Occam’s Generator

Facing some mind-boggling fixes or upgrades? Before you act hastily, try the simplest solutions first.

I hold my breath. Nic presses the start button on our generator. We’ve just spent the better part of yet another gorgeous day confined to the mooring, replacing a high-temperature sensor. Actually, we’ve spent the better part of a month on this debacle, after the generator abruptly decided it would no longer run for more than eight seconds before engaging its emergency overheat shutoff feature.

First, I’d checked the sea strainer, then the impeller, for potential blockages and causes of overheating. Nothing. Plus, the flow of cooling raw water seemed unchanged. So after much research and a Google translation of the confusing Italian owner’s manual, our next best guess was the sensor itself. I ordered a replacement from the manufacturer. Along with it came an exploded diagram to help identify where it went. Unfortunately, the diagram showed the sensor off in outer space with no line showing where it was meant to connect, so the first step was going in blind to find the old one on the generator itself.

This generator is installed under the cockpit sole of our boat, under the starboard helm. A hatch in the sole between the two helms provides basic access to the front of the generator, enough for oil changes and regular service. But the remaining three sides are almost entirely in the dark and wildly inaccessible. It’s not where I would’ve installed a generator, but you’ve got to work with what you have.

It took no time to realize that the temperature sensor was, of course, not on the front. We thought we might get better visibility of the other three sides if one of us snaked ourselves down and through the opening helm seat. This required dismantling and removing a little shelf inside the seat that was blocking further access. Once the shelf was out and we had a small tunnel through, an inspection mirror revealed our fear: There it was, on the farthest, darkest corner of the backside of the generator.

At this point, we could have – should have? – paused. How sure were we, really, that this was what the generator needed? Did we make too many assumptions, leap too quickly to too many unfounded conclusions? But look, the new part was already in hand. We decided we might as well forge ahead.

“Did you try the other temperature sensor first?” the tech asked after I explained our frustrating predicament. “You know, the one on the front?”

“There’s … one on the front?” I asked, stunned. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Turns out our generator has two high-temperature sensors: one on the back, which we replaced, and another on the front, just behind the main access panel and right in front of our sweaty faces. If we’d slowed down just a bit, one of us might’ve noticed. It took four minutes to replace it. The generator fired right up and chugged away as if nothing had ever been wrong.

“Have you tried the front?” has now entered my troubleshooting vocabulary, and I interject it whenever Nic and I seem at risk of acting faster than thinking. As we forge ahead with a slew of projects this upcoming winter, Occam’s Razor comes to mind, the principle that, when multiple hypotheses may be correct, the simplest is the most likely. Boat projects are notorious for throwing curveballs, and after surviving enough of them, it’s easy to get pessimistic and expect the most inconvenient answer to be the right one. But not always. Sometimes a simple fix really needs, well, a simple fix.

If you’re anticipating a winter spent knee-deep in projects and troubleshooting, cursing your luck as you dive deeper and deeper trying to solve vexing problems, and wondering what you could possibly be missing, consider trying the front first. Oh, and don’t hesitate to call the manufacturer’s tech person, because the answer may be right in front of you.