Before Heading Out

OK, that was fun.

The head (meaning "toilet," or the onboard bathroom as a whole) has been a bit odoriferous since we moved aboard, even though it hasn't been used since Fall 2009, when the previous owner last closed up the boat for the winter. We certainly haven't used it, since it needs seawater inflow and outflow for flushing, and we'd be flushing directly into the shed. Not recommended. Instead, we take advantage of either the port-o-potty in the yard or the shop bathroom (flush toilet! hot and cold running water!). We tried a few easy fixes for the smell: Sue scrubbed the mildew out of the undersink cabinet and hung an air freshener from a towel bar, but mildew wasn't really the problem, and the sweet-scented cardboard made things worse. Curtis changed one of the toilet hoses, but it was the intake one, carrying seawater only, no yucky stuff. (After this initial experience, he suggested we pay the boatyard to change the other hoses.) In the meantime, with Cilantro's launch date creeping ever closer, it was time for us to confront the smelly beast directly.

So, on Wednesday evening (June 28), we decided to clean, flush, and deodorize the holding tank, toilet, and lines, before driving to Rhode Island the next morning for a visit with Curtis's parents and sister and brother-in-law. “Stink up the place and leave?” Sue asked Curtis. “I guess so,” answered Curtis. In fairness, Mikey was the one who suggested we tackle this before the honey wagon (port-o-potty pumper) arrived on Friday.

The toilet and some of its parts: the blue-handled vertical lever (down next
to the seat) fills and flushes the bowl; the black-handled horizontal shaft
pumps out the holding tank. Valves under the sink open and close the
through-hulls. Another valve (hidden behind the toilet) switches the head
discharge between holding tank and overboard.

For those unfamiliar with a marine head, it is a rather complicated animal. It probably isn't more complicated than a household toilet, but it seems to require more operator care, knowledge, and maintenance, probably because of all the valves that have to be in the right combination of positions in order for your sewage to go where it's supposed to go. Briefly: seawater is manually pumped into the toilet bowl before use, then the toilet is used, and then the bowl is manually pumped out, either into a holding tank or out through the hull (if the boat is three or more miles from shore). The holding tank, which on our boat holds 16 gallons, can also be pumped overboard when offshore, or it can be emptied at a pump-out facility, where a big sucker hose attaches to a deck fitting and vacuums out as much as possible. According to Mikey, however, there's always a layer of solids left in the tank, no matter what you do. Lovely.

Many things can create head issues: incomplete pumping leaves waste in the lines, old hoses clog with paper and other "gifts," permeable hoses (used in older systems or because they are cheaper) let odors pass through, and holding tanks can stagnate. Our head is probably guilty on all counts. This became especially clear after we traced the six running feet of hose connecting toilet to through-hull. That's a lot of pumping to clear the system effectively. People who sail with small children (big paper users) or non-sailing guests (marine head neophytes) are often encouraged to install electric toilets, which can override human error. (Errors related to head operation, that is. Would that other errors were so easily fixed.)

So here's what we did: (1) Sue dragged a 55-gallon garbage can into the shed and positioned it vaguely below the through-hull where the toilet waste exits the boat; (2) Curtis found a 4-foot length of hose to jam into the through-hull and direct the flow into – or at least toward – the garbage can; (3) Curtis tied the hose to several wooden planks on top of the garbage can, to prevent it the free end from waving about like a wild sprinkler when the pumping started; (4) Sue carried a few buckets of water up the ladder and manually pumped them through the toilet into the holding tank, along with a bottle of blue toilet deodorizer provided by Mikey; (5) Sue changed places with Curtis and watched from a safe distance near the shed entrance while (6) Curtis opened the holding tank pump-out valve and manually pumped the holding tank down into the garbage can while (7) Mikey stood below, just close enough, and gave feedback (“Go ahead.” “Whoa, easy there, Curtis.” “It's all just gurry [liquid waste] now.”); (8) Sue dragged a garden hose across the yard and up the ladder to Curtis, who (9) refilled the holding tank with the garden hose, added more bottles of blue deodorizer, and pumped again; (10) repeat step 9; (11) ditto.

Curtis opens the valve to pump out the holding tank.

The first pump-out was rank. Stinko. Putrid. Mikey brought over a giant standing fan and set it in the shed doorway. His wife Charlotte came down from the over-the-shop apartment and asked, “What's that smell?” Charlotte's sister Paula walked by and asked politely, “Are you guys doing some cleaning?” The offending air wafted about like flatulence from an elephant.

The second pump-out was a teensy bit better, but still gag-worthy. People stopped asking questions. Charlotte left for town to run errands. Paula discreetly disappeared. Fortunately, it was past six o'clock, and most of the employees had clocked out and gone home. Fortunately, too, the odor began to dissipate.

The third and fourth pump-outs consisted of mostly water and blue toilet chemical. Mikey walked around spritzing the ground with Odor Go, which made things smell like baby powder. We liked that. By the time we went to bed, the air was clear (or maybe our olfactory senses had habituated?). The next morning, we glanced at the half-filled barrel, found a lid to cover our sins, and left for the weekend.