Well, we were tested. And we passed. Though I can’t say the test was fun, I am really glad my crew reacted the way they did. Mind you – this wasn’t the final exam, merely a pop-quiz. A healthy reminder of how quickly things can change when you’re out here voyaging.
Chels also told me her Mom was reading this site now. So, “Hi” to Chels’ Mom. Your daughter’s kicking butt, alive and well.
Rain, Finally
We were on the back end of the charter and things were looking pretty up. We finally got some rain, which helped with the freshwater issue. Then we had a nice, relaxing morning reading and drinking coffee in Chichime while we waited for the weather to calm down. It wasn’t bad – just some strong winds (20+ knots), rain, and overcast.
I generally don’t like moving around in stuff like that, but we needed to get our charter guests back to the pick-up spot. So around 2PM I called it – we needed to move. The wind was gusting to 20 knots, the lighting was poor, but the rain had quit.
Well – we pulled up the dinghy and kayak, fired up the engines and GPS, and we were off. But, as I was leaving I heard a horrible crash. And when I looked around the kayak was in a really weird position. As I was maneuvering around boats and shallows in the anchorage, I didn’t have time to ponder it – I just told Chels to tie it up. Which was when she noticed the anchor line that we use for the kayak was broken. And shortly after that she informed me that the anchor line we used for the kayak was wrapped around my starboard prop.
A Problem
This was a problem. We were in a pretty tight spot, with relatively large winds, and I’d just lost all control of the boat. Immediately the wind started pushing us back toward another boat. I used my port engine to maneuver around that. By that time, Damo had his snorkel on and was in the water sawing at the line. I needed to drop anchor to slow us down, but the windlass wasn’t dropping rode. So I sent Chels to flip the breaker. Still not dropping the anchor. Then Chels went up front and found the issue – the chain was off the windlass. She quickly fixed it and we started dropping anchor.
We were being blown backwards so quickly the anchor didn’t have any time to set. So we started dragging anchor. Fast. We’d maneuvered around the other boats in the anchorage, so now we were being blown into the shallows. It would have been ugly.
Thankfully a couple of Kuna saw our predicament and dropped into the water to help Damo cut the line free of the prop. And thankfully our anchor started to dig in. So I used the windlass to pull us out of the shallow water, into relative safety.
Damo surfaced saying the line was completely free. I cranked the engine, and we breathed a collective sigh of relief as we maneuvered out of Chichime. Jesus. There are plenty of lessons to be learned from this, it was a rookie move that almost really cost me. But my crew had just nailed a pretty tough series of issues. So we let it be and pointed toward East Lemmons, where we’d drop off our charter guests (who seemed to be enjoying the spectacle).
Another Problem
The wind and waves had picked up. Though we were in a relatively protected area, we were beating through a slop of confused seas with short wave periods. And the wind was 25 knots, on our nose. I had both engines pushing us, at relatively low RPM’s, and we were doing about 4 knots SOG (speed over ground). Then I heard a bad sound.
I could hear my port side (newly installed) electric fuel pump struggling. Which meant my engine was about to lose fuel. Which meant I was about to lose an engine, again. The engine lasted another 20 minutes or so, then as it began struggling – I killed it. We were blowing into shore, but since I had power on starboard side – I did a 1/2 circle and got the wind on my port bow to help keep us straight. Then Damo took the wheel and I jumped into the engine room.
I emptied the Racor fuel filter- there was some gunk in there. More than I’d like to see. So I pulled off the Racor altogether – dirtier than expected but not a game-killer. So I filled everything back up and went to bleed the lines. Well – there was zero fuel coming through those lines. Back to square one.
So I pulled the fuel lines off and checked for resistance (meaning I tried to suck diesel through the hose). I was hoping for a mouthful of diesel (yeah, I realize how that sounds) – but didn’t get much. Major problem. This means there’s a gunk-clog somewhere in either my fuel tank, or my fuel lines running from my tank to my Racor. Which means I can’t use that tank right now. The most likely culprit was a fungus that grows in diesel down here. Read that again – there’s a damn fungus that grows in diesel down here, and it had completely crippled me at sea. Lame.
I was covered in grime, bleeding from a few places on my hands, and not too excited about trying to get anchored with only one engine. But, as I crawled out of the engine room – Damo told me he’d been steering on the single engine very well. The wind had died down to 4 knots, and if we kept a speed of 4 (plus) knots – the steering was fairly responsive. My original plan had been to drop the dinghy, side-tie it to the port side, and use it’s engine to power my port side. But that seemed like a lot of crap to mess with in the open, so I grabbed the helm and played with the steering. Good news: Damo was right, we could probably anchor with a single engine.
Into the Anchorage
4 knots isn’t very fast in the open ocean. But it’s pretty much flying around an unfamiliar anchorage in low-light. But I couldn’t go any slower or I’d lose all maneuverability, and wouldn’t be able to get it back. So we flew around the anchorage. Luckily it was pretty open – very few boats in a pretty large area. As we were flying around, we ran over a pretty shallow area that was perfect for anchoring. So I made a wide circle, slowed down, and dropped the hook. It wasn’t easy, but I got S/V NOMAD swung around and backed down on the anchor. We were hooked.
