Monthly Archives: May 2011

The Salty Life

The Salty Life

Maybe The Filthiest Engine Room Ever


By Capt. Ken Kreisler

I found this unattributed quote on the Internet: “I believe you should live each day as if it is your last, which is why I don’t have any clean laundry, because, come on, who wants to wash clothes on the last day of their life?” Indulge me here dear readers, as I flex some wordsmithing chops and try to explain how this fits in with the title of this installment of THE SALTY LIFE.

While musing one day, as I am often inclined to do, on how I got to travel on this life’s watery journey, and for whatever reason things like this happen, this particular time out I had a most peculiar thought; no, it was more like an image. Actually it was a complete sensory experience that while involving all of the senses had in fact isolated and excited the neural synapses of my olfactory and optical memories. Smell and sight shipmates; a little deep-gray-matter tap on the shoulder that asked, “Hey, remember this buddy?”

Now, allow me some leeway here in laying out the foundation for this essay. I promise you, I will try to make it an entertaining read which hopefully, will begin to materialize in your own consciousness and perhaps unfold your own similar memories as the words line themselves up and the images appear in the narrative. Peeling the proverbial onion as it were.

For those of you who have been following some of my past writings, you know I was born and raised on the inner city streets and in the environs of that most fabled of New York City boroughs known as Brooklyn, and for most of my growing up years, made a weekly family pilgrimage, usually on Sundays, to the Sheepshead Bay area where both my maternal and paternal grandparents resided. The mornings were spent with my father’s parents while the afternoons were set aside for mom’s kith and kin. For those of you who don’t know this, well, now you do and are up to speed with everybody else. And so, I take up again.

In those days, the stretch of waterfront along Emmons Avenue was still a bona fide fishing village and not the over developed neighborhood it is today. I clearly remember it, sans the Roll N Roaster’s, RB’s, and any of a number of ‘those kinds of places’ that now dot its length. In my youthful days, it was the original Randazzo’s Clam Bar—yes, with the hot sauce, please—and of course the not-so-sublimely iconic and Spanish Colonial revival-inspired building on the corner of Emmons and Ocean Avenues, that was an anthem, nay, a holy of holies shrine to some of the finest sea food found anywhere; that being the fabulous and wondrous Lundy Brothers.

lobster-1662978__480It was said that in its heyday, the cavernous restaurant, always bustling with the noise of its waiters in constant motion, rushing here and there, huge trays of food, stacked skyscraper-high and held up in the air, seemingly and miraculously defying the laws of gravity and balanced on one hand, as they threaded their way through the always packed room, served as many as 2,800 meals per day.  Also once known as the largest eatery in the United States, local urban legend has it that on one particular Mother’s Day, its kitchen and staff served some 15,000 meals by the time the doors closed late that evening and the lights went out behind the beautiful leaded glass windows. The huckleberry pie, the biscuits, the incredible raw bar where I watched in utter amazement as shuckers, their fingertips and the inside of their thumbs wrapped with white tape, opened and served up many a plateful of Littleneck clams in seconds, complete with lemon wedge, little fork, and a packet of those round, salty crackers; the incredible Shore Dinner, the whole Gestalt of the thing was truly, the stuff that legends are made of.

Sadly, like so many other things, the restaurant is gone. The landmark building is now subdivided into separate stores. Even the head boat fishing fleet across the street that ran along the waterfront, at one time one of the most prestigious and hardy found anywhere, and where things started for me, has shrunk to a mere shell of its former self.

The once proud line up, many of the them refurbished WWII U.S. Navy vessels, sometimes tied up three to a pier and stern to bow, their jaunty and salty mates with faces, arms, and necks wind and sunburned, the white outlines of their sunglasses clearly visible around their eyes and across the bridges of their noses on their five o’clock stubbled faces, suitably garbed in rubber boots and either yellow or black rubber bib overalls, perhaps one shoulder strap hanging rakishly loose from one arm, and out on the concrete walk, hawking and urging you aboard for a day’s fishing, are for the most part gone now, replaced by a cadre of dinner cruise boats.

But back then, in those halcyon days, it was one of the most exciting things in my life and I looked forward to going down there each Sunday afternoon, first as a young boy with my grandfathers, and then on my own when I got older. Hang in there, we’re getting real close now.

I remember always trying to be there about three o’clock in the afternoon when the boats came back, their horns blaring, announcing their return with fish, soon to be laid out for sale on the sidewalk in wooden crates packed with ice. They had names like Dorothy B, Grace, Brooklyn, Rainbow, Ranger, Wahoo, Eagle, Sea Wolf, Rocket, Amberjack, and many others. And then there was the Carrie D II and her skipper Capt. Sal Dragonette.

