Duckling diary: The engineer’s engine
When they bought a ‘decrepit old barge’, Lowland Canals Association chairman Christine Cameron and her husband, retired engineer Neil Kitchener, didn’t realise quite how much they had taken on. Christine continues the story in this second extract from her
NOW we were at the offices of the charity Unity drawing up title deeds and exchanging cash. This was just the first instalment for what has become a costly, highmaintenance lady. Face lifts and tummy tucks are small change compared with the overall expenditure on The Duckling.
Like all new things there was a lot to learn and as novices, we consulted experienced fellow boaters. Advice is free but following it is not. The more we learnt, the less we realised we knew. We visited various yacht chandlers and tool stores searching for ideas and inspiration.
Wet days or dry days, The Duckling became a labour of love and on many occasions an object of frustration and stress. Blood, sweat, tears and pounds were regular inputs.
Inspection time
We were now the proud owners of The Duckling, an old Nolly narrowboat with a length of 57ft. Around her waistline was a dirty, originally white, plaited rope with two tatty fenders. Gingerly we entered the hatch and descended the stairs to the main body of the boat. The first thing that assaulted our senses was a fusty smell which appeared to emulate from the mushrooms growing on the floor just below one of the windows.
Carefully crossing the cabin, the spongy floor gave way and we could see water below the boards. I do like water but not under my feet on a boat. Under the windows, the walls were stained with mouldy watermarks. On closer inspection these were caused by gaps around the windows which let in the rain. Inside running water like this was not what we had envisaged; warm showers after towpath walks were my idea of running water.
At the stern, the toilet pan was cracked and the badly corroded motor was immediately condemned as not fit for purpose. It was clear that spending a penny was going to cost a lot more than a penny. New toilets are not cheap and became another area for research. However, the room did boast two beautiful, stainedglass, porthole windows which one could only appreciate when using the loo.
Perhaps this was not the time to ask the engineer if they could be moved into the main body of the boat. Picking the right moment would not be easy.
The Duckling had been used as a craft classroom and there were small items lying around as testament to that but everything of value had been removed. There was a gaping hole in the beautiful galley worktop where the cooker used to be. There was a corner where a diesel stove had once warmed the cockles of boaters’ hearts. It too had disappeared and long-established mould was creeping merrily and unhindered down the walls and shelves.
“Knew I should have just got an old car to do up,” muttered the engineer as each observation was noted and the work sheet grew exponentially. In summary, we had a hulk, a degree of optimism and enough work to keep us busy for many years. A bank loan from the Government might be required. It was beginning to look like the labours of Hercules were a doddle compared with renovating The Duckling.
A preloved engine
To engineers with oil in their veins there is no sadder sight than an engine that cannot or will not work. Boats and barges have vastly different engine types but to the purist, there is only one engine for a Nolly barge. The Lister air-cooled engine has been a key feature in barges since horses went out of fashion.
The engine is the beating heart of any barge, so we made our way to the stern and lifted the deck boards for our first sight of the engine. In fear and trepidation, we lifted the boards carefully to investigate the engine compartment. Water, rust and floating oil greeted us.
We realised that there was no battery to power the bilge pump. A quick check of the engine and our worst fears were realised. On loosening the oil filler cap to check the oil, dirty water ran out. It is highly worrying to find water inside an air-cooled engine. We guessed that it was probably indicative of an engine which had been under water at some time, resulting in internal corrosion and probable seizure.
”Put it on the list and give it a high priority rating,” the engineer growled. At this point he was muttering about miracles and money. After consulting Davie, the fountain of knowledge in Auchinstarry, it was agreed that the engine would need to be removed for examination and hopefully repair.
All the ancillary bits and pieces were stripped off the engine to facilitate removal and one Sunday morning, to the amusement and interest of the residential boaters, The Duckling was pulled along to the jetty where the local farmer lifted the engine out with a jib on the front of his tractor. WD40 and oily water splashed all over the place. The engine was loaded on to a trailer and transported to the workshop in Falkirk.
Several weeks went by and we awaited the prognosis with bated breath. Eventually, the mechanic admitted defeat, the engine which had sailed the canal for years was condemned as totally seized and a replacement engine was needed. It was laid to rest at the back of the garage. “We might be able to cannibalise parts of it,” said the engineer as an explanation for hanging on to it.
A new Lister engine was not available but a chance visit to eBay discovered an engine for sale in England. It had originally been used to power a compressor in a factory but had spent a number of years gathering rust on a farm.
The rest is history. We borrowed a trailer and headed down the motorway to Stoke-on-Trent. The engine was carefully examined; it was like our old engine but was a slightly different model. “Should be able to work round that,” said the engineer, rising at last to the challenge. The farmer reckoned it had not been turned over for a few years, but it had worked when he bought it.
So, with a leap of faith and a discount on the farmer’s asking price, we purchased a pig in a poke. Cash changed hands and we came home with the preloved engine. It was taken to the workshop in Falkirk and after an expensive and time-consuming overhaul it was pronounced fit for service and transported to Auchinstarry.
For a second time the farmer’s tractor was enlisted. One fine Sunday morning tractor, trailer, hoists and cables were engaged and the difficult operation of placing the new, preloved engine into the space left by the old one commenced. The execution of the operation was undertaken with the delicacy and care of a heart transplant.
Once the engine was in place, the various ancillary bits and pieces, starter motor, alternator, inlet and exhaust manifolds and the gearbox were fitted. The old electrics, which looked like tangled spaghetti, were stripped out and replaced, along with a new battery and charger.
The fuel system was completely overhauled and at this point we were considering applying to the European bank for a loan.
Eventually, after many weeks of frustrating labour, the rebuild of the engine was finally complete and the moment of truth was at hand. The key was gingerly put in the ignition and turned. The engine spluttered several times and slowly growled into life. A few coughing sounds grew slowly into a happy chug-chug as she burst into life. She became a pulsating, musical engine ready to take to the high seas. We listened and had tears in our eyes.
Sting in the tale
It would be good to say that it was now plain sailing, but The Duckling had one last surprise for us. After three weeks, the starter motor gave up the ghost, bringing a deadly silence to the jubilation. Too much contact with water had badly corroded the innards and it shorted out. Back to the chandler, who was now on first name terms and on our Christmas card list, to purchase a new one.
The new motor worked perfectly, turning the engine faster than ever before, but it steadfastly refused to start and we noticed smoke coming out from the air intake. After asking around and trying all sorts of fixes suggested by experienced boaters, I consulted my friendly electrical engineer in Kirkintilloch.
“Are you sure the starter is turning the right way?” he said. “Marine diesel engines can be set up to spin either clockwise or anti-clockwise, it depends on the hand of the propeller.” As the reader will now have guessed, ours spins the wrong way. Fortunately, the supplier took the starter back and swapped it for the correct but more expensive version. At this point we were considering the World Bank to finance the ever-growing list of jobs.
Now the engine was working this was a big step for mankind. It did occur to us that it would have been prudent to have done a bit more research before buying a barge. Now the engine was purring like a kitten and we wanted to take her on her maiden voyage. Then it dawned on us that locks, gates and bridges would be new skills we would have to learn. The Duckling had opened a new world for us. We were weekend cowboys rather than home on the range variety.
Old age was creeping in with arthritic hips, failing eyesight, disappearing waistlines and sanity. Restoring The Duckling back to her former glory was a realistic goal. The engine is the heart of the barge and after all the trials and tribulations was now working efficiently and The Duckling was ready to rock and roll.
The story and expense continues. It is often said that the definition of boat is Bring Out Another Thousand. We concur.