Another Slipless Night
Our boat should have been in its slip near Cape May long ago, but a phenomena not unlike that which beset the Mary Deare has made its presence known.
Our slip rental runs from April 15 through October 16, and I was a wee bit disappointed that we actually had to wait until the middle of April before launching. It sat on the blocks in a marina about 15 miles away, and we figured it would take but a few days to perform routine maintenance.
The steering had frozen up before we took the boat out last fall, but I was pretty sure that I would be able to free it up, even though I know very little about boat steering. Okay, so I was wrong, but undeterred, I supervised my cousin and his friend in sanding and painting the bottom of the hull. We picked a nice, spring day of about 88 degrees or so, and I tired very easily watching them perform the task. Upon completion of the job, they resembled Smurfs, and I haven’t heard from my cousin since. I remember him saying something about leaving the country, but didn’t think he was serious.
I found a boat mechanic, and pleaded my case to get the steering repaired as soon as possible. He obliged, and we were ready for launch!
Everything went smoothly until the boat actually touched the water. The starboard engine started right up. The port engine followed suit, then died. It started once or twice more, and ran about as long as it takes to fill a glass of water with a firehose.
I took the spark arrestor off the carburetor and cranked the engine as it spewed gasoline all over. Okay, so we have a float problem, and it can be resolved with a little carb cleaner, right? Nope - I had to call in Mr. Boat Mechanic, who informed me that I needed a new carburetor, and that it would take a few days to get it. This made me a bit anxious, because the days of the season were beginning to run like sand through an hourglass, but I persevered.
Mr. BM finally installed the carburetor and we made preparations for our voyage south. The port engine started right up, then died. And died and died and died. It wouldn’t run below 2,000 rpm’s, and I just couldn’t feature trying to back the boat into the slip at that speed…
So Mr. BM returns to adjust the carburetor, but informs me that he thinks I need a new fuel pump. Well, he does this stuff for a living, so I took him at his word. The only problem, he tells me, is that he can’t do it until the following Tuesday, or maybe even Wednesday. Now indignant, I tell him that I’ll do it myself. I’ve replaced fuel pumps before, in fact it became a hobby on my old ‘56 Plymouth. So what if it was back in ‘65 or so; like how much can a person forget?
Quite a bit, I discovered, after driving 40 miles with my old fuel pump and returning with a new one. By then it was late in the day, and I decided to wait until the following morning. That just happened to be the day that Noah apparently stopped by South Jersey on a world tour or something. I think Sunday, Monday, Tuesday - okay, so by Wednesday, all systems were go. I was thinking how fortunate I was that I didn’t have to wait until the day before…
Well, it didn’t go in on Wednesday. I couldn’t seem to line up the bolt holes for some reason. Same thing happened on Thursday, so I called for reinforcements on Friday. My nephews (sort of) showed up, and the one who does the mechanical stuff had the same problem I had. He told me I must have the wrong fuel pump.
I made plans to see if I could find the right pump, but meantime, I called Mr. BM, who informed me that he didn’t think I had the wrong pump. He said I (meaning my nephew) had to hold up the little plunger and slip the lever beneath it. He was correct, and the fuel pump was finally installed by late Friday afternoon.
My mechanic had informed me that he would be out of town for the weekend, but I cared little about that, because I had my fuel pump and we would be spending the holiday weekend at our boat at the shore! Except that the engine did the same thing!
So, on Saturday, with resolution, we set out for the boat once more, and I figured maybe I could turn a screw or something on the carburetor and we’d be on our way! Uh - except that you can’t do that any more, because the days of external needle valves went the way of the covered wagon. Like how would I know that, since my last zillion cars had fuel injection?
Fortunately, a fellow boater was working on his boat and responded that yes, he did know something about carburetors. He looked at it, heard it run, then did a few general tests and discovered that there’s a compression leak somewhere.
On Sunday, we found ourselves too tired and too disgusted to drive the 45 miles to the boat. We may make an attempt on Monday, although our Fourth of July weekend is already shot, but ultimately, we await the return of Mr. BM.