Having had my coffee stove do some funky, and not-such-safe things on a fishing trip, I got a bee in my bonnet and decided to give it its annual service. OK, its one-in-five-year service then. Prematurely perhaps, but you can’t be too safe. I last changed the O-rings after that incident which was …. Well I can’t remember how many years back. The European YouTube video said to do this before every trip.
The O-rings were absolutely fine. The problem is that in servicing the thing, I must have dislodged some dirt, which then blocked the jet. I knew I should have left it alone!
Thankfully I was rescued from the blocked jet problem by Neil, who came to the rescue with his cheap Chinese stove which worked a bomb. So we got coffee to wash down the lunch he had made us, but my stove-pride was just a little dented.
Tomorrow’s weather looks a little icy, so apart from packing extra thermals to stave off death in a float tube, I resolved to sort the stove out.
Placed on our stove top after the necessary cleaning and tinkering, it burst into flames as the offending piece of dirt was finally expunged. Barked like a dog: “Woof” in my face. And I jumped back, trying not to act at all surprised or alarmed. Nonchalantly explaining to my wife that this is how it works. All under control.
I was a little intimidated when I first took this thing apart, and again all these years later when I had forgotten how. The YouTube videos are for a model less that 15 years old, so I was stuck with some fuel-soaked manuals which came with the thing, all those years ago. But like Pirsig, I find myself drawn to the beauty of the mechanics of this device. Everything is precision engineered, much of it in brass, and most pieces have a dual purpose. When the jet is exposed, the back of it acts to lock it into the base backward to act as a spanner to unscrew it. The plunger is removed by aligning it to a marker to within a millimetre. Then a left turn until you hear two clicks. I love it! You can keep your ‘sealed black box’ and ‘throwaway when its bust’ modern version. This thing of mine is a lifer. With each disassembly and re-assembly I grow more fond of it.
I guess it’s a little like catching fish on the fly you tied yourself, or on the rod you built . At very least it’s like continuing to use the rod which you have broken and mended more than once. The one with the cork which has worn to the shape of your hand. One colleague saw the wear and offered to replace the grip for me. Hell no! Then I’ll have to start all over again. I’ve been working on that one since the autumn of 1996. It’s an old friend.
Like the coffee stove. I have my fair share of old friends, and I plan on keeping them. Besides, eyebrows can grow back.
