I don't like engines
01 April 2014 | Esperanza
It was supposed to be an easy sail just fourteen miles from St Thomas to a little island called Culebrita, just to the west of Culebra, and a nice secluded bay to have lunch and perhaps a swim. Just before we weighed anchor, after stowing stuff away, Jackie decided we needed a last cup of tea, and found that we had run out of gas. We've a spare bottle on board, but to get the old one out is a bit of a pain as the generator is sitting on top of the deck panel all trussed up for the voyage, we decide to forget the tea and get underway, after all its only going to be three hours to Culebrita.
At 10.30 we motor out of the shelter of Lindberg Bay with one reef in the mizzen and with the wind almost on our stern, we run into fairly big rolling waves just off the stern. It's not exactly a comfortable ride and Jackie at the helm struggles to keep Picaroon on course. Having the wind behind you, you would think is the easiest sailing but actually it's the hardest. We decide to put up the genoa but it's a struggle to keep the wind in the sail and steer to Culebrita. The forecast gentle breeze is actually blowing at about twenty knots, and eventually we furl in the genoa and just leave the mizzen up to try and keep her at least a bit steadier, and start the engine again.
The waves have increased in size, and looking back to our dingy which is tagging along behind us, we can often see it above the level of our stern as the rollers race under Picaroon, which rises and falls with each passing wave. We've been motoring for about half an hour when suddenly the engine coughs and splutters to a dead silence. Without any way Picaroon begins that horrible motion of being tossed around dangerously, slewing from side to side, pitching and rolling. We unfurl the genoa as fast as possible to get some speed back across the rudder and turn away from Culebrita to catch the wind on the beam which steadies Picaroon and soon we're sailing at four knots, but in the wrong direction, we're heading South, not West.
Now I don't like engines, and engines don't like me, but as I'm the chief engineer, it's going to be down to me to figure out what's wrong. Down in the main cabin where the engine lives, behind removable wooden panels it's hot, it's going to be a sweaty job. Once the panels are off I stare at this grimy thing looking for something that's broken, or looks broken. Ah-ha there's a rod thing that has become unattached, but from where, it's not obvious, so I consult the workshop manual. This turns out to be completely useless, it tells me, in words and pictures how to take the whole thing apart, but nowhere is there a diagram of the whole engine and the bits that go to it like this rod thing. I turn to a big fat book we've just bought called everything you need to know about fixing stuff on your boat, by Nigel Calder, but that doesn't have my problem in it either.
Down below, as the boat is heeled over and bouncing about, it's like trying to work on the back of a bucking bronco. After about half an hour I realise that the broken rod is a red herring. It hasn't been attached since we bought the boat, it is the emergency stop that has long since been replaced with a bit of wire that we have to pull to do that. It should have been obvious, but it was the only bit I could see that looked wrong, so now I'm stumped.
Now I don't like engines, they're hot, smelly unfriendly beasts but they're absolutely necessary when you're getting close to land, and that little cove you plan to anchor in, doing it under sail is for the experts, and we are far from experts, so I've got to find a fix. According to those that know, a diesel engine is simplicity itself, feed it fuel and air and it will chunter away till the cows come home. But feed it dirty fuel, or fuel with air in it, or block its air supply it will stop, this is what I'm reading in Nigels' book, down in the bucking boat as Jackie asks "how long before I get my engine back"?
She's doing a sterling job at the helm wrestling with Picaroon in mounting seas, but she's having to head in the wrong direction, South which puts the waves on the aft quarter, not west. South, and about fifteen miles away is Vieques where we'd planned to be tomorrow. As I've no idea if I'm going to be able to fix our engine, Jackie makes the decision to push on to Vieques instead of calling at Culebrita, which, although is only about five miles away to our starboard side, the following wind and waves would make the sail to Culebrita, if not impossible, positively dangerous, so heading South is the right call.
About four weeks ago, I went through how to service this monster with English Steve, the Mr fix it in Salinas, so I would know how to do all that changing of filters and stuff that has to be done as a part of routine maintenance. One of the things he showed me was how to bleed the fuel supply and at the time I thought I had taken it all in, but here on the high seas, in a cabin that's airless, hotter than hell and moving every which way, it's just slipped my mind exactly which of the million nuts I'm supposed to loosen off, so I turn to Nigels' chapter on diesel engines. Of course none of the pictures look like my Izuzu, they've all got neat little bleed screws pointed at with little arrows.
The one thing I do recall is where the pumping thing is, so with Nigels' book to hand, and a spanner that almost fits, I crack open a nut that looks promising, and pump. Diesel weeps out and what looks like little bubbles, and I pump some more until it looks clear. I'm not sure what I'm doing, or if I have the right pipe but at least I've tried something, and retighten the nut.
The moment of truth! I appear on deck with my new aroma of diesel eau de colone, to try cranking the engine. I hold down the pre-heat for 30 seconds and turn the key. Lo and bloody behold Mr Engine Sir kicks into life, result!
As we're still quite close to Culebrita we decide to change course, and head there, as per our original plan. It shouldn't take more than a couple of hours and it's only early afternoon, so we furl in the genoa and head west to Culebrita. I'm actually quite chuffed that I've managed to get the engine going and sit back in the cockpit watching the giant rollers crash around us and thankful that we're not having to do the long sail to Viequers. Two and a half miles later the engine wimpers to a halt , up go the sails again, and I clamber back into the engine room and repeat what I did before, hoping for the same result.
After about fifteen minutes back in the sweat box, second bleed done, we try starting the engine. Once again Mr engine Sir responds, but instead of motoring in we decide to go in as close as possible under sail and only start the engine when we absolutely have to There's supposed to be a quiet and anchorage there, a good spot for a late lunch, but all around the narrow entrance are sentries of brooding rocky shores, this would not be a good place to be without an engine. We've both got our hearts in our mouths as I turn the key.
With a huge sigh of relief it fires up, just keep working,please, only half a mile to go, but a decidedly tricky half mile, cliffs to the left of us rocks and surf to the right.
Jackie nurses Picaroon through the narrows and at last we hit calmer waters, with a beautiful beach ahead, and just a couple of other boats. We need to get close inshore where there's fourteen feet of water, and mooring buoys but as we hit the fourteen foot contour the engine dies.
We drop the anchor right where we are, pay out some chain and nervously eyeball the breaking surf crashing onto rocks about three hundred yards away. We really need the anchor to bite, as the wind will surely push us onto the rocks if it doesn't. Picaroon comes to a halt and we drift backwards, it's all we can do as we've no engine to help set the anchor as we would do if we had one (and of course reverse gear which we haven't). At last we stop, the chain tightens and we take transits just to make sure. We take transits for at least ten minutes, and wait, watching the chain rise and fall. Phew!
For the time being we're safe. Now how about that a nice cup of Earl Grey that we were going to have just before we left St Thomas, six hours ago.