Sail date: June 18, 2021
I had Friday off work and was sailing from Pt. Richmond to San Francisco. The plan was to pickup The Miss at St. Francis Yacht Club and sail back to Richmond for the weekend. We were both excited -- this was our first time doing this, despite my many years of sailing and her many years of living near the water in SF.
Single-handing requires a different mindset than sailing with crew. Sure, part of that is obvious since you're the only one on the boat and are required to cover all the duties of various crew: helm, sail trim, conditions check, traffic watch, navigation, vessel technician, and provisions (even on short trips, it's good to have some water and food available in the cockpit at all times). I find there is an extra voice in my head asking a continual question which I don't always necessarily ask with other sailors aboard... "are we safe?" [1]
Our course was simple and familiar. We would be beating up Raccoon Strait and into the mouth of Sausalito Bay. Then, we would lay into a starboard tack with head to wind and cross The Slot [2] as the wind backed slightly into a beam reach. Starting in Point Richmond and being in the lee of Angel Island provides a nice gradual increase in conditions through the float plan. As we got closer to our destination the wind and seas grew while the sail area shrank. One nautical mile off SF Yacht Harbor there was one reef in the main, 100% jib out, and the boat was hurtling itself towards the city by the bay at over 8.5 knots.
I hailed St. Francis Yacht Club's harbormaster to inquire which dock they were ready to receive the boat. They confirmed directly.
I furled in the jib, which took some effort using my foot on the bottom of the wheel to hold course and both hands to slack the sheet while working the furling line in. The lack of an autopilot or even a functional wheel lock often required this kind of monkey-action. The jib was successfully stowed. I reached over to start the engine which sprang to life without hesitation. I thought about the boxes of equipment stacked in a pile at home which would eventually be assembled into an autopilot.
I steered Rumour into the wind under a brisk throttle to fight against the current. Then I pre-clipped my harness into the jacklines running forward over the cabin top and lowered the main sail. Thanks to the Tides Marine Sailtrack installed last summer the main dropped almost completely to the deck. I lowered the throttle to keep the boat from spinning too wildly while I stowed the sail and clamored forward with the sail ties.
Then the unthinkable happened as affixed the last sail tie around the boom. The boat shuddered and the confident chug of a diesel engine at idle was replaced with the persistent squawk of the oil pressure alarm. I scrambled down to the cockpit to silence the alarm (yes, I installed a mute switch) and restart the engine. But, it didn't resume.
$%&#.
I engaged the starter again, without result.
The definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly while expecting a different result, so I stopped. The wind was blowing over 24kts and there was a flood current from the tide. The boat was floating moving with 2-3kts SOG while laying ahull. Inspecting my surroundings, I was about 100 yards from a "hard rock" shore and drifting closer every moment.
Comms first. I radioed the StFYC dockmaster to let them know my engine was out and I wouldn't be entering their marina. Next, I looked at my texts and saw Miss Erin had texted just a few minutes ago:
I needed a plan and it didn't need to be perfect. After all, no plan survives first contact with the enemy. The first thing to consider was how to get some space from that shoreline that kept getting closer. After that, I needed the boat to be in a position where it could lay ahull for some time while I troubleshot the engine. I popped the furling jib and sailed out away from land, being careful to place the boat where it would float past Alcatraz and towards Treasure Island. It would give me more than half an hour to check the engine. With plenty of wind, I would have no problem using sail power to reposition the boat when needed.
I remembered watching a video by @Christian Williams where he said "I love diesels. They need three things to operate: fuel, fuel... and fuel." I had recently refit the fuel system on the M-25 engine, which made me wonder if something had come loose. The highest percentage chance of something going wrong was probably to do with fuel supply.
But, troubleshooting was painfully slow. I was on the boat alone and my approximate speed over ground laying ahull was still over 2 knots. I was also drifting in a shipping lane along the San Francisco city front. I would go down and remove the engine cover. Go topside and look for traffic. Go back down and dig out some tools. Go topside and look for traffic. Turn one bolt. Look for traffic. Examine one thing. Traffic. The cabin was warm. The cockpit was cold. Hot, cold, close focus, hot, cold, close focus.
