Marsh Harbour-Georgetown, 2/16-18/2010, Part III
When we left you last time, we'd just turned on the engine to replenish our
batteries and gain not only some speed but stability in the really horribly
fluky winds.
Ooops!! At 9AM, the engine stopped. WHAT's GOING ON???? Ah, well, the
water's not any fun here, so we will just have to go on like we were. Once we arrive in our expected lee of Eleuthera's relative calm, along with some more wind as
forecast by Chris Parker, we should be more stable, and I can go back to troubleshooting.
All this excitement and decision-making had taken less than a half-hour, and
I went down for my sleep at 9:30. However, I wasn't really tired, and
between all the boat motion and the
motor and autopilot (Otto's motors are
right under our bed)
noise I couldn't sleep, so got up. My
rule is that if
I can't get to sleep in 30 minutes, I get up and do something useful.
That something useful, in this case, was, as the wind had gone a bit more
north, allowing close to a beam reach, to raise the staysail at 10AM. We
set our course for 90*, set the genoa, then the staysail and finally the
main to take advantage of our new tack while we enjoyed the ride. That done,
I went back to
bed, getting an hour and a half nap, and returned topsides
shortly before noon. Chris' forecast had called for increasing and
stabilizing winds, so there was hope that the ride would improve so that
Lydia could get some sleep.
Meanwhile, there was this strange smell coming from the engine room, almost
like
wood burning. However, close
inspection revealed nothing of the sort,
other than a very pungent smell. I suspected the new
alternator,
remembering my last new alternator I'd bought in Charleston having done the
same thing, and having been reassured by the vendor that it was entirely
normal for a new one to "cook" for a while, we just turned on the ventilator
fans and waited for it to "cure." And, in fact, when the engine stopped, I
went in the engine room and, like a good chemist, rather than sticking my
nose right over it, wafted air from over the alternator to my sniffer,
confirming that to be the source.
With the new course of sail, and another sail up to help stabilize the boat,
while we weren't wallowing quite so badly, we still rolled a bit, but our
speed increased. The increased stability was sufficient to allow Lydia to
get "some" sleep - 10 hours of it, as it turned out :{)) Meanwhile, our
speed increased with the wind, making mid-6 knots VMG in 14 knots of
apparent wind.
By 2PM, the wind piped a bit stronger. With 14-22 knots of apparent wind on
a broad reach, still, but having to curve slightly more north at 75* CMG
(course made good) to keep it broad, rather than behind us, we were now
making 7.4-8.5 knots with white water coming over the bow. Brilliant
sunlight made the splashing water sparkle as it landed on the
dodger. Our
enclosure made us snug and dry in the cold weather, and we charged along.
Despite our slightly north of east point of travel, we were making excellent
time, and we were able to turn south toward the Exuma Sound, following the
east coast of Eleuthera, at 5:35 PM.
Yet another jibe, the staysail, being self-tending, on a boom, took care of
itself, as did the main, of course. However, with the staysail in the way,
I rolled in the genoa a bit, got the genoa through the slot, and let it out
again. Now, with all sails flying on a beam reach, we were fairly flying
along at 176*, making for the slot between Eleuthera and Little San
Salvador. We had only about 45 miles to go from our point well north of the
tip of the island, and in a few hours, we'd be in the lee of Eleuthera,
where I could go back to figuring out our engine's challenges.
Sure enough, by 7:30, as we crossed into the island's lee, not only did the
wind drop a bit, but the waves started to diminish as well. We saw 8-15
knots on our beam, making only 4.8-6.5 knots VMG in what was obviously a
very strong current. That was good, because our dead-reckoning, even these
speeds, would have us to the mouth of Elizabeth Harbour, Conch Cut, well
before dawn. Lydia got up a little before 10, and I took advantage of a
second hand to try to figure out our blasted engine challenges.
