[November 2024]
And all through the boat, not a sailor was stirring on Ubi, docked and afloat.
All the work at Cobbs had been done with loving tender care, in hopes Ubi could now cruise south without a care.
Yannick, our engine, was nestled in his compartment by the loo, while visions of calm, motorable oceans danced through his ECU.
With Phillip in his watchcap and me in foulies (times ten!), we rose just after 5 a.m. to crank Yannick and begin!
Because we had been given the best gift a sailor can, you see: a weather window to motor around Hatteras, yippee!
Having just had his 1,000-hr service by the “Diesel Doctor,” Josh, no less. Yannick roared right to life, ready to give it his best.
Phillip and I helped a buddy boat off the dock while Yannick happily purred, then we tossed our own lines as the inlet out of Little Creek lured.
But suddenly—midway down the channel—there was a void of clatter. YANNICK HAD STOPPED RUNNING! We didn’t know what was the matter!
After several attempts to re-crank failed, leaving us drifting about to crash, I threw out our anchor in the middle of the channel in a mad dash.
“Could it be the fuel shutoff?” I asked Phillip who was banging away below. “No, cause he’s been running for half an hour!” I heard him bellow.
Phillip swapped to another of our four fuel tanks and Yannick roared back up, we hooted, cheered, and did donuts in the channel until he sadly, again, gave up.
I launched the anchor out again in the channel, just in the St. Nick of time, so we could look for filters clogged, electrical problems, pumps needing prime.
As our Hatteras window ticked away, I got desperate enough to throw a Hail Mary. “Maybe we should call the Diesel Doctor?” I asked, a bit weary.
Knowing it was now 5:30 a.m., my guess on the Doc’s willingness to answer was: He ain’t. But, then, first rang, he picked up Face Time, ready to help, and I thought: What a saint!
Although his name wasn’t Nick, Dr. Josh immediately started asking what we had seen. We ran through multiple checks and troubleshoots with him on the little phone screen.
Until finally, he offered the miracle of all miracles on a Sunday at 6:00 a.m. “Why don’t I just come by to help?” he asked and I swore I could kiss him.
“Well?” Phillip started, eyeing the channel and our dink on deck, tightly lashed. “We’ll come get you!” I shouted, knowing I could drop that dink in a New York flash.
When Phillip and Josh came buzzing back, it was almost more than I could surmise. As I saw him approach, his hefty, heaving tool bag in tow, a twinkle in his eyes.
Josh’s cheeks were little roses, all flush from the morning chill like a cherry, and, I thought to myself: There has never been a gift more merry.
Josh has eager hands, a sharp mind, and always a bag of snacks to feed his belly. During his weeks aboard Ubi, he’d worked on Yannick with real gumption and welly!
He popped down below and began tinkering, fast as an elf, while I tingled topside with fragile hope, despite myself.
Josh checked multiple pumps and filters, deeming it likely a fuel line clogged. But, he kept bleeding, priming, pumping, while we watched as he slogged.
Then Josh finally popped his head up, a bright twinkle in his eye. “I figured it out guys!” he chirped. “It’s rather silly, I’m not gonna lie.”
All of that trouble and worry and wouldn’t you know? All along it had been the fuel shutoff down in the bilge below.
At Cobb’s, work on the genset and engine likely prompted the shutoff for safety. Josh figured some vendor (himself included) simply forgot about it, acting hasty.
Although I had suggested that before we got this magical elf aboard, Yannick’s ability to run for almost an hour on fumes had us floored.
While a mistake like that, before a big voyage, might have had some feeling slighted. Having only suffered some grey hairs and an hour delay, we were extremely delighted!
He wasn’t a saint (I don’t think) but he certainly saved our voyage that day, coming so quick. If it had been closer to Christmas, I would have sworn on Josh’s arrival that he was St. Nick!
Josh packed up his bag and Phillip zipped him back to shore in Ducky, our dinghy, while I prepared to weigh anchor (in the channel) and get on with this thingy!
This was our window, our plan! With the promise of Bahamian beaches in store. Slapping the dink back on deck and getting on with it felt like the simplest chore.
As Phillip took to the helm, he gave a hearty shout and a whistle, calling his entire team to him, quick as a thistle.
Now Ubi! Now Yannick! Now Annie and Ducky! Now Dishy*! Now Maestro**! We’re fixed and feeling lucky!
Anyone awake at 6 am in the Little Creek channel would have heard him shout:
“HAPPY HATTERAS ROUNDING TO YOU ALL. THIS IS UBI. OUT!”
Merry Christmas Followers!
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* Our Starlink satellite dish that rides on the stern rail.
** Our autopilot, as he likes to pick songs that match our travel conditions.