It is said that cruising is fixing your boat in exotic locations. Emily has some cruising stories for us.

Here we are, tied to the dock at Blake Island. Yesterday we took our usual walk around the island, and in early dusk saw deer cavorting on the field. The golden morning sun is already pouring hotly over the still silent boats around us. We will remember Blake not just for the apricot-colored sunsets and the twinkling Seattle lights but for … Well, let’s rephrase our opening:

Here we are, tied to the dock at Blake Island, a thick yellow electrical line securely plugged into shore power. What a relief! Our trip from Dockton had begun with every sailor’s desire: 12 knots building to 25 knots, whitecaps flecking the waters of Colvos Passage. We had lingered at Dockton for two days, to swim and walk the quiet roads. Our games of cribbage and late night reading sucked up more juice than we realized. On leaving Dockton, we ran the motor only a few minutes, not enough we later realized, to power the thirsty refrigerator, too.

Some large barges and the Washington ferries added a bit of danger to our journey, but the excitement didn’t begin until approached Blake and hit the engine switch. Zilch. And at that moment the GPS and all the other instruments went dark. A quick investigation showed that we had left the refrigerator turned up high and the engine battery on, too. Along with the instruments, the result was depleted batteries.

Should we try to sail into the marina? The wind was too strong, and our insurer probably wouldn’t be happy if we rammed someone’s yacht. We decided to grab a buoy using just the mainsail. We got it on the first pass, but holding onto it nearly dislocated Jim’s shoulders. In the flurry of tying onto it, the line was looped and crossed over the life line. After pulling the mainsail down, we were able to put on a second tether and retie the first.

Then what about the battery situation? Jim hunted for the amp meter and found it at last. How to use this instrument? Jim has all kinds of skills, including wiring, but the fine points of this tool eluded us. The fact that it continued to read 000 was to prove accurate.

So out came the stairs, exposing the two batteries. Both batteries are only two years old so age was not likely to be the issue; but which is the house battery, and which is the engine battery? A little sleuthing revealed the answer. We turned one battery on and pushed the non-working starter button, revealing the battery light, ergo, that was the engine battery.

We debated our options: Give the battery a rest to see if it would recover; call Sea Tow; sail without power backup; or find a charger. Rest did not cure the battery, so Jim detached it and we and little dog Rudi rowed it to shore.

At last our luck turned. First we ran into Olympia friends and neighbors Jim and Vicki Flynn. They offered us a battery should we need it and invited us in for a little calming visit. Then we hunted down the volunteer park host. What a can-do guy! He retrieved a battery charger from the park shop and set our battery up on his deck for an all-night charge. Next day Jim reinstalled the battery, cranked up the engine, and we motored into the dock. During our stay, we would be able to fully recharge our electrical systems.

Our boat has taken us to many beautiful places. Somehow the occasional misadventures make certain places live forever in our memories. Remembering...

Years ago, we provisioned Acquitted for a week, and set forth on a windless day. Just as we came to McNeil Island, the engine produced a monstrous cloud of black smoke and went silent. We scrambled around looking for a cause when a god-like voice boomed over the water. “You are in violation of Code ___. Immediately remove yourself from this restricted space or face arrest.” We hastily raised the sails, made a slow turn, and 12 hours later were back at our slip, our trip postponed indefinitely.

Then there was the time we flapped, powerless, into the float plane dock at Poet’s Cove on Pender Island in spite of the angry shouts of a Canadian Customs official. What else to do? The heat alarm had gone off a few times during our northward journey. A stop at Everett, and extraction of a sliver of grass from the seawater strainer, appeared to solve the problem. But no, the insistent whine would resume eventually whenever we needed engine power.

Our three-day stay on the floating dock, in the midst of a wedding party, was filled with frustrations. Jim’s cell phone died, and he couldn’t add minutes without naming the password which was at home on the desk. We changed companies later, and I got a second phone. Problem solving with a mechanic friend from Everett led to the air freighting in of a new thermostat, $230-plus. Lack of local groceries meant a lot of eating at the lodge, more $$. We began to suspect the heat exchanger. Jim had recently added water without an equal amount of antifreeze, he finally confessed. We sacrificed pints of precious vinegar to flush out some rust. These vexations were offset by the beauty of our surroundings.

Jim re-installed the heat exchanger. The engine ran longer without a squeal, so we decided to depart, reluctantly heading south given the worries. The winds were strong and playful, and we made good time to Friday Harbor where, once again, the heat warning blasted us and we had to dock at US Customs without the cushion of engine power.

Our Everett friend ferried over and spent a day sprawled in our cabin, giving himself a nasty burn as he played with settings and connections. Still the guys insisted that the problem couldn’t be the heat exchanger but instead the main water pump.

Off we went, jauntily, to Spencer Spit for a night on a buoy. By then we knew we still had a serious problem. We decided to dead head to Everett, where our friend has a spot up the Snohomish River where he works on boats. Incredible winds brought us just short of Deception Pass, where we missed the eastward current by about 30 minutes. We limped into Bowman Bay and once again practiced catching a buoy.

That night we tossed fitfully until I convinced Jim we should call Vessel Assist. Given the dinosaur- backed rocks in the little bay, expected light winds, and the danger of navigating a busy channel without fallback power, this seemed a wise course of action. So, next day we were pulled safely through the pass, resisting the urge to hang bed sheets over our boat’s name.

At Everett we fought the current to the Everett Yacht Club for a free night of moorage. If we thought we could relax, we were wrong. Our friend decided to tow us up river with an inflatable, something he had never done. “Follow me!” he shouted. Unaccountably he slowed down, we moved in a stately way right past him, then the tug of the rope swung us into a piling. Wham wham! Poor String Games.

A month and a lot more $$ later, we sailed her home. The boat was a lot happier but two hours of engine and the whine began again. Once home, Jim. tired of my nagging, yanked the infernal heat exchanger and took it to an automotive shop for a complete colonoscopy. We’ve never had a heat warning since.

Of course, there are also the groundings in Apple Passage, Hammersley Inlet, West Bay, even beside the Olympia Yacht Club. You might wonder how we even dare to leave the dock.

Emily Ray, String Games