It wasn't long before I started feeling seasick. I haven't expelled due to sea sickness since I was a kid sailing to Catalina with my parents. Over the years, I learned how to manage queasiness and to take action to prevent going over the edge. My plan clearly needed adjustment as a new enemy had arrived. I grabbed some water and a light snack, and sat back in the cockpit for a few minutes staring at the horizon while the boat toddled around in the waves. As the seasickness subsided, I thought it would be good to check in with Erin and decide what to do if the engine wouldn't start.
My new plan involved sailing back to the edge of the South Hampton Shoal just outside Point Richmond. The water is shallow there and I could easily drop an anchor and call for a US Tow Boat. I hadn't attempted a dead stick landing under sail before in this boat and I wasn't sure this was the best time being alone. Erin jumped in her car and started driving towards Point Richmond to meet me at the dock.
I went back down to look at the engine and noticed the bleed assembly on the engine injection pump was loose. I could easily turn the assembly by hand with barely any pressure. I tightened it up, bled the fuel lines using the screw at the top for several minutes.
The engine started.
It ran rough for a couple minutes, after which I turned it off and sailed back toward home. My plan was now to get as close as I could and try the engine again.
Just outside the harbor the engine came to life and I motored carefully to the slip.
With the boat tied up, I collapsed, exhausted, into the starboard settee and took a nap. When I woke, Erin was there. I took some time and journaled in the ship's log. It included hypotheses about how bleed assembly had come loose and how I could make bleeding the engine fuel lines easier [3].
Erin and I proceeded to enjoy the weekend we had planned. Minus the sailing.
The best part of experiences like these are knowing you can make it through them. You always have more options. And when you get stuck, don't forget to take a moment and let a new idea flourish. Make a plan, but don't be afraid to change it as the situation changes around you.
[2] In San Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge, or the column of wind which flows through it and all the way to Berkeley is often regarded by sailors as "The Slot"
[3] See https://ericsonyachts.org/ie/ubs/m-25-recirculating-fuel-bleed-assembly.935/
The Art of Sailing and Dating Romance
Single-handing requires a different mindset than sailing with crew. Sure, part of that is obvious since you're the only one on the boat and are required to cover all the duties of various crew: helm, sail trim, conditions check, traffic watch, navigation, vessel technician, and provisions (even on short trips, it's good to have some water and food available in the cockpit at all times). I find there is an extra voice in my head asking a continual question which I don't always necessarily ask with other sailors aboard... "are we safe?" [1]
Our course was simple and familiar. We would be beating up Raccoon Strait and into the mouth of Sausalito Bay. Then, we would lay into a starboard tack with head to wind and cross The Slot [2] as the wind backed slightly into a beam reach. Starting in Point Richmond and being in the lee of Angel Island provides a nice gradual increase in conditions through the float plan. As we got closer to our destination the wind and seas grew while the sail area shrank. One nautical mile off SF Yacht Harbor there was one reef in the main, 100% jib out, and the boat was hurtling itself towards the city by the bay at over 8.5 knots.
I hailed St. Francis Yacht Club's harbormaster to inquire which dock they were ready to receive the boat. They confirmed directly.
I furled in the jib, which took some effort using my foot on the bottom of the wheel to hold course and both hands to slack the sheet while working the furling line in. The lack of an autopilot or even a functional wheel lock often required this kind of monkey-action. The jib was successfully stowed. I reached over to start the engine which sprang to life without hesitation. I thought about the boxes of equipment stacked in a pile at home which would eventually be assembled into an autopilot.
I steered Rumour into the wind under a brisk throttle to fight against the current. Then I pre-clipped my harness into the jacklines running forward over the cabin top and lowered the main sail. Thanks to the Tides Marine Sailtrack installed last summer the main dropped almost completely to the deck. I lowered the throttle to keep the boat from spinning too wildly while I stowed the sail and clamored forward with the sail ties.