Once again, I go troubleshooting, and find the fuel filter housing's
somewhat low on fuel. Out comes the Gatorade bottle, same song, second
(well, 4th, 5th? - I
lost count) verse. Fortunately, I've got a cheapie
(that is, it doesn't cost much - under $5) pushbutton starter jumper which
allows me to bleed and restart the engine easily, right there at the engine,
with the shutoff valve close to hand to stop it. This time, we watch
closely...
The engine bleeds easily and restarts without much hassle - but dies
relatively quickly, as we watch bubbles come out of the bottom of the filter
(there's a clear glass bottom on the housing so you can see what's in there,
including water, which we've never had), eventually starving the engine (we
THINK - as you'll see in a minute).
DANG! There must be a leak, somewhere. More checking, of every fitting,
again. However, this time, the fuel polisher pressures right up, so it's
not likley to be in the line from the tank. If not there, then down the
line - I find that the one going to the manual pump (the one used to bring
fuel to the pressure pump if the lines are empty) is loose - the fitting
goes around when I twist the hose. That fitting is where I hang the
overflow bottle for the
coolant; each restart, I unhook it and pour the cup
or so of
coolant which remains back into the
heat exchanger. Apparently,
when I checked the fittings before, I didn't rotate so much as wiggle that
fitting, thus overlooking it. Well, DUH! Air's getting into the line, and
regardless of the integrity of the lines before that, air is infiltrating
the fuel as it goes into the engine.
A quick go with a 5/8" wrench, and that's secure. Fill the filter housings,
tighten the fuel polisher canister, start the polisher to make sure that
there's no air possible in the lines, and we're good to go. Bleed, start,
wait, rev, we let it run for 15 minutes while we watch the fuel filters. I
start and stop a couple of times and switch between filters each time. A
couple of bubbles which, after reflection, were merely the void in the feed
tube when I refilled the canister, make it out of the bottom of the filter
in both housings, after which all is clear. After all those exercises in
frustration, in the end, it was the loose fitting at the manual pump which
was responsible for our failures. I'd done the same twist-check on each
other fitting, but had presumed the failure was before the fuel filters,
rather than after them...
So, off we go, motor-sailing with the revolutions about the same as would be
resulting from a flat-water motoring speed to conserve fuel, while our
battery recharges heartily. The same alternator
cooking smell persists,
though, so with both of our engine room's ventilator/extractors going, we're
eating up another 20 or so amps than we would have under sail alone. The new
alternator handles it with aplomb.
Little San Salvador arrives in due course and we alter our direction
slightly to point us at Conch Cut, 63 miles away on a course of 161*, a
broad reach. We're still looking like we'll be there very early, but don't
reduce sail on the possiblility that we'll find the wind dying on us. We'll
heave to if needed to allow us to enter the cut in the daylight. I go down
at 11PM for my sleep while Lydia enjoys the ride and her iPod shuffle's
music. The gentle slapping of the waves, the easy motion of the boat and
the slight chirping which Otto does put me right out. Ray is on duty so
Lydia doesn't have to drive, and, Lydia tells me later, the
radar is quick
to point out the few pieces of traffic which are in the area.
I'm awakened at 3:30 by Lydia, who tells me that we're about 10 miles out
from Conch cut, having made our passage down the Exuma Sound, and that it's
time to heave to. I move the
mainsail traveler stop to center, pull the
genoa very tight-sheeted in, and make a hard left. As the
mainsail comes
around, I sheet it very hard, centering it. As it turned out, it would have
been well to move the stop further than center, as I wasn't able, without
using a
winch (which I far prefer not to do - and, since I rarely ever do
stuff I don't want to, I didn't, then, either), to sheet the main fully
tight. However, the genoa is plastered against the inner stay and sheeted
back, forcing the nose to try to turn downwind, while the mainsail, not
being fully centered, and our
rudder, hard over, tried to make us turn
upwind. The two offset each other, and we slid sideways while moving
forward slightly, making a nice slick behind us minimizing the waves and
making a very smooth, rise-and-fall motion versus the prior wallowing as the
swells went under us. By the time we're settled in, we're only 5 miles off
the marker to Conch Cut.