How I had first come to go fishing on her, and then wind up as an occasional mate, splitting my time aboard with mostly working as a yard snipe at the nearby Schatz Brothers Marina during one summer off from my junior year in high school, is a fairly messy mélange of memories and foggy recollections. But I do remember being hawked aboard one early morning back then for a day of drifting for fluke as I strolled the quay front with a friend of mine, our fishing rods seated with Penn 60 reels swinging from one hand, a small duffel held in the other containing extra sweatshirts, hooks, sinkers, a 100-yard spool of monofilament line, a couple of bottles of Hires root beer soda—one rolled up in the sweatshirt so as not to break against the other—a package of Hostess chocolate cupcakes—you know, the ones with the white squiggle across the chocolate fudge top, often a pb&j sandwich, and usually a piece or three of some chicken of sorts wrapped in tin foil and placed in a brown paper bag along with some candy and a couple of Tootsie Roll pops. Unlike today’s disappointing confection, back then there was still a fair amount of Tootsie in the pop. I digress.

“Five bucks a piece, ten for the two of you.” We got a wink and a smile from the wind- and salt-weathered mate, and I noticed the odor of fish and something else emanating from him even though he stood a good distance away from us. “Two spots left. Whaddya say, fellas?”

She was an old wood tub, painted with some kind of orangey-brown color on the trim with what still passed as a white hull and superstructure, given the rust stains and whatever else tinted her exterior. She had her pilothouse way aft and a very long foredeck, where on port and starboard sides most of the fishermen had already staked out their territories. There was some kind of boom apparatus forward that I assumed worked back when she did whatever it was she did before being put into head boat service only to find out later that it was a steadying sail. Whatever. I’m sure it didn’t work now either. I had already seen the movie version of The African Queen and by the looks of what I had paid my hard-earned five bucks to go fishing on, the Carrie D II could have been that vessel’s grandmother. But my friend and I could care less. We were going out to sea on a warm early summer’s day, to go fishing, and that was all we were thinking about when I heard a voice coming from the open forward windows of the pilothouse.

“Okay, let’s get it out of here,” it said, raspy, gruff, croaky, thick and husky, a disembodied and bellowing declaration from inside that pilothouse. Our captain, like Ahab in Melville’s Moby Dick, was unseen so far but yet whose presence, I now sensed, pervaded every bit of the boat. What had I gotten myself into here for five bucks a piece, two for ten?

“Get them lines off…an’ watch you don’t let ‘em drop in the water like you did last time, you knucklehead. Almos’ caught a wheel, fer Chrissakes.” And then the boat shook, making some kind of rumbling noise as if it were a great beast being rudely awakened from a seasonal sleep and now in a most foul mood and undoubtedly, quite hungry.

Thick black smoke coughed and belched from her exhaust ports as the mate skipped fore and aft, slipping and flipping the lines from the port side and up on the pier, each one of them landing with a soft thwacking sound and heralding the signal of one blast of the boat’s horn indicating all lines were off. The craft was quickly enveloped in smoke, what with the wind softly blowing from stern to bow as I now clearly recognized the aforementioned fragrance complementing the mate’s fishy odor. Lube oil and diesel fuel. Unmistakably a burned and acrid variety of Eau d’#4 Home Heating.

We started to slip down the pier as three more blasts of the horn were sounded—engines in reverse, but you knew that, right?—and by the time we had cleared the end and our phantom skipper had swung the bow to starboard and picked up the channel markers indicating the preferred narrow passage seaward through the bay, its outer sides dotted with many mooring balls, the breeze, now on our port, carried our smoke and scent landward from whence we came. As we turned the corner of the bay and headed for the buoys that would take us across the Coney Island flats and out to the fishing grounds on the edge of the Ambrose Channel shipping lanes, I noticed the trail of the now dark-gray smoke we were leaving behind.

sole-2057110__480Fishing was good that day with every long drift producing a flurry of activity for those with the right touch and feel even though, and more than once, someone managed to get themselves all tangled up resulting in a series of salty epithets delivered in various languages and dialects. Two got seasick, most likely from the pervasive exhaust smell as the sea conditions were barely noticeable, and were most emphatic is consigning verbal wills to their friends, adding several addendas at various times during their explosive episodes of mal de mer.

It was almost time to head back to the barn when I noticed the door on the port side of the pilothouse opening and out stepped Capt. Sal for what I was sure was the first time. He seemed as wide as he was tall with a red-flushed round face littered with a two-day stubble, a headful of wild hair, and big, meaty hands. I had to look back and forth between him and the pilothouse while trying to judge his girth with that of what I perceived was the interior dimensions of his inner sanctum. I had a most disturbing thought then: There was no head—a nautical bathroom for those not in the know—that could not have had any chance of even remotely fitting in there. Armed with that information, it was no wonder I quickly willed not going any further with that notion and instead, put that part of my mind under lock and key but not before I just managed to imagine the fleeting image of a five gallon bucket. Like not wanting to look at a train wreck…well, you know the rest.

He hitched up his tan khaki pants, and adjusted the tan khaki web belt that hung way below his ample stomach; the cinch that seemed to help prevent said gut from hanging to his knees, and tried to tuck in the back of his khaki shirt. He then gave a shrug of his shoulders, as if the whole ritual was a big waste of time. On his feet he wore some kind of bone-colored, paint spotted and oil-stained, and much worn boat shoes. Capt. Sal, I gathered, was an earth-toned kind of guy.