Then the unthinkable happened as affixed the last sail tie around the boom. The boat shuddered and the confident chug of a diesel engine at idle was replaced with the persistent squawk of the oil pressure alarm. I scrambled down to the cockpit to silence the alarm (yes, I installed a mute switch) and restart the engine. But, it didn't resume.
$%&#.
I engaged the starter again, without result.
The definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly while expecting a different result, so I stopped. The wind was blowing over 24kts and there was a flood current from the tide. The boat was floating moving with 2-3kts SOG while laying ahull. Inspecting my surroundings, I was about 100 yards from a "hard rock" shore and drifting closer every moment.
Comms first. I radioed the StFYC dockmaster to let them know my engine was out and I wouldn't be entering their marina. Next, I looked at my texts and saw Miss Erin had texted just a few minutes ago:
Erin: You there? I'll be there in 3 mins
Bryan: Big problems engine out
Erin: F$%$
Erin: Can I do anything?
Bryan: Sit tightI needed a plan and it didn't need to be perfect. After all, no plan survives first contact with the enemy. The first thing to consider was how to get some space from that shoreline that kept getting closer. After that, I needed the boat to be in a position where it could lay ahull for some time while I troubleshot the engine. I popped the furling jib and sailed out away from land, being careful to place the boat where it would float past Alcatraz and towards Treasure Island. It would give me more than half an hour to check the engine. With plenty of wind, I would have no problem using sail power to reposition the boat when needed.
I remembered watching a video by @Christian Williams where he said "I love diesels. They need three things to operate: fuel, fuel... and fuel." I had recently refit the fuel system on the M-25 engine, which made me wonder if something had come loose. The highest percentage chance of something going wrong was probably to do with fuel supply.
But, troubleshooting was painfully slow. I was on the boat alone and my approximate speed over ground laying ahull was still over 2 knots. I was also drifting in a shipping lane along the San Francisco city front. I would go down and remove the engine cover. Go topside and look for traffic. Go back down and dig out some tools. Go topside and look for traffic. Turn one bolt. Look for traffic. Examine one thing. Traffic. The cabin was warm. The cockpit was cold. Hot, cold, close focus, hot, cold, close focus.
My new plan involved sailing back to the edge of the South Hampton Shoal just outside Point Richmond. The water is shallow there and I could easily drop an anchor and call for a US Tow Boat. I hadn't attempted a dead stick landing under sail before in this boat and I wasn't sure this was the best time being alone. Erin jumped in her car and started driving towards Point Richmond to meet me at the dock.
I went back down to look at the engine and noticed the bleed assembly on the engine injection pump was loose. I could easily turn the assembly by hand with barely any pressure. I tightened it up, bled the fuel lines using the screw at the top for several minutes.
The engine started.
It ran rough for a couple minutes, after which I turned it off and sailed back toward home. My plan was now to get as close as I could and try the engine again.
With the boat tied up, I collapsed, exhausted, into the starboard settee and took a nap. When I woke, Erin was there. I took some time and journaled in the ship's log. It included hypotheses about how bleed assembly had come loose and how I could make bleeding the engine fuel lines easier [3].
Erin and I proceeded to enjoy the weekend we had planned. Minus the sailing.
The best part of experiences like these are knowing you can make it through them. You always have more options. And when you get stuck, don't forget to take a moment and let a new idea flourish. Make a plan, but don't be afraid to change it as the situation changes around you.
Footnotes
[1] The boat counts as a living thing and it feels better to think about being Alone Together (thanks @Christian Williams for the inspiration on how to think about this)[2] In San Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge, or the column of wind which flows through it and all the way to Berkeley is often regarded by sailors as "The Slot"
[3] See https://ericsonyachts.org/ie/ubs/m-25-recirculating-fuel-bleed-assembly.935/
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