Elizabeth City, North Carolina, N36 18 W76 13
Oh what a bad day this has been. The story actually starts yesterday.
Friday I changed the engine oil. I resolved to do it right because the last time I did it I made a terrible mess. One changes the oil in a marine diesel engine by first getting the engine hot, then sucking the oil out through the dipstick tube.
I have a hand suction pump used for many purposes including oil changes. I attach a long tube to the pump, put the tube down the dipstick, then use an empty gallon container to catch the dirty oil. Before starting I got everything I would need lined up. The pump, oil absorbant pads, plastic shopping bags to hold oily rags and the waste oil bottle, soap, water. I also stripped down to just an old pair of pants.
Well that was the theory. It went awry when my suction pump broke right in the middle of the suck out operation. I had to take it apart, repair it and put it back together. But it was full of oil at the time, so the operation was very messy. When that was done I changed the oil filter. I tried to be careful and enclose the filter in a plastic bag before beginning. It was no help. As I loosened the filter oil squirted out everywhere, and dripped out of the bag. I had to go below to get more bags to triple bag it. Libby was doing the laundry so I had to do it myself. Then I saw the triple bags leaking oil. I scrambled to get the whole mess ashore.
By the time I was done there was oil everywhere. All over inside the engine compartment. Oil in the cockpit. Oily footprints on the stairs, down below, and on the deck. Oil on the teak. Oil on my hands, my face, my arms, my pants, my shoes, my socks, even my feet. What a mess. It took me three hours to clean it up.
Last night Libby and I decided to stay two more days and rent a car to see the outer banks. We would move the boat to a nearby marina. This morning first thing I checked the marina but it was full. We had to cancel those plans.
Next I wanted to call ahead to the next marina southward to see if they had diesel fuel. A lot of fueling facilities around here were damaged by hurricanes and thus out of service. My cell phone said I couldn’t call. It was because my bill wasn’t paid because my old credit card expired. I tried to pay the bill on the phone using my new credit card. It did not work. I tried to pay the bill with the computer. It didn’t work. I retried with the computer 4 times. On the 5th time it worked, but my cell phone still didn’t work. I thought we’d have to wait till Monday. I went ashore and tried to use a pay phone. It swallowed my money but wouldn’t call anywhere.
All those troubles put me in a foul mood, but little did I know what was coming. We left the dock and headed south. Only one mile away the engine suddenly died. I checked the fuel filter and the reservoir was dry. Uh oh. That meant that there would be air in the fuel lines. Diesel engines don’t run if there’s even a little air in the lines. We couldn’t continue under sail because there is another narrow canal ahead. The only choice was to try to sail back to the city docks we just left.
Poor Libby. She had the helm and just then a tugboat towing a barge came around the bend. Libby had to scramble to get out of it’s way. We sailed back to the city docks, and prepared to come in under sail.
It almost worked but my bowsprit hit a handrail on the dock and broke it. The boat rebounded so we couldn’t reach the dock anymore. The wind also died, so we were adrift, no power, no sails, in a crowded harbor. I had to shout for help. Fortunately some people did come to help and I threw them a line, and they pulled us into a slip.
First chore was to double back and repair the railing we broke. Next was to fix the engine and bleed the lines. I opened up the covers and looked in. The whole sump under the engine was covered with diesel fuel! I looked around and soon found the problem. The return fuel line, a rubber hose, had been pulled off. I must have stepped on it yesterday when changing the oil. The open end of the return line would pump out fuel while the engine was running.
All in all, no nincompoop could have done worse at the oil change job than I did. Not only did I make a huge mess, I broke the engine as well.
I pumped out a gallon of fuel from the sump and got rid of that, Then I started on the job of bleeding the engine using the methods I learned from Ernie, the mechanic in Fernandina Beach, last summer. I paid Ernie to teach me how to do it. It requires loosening each fitting in the fuel system chain, and working the fuel pump by hand until fuel squirts out. Then to the next downstream fitting and the next. The hardest part was the air bleed screw on top of the anti-stall device on the fuel pump. It is a screw within a bolt within a nut. Three coaxial pieces, each using a different size wrench. Worst of all, it was in a spot so cramped that I couldn’t get my fingers in there from any angle. I tried with open end wrenches, and sure enough I unscrewed the wrong part. The whole thing fell off and went down into the sump.
Three hours later, with both Libby and I trying everything possible, we managed to get the part screwed back into place. But then as I tried to complete the air bleeding. It didn’t work and the engine would not start, not even cough.
The man who helped pull us into the slip said he was an engine mechanic for 30 years and he would help if I got stuck. His name was Richard. Reluctantly I went to ask Richard for help.
Richard came and I showed him all the steps that I had done, but still no fuel to the fuel injectors. He looked and said, “You even have self bleeding injectors.” “What,” I said. He showed me the bolts to loosen to bleed the system. Ernie never touched those and never told me about them. Obviously Ernie didn’t know about self bleeders. (Ernie was a jet engine mechanic by background). All those steps that Ernie had showed me were unnecessary. Richard bled the injectors with the self bleeders and the engine started right up.
But wait, the story isn’t done. Now the engine raced to redline speed. It wouldn’t respond to the throttle at all. It wouldn’t shut down when we pulled on the fuel cutoff. We had a runaway situation that could have caused the engine to explode! Fortunately by Richard pulling hard on the fuel cutoff, the RPMs reduced. Under Richard’s directions I undid a hose clamp and pulled of the air intake cover, then I used my palm to block the air and shut down the engine.
The problem was that piece that Libby and I took four hours to screw back in. We screwed it in too much, and it held the fuel orifice open. Richard worked to back off the screw turn by turn until the engine once again responded to the throttle and the fuel cutoff. Phew. Engine repaired.
After several hours cleaning up once again things are almost restored to normal. I swear though I’ll think twice before changing the oil myself again. When at a marina I’ll hire a mechanic to do it. When in some remote island with no mechanic around, I’ll either have to do it myself or let Libby do it. That would make me feel guilty though. That’s not a proper job for Libby.
The rest of the day was much better. We met another Westsail couple at the wine and cheese reception. They too sold their house and will cruise the world. We have a lot in common with them. They came aboard and to look at Tarwathie. We’ll board their boat tomorrow morning.
Then we took Richard and his wife Margaret out to diner to thank him for his valuable help with the engine. I might have blown it up with a runaway if Richard hadn’t have been there.
Richard and Margaret are from Toronto. We had a very pleasant evening with them swapping stories about sailing.
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