When a 50+ year boating veteran invites you to go sailing in the ocean on a Saturday morning, you accept without hesitation – especially when it is your same model of boat and you are unschooled in its operation! So we got up early, dropped Bridge off at doggy daycare, and boarded the vessel just a few minutes past 9 o’clock. The plan was to make the Atlantic Blvd. and 14th St. drawbridge openings at 10:00 and 10:15 and then head out the Hillsboro inlet and into the Atlantic. Overcast with tame winds from the southeast, perfect learning conditions!
We were early arriving at the first bridge, and as we idled in its shadow, waiting, a high-pitched squeal began to sound, intermittently at first, and then full blast, from the engine panel at our feet in the cockpit. Check oil light. Hmmm, the Captain added half a quart earlier this morning, what could it be? The engine itself started rattling, clicking, not happy at all. Well, it seems to get better with more RPM, so let’s just run it at 2k so the damned alarm shuts up. It does, and we pass under the bridge without incident.
There is a lot of traffic on the I.C.W. – it is Saturday after all – from jet skis to megayachts, everybody is out to play, and it is a little tense when an oncoming 40-footer passes within a meter of our beam…
Another mile north to the 14th St. bridge, and very soon after going under it, the beep blares anew and the engine noise returns, with a wheeze this time, RPMs trailing off, and she gives one last whimper before sputtering out entirely. A few choice epithets from the Captain, and then “put out the starboard anchor, 35 feet chain only!” We dash to the bow roller, where the anchors hang under the bowsprit platform, and drop the hook. There is only 15ft of water in the I.C.W., so the chain should suffice to hold us in place while the engine can be sorted out.
The Captain has the engine compartment open, and contorts himself to grab the oil dipstick, not an easy reach for a healthy young person, let alone our 81 year old skipper with various maladies. The dipstick is dry, WTF! Maybe it needs more oil, add some more. Still dry… We add another quart of oil, making progress with the dipstick. It’s like the oil is draining away somewhere, but where? No trace of it in the bilge or the oil pan. A mystery. We add as much oil as we have on hand and hope for the best.
Meanwhile, a Broward County Sheriff’s Deputy has motored up alongside to see what’s up. David shoots the shit with him until Captain and I come back up to try the starter. Success! The Officer wishes us luck and shoves off. Nice of him to make sure we’re OK. I’m not totally sure whose jurisdiction this is, as the City of Pompano Beach and the US Coast Guard both also patrol these waters…
Underway again, but the engine soon craps out again, so it’s back to the anchor, only this time we are much closer to the bridge and there are a lot more boats around. It’s well known among Proper Yachtsmen that most powerboaters either don’t care about marine traffic laws, are drunk, or both. So we were justifiably concerned that someone might hit us, not knowing we were anchored and unable to move.
At this point it was clear that sailing was not going to be possible, and the question now was how we were going to get back to the dock. It turns out the answer is pretty mundane: call for a tow! Towboats are ubiquitous here and they offer cheap annual subscriptions for unlimited tows. You just tip them. One of these guys was nearby and rolled right up, but was not from BoatUS where the Captain is a member.
It was 30 or 40 minutes before our guy turned up, and he threw over a bridle for us to lead through the hawseholes and attach to the bow cleats. We switched over to 10 on the VHF – off the main hailing channel 16 – to coordinate with the towboat guy. There wasn’t much to it, actually, other than pointing out the right canal and dock to target. It was slow going and rather boring, though it was nice to stand up forward and feel the sea breeze after a sweaty time messing with the lines and anchor. Vessels being towed have right of way in most situations, and we felt right royal to have the bridge captains stop traffic just to let us pass.
We arrived back at the Captain’s house almost three hours after having left, button the boat back up and inspect the furled mainsail (a foot long Iguana has been living up there, as I had discovered earlier when removing the sail cover… the little fucker jumped out about a foot from my face, scurried across the bimini awning and swan-dove into the canal), then had a pleasant lunch and went home. Whew. For having not actually “gone sailing”, we sure got a good workout!
Stay tuned for more Chronicles of David and Kendal Trying to Reach the Sea!