“How we doin’there, boys?” he croaked to some of the guys fishing at the rail as he flipped the butt of a cigarette up, out, and into the water and promptly lit another one. Not waiting for an answer, he waddled aft, totally at ease with the gentle roll of the drifting boat, looking at each fisherman’s catch, sometimes nodding and other times not until finally reaching a point on the other side of the boat just opposite where my friend and I had been fishing all day. And we knew where the head was.

“Hey,” I heard him say, after which he gave a quick, wet sounding cough and promptly took a big drag on his cigarette.

I didn’t know the mate’s name was Hey; I thought it was Dave or something like that. But he answered, “Yeah Cap?” as he made his way forward after netting a fish for someone near the stern.

“Go on down there an’ check the earl, will ya. I’ll be kicken’ them over and this’ll be the last drift.  It’s almost time. Hiyadoin there boys?” he said to me as I looked over to where Hey had now joined him.

“Got some nice fish,” I said as my friend brought up a very big sea robin, swung it up over the rail and plopped it down on the deck. The hook came out fairly easily and he stood up and was about to throw it back overboard.

“Don’t be trowin’ dem big ones like dat back in. I got some Portogeese guys taken ‘em,” he said.

“What?” I think my friend said as the fish wriggled and slipped out of his hands and splashed into the water.

“Fer Crissakes,” Capt. Sal said as he shook his head towards the deck, the cigarette now dangling from his mouth. “Ah, what the hell. Go on now, check that earl so’s we can wrap this up,” he said to Hey and, brushing past him, made his way aft, down the starboard side to the other door that led to the pilothouse and in he went. A moment later, a cigarette butt launched itself out of one of the side windows and I had no doubt, another was promptly lit up.

As Hey emerged from the depths of what I gathered was the engine room, wiping his hands on an oil-stained rag, and looking towards the pilothouse, he gave a thumbs up sign after which came three quick toots of the horn signaling all lines up. The Carrie D II, heretofore under the influence of the somewhat hypnotic and low decibel rumble and vibration of the generator, constantly emitting its own noxious fumes from a hull vent, suddenly reverberated with the sound and shuddering of the main engines. First one, then the other, and then the billowing black smoke.

There was some sort of announcement that came over what passed for an amplified sound system aboard, but with the hanging rusted speaker secured by some piano wire and duct tape to keep it from dangling and banging off the side of the pilothouse from the lamp wire that snaked its way out of a disastrously drilled-out hole there, the words and message were wholly unintelligible.

“Pool fish in the stern,” heralded Hey, acting as interpreter for the other-worldly, public address, static-laden communication as he made the rounds of the deck. “I clean the fish too, for fifty cents each.” By the time we docked, the trail of dark gray smoke that had been following us around finally dissipated into the late afternoon sky.

I think by now I’ve painted a pretty clear picture of what kind of boat the Carrie D II was and how she was an unfortunate reflection of her skipper. I would imagine that in her hey day, those first few years after her launch, she was a pretty tidy craft. And while my friend and I continued to fish on her—that five buck a piece/two for ten deal to a pair of soon-to-be high school seniors suited us just fine—and even managed to win a pool or two, I would not realize the full extent of what I had only imagined was below decks until one mid-summer trip. Just as I was about to get off, Capt. Sal, leaning out of the lowered window of the pilothouse’s port side, and flicking a butt into the water, said: “Hey kid. I notice you’re pretty much a regular. I may need an extra deck hand. Wanna make a few bucks an’ fish for free?” he said as yet another cigarette appeared and was as quickly, lit, a cumulus cloud of smoke momentarily blocking out his face. ‘Well, whaddya say. Yes or no. This ain’t no math test.”

“I have another job over at Schatz. In the yard. I’ll have to check what days I work each week. It changes,” I remember saying, already with the lure of free fishing and a couple of extra bucks in my pocket presenting some tantalizing low hanging fruit to me.

“I know dem guys. Sommtimes when I got to get a wheel dinged out, I go there. Out and in the same day. Haven’t been since last year though. Okay den, you let me know. But don’t wait too long. I got a lot of guys want to work this boat,” he croaked, coughed, and took in a long drag.

“Okay,” I said and turned and got off the boat and looked back one more time.

“Free fishing an’ you get tips an’ the boat gives you a few bucks,” he said.

I managed to get a schedule that gave me Tuesdays off and since the yard was a short walk from the fishing boat piers, I left a message for Capt. Sal that I could give him Tuesdays for the rest of the summer.

Hey—his real name was Brad and for as long as I worked the decks, I never heard Capt. Sal refer to him by another other handle—and I got along just fine and I had no problem in acknowledging that he was the Alpha mate on board the Carrie D II. None whatsoever. But now being the new guy, I was relegated to perform all the slop jobs Hey/Brad was doing before, like Ishmael, I signed my soul over to Capt. Sal Dragonette.

