Battery Drain
21°50'42" N 88°20'48" W
[18:06] [Sunday, December 24, 2006]
When we departed from Progresso yesterday, we felt recharged. A good night's sleep, showers, full tanks and great weather heralded a fresh start for this bedraggled crew. As the water shifted from a crayon-bright turquoise to rich cerulean moving toward cobat, though, we realized our battle had not yet been won.
The wind picked up to 20 kts with 25 kts gusts blowing right on our nose, and the water began a steady journey to dangerously rough. Sol Searcher climbed up 8 to 10 foot waves ... and launched into the air off their backs. Our evening was rough and tumble, to say the least, but even as night fell and the weather calmed -- as though it took pity on our weary souls -- we could not hope the worst had passed.
At 07:45 PM, the engine stopped. Jarred by the sudden quiet, the Captain rushed into the cockpit, but our worries were, for the moment, unfounded: Sol Searcher had been running hard for nearly 12 hours on her 12 gallon auxiliary tank. Switching to the main fuel tank, the team rotated watch and settled in for a dark but -- so we hoped -- uneventful night. Catching a glimpse of a yellow Cheshire moon in an otherwise pitch black sky, we should have known better.
The engine quit again at 09:30 PM. Cursing in true sailor's fashion, the Captain opened the engine hatch and pumped the fuel line clear of air to no avail. Wet and frustrated -- by this time rain had started -- he set about changing the primary fuel filter (which didn't seem to be clogged), and after a little coaxing, the engine started back up.
And died again at 01:00 AM. Stumbling around in a haze of stress and exhaustion, we rounded up the work lights, tied open the engine hatch, removed the steps in the main salon, and took a deep breath.
First, the Captain bled the fuel line of air. No go. Then, he changed the secondary fuel filter. No go. Despite being thrown around by our rocking boat in rough water and continued frustration brought about by our string of problems, the crew weathered this last disruption without outbursts.
In a fit of what we can only call genius (survival brings out the best in all of us), the Captain removed the priming bulb and discovered our problem: its valve had clogged with sediment from the main tank, blocking the flow of fuel to the engine.
How long we had not been addressing this issue is anyone's guess, but clearing the valve and re-bleeding the fuel line ressurected our motor and lifted weight from our shoulders. The night progressed with not-so-gentle rockin' and rollin', but the engine is running beautifully. Knock on wood.
We are nine days into a crossing we should have finished in seven, and, damn, are we tied. From the very start Sol Searcher has weathered rough seas, missing wind, engine problems, fuel shortage, busted bookshelves, leaking hatchies, an overflowing bilge ...
We would say, "Belize or Bust," but this crew has long passed bust and crashed into a defiant course forward. If our constant frustration has done nothing else, it has sealed our fate as a team. There is also one very bright, very pink ray of hope as we near the Yucatan Channel, but for fear of jinxing an already-cursed voyage, we will wait until it's over to name that hope specifically.
