Up a creek...
Willem Bijl explains how an engine fault, lack of wind and a falling tide led to an embarrassing call to the coastguard
How an engine fault, lack of wind and a falling tide led to an embarrassing call to the coastguard
This adventure began on a Wednesday afternoon last year, October 2020. After a long period of rain a rare sunny day with only a few clouds was a pleasant change. Combined with a favourable tide in the afternoon I decided to break the long spell of not having sailed Flotaxe and go for it.
Through my previous lengthy observations of the tides including the calibrations and markings on some of the steel posts that hold the pontoons in place in the Maylandsea marina (they show the height of the tide above LAT) I know I can leave from my berth when the tide has reached 3.85m which is about 3 hours before high water. Similarly, I need to get back in about 2½ hours after high water (so around 1900 on today’s sail).
While still on the mooring I hanked the high aspect jib onto the forestay, but in the process, the sail flicked my right ear and off went my hearing aid – straight into the water which was now 4m deep. No point going after it.
I only needed a small burst of my Yanmar 1GM10, which started promptly, to get out and into Lawling Creek. I was alone and decided to have a quiet, relaxing sail with only the mainsail up.
If time allows, my preference is to go around Osea Island, which I know well after 13 years sailing here. With a Force 4 westerly wind, sailing down the creek was easy going with the tide, autopilot on, passing the buoys to the Blackwater.
Turning westward with mainsail only I had to tack a few times. It was slow going, but I didn’t mind. With the North Double buoy to port and turning north, then north-east, I soon crossed the causeway. With a pleasant wind on the port quarter and then on the stern it was easy going. Following the curve of the Island, I gybed. The time was around 1630, which was HW at 5.1m.
The wind had eased to a Force 3 by the time I turned south towards the Goldhanger Spit buoy and then the Marconi buoy. Moving to the lee of the island, I met the ebb tide flowing towards the sea and towards me; I was making no way forward and was skirting the moored yachts, so I started my engine with a push of the starter. That would take me to the Marconi buoy.
Alarm
Some 10 minutes later there was a sudden alarm from the engine! Within a second I spotted the ‘water’ alarm.
‘Having renewed the impeller in 2017 I was surprised that it was the cause...’
Surprised, of course I had to stop the engine immediately. Against the tide and moving slightly backwards there was no speed to tack and I was drifting towards the moored yachts.
With no engine power and the mainsail on its own being inadequate, I needed speed. So the first thing I did was a flash hoist of the jib.
That provided 2 knots of speed allowing a tack, just in time, away from the moored yachts and across the deep fairway.
I dropped the anchor with 20m of rode and hoisted the anchor ball so I could begin to solve the engine problem, but by now the depth reading was down to 3.3m.
There could be only two causes for an engine overheat: the raw water filter obstructed or impeller failure.
There was less than 10% of the filter area obstructed so I cleaned it quickly and replaced the filter.
Having renewed the impeller in 2017 I was surprised that it was the cause after just 230 hours running. Being familiar with how to replace it, it didn’t take long and indeed the whole impeller rubber was detached from the hub.
From the time of the alarm to raising the jib, tacking, anchoring and replacing the impeller took just 40 minutes and the engine started immediately with the cooling water restored.
By now it was after 1810 and the sun was setting. I switched on the navigation lights and, going full speed, I passed the green buoys to the entrance of Lawling Creek; I wondered if I could make it in time to go up Lawling Creek back to Blackwater Marina.
Past the red lit buoy No2 I aimed to pass the next red buoy No4. But then I felt a sudden peculiar sensation followed by a diving down of the bow and a complete stop. I was grounded in the mud of the Mayland Creek spit with a falling tide.
All efforts with the engine to turn or go backwards failed. Buoy No4 was just 5m away but it was on starboard – it should have been on port. So that was my error, trying to get to the marina too quickly.
Stuck
So I turned off the engine. Flotaxe is set up so that when the engine is stopped, the onboard lights, stern light and the steaming light switch off and the anchor light (or last used light) goes on.
I felt trapped and would have to wait for the next rising tide until Flotaxe was floating again. I cleared the sails and informed my wife. I calculated to be floating again after midnight, around 0100, and I’d be upright and floating first before starting to drift, so no anchor was needed.
The tilt was about 50° so going for a nap had to be in a V-shaped berth: not the most comfortable. At the sound of my alarm clock at 0100 it was pitch dark and very difficult to tell if we were afloat.
Was the tilt diminishing? I couldn’t see the fire-blanket hanging, nor the engine key and float to get my bearings as to which way was up. How do you determine what is vertical? The solution was to put my lower arm up into the air. That gives a sensation of it falling either one way or the other. That way by about 0110 I could feel the boat approaching upright again.
Time to start the engine before drifting away. Now I could walk again and turn a light on. Even before turning the engine key, I noticed that the battery voltage had dropped to 10V! Blame the anchor light that had been on.
I knew there was no chance to start the engine under battery, even using the decompression.
So, after removing the engine box, I grabbed the manual handle and started cranking with the decompression lever open. But cranking it over as fast as I could, I couldn’t keep it spinning enough by the time I let go of the decompression. The compression in the cylinder simply knocked back. I don’t know how many times I tried… all in vain.
Starting to drift
As I saw the red flashes of buoy No4 move away I knew I was now drifting. On the opposite side I could see an anchored yacht with an anchor light close to buoy No6 drawing closer.
I’d taken the mobile TackTick depth sounder with me in the cabin: 3.3m to start with at the deepest part of the creek.
But after fruitless cranking of the engine, I eventually went forward and lowered the anchor.
I noticed that the wind had backed to the south-west and the time was 0235.
I radioed the coastguard to inform them of my difficult situation, but this was no Pan Pan or emergency and I was safe. Depth was now 1.9m under the keel, then 1.6m, then down to 1.1m.
I cranked the engine again – sailing was not an option at this point. Depth was now 0.9m and I could vaguely see the river bank towards which I was blown. It seemed that the anchor was apparently dragging on the sloping bottom for the first time in 13 years. Perhaps I’d lowered the chain too quickly. Depth was just 0.6m despite the rising tide; I realised I was going to need help.
Calling for help
Grudgingly I informed the coastguard and explained the situation and that I was safe, but in need of help: wind was a southerly
‘Grudgingly I informed the coastguard that I was safe but in need of help’
Force 4, towards the river bank and backing, my anchor was dragging, battery failure, not enough power for a manual start. I only needed one strong man aboard to help start the engine.
Their immediate response was to call the RNLI’s West Mersea lifeboat. It was a very embarrassing feeling. Depth 0.3m.
The coastguard asked for some more information and just after 0300 informed me that the lifeboat had been launched.
I answered the lifeboat’s piercing searchlight with my torch. Their arrival at 0325 with the B Class Inshore Lifeboat looked just like the many photos in the RNLI magazine. They positioned themselves to the lee side and one man came on board. I welcomed him and the three other crew who stayed in the lifeboat. We chatted that this was easier than in a storm in a rough sea.
The lifeboatman started my engine with the first attempt. Depth was now 1.6m, so the anchor had held at last and the tide was rising. While I steered towards deeper water, my RNLI crew member weighed the anchor and the automatic nav lights had come on again. We were escorted home by the lifeboat and at 0403 berthed in Maylandsea. Thank you RNLI!
Sight and sound
The next afternoon I went to look for my hearing aid at low water and surprise, surprise, there it lay next to the bow on the mud! I washed it under the freshwater tap and at home later found out how to open it. After several washes with increasing proportions of methylated spirits and a good blow dry – the next day it was working again.