Shape up was at six, and we usually tried to pull out of the dock by seven a.m. While Capt. Sal was out getting bait or whatever, Hey/Brad and I started to square things away for the day’s trip as a few of the regulars started to show up and grab their usual spots. I was shown the engine room hatch and, with a dirty old Boy Scout flashlight—you know, the olive-green one with the ninety degree bend to it, this one so oily I could feel the residue on it—stuck in a back pocket of my jeans, descended into the dark inner domain of the Carrie D II.

Now, in those days, my entire knowledge of working machines and wiring and pumps and filters and couplings and generators and harnesses and transmissions and expansion tanks and head gaskets and well just about anything that concerned making this boat move through the water was as nil as could be, making me as dumb as a bag of hammers when it came to its operation.

As I made my way down the slippery metal ladder, my hands getting oil stained as I went from rung to rung, until finally alighting on the engine room deck, still feeling that slippery, sliding effect underfoot, I looked around. The only light was that from the open hatch above and I scanned the densely packed space for a switch or a cord that would illuminate the place.

“Hey,” I yelled up at the open hatch above, smiling as I did and then adding, “Brad!” Only a few minutes aboard and I was already taking on Capt. Sal’s persona. I wondered about how Hey/Brad’s mind had so far been affected what with him being, more or less, permanent ship’s company.

“Yeah,” he said, peering down into the hold.

“There a light switch down here?”

“Port side. Behind the generator. But if it don’t work, maybe the bulb is out. Use the flashlight. Dips’re on the inboard sides of the engines. Also, check the oil in the generator too. But it’s on the outboard side so you’ll have to do some climbing over it. Sal’ll be back soon and want to fire it up, so let’s get going. If you need to add any oil, look under each engine. There’s a space there where we keep it. Fill it just past the top mark on the dips.”

There was a good reason the switch didn’t work; there was no bulb in the overhead socket. Actually, the screw-in neck was there but the bulb was not and I found a few remnants of broken glass underfoot as I stepped between the main engines. I took the flashlight out of my back pocket.

Suffice it to say, Dr. Frankenstein’s lab had nothing on the engine room space aboard the Carrie D II. The overwhelming smell of oil and diesel fuel, mixed in with a rather raunchy bilge odor, permeated everywhere and, with the hatch open, most assuredly wafted upwards. I was already enveloped in its bouquet and quickly realized how it followed Hey/Brad wherever he went. Now, I too was so anointed.

All three engines, the two mains and that of the generator, with their weeping cylinder covers streaking the blocks, needed oil and as I scanned the underneath areas under the now yellowing glare of the Boy Scout flashlight, the only things I could find there were about a half-dozen, oil-stained quart milk containers. I lifted one, feeling the weight of some liquid and, pinching the lid open, looked in. It was oil alright and even under what I knew was the quickly fading light of the flashlight, I could see it was very black and thick. I found a funnel and fitting it in the oil fill, started to pour the viscous liquid in. It only took a few minutes, even with having to climb over and then waist-straddling the generator, to get it done. Before climbing up and out of what surely was the inspiration for one of Dante’s rings of Hell, I gave each engine a quick coolant inspection as instructed in the recent past by one of the mechanics at the yard. I twisted the cap off, stuck my finger in and if it came up wet, it was okay. Today, all was fine.

children-968121_1280Finally getting back to the surface world, after what seemed an eternity, I realized I was now covered with the kind of dirt and filth quite unlike that which I picked up while fishing, with the latter being totally acceptable. The spaces under my fingernails were black and there was a wide swath of gunk across my gray high school sweatshirt that also covered the waist area of my jeans. There was a black smudge across the top of my right hand and a matching one that ran across my brow. The palms of my hands were dirty and oily and I felt as if I were walking on a film of it as well. And of course, there was the smell.

Capt. Sal waddled aboard a short time later. He wheeled a rusted hand truck piled high with about 24 white rectangular boxes, 12 of each containing a frozen block of squid and spearing, from the beat up van he parked in his usual spot opposite the boat and left it on the dock as he let himself, step by step, down the boarding ladder—it was dead low tide and with no floating docks along the entire waterfront, it was the boats that rose up and down. By the water trail it left, that was now puddling up under the rusted conveyance, the bait was already beginning to thaw. Capt. Sal did not drive a van with a refrigerated compartment.

“They ain’t gonna get aboard by themselves,” Capt. Sal said to me as he tried to hitch his pants up above his ample belly, gave a ‘thumbs over there’ signal, and disappeared into the pilothouse. (Think what you want about the Carrie D II, but we always had plenty of bait aboard, what with the leftovers being added exponentially from the day before, albeit some of it, by the time the later part of the week rolled around, was getting a bit ripe and added to the overall multi-fragranced odor that always accompanied the boat.) I heard the low rumble of the generator coming to life, saw the belch of black smoke snaking up over the aft port rail from the exhaust port in the hull there, and recognized the crackle of the VHF radio as he turned it on. With a couple of buckets of salt water drawn from the bay to thaw out the bait, Hey/Brad and I got things ready for the day’s fishing.

