Thanks Steve, I shall strip it down tomorrow.... meanwhile......
Long leg from Leixos to Fuengrillo de Fos (or similar) today. Wind
died as I left the marina at 7.00 am and I ended up motoring the whole
way - 12 hours! I am now deaf as a post but the good news is the
"bodge" oil leak fix stood up to a harsh test and the water leak is
cured (water was leaking from the exhaust thing) . However, at the
11th hour just as I was approaching the harbour entrance I could smell
burning - oh bugger, what now thinks I...... thick black smoke was
pouring from the stern - I thought it was a blown engine and dived
down to expose the engine to see the fanbelt just about to destroy
itself - it needed tightening but now was not the time to stop the
engine. I left it and clambered back up to find that Ray (Raymarine
ST 2000 - new last month) had decided to aim for the mole at the
entrance to the marina - much to the amusement of the local anglers!
I disengaged it (it is buggered - one days hard work - what a load of
crap!) and watched as clouds of smoke poured from the engine
compartment and the stern. Hmmm why from the stern... ? Now, I have
learnt that if I let go of the tiller terrible things happen so I
stuck it between the cheeks of my arse and peered into the engine
compartment - hmmm... no flames just a badly frayed and soon to be
dead fanbelt... Time for tiller pilot No 2 - a quick wave to the
crowd of spectators/ fishermen on the mole (always need to show a
stiff upper lip when visiting the colonies) and a mad dash below to
search for the spare tillerpilot. I return triumphant with it clasped
tightly to by bosom as I steer the boat away from the rocks..... I
wonder why this damn boat insists on trying to scuttle itself every
time I leave it alone for a second? Anyway I fit the spare (an old
one of dubious origin) and set it up. That was easier said than done
because when you turn the dial left it goes right and vice versa. The
fishermen had now stopped fishing and were greatly amused by the crazy
English man doing elegant zig zags along the harbour entrance whilst
making enough smoke to hide the Graff Spey. No doubt tomorrows
newspapers will be reporting a water born attack on the harbour by
British Royal Marines disguised as yachties! After committing to
memory that left is right and right is left I pointed the beast at the
marina some 400m away and proceeded to open the rear locker to be
greeted by a billow of smoke and a smell I was now familiar with -
melting rope....... yes - most of my nylon mooring lines and a couple
of fender for good measure had been melted to globs of nylon / plastic
by the obviously very hot exhaust... oh bugger! Out it all came and
the cockpit was full of partally melted ropes and fenders which I (of
course) trampled on with my naked feet and did a passable Irish jig to
an admiring crowd of Portuguese. Jesus was I pissed off at this
stage......
Anyway, the marina was getting very close now and I had not called
them on VHF and the 2 yachts that were behind me had overtaken so I
followed on as I scampered about trying to attach 6 bloody fenders and
4 bits of mooring rope (all now too short and still warm). I was
sweating and rather stressed but there... last bit of rope
attached ...Jesus where the XXXX am I going! Tiller pilot number 2
had decided he had had enough and was also attempting to drive me into
the harbour wall... a full 90 degrees off course.... Needless to say,
I was now the centre of attraction and even the 2 yachts ahead had
slowed down to observe the pantomime.
I stood erect at the tiller, adjusted my cap and sunglasses and
serenely continued as if everything was absolutely normal (damn near
was actually) and entered the marina with my red ensign fluttering
bravely. My heart sank.... there was a nasty big wall (arrivals) with
2 yachts tied to it and 2 waiting ...... err...... so.... I need to
hover? To cut a long story short I somehow managed to keep Cirrus
from damaging anything by a combination of prayer and waggling both
the tiller and the throttle. (I think the prayer was by far the most
effective) until it was my turn to be invited to the "wall".... I have
to say my approach was good (if slow) and the landing was pretty good
to, so I proudly strode to the pointy end to pass up my rope - yes..
it was too bloody short so I got the one from the other side (I always
assume I will need at least 6 mooring ropes everywhere I go) and tied
it to it... the man looked at the badly melted ends and smiled. A
quick sprint to the blunt end and voila - the rope just reaches the
top of the wall and I immediately shut down the smoking engine and try
my best to look cool. I can just about get onto the quayside and
proceed to the harbour masters office to complete the paperwork, which
for some reason has the 2 officials in pleats of laughter..... how
many engines do I have and what is the horsepower, when was the boat
built etc....(I later found out that my face was black with oily
smudges). "Ok, now you go first pontoon - last one next big ketch"
- no problem says I and proceed to the wrong door - eventually found
the right one (I pretended I was reading the notice on the door - but
I don't think they fell for my ruse as they gathered I spoke no
Portuguese). Back out into the bright sunshine and it hit me that I
need to move the damn thing again..... it was so busy and so crowded I
toyed with the idea of feigning a heart attach there and then.
Needless to say, the bulldog spirit kicked in and I thought I would
have a gentle stroll over to the pontoons to check out the "last one
next big ketch" before firing up the beast again... the man came out
of the office and passed me my sunglasses, shower code, gate entry fob
and cap - all of which I had left on his desk. No wonder I thought it
was bright.... "you go now.... many more boats...." Oh well - what
the xxxx, I was passed caring. Deftly dropped into the cockpit and
disappeared below to remove the step, remove the front, find the
starting handle, insert same, grope for the de-compression lever, turn
the mother over and she fires up 1st time. I put all the woodwork
back, go upstairs and signal the chap to let go the pointy end - he
bursts out laughing and releases the front as I untie the stern
realising that I am covered in black rubber dust from the worn out
fanbelt - right up both arms and all over my face and t - shirt.
Right - enough is enough..... I gunned the engine and rounded the
corner towards my alloted space - hmmm.... bit tricky but I can do
this.... ok now remember the stern will kick in so you can give it
some beans in reverse and it should be perfect...... looking good
maybe a bit too fast.. ok loads of reverse and she will kick...... oh
shit - wrong way! Damn thing kicked out did't it.... what a flamin'
nightmare... I was at a jaunty 45 degree angle jammed between the
pontoon and a Beneteau something or other.... I won't bore you with
the rest.... I am here and only my pride was hurt - just need to get
it all cleaned up and sorted tomorrow...... how hard can it be........
Cabin Boy John
