep for Mastervolt, the maker of our charger. He quickly said that wasn't a feature of their product. Back to square one. Finally we contacted Balmar (just outside of Seattle, ironically) and they transferred me to their rep in Texas. I explained the problem to him and he said the Balmar regulators do have such a protection circuit. Eureka! In a deep Texas drawl (this guy was probably fixing cars under a shade tree when he was eight), the conversation went something like this:

"Son, do you have any wire (pronounced waa' re) on the boat?" "

     Yea, I've got some wire." (Spoken enthusiastically by someone who is desperate for help.)

"Have you got any spade connectors? "

     Yea, I've got some connectors."

"Now I want you to cut a small chunk of waa're and put spade connectors on each end."

     "I can do that."

He then went on to explain how to pull the wiring harness off the Balmar regulator and "jump" across two connectors in the harness, which essentially takes the regulator out of the circuit.

"Now son, listen real careful to this part."

     'Oh, I will."

"If you do this wrong you can blow up the boat."

     "Seriously, you've got my undivided attention."

He had me crank up the genset and I immediately saw about 140 amps pouring into my batteries. The danger was putting this much charge into dead batteries could, as he said, "blow the boat up." I watched carefully unit the voltmeter gauge read about 21 volts (this didn't take too long) and then turned off the genset and reattached the wiring harness. The regulator must "see" about 21 volts at the batteries before it will pass electricity for charging. Sure enough, all of a sudden I was seeing about 80 amps going into the batteries, which would slowly ramp down as the batteries came up to charge.

I wish I could explain all the anguish Meryl and I went through previously unpacking the entire boat to get the Honda genset out of its cavern and charging the batteries while the genset and engine just sat by idly (and probably laughing in their sadistic, mechanical way). One boat, Tiger Sea, even lent us their Honda just to spare us the unpacking routine while at Norman's Cay.

Now back to the story (I know, it's a long, complicated story--bail out now if you don't have the constitution for this). We have never owned a boat with a genset. We don't know how gensets are supposed to work. We didn't have the brains to read the manual. The genset was always difficult to start, so we would just crank away until it finally started (experienced mechanics can see where this story is headed). When it eventually started, it ran great. This went on for most of the summer until we were having problems with the genset not charging the batteries.

In Jacksonville a "genset expert" looked over the engine, changed the oil, and pronounced it good. In Norfolk an electrician replaced the electrical relays, which seemed to help for a while. In Charleston a mechanic rewired the harness of the field wire to the alternator. Seemed to help. But no one, not one mechanic, in response to "it's hard to start" mentioned using the pre-heat section of the ignition switch. Once we got that figured out it started right up. Well, duh.

The Genset from Hell, looking so innocent just sitting there.

Back in The Bahamas (now that we don't have access to US mechanics or parts) the genset reverted to its old behavior, and when we tested the glow plug we realized it wasn't heating up. (With all the mechanics I've watched on the boat at least I know how to troubleshoot some of this stuff now.) We ordered two glow plugs at $35@ and had them flown into Staniel Cay (don't ask how much that cost). Once again the engine started right up.

To continue the saga, at some point heading south, maybe around the Dominican Republic, the genset once again became hard to start. We checked everything we knew how to troubleshoot and decided to have a mechanic look at it in Puerto Rico, the first good place to get mechanical-type work done.

When we arrived in the small town of Salinas we tried to start the genset and nothing happened. We hadn't run it for a couple of weeks since we'd been motor sailing a lot. I checked the oil and a frothy milkshake-type goo started coming out the dip stick hole. (This is definitely not good).

This means water has gotten into the engine somehow. I changed the oil, what a mess. Meryl was not a happy camper. I put in new oil in and tried again. Nothing. I took out the glow plug and water poured out the hole (Really, really not good).
We now began the drill of asking everyone in Salinas if they know a good diesel mechanic. One name kept popping up and within a few days we had Steve, an affable Englishman from York, on the boat troubleshooting the engine. His approach is let's check out the easy stuff first before tearing the engine apart. As he was holding the exhaust hose, he noticed his hand was wet. He took off the hose and found it was slit in one location and basically falling apart even though it looked like a brand new hose. Off I went in my rental car to the only marine supply in the area to find a chunk of 1-½ inch exhaust hose.

