The Day I Heated Friday Harbor

By Robert Balcomb ©2100

Washington state’s Puget Sound is dotted with islands, the westernmost being San Juan Island. Its main town, Friday Harbor, boasts the Whale Museum, a two-story building built on the eastern slope overlooking the harbor with its expanse of yachts and boats.

I was staying with my nephew Ken Balcomb, head of the Orca Survey organization studying killer whales, a few miles out of Friday Harbor. Since I was a photographer and had built several photographic darkrooms, he asked me to build one at the Museum. The owner of the Museum building agreed to let us use the lower floor. The Survey group had a charge account at the hardware store, just one block from the Museum, also handling lumber needed for the darkroom materials.

First, I darkened the main room with a sheet of framed 1/2" Cellotex, hinged from the ceiling to cover the window and swing up against the ceiling and hook to it when not needed. Next, I built a sink with 3/4" marine plywood, resting on a 2x4" frame, and ran hot and cold water pipes to the sink. I arranged the piping and cut-off valves so that, when proper temperature was reached, the main valve could be shut. I alerted the crew to not change the set-up because all they had to do was to open that valve and get the proper temperature almost instantly. All was fine, with the Survey crew happily doing their photographic work. And, through time, the project enjoyed a huge success.

Slowly, the building owner began complaining that her electric bill was growing higher and wondered what the problem was. Evidently she had an assistant bookkeeper, so that she was unaware of a growing problem until it became so large that she was finally alerted. Anyway, I didn’t dream that I had anything to do with it. Then, through time, when it snowed, people noticed that the town’s sidewalks were strangely dry—snow melted as fast as it reached them. Streets were snowbound, but not the sidewalks. It was pleasantly convenient, but no one knew why. In talking with people, I learned that the city water lines run under the sidewalks, and I finally put two and two together to realize that somehow my darkroom sink plumbing might be the problem.

I found out that my two water pipes to the sink ran straight into each other so that, through convection, heat from the hot-water pipe heated water in the cold-water pipe—a closed loop transferring heat steadily through the cold-water system, out of the building, into the city water system, and under the sidewalks, warming them. Theoretically it could have infected the Island’s entire water supply—I could imagine the city water reservoir bubbling away with hot water from my darkroom sink.

The simplest solution was to add another cut-off valve to the hot-water line at the sink, and warn the crew always to shut that valve when finished with each day’s work. It was not the best solution, but it was my immediate solution, and it worked—until the darkroom project finally ran its course, and the whole operation was retired and removed—including my piping.

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