Mexico

Looking for my Shaker of Salt

Link to Previous Post: Silver Linings

Saturday, March 5, 2022

We are in Magdalena Bay. We arrived mid morning, around 9:00 am, after what was left of a magical night of bioluminescence, to calm seas and an uneventful entry.

The bay itself is big; thirty one miles long, with around ninety miles of lagoons, it is host to a wildly diverse array of sea life. The star of the show, however, are the Gray Whales that migrate here to calf every winter. While I was excited to see them, they ended up being a footnote to the continued drama we call “life” on Eclipse.

Dean and I arose and entered the upper salon after receiving our coffee from Micah. Brad and Lloyd were hard at work, reading manuals regarding the fuel transfer system. I actually have a video of Brad, reading glasses perched on his nose, reciting the manual as if it were a Shakespearean sonata. It is a great memory.

Little did I know that another “disaster” was minutes away.

The Bay was busy, full of little eco-tourist boats, some pangas but mostly inflatables, shuttling visitors out to observe the new whale mothers and their calves. Off to our port side, we spotted two small eco-hotels and eco-resorts, some of which were actually a smattering of tents barely distinguishable in the desert landscape, bustling with people (who, at a distance, resembled ants), scurrying about getting ready for their turn on the small boats. It was prime calving time and high tourist season. To our right, about ten kilometers away, a large power plant sat looking completely out of place against the flat, sandy vista. In front of us, and to many laughs, we watched as a panga towed a home-made wooden raft on which rested a rust bucket of an older model, full-sized Ford Bronco. Bets were placed as to whether the ancient but clearly cherished vehicle would actually make it across the bay.

Only in Mexico.

It was early March, and there was still a chill in the air. Everyone was wrapped up like they were in Antartica. We could see a small gas station, and a decent number of other buildings which almost resembled an attempt at civilization, Mexican style; meaning that the first good hurricane to come through would flatten most of it, only for it all to be up and running again in a matter of weeks.

The captain had found the spot he wanted to drop anchor, several miles up into the northern region of the bay and away from the tourists. He and Lloyd had been closely monitoring the day tank; the one of eight from which the engine and generators drew all their fuel; in an attempt to calibrate what the gauge on the inside helm read against what was actually in the tank. According to the gauge, we had just entered the “red” zone, but the gauge had a healthy buffer zone so it was assumed we had plenty of fuel to get anchored before more had to be transferred. It was about 11:00 am, and we were just shy of the spot Brad had chosen.

We were all up in the pilot house; musing, laughing, and enjoying copious amounts of caffeine served in Yeti insulated mugs which guaranteed that the coffee would burn our tongues and tonsils for up to six hours. Everything was perfect - perfect night, perfect winds, perfect seas, perfect spot. Brad had started the gen set to power the anchor windlass and the crew dropped the anchor. We were settled in.

We talked, unconcerned. Brad had not yet shut down the engine and she chugged out her soft beat in the background of our conversation. The sand was still swirling around the just secured anchor, when the unthinkable happened. The engine stalled, then sputtered, then……died. Just died. Within seconds, the gen set followed.

Brad was obviously startled, and despite his caffeine buzz, kept his head and began trying to restart the main engine. I listened while the starter turned over…and over…two….three….four times. Nothing.

We were dead in the water. Not just partly, but completely. We had no power……at…..all. Yet, this all happened after we had dropped anchor and were completely safe.

God.

Brad was still. His blue eyes changed shape and intensity. It was obvious what had happened. In the meantime, as no one on board knew how to switch to batteries, and in fact we were told by both Brad and Lloyd we could not go on batteries at all, total focus was on restarting the generators. Brad, with his usual measure of optimism, tried to start one to keep power to lights and the refrigerators.

To no avail.

Oh no.

Due to the newness of our experience with Eclipse, and the lack of any instructions on how she operated at turnover, we were all somewhat panicked. The gauges read that we had fuel.

The engines and generators told a different story.

The reality was that although the fuel transfer system was working, just as the survey had said, it was transferring fuel at a trickle - not nearly fast enough to keep up with our rate of use. We needed to learn how the system worked, but now we were in a race to get the generators and main engine back on line.

To their credit, Brad and Lloyd kept their cool. We could transfer fuel, but it was now obvious that the gauges we were depending on were not calibrated properly and no one knew which of the eight tanks the measurement was from. In any case, we had to transfer what we could and get at least the generators back on line. The refrigerators and freezers held seven weeks of food for six people - losing it all would have been a catastrophe.

I sat in the upstairs salon, watching the action as if it were a movie; because surely, this could not be my life. Surely, we did not buy Eclipse to experience nothing but problems. It was about this time that Lloyd, with a determined look on his face, grabbed a toolbox before heading to the engine room. With a parting shot and smile, he quipped, “I have never met a diesel engine that could get the best of me”. He disappeared below.

It was 11:15.

As for me, all laughter erased, I got up to head down into our stateroom solo. Before I too went below, I scanned my surroundings with a sense of the surreal. The bay was calm and beautiful. We were safe and there were services and people nearby if we needed them. Yet here I was, in a place I had dreamed of going for decades, dead in the water on our gorgeous yacht and no way to get off or go anywhere. Brad had told me he did not want to take the tender off the bow, so I was not going to get any close up views of Gray Whales or their babies. Nor would I be visiting a restaurant or bar in the bay, chatting with other tourists, oohing and ahhing over a margarita and some chips and guacamole about our adventures with the Grays. Instead, I headed for my cabin to begin what was to turn into a ritual during times of challenge and duress; our pilgrimage to the place where we would be praying for wisdom and safety for Eclipse, us and her crew, for deliverance from our latest calamity and for answers to the questions that were piling up like cards in a game of War.

