Plan B . . .

When we last left our intrepid sailors they had just gotten the proverbial crap kicked out of them by an 118 mile day thru the Land Before Time.

Oh, and a small tidbit that I neglected to mention in yesterday's tirade, is that the mean water level along the ICW is 12 feet. So, if you drift of course just a bit, you are quickly in less than 5 feet of water.

FYI - I finally found the one picture that I wanted to share of the Pongo Canal. This was taken from the helm, as the boat was under full power, and has no magnification. This shows the exact proximity of some of the more unforgiving flora lining the canal:

But, as you know we made it.
What you don't know is what we did when we finally made River Dunes?
As the saying goes: "when the going get's tough, the tough . . . rent a cute little cottage."

River Dunes used to have a Coastal Living Dream House (which is why/how Spence dragged me down there in the first place in 2008). It was gorgeous. In 2009, it got hit by lightning and burned to the ground. (Spence wept). But, River Dunes is like a decorating mecca. Everything to Spence's taste.

I had a rattled crew and had to do something to calm her nerves. So, I thought a night in clean sheets among adorable furnishings would be just the ticket. Indeed it was. What a difference a good night's sleep, shower, and to-die-for duvet, can make. Spence had a smile upon her pretty face once again.

Here is a shot of the Love Shack:

We were renewed, and resolved to put in an R&R day - traveling only about 25 miles to Beaufort, NC, and just hang out. That was Plan A.

So, we took our time getting going. I got caught up with the blog, we showered, ate breakfast, and sauntered down to the boat about 10:00.

OMG - it was hotter than the hinges of Hades.
It was so hot, the plastic enclosure on the bridge was almost melting.

That's when I said to Spence: "why the hell are we going to Beaufort?
What are we going to do when we get there?
It' not like we are going to walk around downtown, unless you want to watch your Cap't spontaneously combust in the street. The place to be today is offshore."
I checked the NOAA forecast: 5 knot winds - Westerly - 2 foot seas.

I turned to Spence and said: "We're off - like a prom dress."
Spence agreed.
And so, Plan B was born.

Spence went to go get ice, and I went about the business of adding a quart of oil to the engine.

BTW - this next section is dedicated to Doug Currier - the best diesel mechanic on the Eastern seaboard - without whom Hot Water wound never have made this journey. If you have a diesel engine, and need some repairs, help, advice - Doug is the man.
(You are going to love this part Doug).

So, where was I? Oh yeah, I was performing the simple task of adding oil to the engine. Very easy, and I'd done it a thousand times. But, this one proved nearly disastrous.
I opened the oil cap, set it aside (in the same place I always do), and then went to reach for the oil container . . .

That's when I hit the oil cap.
I can still see it in slow motion as it skirted across the top of the engine and disappeared.
I held my breath and listened intently . . .
Clang, clank, clunk.
No Plop.
It didn't go Polp. No Polp.
Plop was the sound that it would have made if it had fallen all the way thru the engine, and landed in the bit of water in the bilge.
Shit, if it didn't go Polp, that means . . .
Jesus H. Baldheaded Christ, that means that it's hung up somewhere in the nether region of the engine.

It took about a second, as I stared at the gaping hole where the oil cap used to be, for the severity of the situation to set in. Without that cap, we were going nowhere, and there was a very high probability that I might not be able to find or remove it. That's when I lost it.

Thank God that Spence, or any other Christian person was not within earshot of the verbal tirade that I launched into. It went something like this:
No, No, No, No, No, No, No, No, Nooooooooooooo. Bleep - No, Bleep- Bleep - No, Bleep, Bleep Bleep, Bleep, Bleep Bleep, Nooooooooooooo, No, No, No, No, No, No, No, No . . .

Now, this is where Doug is going to kill himself laughing, because he knows my engine and the lack of space to get at things.
But, I will paint a picture for you.
I'm 6'2", and the entrance compartment to the engine would be small for a midget (this is no time or P.C. language). The space into which I had to squeeze my head to try and spot the cap was too small for my glasses to fit thru, so I had to split them in 2, and only use one half.
Oh, and have I mentioned how hot it was at this particular part of the day?

I won't take you thru all of the machinations of the SAR (Search And Rescue) mission, other than it took about a 1/2 hour to locate the cap alone.
Once spotted, the challenge became to invent/design a tool capable of extraction. That turned out to be a rigging needle, that I bent into a new geodesic shape . . .
With the tool, I was able to move the cap ever so slightly, but not extract it.
Then, I jerked, and the cap fell even further into the engine.
Shit, now what?
Maybe if I could just move it again . . .
Plop.

It went Plop. Even Spence heard it go Plop. It went Plop.
Praise the Lord and pass the Benzedrine, it went Polp.
There it was in the bilge . . .

For awhile, it looked like that prom dress zipper was not just stuck, but welded shut.
But by god, were got it off - and so were we . . . .

Leaving at 11:30, the rest of the day was blissfully calm and peaceful, and cool on the flat open water offshore. We traveled 118 miles, and cruised into Southport at 7:00. having escaped the heat of the day.

Speaking of heat, I have to give a shout out to my Cap't - Cap't Bill Manthorne, who has taught me everything about fishing and being offshore.
Bill, you will be happy to know that the generator gets turned on the minute when we leave the dock, and runs until we plug in shore power. The whole time powering the Air Conditioner - so that Spence has a nice cool place to come and hang out.
Ok, I'll put it in writing - YOU WERE RIGHT.
Now, quite smiling you scurvy bastard.

So, sometimes Plan B is the best option.
And we plan to do exactly the same thing again today.
We have the weather and sea conditions, and are going outside again.
This time with a target of Charleston.

That would normally put us within a day of Beaufort, SC (a.k.a. home).
But, we are not ready to end this trip.

And, I have a debt to repay, and plan to take a friend offshore fishing on Friday, while Spence melts the credit cards at shops in the City.

So, I can't tell you when we will be finished, but I know that with the heat building already . . .
We're off - like a prom dress . . .