Nothing is worse than the marine head. Although the bathroom or toilet enclosure is called the head, I am referring to the device with the seat termed the toilet, the john, or in Australia the dunny. On land, when these devices don’t work you can fix them with a plunger or call a plumber. At sea, you have to fix them yourself. It takes wrenches, screwdrivers, hose clamps and nose plugs. It’s a messy, miserable job while you bounce around on the ocean in a small space.

But fix it you must. Without care and cleaning, boats develop smells. The scent of the bilge, of the engine, of the stove, of damp clothing can be sorted out with cleaning and ventilation. The smell of a faulty marine head is overwhelming.

Virtually every head on a cruising boat has a sign facing the seat that says, “Only put toilet paper or bodily waste into the head.” I added a sign that said, “You Clog It; You Fix It.” The way a marine head works is simple: narrow rubber tubing carries the waste, and pumping a manual lever creates the force for the flush. For people used to pushing the toilet lever and walking away, the dozen pump strokes required to clear the toilet lines can be unfamiliar. As a result, many guests leave the head without clearing the lines, which sets up a blockage or backfill for the next use.

On a delivery to St. Thomas, the owner of the boat excitedly told me of the new chemically treated head he had just installed for the trip. This device chewed up the waste, marinated it in a chemical bath and then stored the finished pristine product in a sterile container. What a wonder!

Wonder indeed, until we ran into a storm several days out of Morehead City, N.C. It was the first time the new gee-whiz head had met Mother Ocean. With the pitching and slamming of the boat, the head surrendered and began leaking and spitting waste, marinade and finished product. Even shutting off the intake valve failed to stop the vile flow. So with buckets and towels, wrenches and pliers, gagging and worse, I spent an hour and a half (or was it a week?) on my hands and knees as the new-fangled head and its many complicated, if ingenious, parts slammed crazily around the confined space in an ocean storm. Oh for the KISS rule (Keep It Simple, Stupid).

Heads used to be simple. Indeed, the term comes from the days of square-rigged ships when sailors perched over holes on boards fastened to the bow, or head of the ship. Sailors “took their ease” on the roughest, wettest place on a ship; none of them went out to read the newspaper. With the advent of cruising sailboats after World War II, buckets became the norm for smaller boats. As more leisure sailors took to the water, demand for more salubrious facilities prompted the development of marine heads with seats and plumbing.

Still, three issues remain with them. The first as I’ve mentioned is the care that needs to be taken when using. The second is that the head or bathroom area needs to be small enough so that a sailor can brace himself while the boat is underway and yet large enough so that the area doesn’t feel like a coffin. Boat designers still struggle with this issue.

The third, and arguably most important, is the issue of human waste. It used to be that the waste went directly from the marine head through some tubing and into the water. In the past, if you were rowing through an anchorage around breakfast time, it was advisable not to look closely at the waterline areas of the surrounding boats. In fact, the gateway entrance through a boat’s lifeline was thoughtfully positioned on the opposite side of the head discharge, keeping swimmers on the cleaner side of the boat.

In 1972, boats were required to pump the waste into a holding tank on board unless they were three miles offshore. The tanks were to be pumped out at marinas or pump out stations in harbors. Most people continued to pump overboard. Y-valves were positioned to allow boaters to divert waste either to the holding tank when within three miles of the coast or overboard when offshore. Most people left the Y-valves set to overboard and switched them to the holding tank position when in harbor — they might actually be swimming in that water themselves!

Moving into the 21st century, with the increased number and availability of pump out facilities, growing awareness of the impact of bacteria on the coastal environment and a generation of boaters new to the water, there has been considerable progress in the use of holding tanks. Perhaps another incentive to progress has been compliance inspection by the U.S. Coast Guard. When inspecting a boat for required safety equipment, the USCG will also check to see that the Y-valves are set to send waste to the holding tank. If the discharge is set to go overboard, the boater faces a $2,000 to $5,000 fine. Not surprisingly, this has had some impact on behavior.

Including mine. I was bringing a sailing yacht up the East Coast to the Vineyard and put into Cape May, N.J., to anchor for the night. In addition to Cape May being a great harbor of refuge, it is also home to the U.S. Coast Guard Training Center. As we moved into the anchorage, I went to the bow to prepare the anchor and ground tackle. While doing that, an orange USCG vessel came near and hailed us, instructing us that they were going to board for an inspection. They were carrying weapons. I asked if they could stand by while we anchored. They agreed.

While tending to the anchor, I realized I couldn’t recall if my crew had moved the Y-valves to the proper position when we came within three miles of the Cape May coast. As soon as the anchor set, I dashed from the bow to the cockpit and jumped below to make sure both heads were set properly. Immediately, the USCG came quickly alongside, boarded rapidly and a guardsman hurtled down the companionway barking: “Sir, I would like you to open all areas as I instruct you.” His sidearm pistol looked enormous.

I complied (duh) and we went through a complete proctology exam of every enclosed area of the boat, from engine to bilge to food lockers to forepeak. (Were the flares and fire extinguishers up to date? Did I replace the bulb in the port running light? Where did I stow that bloody bell — why do they require that anyway?) It wasn’t a pleasant experience — 45 minutes of poking and prodding in the guts of the boat. When all was said and done and the inspection paperwork was completed, I asked why we had been so thoroughly searched.

“Sir, we saw you run below and we were concerned you may have been carrying something of interest.” They thought they were dealing with a crafty drug smuggler, not a nervous head violator.

I am aware of the reason for the discharge codes. I understand the negative impact of raw waste on our harbors and coastline. I know what sewage is doing to our ponds. But I still get nervous when 20-year-old Coast Guardsmen wearing firearms swarm onto my boat.

Maybe I need something to complement the “You Clog it; You Fix it” sign. Something like “You Screw Up Y-valve; You Deal with the Coast Guard.”

Jim Malkin lives in Chilmark.