We then took out the glow plug and water was still pouring out so we changed the oil once more. The glow plug tested OK. We had power to the starter, but she just wouldn't start. Checked fuel and suspected the injector might be bad. We drove the rental car (with no suspension) one hour west to the larger town of Ponce (on the exact week that "Hostus," essentially spring break where all the local college students get as drunk as humanly possible and drive very slowly around town -- causing gridlock -- hanging out the windows with music so loud you could hear it in the Dominican Republic). Since Steve didn't have any addresses for the places we were going, and the road names change mid block, you can image how our day went.

We finally found Rojas Injector Services and was very pleased with the service we got. A young mechanic named Joseph who spoke passable English tested the injector and said it needed to be rebuilt. I asked how many weeks that would take and he said "a couple of hours" and they had the parts in stock. Amazing. We did some more errands in Ponce then went back and got the injector. I wrapped the injector in a blue shop towel and placed it in a gallon plastic baggie. Excited, we went back to the boat later that day and scheduled Steve for the next morning.

Now the only problem here is that Steve loves dogs. Really loves dogs. So he takes care of about 25 rescue dogs at his ex-wife's house ("I'll let you keep them here on my two acres but you feed them...") every morning, so the earliest we could get started was around 10:30 a.m. (The sailors lament: one day, one project.) As Steve was finally getting set up, he asked me in that perfect British accent, "Walter, have you got the injector?" "Sure, I said, it's in the baggie wrapped in a blue shop towel. We turned that boat upside down and no injector. I start to put two and two together and ran a worse case scenario quickly thorough my head: the injector was there yesterday, but we had taken the garbage in that morning and included in that garbage was a plastic baggie full of oil-soiled blue shop towels.

As fear spread through me, I had Meryl get on the phone to the distributor in Florida to see if we could get a new injector overnighted to us, while I jumped in the dinghy and raced to shore. The garbage bin we'd dumped the garbage in was empty (they are very efficient about emptying the garbage at this marina). I ran to the back of the marina where there is a huge blue commercial dumpster. It's so high I can barely see in. After a period of ingenious engineering, I manage to drag a big potted palm over and stand on the edge of the planter (before it tipped over) to boost myself over the edge of the dumpster. Naturally, it was full. Not only was it full, but the last thing dumped in was all the raw food from the restaurant. Remember, it's about 90° in the shade here. To add insult to injury, the food mess was covered by millions of flies and yellow jackets.

But I was now "a man possessed." With just light shorts and a t-shirt on, I dive in and start moving garbage from one side to the other. I had only a vague recollection of what our garbage bag looked like and all the bags in the dumpster were white like our bag. After one of the most disgusting periods of my life, ignoring the stench, the 90° heat, the swarm of flies attacking me like fighter planes after King Kong, I was determined to find the bag.

After moving everything in the dumpster from right to left and not finding anything, I now reversed direction and moved everything back from left to right with increased diligence. Literally the last bag left looked familiar. I slowly began emptying it of familiar items, but no plastic baggy. The white bag had a kind of a fold in it and with desperation I torn into it, spying the plastic baggie with blue oily towels. The flies were now a non-event in my life. As I emptied each disgustingly oily towels I came to the last one, and low and behold it held the injector. People who have won the Irish Sweepstakes never felt the elation I felt at that moment.

Getting out of the dumpster was as tough as getting in and I nearly killed myself hitting the ground sideways, but I had my injector. I rushed back to the boat exceeding the harbor speed limit and showed everyone my treasure, but withheld the details of my ordeal. To explain the odorous smell, I did have to admit to Meryl about "spending some time inside a dumpster."

We got the injector installed and cranked the motor. I truly believed after the all the effort I exerted in the dumpster, God would just let the genset start. But alas, just the familiar grinding sound. Ugh. Next to come out was the injector pump. You know the drill, back in the rental car, drive to Ponce, fight the traffic and drunk students, have Rojas test, and they said it was OK. Joseph was nice enough to take me back in the bowels of the shop and show me how they test these things. Now I know what the spray pattern is supposed to look like on both the injector and the pump.