Everybody breathed a collective sigh of relief, and I started washing the diesel and engine grime out of the cuts on my hands. We all settled back into our roles, and carried on our post-anchor routines. Everybody had performed admirably, but I needed to get off the boat for a bit. So I offered to buy the first couple of rounds at the “bar” on Elephante (the nearest island). The “bar” is run by a couple of Kuna’s – one gay, one transvestite – and it consists of a small hut with 4 sagging plastic chairs and a bench table.
Chels, the charter guests, and I started drinking and conversing. It was like the day melted off of us. Two beers in and we’d almost forgotten about the trials shortly before. I was reminded a little more frequently than the others, I think, because I had a million small cuts on both paws (from rushed engine-room work) that were pretty sensitive to the cold bottled Balboa.
Back Onboard
We made it through four rounds before the dinner bell was rung. Damo had stayed onboard for some alone-time and to cook us dinner. When he’d finished dinner, he put out the green underwater LED light to let us know. When we approached S/V NOMAD it looked like some alien craft sitting in the middle of the anchorage.
Dinner was awesome, and afterwards I took the plates out to scrape off overboard. And noticed a shark, or a tarpon, under the LED light. So I told everyone to come out. The next hour was full of debate – shark or tarpon? I went through this a couple of nights in a row when I was in the Hollandes last time around – so I changed my mind and guessed tarpon. Nobody believed me for a bit. But, yes, it was a tarpon. So Damo wanted to catch it.
We needed the entertainment.
The fish was huge. It would have given Damo the fight of his life. And that’s what he wanted. So, while everyone else watched the Spotted Eagle Rays circle the light – Damo and I caught live bait and started tossing it around the tarpon. The tarpon made a serious run at one bait, but it wasn’t in the cards. But there was a massive bait ball under the light – so we tried to drop a GoPro on a fishing line down to get some footage of it. It was too dark.
Just the Crew
The next morning I dropped our charter guests off on Eliphante. They were awesome, I think we all had fun – despite the couple of tense moments. That said – it’s those moments that actually make memories. An uneventful sail back to East Lemmons would have been exactly that – uneventful. And therefore; unmemorable.
Back onboard we settled into a state of normalcy. Damo cooked, Chels kept things from devolving into chaos, and I got dirty in the engine room. A friend called me to talk me through some troubleshooting and some possible fixes. And he reminded me of something: this is it. I made it. There’s no rush, there’s no schedule, there’s no reason to be stressed. My catamaran is securely anchored in one of the most beautiful spots on Planet Earth, and that’s something I’ve been working toward for a long time. I’m young, I’ve got my health, I’ve got time, and a boat most guys my age would kill for.
When the myriad of challenges of voyaging via sailing yacht enter your head – sometimes it’s hard to remember that this is fun. It was a turning point to just sit in the engine room – sweating gallons, and calmly and slowly work through my issue. I solved it (temporarily) with a day-tank.
Then I moved to the other engine to address a leaky exhaust hose. And I found a much more serious issue. What I’d thought was a leaky exhaust hose, was in fact a small river flowing out of my exhaust system. Had this been a singly day earlier, it would have been devastating. But with a little bit of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance bouncing around in my head – I just evaluated the situation. Then I jumped out of the engine room, had lunch, and pondered the issue.
I spent the rest of the day doing the best repair job I could, with the tools I had onboard – and today we’ll see if I managed to make a workable solution. I’m guessing so. We were due for some good luck, so we were thrilled when we spotted the veggie boat. There are a couple of guys that run veggies to various anchorages – and we caught them. Lucky us.
Then, because we needed some fresh fish – Damo and I took off on the kayak for a little kayak fishing (the visibility is a little off right now). Damo wasn’t convinced we’d land anything, but I kept the faith. About 30 minutes into our little trip a reel was buzzing and Damo got to fight a pretty good sized Barracuda on light tackle, on a kayak. It was fun to watch, and I could tell that Damo was having a blast. Equally importantly, with no ciguatera down here – we now had fresh fish for our next meal.
Wrapping Up
Yesterday Chels told me she felt sorry for me, when I was in the engine room bleeding all over the place, with diesel and oil in my cuts and scrapes. It occurred to me that I’d heard that sentiment before from some readers, so here’s some clarification: pity is the wrong emotion.
This whole thing is a massive experiment. The learning curve is pretty steep, and sometimes it seems like the stakes are really high. And often, boat issues seem to dominate the thought-landscape. I read a little Thoreau this morning though, as I drank coffee and watched the sun come up over the back of my catamaran. It helps remind me why I started this.
“Through want of enterprise and faith men are what they are, buying and selling, and spending their lives like serfs… We should come from far, from adventures, and perils, and discoveries every day, with new experience and character.”
With that in mind, here’s the truth:
Everybody onboard has stories that will never make it to this site. Tons of them. And every one of the crew members onboard has experiences you can’t understand – because the intensity of the highs and lows are too much for words. There’s no substitute for experience, and peril, and adventure. And I promise you, if you’re looking to build character this is a Hell of a way to do it.
It’s like mainlining life. It’s pure, unadulterated life. It’s not muted by the conveniences at home. There are few rules. You’re completely in charge of your own destiny.
All the career success in the world won’t give you these experiences. You can’t buy the kind of character this builds. You can’t make up the stories you’ll live through. There are no places in civilization that can give you this freedom. No matter how hard you try, there’s no substitute for this in a cubicle, or a corner office. There’s nothing behind that computer screen that can change you the way this kind of life can.
So, what did you do yesterday?
Things Escalated Quickly
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