A double-crossing DIY boat project steers the owner wrong.
Illustration. Steve Haefele
After spending hundreds of hours over many months coaxing life back into the old Force 120 outboard on my 20-foot 1994 Trophy walkaround, the engine was running – despite coughing like a cat with a hairball. The Force and I had developed the kind of love/hate relationship usually reserved for highly dysfunctional couples. I knew her every bolt, gasket, and strange rattle that shouldn’t exist, but somehow did.
Now that the engine was finally awake from her slumber, I was ready for a test cruise on Oregon’s Columbia River. Except for one minor detail: The steering had frozen from inactivity. I pulled and pushed – even took a hammer to it. Nothing worked. Ultimately, I had to grind the wheel off, which was as much an act of vengeance as repair.
So began my DIY upgrade: swap out the crusty, old mechanical steering for a state-of-the-art hydraulic system, because everyone – my neighbors in our floating home community, the river patrol officers, even the woman who cuts my hair – told me I’d love the upgrade. “It’ll be smooth, effortless!” they said. “Takes half an afternoon to install.”
That might be true if the boat hadn’t spent three decades oxidizing every nut and bolt. A three-hour job turned into a 12-hour marathon of grinding, swearing, bleeding knuckles, and a fantasy of sinking the boat. Thankfully, I wasn’t alone. A kind friend with the same boat, engine, and hydraulic system upgrade led the project. Minutes before midnight, with new hydraulic lines and a new wheel, the boat was ready.
The next morning a small crowd gathered to witness the maiden voyage. With a friend aboard, we cast off from my home dock. I eased the wheel to starboard to give a smooth, confident departure turn, but the bow immediately pointed to port – straight toward my neighbor’s sailboat! Shouting commenced from the crowd, with my wife’s voice the loudest. Only a few yards from the sailboat, I turned farther to starboard. More intense shouting ensued as the boat turned sharply to port, apparently eager to test the large anchor on my bow against the midships of a perfectly innocent vessel. Only by slamming the throttle into reverse did I avoid an insurance claim and lifetime of embarrassment. Finally, my brain caught up: Port was starboard; starboard was port? The hydraulic lines were reversed!
There was nothing to do but awkwardly “mirror-drive” back to the dock like some kind of nautical fun house ride. When I finally docked, I was met with applause, questions, and more than a little laughter. I took no comfort in knowing someone else had connected the hydraulic lines. The failure to test the new steering before launch? Yeah, that one’s on me.