With the injector pump in my oily hands, Meryl (not a happy camper) and I drove back to Salinas with high hopes that we can get the genset started the next day. Our original plan had been to stay in Salinas a few days. Now our buddy boat Field Trip and other boats we had met had moved on. It's starting week two.

How a diesel engine could run with such corroded valve stems as these is a mystery.

Picked Steve (smelling of Kibble and Bits) up at the dinghy dock, motored back to the boat, genuflect in front of the genset and prayed. It still won't start. Steve gives me the look. We have to take the genset out and take it to a shop. After about two hours of moaning and groaning trying to get inaccessible bolts disconnected in the stifling hot and incredibly tight engine room, we manage to wrestle the 60 lb. genset out, up the companionway stairs, through the cockpit, over the combings, and using the outboard engine hoist, lower it to the dingy. Same routine once we get to the dock. Finally get in the back of the rental car (that we had intended to rent for only two days, it's now going on two weeks). And since it's late Friday, we have to drive around with the genset all weekend until we can take it to the dealer on Monday.

The silver lining in the storm clouds was that there was a Kubota dealer in St. Isabella, about 20 minutes west of Salinas on the highway. Got up early Monday morning so we'd arrive at Rico Tractor (Kubota makes a lot of tractors used in agriculture) precisely at 8:00 am. Luckily the manager, Ellis, spoke excellent English and assures me they can get it fixed. We then headed up to San Juan for some R&R. Ellis said he would call later when they had a chance to tear the engine apart and see what was wrong.

While touring around the incredible El Morro fort in San Juan we get the fateful call: "You genset is toast, but we can fix it." Turns out that salt water, for some period of time, had been entering the engine. This is because when you initially start the engine it is pumping water through the genset's cooling system and exiting that water into what's called a water muffler box, essentially just a big fiberglass box. When the engine starts, the hot exhaust gases push the water out of the water muffler, through an exhaust hose and out the side of the boat. If I would have originally read the manual it would have warned (IN BIG LETTERS) that when you crank the engine for a long time, the salt water slowly gets higher and higher in the muffler box (since there is no hot exhaust gas to force it out) and eventually makes its way up the exhaust riser and into the top of the engine through the valves. This is extremely bad and why people tell you "if a diesel doesn't start immediately, stop and find out why." I told Ellis to order whatever parts he needed from the States and proceed on rebuilding the engine. In our case, this meant a new head, head gasket, piston, rings, and valves.

We visited Ellis once the engine was torn apart and he showed me the old valves - how the engine ever ran is a mystery because the once robust valve stems were now rusted down to mere toothpicks. The valve seats on the head, which should be precision engineered, were just rusted globs of metal. It was very obvious why it was so hard to start - there was no compression.

The valve seats, where the valves nestle up against the inlet and exhaust ports, are also severely corroded.

The single cylinder and piston is also very corroded from the salt water.

A word about diesel engines and compression. A diesel engine is different from a gasoline engine. In a gas engine, a spark plug ignites the gas vapors, which cause an explosion to drive the piston down and turn the crankshaft around. Gas engines can tolerate a certain loss of compression in the piston chamber. A diesel, however, has no spark plug. It works by compressing a fine mist of diesel so highly that it explodes on its own. If there is any leak of compression through the valves or rings, there will be no explosion and the engine won't start. No way, Jose, as they say down here.
The good news was Ellis was competent and as a Kubota dealer he had quick access to parts from the States. He promised me a rebuilt engine in three or four days. That's a miracle when you are cruising. Unfortunately the engine wasn't ready until Friday around noon and since Steve was already scheduled to work on another boat that day, we're once again spent the weekend driving around with an engine in the trunk.

On Monday Steve came out we reversed our drill: engine out of car, walked down the length of the dinghy dock, into the dingy, out to the boat, carefully hoisted genset up as passing boat wakes rocked Flying Cloud, then carefully maneuvered it down the cockpit companionway, through the passage to the aft cabin, and into the engine room. After about an hour we had everything hooked up, and with the water off (we don't want to fill up the water muffler again), we bled the diesel fuel line and then cranked her up. After a few false starts she fired up like a champ. The only problem was dark exhaust smoke coming out of the exhaust flange and filling the cabin. Thinking this may have been oil on the engine from the repair, we let her run for about twenty minutes and it seemed to lessen.

