Off we go into the wild blue yonder, Part III

[skipgundlach]

Off we go into the wild blue yonder, Part III

Greetings, Flying Pig enthusiasts...

When we left you, we were being thrown from side to side at about a 45
degree angle both ways, as the surf over the sand bar assailed Flying Pig
with walls of salt water, complete with bits of sand.

That you're seeing this tells you we're both alive. Here's the rest of the
story of our very soft grounding:

The Lord works in mysterious ways, and has protected us many times. This
was one of them...

As you saw, I issued a Mayday, and, as it happened, United States Coast
Guard Sector North Carolina was at most a mile away. A large boat (not a
cutter but not one of their big red RIBs either) arrived on scene quickly.
Tow Boat US, as we're Unlimited clients, did as well. (One of the first
things that the USCG asks, after you've moved to their communication
channel - 16 being for emergencies and hailing - is to ask if you'd like
help sent; we said yes...)

However, the rolling from side to side made it impossible for any rational
approach for a tow. As well, the full-sized 7' waves were washing over me
and the cockpit, flying down the companionway entrance (enhanced, we learned
later, by nearly or totally clogged through hulls for our cockpit scupper
drains, making getting the water out very difficult/slow), wetting virtually
every part of the boat. They were sufficient to disable the radio at the
helm, so communications were then done from below, where the nav station
radio had mere splashes rather than drenchings.

It was thus that we were unaware of what was happening topsides. All that
rotational energy, as well as, maybe, the force of the water, had loosened
our clamped and cleated furler line, said fastening being on the side of the
boat the waves were attacking. The wind then unrolled our genoa (the big
sail out front), and, flapping loosely, pulled us off the sand into deep
water! Thank you, Lord!

As I had throttled back at the first overheat alarm (full throttle for a
bit, and exposed water intake meaning none got there to cool), the engine
was still ticking over happily, and of proper temperature. The USCG folks
asked me to roll up the sail and then follow the TowBoatUS boat to an
anchorage.

Unfortunately, whether it was the small amount of remaining fuel from our 20
gallon refill at sea having dislodged grunge from the walls of the tank as
it slammed back and forth, or water getting in via the vents which were on
the wave side, the engine died when I applied power.

So, after several attempts, the Coasties managed to throw a heaving line
(the one attached to the actual tow bridle) to me, I hooked up, and they
proceeded apace (we don't normally move through the water at 9 knots!) to
outside their station where we anchored for the night.

As everything was soaked in salt water the TowBoatUS guy (Jay, a marvelous
fellow, on which more, anon) took us to their station, nearby. He then
proceeded to find us a motel (at OhDarkThirty, a military time stamp meaning
an ungodly hour of the night). Better yet, he took us there, (he said) on
his way home, and promised to come fetch us when we'd recovered the next
morning.

True to his word, he did just that, returning to his office/station, and
then, after returning to Flying Pig and taking her in tow, headed upriver to
Jarrett Bay Boat Works' yard, where, among the referrals we'd had, we were
able to get hauled out after all of their contract clients (folks who sign
up to be hauled at a moment's notice during a tropical storm or hurricane
warning, Isaias bearing up-coast at the time). Kudos to TowBoatUS,
who/which, as they were able to find our account, didn't even present us
with a bill (or something to sign, as our unlimited policy with them covered
the $900+ cost), and in particular to Jay, who went well beyond his towboat
duties.

As to Jarrett Bay, they make sport fisherman boats. The yard has many LARGE
boats there with work being done on them, and we are a definite minority.
The huge boats around us, however, restrict the wind, should there be any
future excitement.

The sizes of boats don't necessarily correlate, but it's rather expensive
here, and while we've been allowed to have regular storage rates, the
double-cost haulout charge persists despite our not being a "hurricane haul"
job.

While the adventure in Part II sounded terrifying, it really was of no
personal safety issue, Flying Pig being massively stout and with working
bilge pumps. Indeed, when the USCG folks came aboard to make sure that no
water was coming in, the bilge pumps had already dispensed with the very
large quantity of water which intruded.

I use that scientific term ("very large quantity") because I have no real
idea how much of it came aboard. However, the volume and velocity of the
water which cascaded over the entrance barrier was sufficient such that an
instrument cover was carried several feet aft (in the opposite direction of
the incoming water) and over a 12" barrier, landing under the engine. Two
foul-weather coats managed to be swept into the portion of the bilge aft of
the engine compartment, along with many items thrown from a cabinet over the
galley (kitchen, to landlubbers) sink, some of the rail-mounted fixtures for
our solar lighting when at anchor, and several cans of Coke and Beer, those
previously residing in a latched cabinet under the stove.

The force of the water had been sufficient to move the board on which we
strap our jerry cans, mounted on the stanchions, a couple of inches down,
despite the two-U-bolts-each-side holding it in place. As well, while two
of the empty (recall our at-sea refueling) diesel cans disappeared (I saw
one of them floating away as we rocked in the surf), the full gasoline can
had its VERY tightly fitting cover ripped off. Pieces of two snaps
which secured the cans broke, and the rest simply disappeared. It also
ripped one of the zippers on one panel of our cockpit enclosure, damaged
others, and split one of the clear plastic panels entirely.

All that salt water did a number on everything it touched. That included
killing every electronic item other than the refrigeration (which was
'uphill' from the incoming water) in the engine room, and fouling every
piece of exposed fabric or non-marine electronics (including my computer and
monitor). Fortunately, the helm instruments, designed for withstanding a
salt water dousing, survived without incident, as did the hard drive in my
computer. Everything else directly related to my computer, including the
newly installed memory upgrade (2 chips but doubling the available memory)
died.

