We used to own a catamaran with an outboard engine. The engine was an incredibly reliable 25 horsepower Honda outboard on the back of a thirty foot sailing catamaran. It could easily push the boat at hull speed, started every time, ran smoothly and quietly, and it never quit. Well, it almost never quit.

I had been traveling north on the ICW for about a week with my son and daughter, both experienced teenage sailors. We had reached Elizabeth City, a wonderful small town at the entrance to the Dismal Swamp route to the Chesapeake Bay. A couple of days of visiting the museums, enjoying the city’s architecture, restaurants, and hospitality had passed pleasantly by. Now we were ready to depart.

I knew that the priming pump for the engine had been exposed to some salt water and was a bit sluggish. Not wanting to interrupt a great vacation, I had just been pumping the choke/prime a couple of extra times to get the engine started every morning. I had tried some WD40 a few days earlier but that hadn’t seemed to help. This day was like every other day, so I primed the engine a couple of extra times and turned the key. The engine turned over and roared to life.

With my skilled crew, we backed out of the free dockage at Elizabeth City without a problem. I could see a pack of cruising sailboats and trawlers on my left backed up behind the bascule bridge waiting for it to open as I slowly motored out of the narrow channel toward the Pasquotank river. On my right – and seemingly all around me – were people riding Jet Skis to and fro. There was little wind and nearly no current, but a small regatta of sailors was gathering just ahead, probably waiting to move further down river where we had seen races the day before.

With my kids putting away the dock lines and a clear, but crowded path forward, I went to throttle up the reliable outboard. The engine spluttered, choked, coughed, and then stalled. No amount of swearing or cranking would get the engine started again. Jet Skis were whizzing by, and just then I heard the siren indicating that bridge was about to open. In a few moments the narrow channel would be full of boats wanting to get somewhere. And there we were, slowly coasting to a stop, right in everyone’s way!

As was our custom when we cruised, we had prepared the anchor for quick deployment before departing. I told my son to go forward and get ready to drop the anchor. My daughter had already grabbed the boat hook. Though my son moved forward and grabbed the anchor rode, he was not convinced it was a good idea. He felt that anchoring at that point would have left us right in the middle of a busy channel. We would be stopped and possibly stuck there for some time. We’d be a target for any Jet Ski with an attention deficit problem and a nuisance to anyone itching to reach the Albemarle Sound before the afternoon storms made it a rough ride.

My son’s idea was to use our momentum to move us out of the traffic and toward some nearby docks. I could see that the docks had plenty of shiny fiber glass we could destroy. But, we would be out of traffic. Plus, there was a chance that someone might be able to help us, and if we did it just right, we might be able to stop at the dock and tie up until we could repair the engine. We only had a few seconds before the boats from the now nearly raised bridge would descend upon us and our momentum was waning.

I quickly called out on the VHF and raised a few people on the docks that said they would help if they could. I judged that our momentum was sufficient to at least move us out of the channel and we could still drop the anchor at any time if that seemed like the only option. So I decided my son was right, eased the wheel over and pointed us toward the large, stationary, and expensive objects floating all around the dock.

We eased our way forward. Just as I lost steerage way — and was now adrift and out of control — we reached the limits of the fifty-foot dock lines I always kept on deck. It was going to be very close. I was pointing toward an opening at the docks and there was now someone standing there to catch our dock lines. But I was not sure we would make it and I was not sure we would be going slow enough to avoid some serious pain.

The good news was that we were now out of the busy channel. The bad news was that we were hardly out of danger. Even at this slow speed, I knew there was a big risk. A sailboat carries a lot of momentum, and we could really do some damage to the docks, my boat, or other boats. I could imagine the crunching sound my boat would make as it slowly imbedded its bow into the late-model trawler gently rolling at the end of the dock.

My son and daughter had practiced throwing dock lines. Without me having to tell her, my daughter had already made fast a long line to the bow cleat, cleared the line and coiled just the right amount in her right hand, with a bit more in her left hand that she could pay out as the line flew. She’d need a great throw to hit that man standing on the dock now about thirty feet away. There would not be a second chance.

With a big swing and a bit of groan, she let the line fly. It was a perfect throw! In fact, she had hit the man on the head with a coil of line. Without me having to say anything, the man wrapped the line halfway around a pole and used the friction to start to reduce our speed. Within seconds my son had thrown a second line that was also nimbly caught and wrapped. A few seconds later it was over as our anchor barely clanged against the dock, announcing our safe arrival.

After tying up, showering, eating and relaxing, we took some time to discuss what had gone right and wrong. It had all happened very quickly. But we had done a few things right. We were ready and able to deploy the right equipment; the anchor had been ready, we had long dock lines on the stanchions, and we had a boat hook within reach. We had also practiced with our equipment so we could grab and use it with confidence. Everyone on board knew how to tie a cleat hitch and throw a line.

My son had been right to move us out of the channel. If I had dropped the anchor as I originally intended, we would have been a nuisance and perhaps a danger to every boat that passed. It was also wise to call ahead on the VHF radio so that everyone who was listening knew we had a problem and people on the docks could come to our aid: we would not have been able to stop the boat as we did without their help. It was a risky decision to head for the docks, but we could have dropped the anchor at any time, or if I had been moving fast enough, I could have steered away and dropped anchor at the last moment away from the docks.

Later that evening, we took apart the engine and realized that the WD40 that had seemed ineffective a few days before had finally made its way into the priming pump. The pump was now working perfectly. When I pumped it several times to compensate for its poor performance the preceding days, I probably flooded the engine. But we also realized something else. We had failed to consider the most obvious solution to our problem – raise the sails and sail away without the engine! A reliable outboard is nice but sometimes it makes sense to let the wind move a sailboat!