Every day, I was awakening with a nagging sense of doom in the pit of my belly. So many questions, so few answers. So many problems and challenges, so little understanding. If this crew of experts with their decades of experience could not get answers, who would? What have we done? I imagined our friends and family, envisioning us having the time of our lives on this ‘great adventure.’

If they only knew.

So I headed to my cabin. Once there I laid my face in the coverlet, and began praying. It also turned out that with mine and the engine room door open, I was in the perfect place to hear everything Lloyd was doing in the engine room.

Oh goody.

I cuddled up with Boo, my sweet little comfort dog. I prayed, waited and listened - every minute feeling like an hour. I heard the fuel transfer pump, humming with a rhythmic thump as it transferred fuel to the day tank. After about forty five minutes, I heard Lloyd attempt a turnover on the first generator. The engine turned, but would not start. A few more minutes. Thuds. Clanging. Again, another turn….two…..three….nothing. Ten more minutes - it had now been over an hour with no power - and the engine wanted to turn over so badly - rrrrowwwwrrrr…….rrrrrrowwwrrrr…then BOOM! One started!!

Thank you God!!

Two more to go.

I listened to the same sequence with the other generator. After about an hour, Lloyd got it started, too. The food and beer were safe and we had lights and a galley again.

Now all he needed was to get the MTU started.

Encouraged by the gen set, I thought the main engine would not take that long. I heard tinkering, tools dropping and an occasional swear word. After what felt like forever, I heard him attempt the first start up. Two…..three…….four times it turned.

Ka thung…….thung……..thung…....thung…….

Nothing.

Twenty minutes later, again; three, four, five times. I heard the starter batteries beginning to wane, strained by the sheer number of attempts. I was getting worried the starter batteries would run out of juice, with no way to recharge them.

Silence ensued for another hour.

Crap.

Again the attempts began. Two….three……four….….five………six……….Damn, he was going to drain the starter bank - but the main engine stubbornly refused to turn over. He had been working for almost three hours and despite his expertise, the engine just wouldn’t start.

Dean was still in the pilot house with Brad. I had no idea what they were doing. It was at this point that the praying really began in earnest. Lloyd was a brilliant engineer and had vast experience with diesel engines, but never one of this size. Like everything else on Eclipse, the Mercedes built MTU engine had been top of the line when it was installed. Because it had always been meticulously maintained, the engine was as strong as ever and quite possibly the most reliable marine diesel engine ever built. At 615 hp, stronger than most engines for a boat this size, we could comfortably cruise under power at 11 + knots. I did not know it at the time, but one of the thousand engineering lessons I learned on Eclipse was that that strength and German engineering also meant that once the engine was starved of fuel, the cylinders all need to be primed in a very particular order to restart. Based on the time and the noises coming from the engine room, it was clear that restarting her was no walk in the park. It is another of God’s miracles that Lloyd had the presence of mind to grab the engine manual, (a man actually reading directions…!!!!), and learned the sequence for priming the cylinders. So I sat in my cabin, praying, worrying and frankly kind of freaked out. What if we needed an MTU engineer to help us get her started? Good grief….visions of sitting in the bay for weeks crossed my mind…..at least we would not run out of tequila….

Another hour passed. Lloyd had been in the engine room for five straight hours without a break. Finally, I heard the familiar sound of the attempt to start. I closed my eyes and prayed a chant to myself..…”Please God, please God, please God”….

Two tries. Three. Four…….…and BOOM!!! Our old, reliable, perfect MTU sputtered to life; and began to purr. Her old familiar sound.

The relief flooded through my entire being. It felt like being enveloped in a blanket as my frozen blood began to warm and circulate again.

Thank you God. Thank you.

I made my way upstairs to my grinning heroes. Lloyd came up from the engine room right behind me, beat and exhausted but triumphant. He looked at us all as we gave him his well deserved glow of thanks and approval. “Told ya” was all he said.

Margaritas and beer for all, a sumptuous dinner by Micah and a Mag Bay sunset; the evening was rounded out perfectly. The stress had tired everyone out. I had never thought that the hum of the generators would be such music to my ears. It would not be the last time I came to appreciate the systems on Eclipse in new and more educated and awed ways.

In the morning, the discussions of the fuel transfer system would resume in earnest. Brad’s position was that we could not get to Florida until we figured it all out. The engineering plans and half the boat’s manuals were spread all over the boat; up and downstairs. I perused the drawings of the boat’s fuel system. They were 24 x 48 inches and did not include the piping or the positions of the valves.

Dear God, how would we ever figure this out???

Shortly after dinner, Dean and I crawled in bed, held hands and said prayers of thanks; asking as always for the ability to figure it all out, safety for Eclipse and for everyone on board, for a spirit of cooperation and an extra large side of wisdom when dealing with it all. We were eating the elephant in bites; I worried we would get too full and how we would handle that. In our married life, neither of us had to face such a huge challenge. We are both smart, capable and determined. With so many unknowns, I worried about how we would handle what was ahead; both individually and as a couple.

But fiddle dee dee - we would think about this tomorrow and face tomorrow’s challenges - with God’s help. While Dean softly snored on my shoulder, I fell asleep.

To be continued.