So, as we were saturated, along with everything on the boat, we remained
hotel-bound for nearly 4 weeks. A real blessing, one of our friends lived
nearby and had a spare vehicle which they loaned to us for the duration. To
detail all that happened to allow us to move back aboard would be intensely
tedious, but Lydia removed every cushion cover for laundering (a really
athletic exercise, as the zippers were designed to remain hidden, and thus
had a limited opening for our 4" living area, and 8" berth, cushions). More
anon...

On the way back to our hotel on the first night, out of the corner of my
eye, I caught the sign "The Soap Box" with its definition of wash, dry, fold
(not a dry cleaner, not a laundromat) service. The next day, we dropped off
the first of what became a steady stream of fabric-related stuff. They do it
all, inexpensively (1.50/pound, by tenths of a pound), quickly, and well.
Highly recommended if you needed such a service, and were in the area!

That was followed by an intense cleaning of the entire interior, including
the tossing of various stuff which was ruined (charts, books, etc.), and a
wholesale cleanout of stuff we have not used recently, nor expected to use
soon. That led to a couple of "Dumpster Diver Alert"s on social media and
cruiser-related mailing lists and everything useful, but that we weren't
going to keep, got gone in short order.

As one of the 'belt and suspenders' crowd, some of that divestment (of
spares, primarily) was painful to this Captain, but a very significant level
of spares and tools remain, my having put my foot down on some of the more
expensive/critical items.

At the time, the Admiral was pretty sure she wanted to sell the boat and do
anything else but be on open water, and so also treated it like a
prep-to-sell. That jury is still out, and some time in protected waters
interspersed with short hops in sight of land MAY have her reconsidering,
but, see the start of the sentence. I'm cautiously optimistic...

Back to the story, however: I ordered a new inverter-charger and solar
panel
charge controller, an engine room exhaust fan, and some stuff which had been
swept overboard. I also sent my computer off for rebuild (only the hard
drive survived!), and will have the new memory and larger hard drive soon.
Installing it all was, while expensive and contortioned and time consuming,
very gratifying, because it all works. Emptying the engine room to gain
access to those items as well as clean off all the salt water meant that I
could get to my refrigeration (access and convenience normally unavailable
with all the stuff stored in the way); working on that has it happier than I
can ever recall it being...

Changing our fuel polisher and primary (used any time the engine is running)
filters, topping off the somewhat depleted canisters for both sets, bleeding
the engine (removing any air, just as in our refuel at sea required) and
restarting was tedious but uneventful; it starts and runs beautifully (I
removed the belt from the raw water pump so the impeller would not be
running dry).

That engine restart SHOULD allow us to again rely on the Iron Genny (so
called because a genoa - the sail which came loose and pulled us off the
bar - is the largest sail and normally does most of the work of propulsion
of ours and any sloop-rigged sailboat; the engine takes over when needed)
once I reinstall the belt.

Redoing all the stuff which was taken OUT of the engine room to allow access
to all the stuff needing replacement, and painting all areas of the engine
and its mounts which needed attention, as well as resolving a refrigeration
issue (unrelated to the event) completed that segment of our recovery.

The very lengthy to-do list is down to manageable proportions, and the deep
clean and cleanout of Flying Pig is a good thing, albeit expensive (nearly a
month of hotel room nights, twice-daily restaurant meals AND expensive yard
costs before we moved back aboard).

There are still some significant things to accomplish:
The nuisance-value replacement of the VHF radio at the helm (I had a
duplicate in spares, so the nuisance part is getting to the power
connection; most of the data connections are plug-and-play into the same
ends as the current radio has)
The installation of the new drive (and cloning it to the one already there)
and memory in the now-repaired computer after it arrives next week (and
installing and testing the connections and function of all that is connected
to it)
Through-hull barnacle cleanout (plus reseating one which seeps, not related
to this adventure)
Bottom paint (requiring a fair amount of work and a very-high-pressure-wash)
to allow us to cruise for - if we continue to live aboard - at least a few
years before the badly-needed full cosmetic refit
Remounting and tensioning the foresail (the one which came undone, getting
us off the sandbar), required because the yard's Travelift (the thing which
picks up your boat from the water and/or to position it somewhere other
than where it is at the moment) could not clear it, occasioning our
releasing tension (a tedious, 2-gorilla/very-long-wrench exercise) on the
back stay, and removing the fastener at the bottom, allowing us to pull it
back, has to be reversed after we relaunch

Now that we're back aboard, it's back to "boat food" instead of the comfort
food at Cox Family Foods. I have to admit that I'm spoiled after
morning-and-night meals which only involve lifting a drink and wielding
knife and fork on our part. In addition, while it seems counterintuitive,
an every-day diet of Monster Breakfast (2 large pancakes, 3 eggs sunny side
up in between them, Syrup under the first, and over both, and a Double order
of crisp bacon - which gives me fuel all the way through dinner time).
Protein, fat, and carbohydrates, as well as fiber. My gut (in and out)
hasn't been this happy in years...) and the Monster Breakfast plus their
dinner fare of main course, 2 sides, and dessert, every day, has led to my
steadily losing weight and inches; my pants are falling off me.

Will Flying Pig ever go back in the water?
Will the crew walk away?
Will there ever be more travels with which to regale our readers?

Well, as usual, until next time:
Stay Tuned!

L8R

Skip



The years thunder by.
The dreams of youth grow dim where they lie caked in dust on the shelves of
patience.
Before we know it, the tomb is sealed.

- Sterling Hayden