This was the routine aboard the Carrie D II for all the trips I made on her for the rest of that summer. I indeed fished for free, made some tips, and got some bucks from the boat. For the most part, boats like the Carrie D II were already on the other side of the changing times. And as it turned out, even though she was an old tub and way past her prime with many of the other boat owners already bringing in newer, faster, and more comfortable head boats, and Capt. Sal was as an irascible character as there ever was, still it was loads of fun as the days slipped by and I went from being a high school junior to entering my senior year.

Whenever I have the opportunity to drive along the Belt Parkway, that famed roadway whose construction began in 1934, girdling the edges of waterfront Brooklyn, whether going east or west, I often take the Coney Island exit and stop at famous Nathan’s for a quick hot dog, greasy fries, and a root beer soda, after which I make my way to Emmons Avenue and begin a slow crawl along the concrete piers. It’s changed and changed so much to my memory’s eye that I find it almost unrecognizable. But still, the sights, sounds, and experiences that set me on my life’s course are there for me to bring up once again, whenever I please. And coming full circle in this bit of nostalgia that I have been sharing with you, is the image of the machinery space aboard the Carrie D II and the place it occupies in my consciousness as what could be, maybe the filthiest engine room ever.

If you have your own SALTY LIFE experience and would like to share it with us, please send it in, along with any images, drawings, illustrations, maps, or photos. If it gets posted, I will send you two dozen of my world-famous, hand-made, chocolate chip cookies. Promise. And don’t forget to let me know if you have any food allergies, like with nuts, so I won’t load them up with pecan, walnut, or macademias. You’re going to love ’em. Fair winds shipmates! -Capt. Ken

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Posted by on May 9, 2011 in The Salty Life




New Furrion 50-Amp Cordsets Feature Voltage and Fault Indicators

New 50-amp cordsets from shore power products manufacturer Furrion feature dual LEDs that alert users when power is present – and also when there is a problem with the shore power supply.

A blue LED on the cordset lights when safe shore power is present, while a red LED illuminates if there is a fault with the dock wiring (reverse polarity), which could potentially cause electric shock or fatal injury to those on board.

Tested to exacting UL standards, the plug ends of the new Furrion cordsets have side grips for easy, user-friendly connection. Universal fit with all other power brands. Available in 25 and 50 foot lengths. Backed by Furrion’s five-year warranty. A heavy duty weatherproof storage bag and industrial-strength cable strap is included.

For more information about Furrion’s new 50-amp cordsets with voltage and fault indicators and other Furrion shore power products, visit or call 1+203.528.8422.
Furrion – 14525 SW Millikan – Beaverton, OR 97005

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Posted by on May 9, 2011 in Uncategorized




Three Top Tips to Maximize Your Electrical System
Put these easy performance and safety enhancers to work.

By Don Wilson
TECH DOCTOR DON WILSON has worked in technical capacities in the marine, automotive and RV fields and for the military since 1989 and has extensive experience in designing and troubleshooting onboard electrical systems. A former customer service manager dealing with electronic issues, Wilson currently serves as a technical instructor for the RV industry’s RVIA Trouble Shooters Clinics and is a full-time sales application engineer for Xantrex Technology, Inc. THREE TOPS TIPS TO MAXIMIZE YOUR ELECTRICAL SYSTEM is the fifth installment of TECH DOCTOR articles being presented by the Boat and Yacht Report.


Our previous TECH DOCTOR articles have been delivered in an easy-reading Q&A format. For this installation, however, we’re going to take a different approach and focus on three key issues that affect the performance and efficiency of your electrical systems. No questions, just answers. Lots of answers!

As we know, location is one of the major keys to a successful real estate sale. You wouldn’t want to buy a house in the southern suburbs if you work north of downtown. It’s just inefficient.

Likewise, in our world, location is equally critical. Battery, inverter, charger, and load panel locations are fairly flexible to a certain extent. These devices carry the bulk of the current, so their location should be strategically positions as close together as is safely possible to maximize efficiency.

Imagine if you worked only a mile from your home and had a freeway on-ramp a minute from your driveway. Driving to work would be a breeze! On the other hand, imagine having to navigate daily through five miles of congested, winding neighborhood roads and your drive time and ease suddenly becomes unpredictable.

Ask any boat owner and they will agree that in a boat, size is everything. Larger battery bank means more time between charging. Larger charger means shorter generator run times. Larger inverter means less heat generated, and more headroom for additional plugged-in loads. Even more important is the wire size. Just like out roadway analogy, the smaller the wire, the less traffic (electricity) can travel over the wire with incurring problems.

Best rule of thumb? Ensure less that .25 volt drop over the length of the wire under the worst-case current load. Voltage-drop calculators are available on the Internet but require solid data such as wire size, material (copper, aluminum, etc.), current rating (breaker size), and length of circuit. A .25 volt drop is good. A .1 volt drop is great!

