I took my freshly-painted rowboat out several times last month.

Late October brought freshening winds, and the last time I went out I had to crab so severely into the wind to hold my course that I made very little headway.

Introduction to “Gilligan’s Island”: source Yarn

To add insult to injury, the fish were moving to the far end of the lake, out of range of my trolling motor, and–unless I had a lot of time to spare–of my oars.

I told my brother I was thinking about upgrading to an outboard motor. He was enthusiastic and recommended a newer model–I’d been considering a vintage two-stroke–and also suggested I invest in a fish finder.

I told him my budget probably wasn’t up to buying a fish finder, much less a motor.

A few days later he sent me this:

(note: some of the links in this article are affiliate links, which means that if you click the link and buy the associated product, the vendor may pay me a fee–your cost is unaffected)

Playing with my Garmin Striker 4 in “simulation” mode after absorbing some excellent online training

Now I was committed.

I decided that hot-wiring the fish finder to the battery would be declasse’, so I set about designing an electrical system for my tiny, 12′ rowboat.

Electric Avenue

Fortunately, one of my favorite YouTube content creators does this sort of thing all the time, so I wasn’t forced to rely solely on my shaky electrical knowledge.

First, I drew up plans in the “Graph Paper Notebook of Projects”:

I find that using graph paper and keeping more or less to scale helps rein in my wilder flights of fancy and gives me a better idea of how the project will turn out.

Since the rowboat has no decks or bulkheads to hide components under, I decided to use wire loom conduit to protect the insulation from the sun, and a sealed junction box to keep water out of the switches and fuses.

I also decided to install a battery kill switch in case I’d gotten my watts and amps confused.

Next I put a fuse block into the box. According to my graph paper diagram, main power would flow through 8 gauge wire from the positive battery terminal through the kill switch, into the fuse block, then back to the negative battery terminal.

The 14 gauge “load” power wires would come off the fuse block and go through the switch panel to the individual components. The “load” negative wires would then come back from the components to the negative “bus” on the fuse block.

If I sounded like I knew what I was talking about just then, you seriously need to work on your critical thinking.

The switch panel was originally set up so that all five switches, plus the USB charger/voltmeter, would be protected by the same fuse. I decided that I would rather have each component connected to its own fuse, so that if I blew up the USB charger, for example, I would still have lights.

This required me to study the switch wiring very carefully (have I mentioned that although I was forced to take two electrical engineering courses back in the day, I barely passed either, retaining only an off-color joke having to do with “ohm-osexuals”?).

After much anguished dithering, I cut the power jumpers between switches and capped the cut ends.

I know, I know: several of my power lines are green, not red. I was using up old wire. At least I colored my green NEGATIVE line with attractive black stripes from a Sharpie.

I tested the junction box to see if it was going to blow up before I hooked any loads into it.

After plugging all the wires into the fuse block, I marched out to install the junction box on the boat.

I’d tested several locations before committing: the back of this thwart was accessible and didn’t interfere with rowing or running a motor.

Then I installed the lights: the navigation lights and interior lights were LED strips that stuck to the hull using 3M adhesive pads, supplemented by Loctite heavy duty spray adhesive.

The anchor light, however, required surgery: I cut a 1 3/8″ hole in the aluminum transom brace with a hole saw, then installed the base.

I stole an idea from the YouTube creator I mentioned above and put a bracket behind the rear thwart to hold the anchor light post when not in use.

I lugged a battery out and put it behind the forward thwart (where it would help trim the boat), turned on the kill switch, and started testing lights. I had a bad moment when the anchor light didn’t work, but figured out that I just needed to plug it in more forcefully.

I was a little surprised when everything worked as advertised. I tested the fish finder separately–it also worked, as did the underwater “bait light.”

This was mildly surprising (and gratifying) because I’d cut the factory power leads off of both to wire them directly into the fuse block.

Once I was sure everything worked, I installed wire loom conduit and fixed it to the side of the hull using little sticky zip tie pads, again augmented by Loctite spray adhesive.

Even with the conduit the wires looked kind of spidery, but I was now less likely to trip over one and fall overboard.

Tower of Power

Meanwhile, I’d decided to invest my remaining life savings in an outboard motor. Given the size of my boat and the requirements of some of our smaller Arizona lakes, I decided to stay under 10 HP.

This Tohatsu (the same company makes small Mercury outboards) 9.8 HP fit the bill. It’s supposed to be simple and reliable–and at 81.5 lbs, won’t overload my 12′ MirroCraft.

I’ve never owned an outboard, so it was with great trepidation and after much rereading of the owner’s manual that I finally added engine oil and gas and fired it up.

I’m pleased to report that it behaved perfectly for the ten minute idle break-in period, after which I tried it in forward and reverse before revving it up for some half-throttle checks in neutral.

I can’t wait to take it out onto the water!

I’ve learned a lot, and the boat is more capable than when I first brought it home. However, having more than tripled my initial layout, I think it’s finally time to call it “project complete.”