All names have been changed, but the dates and
events are true. This is an account of what I wrote at the time, just
shortly after the actual event.
Midnight engine failure
Wednesday 8 May 1985
On Tuesday, as he was going ashore, Gareth
said "all you need is for the mast to come down" - not that it did though.
At 1445 hours, Delphin left the mooring and we
made our way across the river for fuel and water. Then we headed out of
the estuary for a nice sail on a sunny day. The wind was NW5-6, and we had
the working jib and 3 rolls in the main (sail). At 1730 we dropped anchor
at Blackpool Sands, the wind had decreased, the sun was shining, the sea was
calm. Perfect. We had our tea, listenened to the shipping forecast
and fed the seagulls. I saw a large and fast motor launch appear. It
slowed down and launched a powerful inflatable with 2 uniformed crew. It
roared towards us and came alongside. "Hello. Customs. Where
have you sailed from?" Doing my best to look the seasoned sailor, with as
much pride as I can muster, I say "Dartmouth" (about 3 miles away). They
came aboard and looked at my charts which confirmed our 'voyage'. They had
thought we'd just arrived from Guernsey (my port of registry which was written on the stern). They
told us that only the day before, they'd arrested a yacht off Falmouth with
700kg of cannabis on board. They left us with everyone wishing everyone
the best, and we weighed anchor under sail (always looks impressive to the beach
goers).
We set off back towards the estuary, and
hove-to for a cup of tea. The wind had died to almost calm, and we just
drifted east with the tide. We motor-sailed back towards the river
entrance.
At 2330 we were between the castles, and we
took the main down. Then, thick black smoke was coming from the exhaust,
and I slowed the revs. A couple of minutes later, the engine died, and
wouldn't restart. "Get the main up!", "Oh come on Carol, stop mucking
about!". Main and jib were up again in no time. There was a very
strong spring ebb tide and very little wind - northerly (just what we didn't
want). We tried tacking up and could only get so far. With each
puff, we made a few yards headway, only to be taken back by the tide again.
All I wanted to do was round the bight and drop the hook in the anchorage - but
we couldn't get there. I was helming, but frequently lost steerageway
completely. Dan was lookout on the foredeck, Jack and Kevin on the jib
sheets. These 3 men had never sailed before, but they were marvellous.
Several times we ended up amongst the boat
moorings on either side of the river - Dan lunging at vacant moorings with the
boathook. We tried tying up alongside a blue trawler several times, but I
could never maintain enough steerage. Twice the ebb took us right around,
and I had to gybe Delphin round and try again. Once, it happened while we
were amongst the moorings - I had no helm, my bows pointing directly at a
beautiful 40 foot ketch with a whopping great bowsprit. That bowsprit grew
ever larger and there was nothing I could do. I sent the 3 men to fend
off. As impact was imminent, the bowsprit coming over our port side, I shouted
at Kevin to move - he ducked only just in time. The bowsprit crossed over
the cockpit and I gybed the boom to get it out of the way - we were clear.
But now the next danger, still no helm, and bows on to the rocks.
Momentarily, I considered the anchor, but there was no time. It sounds
incredible, but at less than 4 feet from the waterline of those sloping rocks I
felt a breeze on my left ear, I gybed Delphin around and eased the sheets, she
hesitated then answered and we were out of danger. We goosewinged out of the
river - I'd had enough! All that time, I'd been trying to raise anybody on
the VHF (radio), with no response. I'd gone so far as to put out a PAN-PAN
(urgent message) when we seeemed to be heading to certain destruction.
Now, thankfully, we were out of danger.
I called up Brixham Coastguard and asked if there was anyone in the vicinity who
could give us a tow, but no. I now had 2 options - drop the anchor
somewhere and get a tow in the morning, or sail around to Brixham. Outside
the estuary, the wind had increased to NW6-7, I'm not clear of my logic, but I
opted for Brixham. We were broad-reaching and I couldn't risk leaving the
helm, we had too much sail up and I didn't fancy gybing. I stayed with the
helm until I could come closer up (to the wind), and then let the others take
turns. No-one wanted to sleep, they seemed to think it was really
exciting!
Brixham had the pilot vessel standing by to
tow us in if necessary, but I don't like asking for help! Eventually,
Berry Head was abeam, we ploughed our way through the overfalls getting very
wet, then tacked into Brixham harbour.
At 0545 with the sun rising, still under sail,
we picked up the first available mooring buoy and put the kettle on.
Brixham is open to the NW and we had a very uncomfortable time in the NW gale.
Even the lifeboat mechanic wouldn't risk coming out to look at our motor - "it's
too rough". Torquay came to my rescue and soon Paul appeared in his little
motor boat.
The valve springs and head gasket had gone,
and I spent the next ten days there, waiting for spares, getting them fitted
etc. We solved one problem, started the engine, then the cooling water
outlet valve snapped into two - and so it went on, problem after problem.
By now I'd lost all faith in that damn engine (Arona 11hp diesel), and it wasn't
much longer for this world.
My three crew abandoned ship - Paul took them
ashore, and I was alone again.