I’ve saved the third and most important consideration for last. Never forget: A loose connection requires that the current flow through only the touching parts. Like pesky pot holes in the road that cause swerving, jarring, and potential damage, loose connections require the current ‘dodge’ the bad connection and flow down a restricted path. These loose connections cause higher resistance, higher voltage drops, and extreme heat that can easily spark a fire.

Another loose connection consideration involves the inappropriate usage of wire nuts which are expressly designed for single strand residential usage. When used improperly in a boat, this application can cause the threads of the nut to literally cut through the fine strands and ultimately create a weaker connection with less integrity than using crimped butt-splices or solder and shrink tubing. Another red flag? Look for corrosion accumulation around wiring, especially where there are connections, or copper. Appliances rated for marine use should have conformal-coated circuit boards to prevent corrosion. Likewise, battery connections, or any exposed material, should have some type of protective coating to prevent gasses or salt mist from causing corrosion which will eventually seep into the connection and restrict current flow.

Finally, besides these simple tightening and cleaning protocols, be sure your electrical systems checklist calls for a review of water levels in batteries and a system check on your inverter/charger systems.

Three easy tips…all designed to maximize your time and fun on the water.

NEXT UP FROM DON WILSON: Shocking News About Charger/Inverter Installations

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Posted by on May 9, 2011 in Uncategorized



 New Fuel Primer Bulb From Larand Products Beats

Tighter EPA/CARB Emission Standard, Offers Superior Performance

 As of January 1, 2011, fuel primer bulbs for outboards must comply with US Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) and California Air Resources Board (CARB) regulations limiting carbon emissions to 15 grams per square meter, per day. A new primer bulb from Larand Products exceeds the EPA/CARB standard and also offers performance and reliability superior to other OEM and aftermarket bulbs.


The new primer bulb allows emissions of less than 6 grams per square meter, per day, beating the standard by almost 70 percent. Made from a durable compound that stands up to harsh weather conditions and maintains excellent flexibility in low temperatures (in lab tests, the new bulb pumped 20 percent more fuel than the leading OEM bulb). Unlike products that rely on mechanical pumps, this primer bulb has no seals that can leak fuel.

  • Familiar look and feel
  • 70% less fuel permeation than the new standard allows
  • Durable and weather resistant
  • Leak-proof design
  • Excellent low-temperature flexibility
  • Superior pumping efficiency

For more information about the new EPA/CARB compliant marine primer bulb and other Larand products, visit or call 1+877.786.0606 (toll free in the US) or 1+954.977.6333.

Contact: Jim Bimonte
1+877.786.0606 (US) or 1+954.977.6333
Larand Products, Inc. – 2173 NW 22nd Street – Pompano Beach, FL 33069 USA

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Posted by on May 8, 2011 in Uncategorized





Leading Marine Products Importer’s Extensive Pedestal Selection Allows Boaters To Choose
The Best Solutions For Their Needs

IMTRA, the leading manufacturer and importer of quality marine products, announced today an extensive line of NorSap Seat and Table Pedestals. Offering innovative designs and a broad selection of styles to meet the needs of all boaters, the new NorSap line offers a full range of features including seat slides with fore and aft movement and 360-degree rotation, and table pedestals with a unique low profile, detachable twist-lock base that eliminates the need for installers or owners to cut large holes in their decks. Combining functionality, durability and style, the NorSap pedestal line from IMTRA is the ideal solution for any type of vessel.

Available in over 75 design choices, NorSap Seat Pedestals from IMTRA are offered in fixed and adjustable height versions in either an aluminum finish and white base, or polished aluminum finish with stainless steel-covered base. Adjustable height versions are available with manual height adjustment or with assisted support from spring- or gas-suspensions built into the pedestal. Providing free movement and rotation, the pedestal assembly includes the seat base making it easy to attach the seat cushion and back. The NorSap product line also offers an optional fold-up footrest and small bases for use in areas with limited floor space. Designed to withstand the abuse of the harsh marine environment, the durable NorSap Seat Pedestals provide a clean attractive look and comfortable ride.

NorSap Table Pedestals from IMTRA are designed to match the Seat Pedestals ensuring a uniform design throughout a vessel. Offered with a complementary aluminum finish and white base or polished aluminum column and stainless steel base cover, the Table Pedestals are available in a full range of fixed and adjustable height designs, and either fixed or movable installations. Ideal for OEM, trade and end-user installation, a removable base pedestal eliminates the need for drilling a large hole into the deck that can lead to core damage or water penetration. The low-profile twist-lock deck plate also makes it easy to have multiple mounting locations without obtrusive deck mounting hardware. Some fixed mount models are designed for through deck installations to support bunk or table slides. With nearly limitless options for mounting, positioning and finish, NorSap Table Pedestals are an ideal table base for any vessel.

