|
|
|
|
|
|
|
You are welcome to apply any part of this article to your own personal use. Please do NOT publish any part of the article or apply any part of it to any non-personal use without the express written concent of the author.
With all that's happened, it's hard to believe that it's been only ten days since Volant left her dock in Ft. Lauderdale.
After leaving the dock we only motored a few miles up the Intracoastal Waterway (the ICW, affectionately known to many as The Ditch) to anchor for the night at Lake Santa Barbara. Lake Santa Barbara used to be a real lake. Now it's a wide spot in The Ditch near the town of Pompano Beach.
By the time we were securely anchored it was nearly dark. There was a fishing tournament going on that weekend and a number of powerboats were returning via the lake to their docks for the night, some inconsiderately throwing large wakes.
As the sun began to set a powerboat started anchoring nearby... too close for comfort. I went up on deck to watch the goings on. Their anchor line was laid out too short and wouldn't hold them for long. They finally realized it and moved their boat just enough so that the tidal current would carry them out of our way. In chatting with them over the water it became clear that they were having engine difficulties. We invited them to raft up to us, thinking that we might be able to help them diagnose their problem and get them on their way.
Unfortunately the boat was new to them. They had no tools or spare parts. Even if we found the problem we probably couldn't repair it. They were stuck. Using their cell phone they called for a tow back to their dock.
Was this a portent of adventures to come? Our cruise was only a few hours old and we were already having our first adventure.
The next morning we made the 0800 bridge opening at Hillsboro Inlet and were out into the Gulf Stream, headed north. Lake Worth Inlet, a short thirty miles away, was our destination. Otto von Steerer, our erstwhile autopilot has been having trouble keeping his hydraulic fluid down. The doctor, up in North Palm Beach along the shores of Lake Worth, was very busy and would have difficulty making a house, er... boat call down in Ft. Lauderdale. So to accommodate him we arranged for a dock near his office where he could do his diagnosis.
Now some people might say that we haven't yet left on our cruise because we've only gone a few miles and have some significant repairs to complete before setting off. We would argue that cruising is an exercise in getting your boat repaired in exotic locations. And I think that most people would consider that the Palm Beaches definitely fit into the exotic locale category.
Monday morning the doctor arrived and took Otto's vitals. Yes, the hydraulic ram was leaking and might have to be replaced. Taking the original back to the laboratory for a detailed exam and prognosis, he found a cracked fitting. The fitting required only minor surgery to replace. That afternoon, he returned to Volant and reinstalled Otto's repaired ram, refilled his veins with hydraulic fluid and bled out all the air he could find. Otto was declared fit for whatever lay ahead.
We decided to give Otto a sea trial on the way to Beaufort, North Carolina. We left at first light on Tuesday morning.
Otto functioned like a champ for the first several hours as we rode the Gulf Stream northward. We were surprised and pleased to see as much as a five-knot lift from the Stream, giving us more than ten knots over the ground!
The wind was too light for sailing, so the iron stays'l kept us going. By evening the wind picked up so we were able to finally set the sails and turn off the motor. At about this time the lift was slowing down to a mere three knots.
Unfortunately, late in that first morning Otto began spitting up hydraulic fluid again from his expansion tank. By evening he was beginning to behave erratically. Ever so often, maybe once or twice an hour, he might just let go of the wheel. As time progressed his hydraulic fluid was leaking out of his expansion tank at a faster and faster rate and he got more and more erratic.
As the sun set on our second night out Kit made the call. We diverted to Charleston, South Carolina, expecting to arrive there around midday on our third day out. We probably could have made it all the way to Beaufort, but that would be at least another full day at sea, probably more. We were tired from all the pre-departure preparations and didn't need another thing to worry about. Besides, who knew when we'd have to give up on Otto and hand-steer the rest of the way?
We spent three days in Charleston. Two were taken up with giving Otto emergency first aid treatment. I bled the air out of him and gave him some additional fluids about four different times. Only on the last time did I find that there was no more air to bleed and no more fluid required.
We had one day as tourists in Charleston. It reeks with history. We visited Ft. Sumpter and took a tour through one of the historical districts in a horse-drawn carriage.
And dinner was had in a local "low country" restaurant. Ever had shrimp and grits? Well, I did and was surprised at how much I liked it. The shrimp is cooked in a sausage gravy and seasoned, the whole mess then poured over grits made with chicken broth instead of water. We even made some aboard Volant a few days later. Except for missing the sausage in the gravy, we managed to make a quite potable version. We'll make it again sometime, especially if we can get our hands on some high-quality spicy sausage to put into the gravy.
I really liked Charleston. I knew to expect Southern courtesy, generosity and an unhurried approach to life there. But even expecting it, I was surprised when I actually encountered it.
I needed a small pencil zinc for the iron stays'l and discovered I had none aboard of the right size. Walking to the marina office I asked if they knew where I might get one. A local diesel mechanic standing in line at the office said he had some out in his truck. I followed him to the parking lot where he rummaged around in a bucket of odds and ends. Two of the precious items miraculously appeared and were placed in my hand. His response when I asked how much I owed him, "Have a nice day."
As we were hurrying down the street to meet our carriage appointment, someone standing on the corner called out, "Hey, slow down. No need to rush. You're in Charleston, South Carolina."
And this was typical. I hope we can spend even more time here on our way back south.
For our next coastal jump, we decided to head for Cape Fear, North Carolina, instead of Beaufort. It was only one day away and, should Otto fail to have responded to our ministrations, we would have access to more hydraulic specialists nearby. If Otto worked perfectly, we could then head off to Beaufort and points north as the weather dictated.
And Otto did work perfectly. He didn't spit up a single drop of fluid the entire 24 hours he was working, and not once went off course.
We went into a marina at Southport, just inside the mouth of the Cape Fear River. Kit's former office mate from back in the 70's has a beach house in the area. This would be the first chance for them to visit in over ten years. Alice came to the boat and spent the night, the visit all too short.
We left the dock at noon, heading for Masonboro Inlet. The plan was to wait for sunset and then ride the tide out, cross over to Beaufort and ride the tide in at morning.
But this push to get going became just one push too many. After anchoring for the night, soaking wet in a heavy rain, we decided to forego Beaufort. Kit needs to be back in Ft. Lauderdale for about a week and will be flying out on Friday. Since there are more than a few boat chores that could stand some attention before proceeding, I get to put on my Chief Engineer hat and get my hands greasy.
Besides, we're cruising. What's the hurry?
|
|
|
|