Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
After what seemed like a lifetime, I started seeing the green and red buoys marking the
harbor entrance. I was gaining ground and soon had to start thinking of leaving the helm to
start the engine. I did not know this harbor and the last thing I wanted to do was fetch up
in a harbor with no engine in this wind. I have done the cowboy thing in the past where I
would sail up to a dangerous situation and rely on rounding up into the wind to slow me
down, calculating how long it would take to stop, and being ready to pick up a mooring
buoy or jump onto a dock to belay a mooring line, but I was not going to attempt that now.
The wind had not quite done with me yet, and as I gained on the marker buoys, the
wind funneling down from the cliff overlooking the little harbor doubled in strength as
it screamed down, knocking poor Déjà vu down on her starboard beam end once again.
Murphy gave a terrified yell, and I yelled back that it was OK; I don't think he believed me
and angrily said as much. I lashed the helm with the two lanyards mounted permanently on
either side of the tiller, jumping down into the warmth of the cabin and hurriedly removing
the companionway steps to turn on the water inlets for the engine, one for the prop shaft
and one to cool the engine. I jumped up into the cockpit and turned the ignition key on and
pressed the rubber bound starter. There was just a click where there should have been a roar
and a diesel engine running. I tried again in vain; the battery was either flat or the starter
motor had problems.
I tried engaging both batteries to start the engine and still just a damned irritating click click
was all I got. Oh how I screamed and cursed. I yelled vile obscenities to the great father in
the sky; I told Murphy of Murphy's Law fame where he could stick his misfortunes, and I
lamented the fact that I had called my kitten Murphy.
I had no option but to do the cowboy thing and sail into the harbor, tiny as it was, and try
to pick up a buoy or something. I prayed that I could clear the entrance in the direction
that would keep me sailing. If the entrance lay in the teeth of the wind I could not sail in
that situation; I could very easily put her on the rocks. What any reasonable sailor ought
to have done was to turn tail and run with the wind until well clear of the land and come
about and hove to until it was safe. But not I! I was and have always been impetuous and
spontaneous, and I didn't relish the idea of being out there again on this night. Besides, I
had the two of us to consider now!
I sheeted in the two sails as tightly as I could and grimly sat down and started sailing to-
wards the entrance again. The rain had not let up, and I now became uncomfortably aware
of the icy needles stinging my face and arms. I tacked a couple of times and suddenly found
myself in between a set of red and green marker buoys; I was at the harbor entrance. I could
tell that I would be able to fall off course slightly to port and still sail well into the harbor.
Now the wind started to flicker, and the protected, little harbor welcomed me in an instant.
I had enough forward momentum to be sailing along quite niftily, and I cast around wildly