“Our new NorSap Pedestal line provides smart and attractive chair and table mounting systems for anyone who wants a simple, cost-effective solution,” said Alex Larsen, commercial sales manager, IMTRA. “New to the U.S., this line has been proven in installations throughout Europe and is now the choice of prominent builders such as Jupiter Marine and Sabre Yachts. Airstream also uses our NorSap pedestals in their ‘Eddie Bauer’ edition trailers. It truly is the ideal pedestal line for any boater or RV owner, and a proud addition to the IMTRA range.”

The slide mechanism on the NorSap Seat Pedestals offer very high-quality construction and a low-profile design for a sleek look and durable use. The Table Pedestals are available in a number of heights and adjustable lengths to accommodate any installation need. Details on NorSap’s extensive line of Seat and Table Pedestals are available on the IMTRA website. All pedestal products are protected by a 1-year limited parts and labor warranty.

Pricing and Availability:
NorSap Seat and Table Pedestals from IMTRA are available to United States and Canadian customers directly from IMTRA. For more information about the new pedestals, the NorSap line from IMTRA, pricing, IMTRA and its entire marine product line, or to request/download a catalog, visit or call Eric Braitmayer, Director of Marketing, 508-995-7000, or visit

About IMTRA:
IMTRA, based in New Bedford, Massachusetts, is an importer and manufacturer of high quality consumer marine products, advanced LED solutions and integrated marine systems, as well as a key supplier to the OEM and aftermarket. With over 50 years in the marine business, IMTRA has sales and support teams in 11 regions throughout North America. The company’s extensive product knowledge is available to its customers through a renowned full-service department and professional customer service group. Product categories include Lighting, Thrusters, Anchoring Systems, Wipers, Antennas, Gangways and other specialty products.

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Posted by on May 8, 2011 in Uncategorized


Electronics Review

Simrad Yachting Launches
Broadband 3G™ Radar

Electronics Leader Unveils New Lower-Cost Broadband 3G Radar
With 30-Percent Range Increase and Unprecedented Target Separation

Simrad Yachting, world-leader in the design and manufacture of professional-performance marine navigation, autopilots, communications and fish-finding systems presents its next-generation, solid-state Broadband 3G™ Radar. Building on the award-winning technology of the Simrad BR24 Broadband Radar™, the world’s first recreational marine Frequency Modulated Continuous Wave (FMCW) radome, the Broadband 3G sets a new standard in radar performance. Delivering two-times greater RF transmit power and 30 percent more range and target detection than the BR24, the 3G allows boaters to see objects such as small boats and channel markers at greater distances without compromising its exceptional close-range radar capacities.

Combining straightforward installation, flexible antenna placement options, low power draw and unrivaled performance, the Simrad Broadband 3G Radar provides the safest navigation possible in all weather conditions, at a significantly more affordable price.

The new Broadband 3G Radar is the next step in revolutionary vessel navigation and collision avoidance, providing boaters with a host of Simrad Yachting’s signature safety and convenience benefits – including superior target definition and separation in close quarters where traditional pulse radar is blind. The Broadband 3G Radar offers crystal-clear, highly detailed views of surroundings at a range scale down to 1/32 nautical miles (200 ft.), and marks objects within 2 meters (6.5 ft.) of the boat. Incredibly safe, the new radar transmits 1/10,000 the power of traditional pulse radar – less than 1/5 the energy of a mobile phone – making it safe to install just about anywhere on a boat.

Other innovative 3G features include advanced clutter rejection which virtually eliminates tuning, and rapid cold start and InstantOn™ which enable the radar to power up instantaneously from standby. With incredibly low power consumption, it is also 30 to 50 percent more efficient than traditional pulse radomes. In addition, Broadband 3G Radar supports chart overlay, display networking, MARPA and True Motion Rader Display to distinguish moving vessels from fixed objects or landmasses.

“Broadband 3G Radar represents our driven commitment to introduce innovative marine electronics that offer meaningful benefits to boaters,” said Louis Chemi, COO, Navico Americas. “We upgraded our award-winning Broadband Radar technology – which already offers best-in-class safety, convenience and short-range capability – and expanded its performance features for even more powerful on-the-water awareness. When released, Broadband 3G will be the most revolutionary radar system available, and we’re offering it at an affordable price point to make it accessible for all boaters.”

The Broadband 3G Radar is compatible with Simrad Yachting’s full range of brilliant NS navigation systems – the NSO Offshore, NSE Expert and NSS Sport. Also available in the Lowrance and B&G model lineup, it is compatible with award-winning Lowrance HDS and B&G Zeus multifunction displays.

The Simrad Broadband 3G’s compact 18-inch radome measures 11.02-inches high x 19.28-inches diameter (280 mm x 489 mm), weighs 16.3 pounds (7.4 kg), and installs quickly with an easy-to-route 0.5-inch (13.5 mm) diameter scanner cable. Drawing only 18 watts of power during operation and 2 watts in standby, the Broadband 3G has an operating temperature range of -13 to +131 degrees Fahrenheit (-25 to +55 degrees Celsius) and can operate in winds up to 100 knots. The radar transmits on the X-band with a frequency of 9.3 to 9.4 GHz and has a sweep rotation frequency of 200Hz. Its antenna has a peak power output of 165 mW. The Broadband 3G is waterproof to the IPX6 standard and protected by a two-year parts and labor warranty.