As we were cleaning up the tools, I suggested we try to start her once more, just to be sure. Horror of horrors, it didn't start. We thought it might be the fuel pump so we checked the voltage and found a lose wire at the junction box. With that fixed we tried again. Cranked and cranked but nothing. Steve took off the fuel line and we had fuel (which meant the fuel pump was working). He cracked the line to the injector pump and we had fuel there. He then cracked the line to the injectors and no fuel. Steve thought it may be something in the governor mechanism that wasn't allowing the "ramp" in the injector pump to open once it had been closed to shut off the engine. That would mean taking the engine back out. Ugh, ugh, ugh.

After about twenty iterations of various flavors of tests, Steve said "You better call the guys at Rico Tractor and have them sort this out."

Jose checks out the injection pump on the newly rebuilt engine.

Rico said they could come out late Tuesday, as the mechanic was out today and was scheduled for Tuesday up in the mountains. Ellis and Jose, both big enough to be NFL players, showed up at the marina late Tuesday (thank you Ellis) and I took them out to the boat in the dinghy. Naturally it was windy with waves so everyone got wet. Ellis and Jose (who speaks no English) essentially did the same trouble shooting as Steve, but removed the injection pump and jerry rigged it to the fuel line and found no fuel coming out. Ellis got on the phone and called Central Parts in Florida and got a new injector pump shipped overnight (which essentially means two-day delivery).
On Thursday, with the new injection pump in hand, we dingied again out to the boat and installed the new pump. Jose had also taken the exhaust pipe, which is covered with a thick asbestos wrapping for heat protection, and had shimmed the mounting flange to get a better seal. Jose installed the injection pump and the new exhaust riser and, and as we collectively held our breath (remember we've now got three fairly good sized guys squeezed into the engine room space in 98° heat) Ellis cranked the engine. Amazingly it started right up. We let it run for about 10 minutes, then shut if off and started it again. Everything was running perfect, except . . . Jose had noticed some wetness on the metal exhaust pipe (there was no exhaust leak, however) and we worried there may be a crack in the pipe. They tightened all the hose clamps and checked the fitting, then started the engine once again and this time water was gushing out! (I now die a thousand deaths.) As Jose unwrapped the asbestos and the exhaust pipe literally fell apart in two pieces; it had been held together mostly by the wrap.

With collective looks of disbelief we talked and Jose said he knew a guy at a body shop that could weld stainless and hopefully we could have it by Friday. Turns out they needed to replace a small chunk of the pipe and the only place they could get that size was in San Juan. It was ready late Friday, but there was no one available to pick it up (we had turned in our rental car). The exhaust guy said he'd be there on Sunday, but wasn't when Elis stopped by. Ellis was busy all Monday morning, but finally got a hold of the guy late Monday and was nice enough to have one of the Rice Tractor guys drop it off at the marina on the way home. I carried it down to the boat like it was "The Holy Grail." Back at the boat, which as been a disaster area for three weeks with doors off the engine compartment, tools everywhere, etc., I very carefully installed the repaired exhaust header with fresh high temperature sealant around the flange. One lock nut washer was missing, and of the 75 lock nuts I had on the boat not one was a 5/16". I made do with a larger size and said a little prayer as I started it up. Cranked over on the first turn and ran like a champ with no leaks. We're now going to make it SOP on the boat to run the genset a little each day, whether the batteries need it or not.

You know when you sign up for this lifestyle that there are going to be days like this (who said it would be three weeks, however) and we're learning to accept that fact and go with the flow. Much like the book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," you find you need a much different mental attitude if you are going to survive out hear without going nuts. Every boat crew we've talked with has similar stories, the only difference is that the wealthy boats can fly in mechanics and parts and just feel the pinch of pain when they write out the check. The rest of us learn the importance of preventative maintenance and learning as much about everything mechanical on the boat as possible. A boat exists in one of the harshest environments in life: constant motion, high humidity, corrosive salt, dampness, and a plethora of mechanical and electrical devices in confined spaces. The bottom line, however, is that everything on a boat has to work. Your life may depend on it someday.

P.S. My heart still skips a beat everything I go to start the genset, but so far so good.