In the "Sailors confess" series, we confess our stupidest sailing mistakes. But we are also keen to hear your confessions. Send us your text, if possible with pictures, to mail@yacht.dekeyword "sailor's confession". If desired, publication will be anonymised.
Misadventures and their positive sides
It's like this: when something goes completely wrong, there is often a small detail, a screw that needs to be turned that could have prevented the disaster. Unfortunately, this detail only comes to mind when it is already too late. But it is also the case that mishaps also have their positive sides, as long as they turn out well. On the one hand, you get to know yourself and your boat better; on the other hand, you know what you should avoid at all costs.
That's what happened to me last spring. My misfortune had its origins in the depths of the bilge. The detail was hidden there, but without checking it, I no longer start my boat engine.
Idyll with a hook
It was mid-May and it already felt a bit like summer on the Schlei. The rapeseed was still in bloom in the surrounding fields. The sun was shining, it was warm and the wind was blowing moderately from the south-east. We were going out on the water for the first time with a few friends. The euphoria was great, the conditions more than inviting. Accordingly, I was in a hurry to get out. Engine on, lines loose, let's go!
We glided out of the harbour at a slow speed. The The idyll was perfect - but there was a noise that just wouldn't fit in. Instead of the usual moist, happy snorting, a dry, roaring cough came from the exhaust at the rear. I didn't even need to look into the rear water to realise that no cooling water was coming from there. I knew: No cooling water with the engine running? Not good at all! The engine was in danger of overheating.
The missing water in the engine
My thoughts raced through the exhaust into the interior of my Nanni diesel in search of the cause. Component after component appeared before my inner eye in search of the missing water. But where was the fault? Where was the water? Why was nothing coming out the back?
Then the scales fell from my eyes. I had approached the problem from the wrong side. No water could come out the back if none could get in the front. As if struck by lightning, I pushed the tiller into the hand of the nearest person and rushed down the three ladder steps into the saloon. I pulled up the floorboards, stared into the bilge - and I was struck! All at once I realised what detail I had forgotten.
What several sailor friends had already warned me about had come true. The first season on my own keel. The boat had been in the water for less than two months, and then this! The alarm-red lever on the seawater valve pointed at me like a reprimanding index finger instead of allowing the water to flow parallel to the pipe into the engine. In short: I had forgotten to open the engine's seawater valve!
Unable to manoeuvre or engine damage?
How could this happen? Why was it closed, I asked myself. But the much more important question at that moment was a different one: What now? The following options were on the table: switch off the engine immediately and drift towards the shore on the shallow Schlei, unable to manoeuvre, or turn around, head back to the harbour and risk fundamental damage to the engine? I decided in favour of option number two.
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The exhaust was still roaring. Every single piston thrust hammered mercilessly into my conscience. Tock. Tock. Tock. After a few minutes, we had reached the pit lane. I switched off the engine and we glided the last few metres back to the jetty. We'd done it. But now it was time to lick our wounds - and inspect the damage! I let the engine cool down and drew up a battle plan in my head. I've been sailing since I was little, but to be honest, my expertise in boat engines is still limited.
Luck in misfortune
My luck in misfortune? The cause was clear - and the damage was just as clear. Only the impeller of the seawater pump was shredded. There was nothing left of the small neoprene paddle wheel except the metal hub. I rummaged through the boat's own spare parts store. Lo and behold, the previous owner had several in reserve, plus a tube of glycerine for lubrication. So the leftover parts were quickly pulled out of the pump and the new impeller and seal replaced. Done.
I felt a little uneasy as I turned the key in the ignition again. But when I heard the joyful splashing of the cooling water in the stern water, I was not only relieved. After all, nothing stood in the way of the sailing idyll on the Schlei. No, I was also proud. The first engine repair of my still young owner's career had been a success.
And what's more: thanks to the repair, I now knew that there is no highly complex nuclear power plant behind the engine cover that requires a doctorate in nuclear physics. No, with a little expertise, caution and confidence, you can take very good care of the engine. And apart from that: it certainly won't happen to me again!