Price & Availability:
The new Simrad Broadband 3G Radar has a suggested retail price of U.S. $1,699 and will be available in June 2011 from authorized dealers and distributors throughout the United States and Canada. For more information on the Simrad Broadband 3G Radar or the entire line of Simrad Yachting professional-performance marine electronics, please contact 800-324-1356 (toll-free) in the USA or 800-661-3983 (toll-free) in Canada or visit

About Simrad Yachting: The Simrad Yachting® brand is wholly owned by Navico, Inc., a privately held, international marine electronics company. Navico is currently the world’s largest marine electronics company, and is the parent company to leading marine electronics brands: Lowrance, Simrad Yachting, and B&G. Navico has approximately 1,500 employees globally and distribution in more than 100 countries worldwide.

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Posted by on May 8, 2011 in Uncategorized


Redbone Fishing Tournaments

Redbone to Hold its 22nd Annual “Fruits of our Labors”

BBQ Cookout Celebrating its $1,000,000 Year for CF Funding

  Small Keys tournament has made huge impact in helping “to catch the cure” for CF  

ISLAMORADA, In-The-Florida Keys The Redbone’s 22nd annual “Fruits of our Labors” cookout, celebrating its hard work and money raised through its 2010 series of tournaments for cystic fibrosis research, takes place Saturday, May 14th, from 6 – 8 p.m. at the Lorelei.
Over $1,000,000 was raised from last fall’s 2010 Redbone trilogy of Keys tournaments — plus 25 other Redbone fishing events across the U.S. the Bahamas and Mexico – and those efforts will be celebrated as part of the cookout on Lorelei Beach, mile marker 82 bayside.
The BBQ cookout will be offered to the first 100 people at $15 per person or is free when making a $100 donation for a super raffle ticket which benefits CF Research. The super raffle drawing to be held at sunset is for a Dragonfly Boatworks 16-ft. Emerger skiff complete with a 40 hp Evinrude outboard, Power-Pole and a Float-On Trailer. Ticket holders need not be present to win. There will also be a silent auction and live entertainment by Big Richard and the Family Fun Band. Tickets are available at The Redbone Gallery on Morada Way at MM 81.5 or at the Lorelei Cabana Bar. For more info call 305-664-2002, or go online at 

So far $10 million for CF research “to catch the cure.”

Since the inception of the Redbone in 1988 the Fla. Keys charity has raised $10 million. “In the last five years we’ve held a steady pace of raising over $1 million annually,” said Redbone founder Capt. Gary Ellis who now oversees the 28 events.
The Redbone (REDfish and BONEfish) began as a small local Keys tournament to help CF patients like Gary and Susan Ellis’ young daughter Nicole. The late Major League Baseball Hall of Fame slugger Ted Williams, then an Islamorada resident, helped the Ellis’ attract many of his celebrity friends and through the efforts of guides, anglers and volunteers they raised $16,000 at that first event. Within four years it had grown to three fall season tournaments in the lower, middle and upper Keys.  
Over the past two decades the Redbone tournaments have grown to four distinct series. The first is the original Redbone points trilogy in the Keys’ 125 mile chain of islands where the first Redbone celebrity tournament began. Five southeastern states are home to the Redbone Red*Trout series for redfish and sea trout.  Three more Redbone@Large events are held in the Bahamas Celebrity Bonefish series and 17 more for a wide number of fish species which crisscross the U.S., Bahamas and Mexico in the Redbone@Large Celebrity Tournament series.
Anglers fishing as a team or with a celebrity are professionally guided for a select group of game fish in the local waters which they catch, photograph and release. The events, usually held on a weekend, also feature live and silent auctions.
This year at many of the 28 sites around North America, volunteers from CF chapters will help host the Redbone formatted tournaments under the guidance of the Ellis’. The list of more CF chapters wanting tournaments continues to grow. Redbone officials are hoping that all the fishing events combined will continue to raise over $1 million for CF research.
“Cystic fibrosis is an awful genetic disease,” said Susan Ellis. “It causes the body to produce abnormally thick, sticky mucus that clogs the lungs and can lead to life-threatening lung infections. When we started the Redbone the life expectancy of CF patients was the early teens.  But researchers have performed remarkable strides in gene research.  CF patients are now living into their mid 30’s. Though remarkable progress has been made, there is still no cure, and the work is not complete until the cure is found.”
For more information contact: Pete Johnson  – PR counsel for The Redbone
Johnson Communications, Inc., Scottsdale, AZ 85254
Ph: 480-951-3654   e-mail:
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Posted by on May 6, 2011 in Uncategorized