As a result of our main not being fully centered, our heaving to was not as
perfect as it might have been, and we jogged along at about 75-80* of
apparent wind, instead of the ideal 45-60*, moving 078* ENE at about 2.8
knots in 20 knots of wind. I stood watch while Lydia slept, and at a little
after 6AM, prepared to make my turn back into a sailing position.
Coming out of a hove-to position is no more difficult than turning the
wheel
the other way, which allows the genoa to push the nose around to where the
wind fills it again. The main and staysail both flopped over to the sailing
position as well, and we were off and running on what would turn out to be a
close reach. The close reach was as a result of all of our eastward
movement during our hove-to travels, over 8 miles, and, with only, now,
about 10 miles to go, we would have to beat into the wind. As the wind had
picked up again during this time, our return to a sailing position resulted
in a rapid shift from a starboard list to a port list. BANG! CRASH!
Needless to say, this brings Lydia up on a run. However, it was pretty
benign...
Oops. Despite our usual vigilance in securing stuff, there had been a
couple of items in the
salon which had been overlooked. One was the
"sailing drawer" - the place where light-duty
repair stuff, like
self-amalgamating tape, sail thread and needles and the like, were kept. It
wound up against the opposite bulkhead. The other was Lydia's
laptop, which
had been sitting on the
salon seat, definitely not where we'd normally
secure it. When it landed, it broke the tip of her
power supply cord, still
inserted, and left the end in the socket. The video camera's USB
plug,
fortunately, was merely bent, and I was able to bend it back into
position...
So, along we beat with wind at 15-20* apparent, still motorsailing.
However, with the wind speed and the very tight pinch, we're heeled a bit
much, so we roll in the Genoa, and proceed on main and staysail. We made
Conch Cut at a little after 8AM and began our threading through the
coral
heads with some trepidation. However, we'd sailed that
route last year
during the "fun
race around Stocking Island" (the one where we finished not
only last but by some 2-3 hours later than the other latest arrival), and so
knew that it should be all right to trust the Explorer Charts' rhumb lines
from waypoint to waypoint.
Sure enough, Ray (for
Raymarine, our chartplotter's maker) swiftly turned
the boat at each point, heading directly for the next, as I surveyed the
bottom, finding nothing at all of note. This is in stark contrast to our
last entry, in late 2008, where we were white-knuckling it from beginning to
end, not having our Explorer Charts' waypoints entered, and, instead, merely
making sure we didn't hit any of that dark blob stuff under us. So much so
that, should we find ourselves in a position to have to leave here in the
dark on our way back north, we'd be comfortable doing it by waypoint,
GPS
positioning, and charts.
I'd promised Bob Stewart, the seller of the WiFi
gear we use, that I'd
survey each of the 5 beaches on Stocking Island for available connection
points, so we got to get the tour before
anchoring in front of Chat'n'Chill,
the local drink'n'eatery on the beach. We had the hook down at 9:30, and,
having had a very lumpy ride overall, with little sleep between us, we both
went down for a nap. 44 hours from starting out, we're here...
Well, as usual, there's more, but for now, we'll let it wait a bit.
Until next time, Stay Tuned!
L8R
Skip and crew, happy to be in Georgetown
Morgan 461 #2
SV Flying Pig KI4MPC
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"And then again, when you sit at the
helm of your little ship on a clear
night, and gaze at the countless stars overhead, and realize that you are
quite alone on a wide, wide sea, it is apt to occur to you that in the
general scheme of things you are merely an insignificant speck on the
surface of the ocean; and are not nearly so important or as self-sufficient
as you thought you were. Which is an exceedingly wholesome thought, and one
that may effect a permanent change in your deportment that will be greatly
appreciated by your friends."- James S. Pitkin
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