South through Florida

Zen and the Art of Sailboat Maintenance—South Through Florida

Fernandina Beach, just south of the Georgia border, was surprisingly busy. It turns out the Florida vs. Georgia football game is in Jacksonville tomorrow, and lots of Bulldog fans stay over in Fernandina. The town is abuzz, the sidewalks are full, the stores are open in the evening, and the restaurants serve — what else ?— gator tail. Georgia fans outnumber Florida fans here by a large margin.

As we left the next morning, we were apprehensive about the section of the Waterway that courses through Jacksonville. But the “biggest tailgate party of the year,” as the football game is known, does not extend to parks along the river. We cruised through easily and ended up in St. Augustine, just north of the Vilano Bridge at the very friendly and well appointed Camachee Cove Marina. Here Mike Reed is the assistant dock master, and the only person I’ve ever seen who can handle two dock lines simultaneously. Deftly, he pulled Luna here and there and coaxed her stern-first into a slip (with some help from the captain at the controls).

I mentioned to Mike that we had been having trouble with Luna’s engine running hot and told him about the pinhole I’d discovered in the heat exchanger. He directed me to an onsite mechanic, James Bohanan, at First Mate Yacht Services. Early Monday morning, I walked over and met Bo.

Bo wasn’t sure what I was describing and drove me back to Luna so he could take a look. He thought my repair to the heat exchanger, intact after four days, was adequate. On the overheating issue, he uttered the three words first in the mind of any boat owner except, apparently, this one. “Check the impeller,” he said. “If it’s not that, check the thermostat, but I doubt it.”

Some information for the uninitiated. Boat engines are water-cooled, and Luna’s engine has two pumps. One circulates sea water through the heat exchanger, and the other circulates antifreeze, cooled by the seawater in the heat exchanger, through the engine. The pumps contain an impeller, a spinning rubber wheel with fins that radiate out from the center. As the impeller turns, the fins pick up water or antifreeze from the inlet and discharge it through the outlet. The sea water impeller is usually the one to fail. I had checked it early on, but had neglected the antifreeze pump.

He left with my thanks and refused any more than that. Later, I got out the tool kit and set about dismantling the antifreeze pump. There were six fins on the impeller. Chagrined and relieved, I found only two remaining intact. The others had broken off and were lodged in the outlet of the pump. I walked back to Bo’s shop and bought a new impeller and gasket, even though we carried one on the boat. I installed this and reassembled the pump after removing all the broken pieces of fins.

Following the adventure along with thoughtful and kind silence, the commander offered: “It’s always the impeller.”

Of course it’s always the impeller! I shall have this engraved on a plaque and place it near Luna’s engine. And when I die, should there be a gravestone, let it say, “It was the impeller.” Not quite as poetic as Conrad Aiken’s marker in Savannah’s Bonaventure Cemetery, which reads, “Cosmos mariner, destination unknown. Give my regards to the world.” But mine would be apt and helpful, at

With the boats at Camachee Cove Marina, St. Augustine, FL

least to the other sorts of mariners out there.

The three-day layover in St. Augustine gave me time to take the heat exchanger apart and check for corrosion. Finding none, I put a dab of epoxy on the inside where I thought water might have gotten in under a weld. Now, the cooling system was all back together and intact. We started the engine to test it out, but the diesel exhaust was blowing back in on us, so the test was short. And, of course, this was not the end of the story.

Being residents of the marina for three days gave us a chance to visit with some of the other boat owners there. Conversations were shockingly similar. A man would stop by and say “Hello,” followed by, “Is that a C&C? I used to have a C&C. Sure was a lot of fun to sail.” This happened at least three times. I am not exaggerating. This is odd because there just weren’t that many C&C boats built between 1969 and 1990 when the factory closed. Yet, we’ve heard the same comment in several stops along the Waterway.

The marina was generous with their courtesy car, and we took it shopping. We refilled Luna’s propane tank (cleverly, we bought a spare with us this year) and visited St. Anastasia Church on Crescent Beach, the final resting place of the parents of the commander and the first mate. We also took the car to dinner and later to a Halloween party at the Conch House with our friend, Tom, who lives nearby in Hastings.

Cruising boats moored near the Bridge of Lions in St. Augustine

The layover also gave us the opportunity to plan the next leg of the journey. We entertained the idea of another day and night at sea. We would go off shore from the St. Augustine inlet to Port Canaveral and the Space Center, a distance of 100 miles. The weather looked perfect with 5 to 10 kt winds from the east, 1 to 2 foot seas. The tow boat service said the inlet conditions were safe, and an off shore fisherman said the seas were smooth.

We were a little apprehensive after the pounding we took when we left Charleston, but, when you fall off a horse, the best thing to do is to get back on the horse. The moon was approaching full, the skies were clear. All on Luna were in agreement, even the first mate. We would head back out into the Atlantic with the falling tide the next morning.

The conditions were perfect, and we were all a little excited at the off shore prospect. We left the slip, stopped at the fuel dock to pump out Luna’s waste tank, then motored out through the marina’s narrow channel to the river. The Commander powered up the engine, and just as we left the channel, I looked down at the temperature gauge, which read, “HOT.”

The Captain’s remarks will not be reported here. The Commander slowed Luna to an idle, and we crossed the river to the edge of the channel on the opposite side where we dropped the anchor. I checked the antifreeze level—OK. I took the fresh water pump apart and looked at the new impeller—OK. I got everything back together, we started the engine—right back up to hot. Back to the pump, I took off the outlet hose and looked for fragments I might have missed—nothing. We restarted the engine, and curiously, I saw no antifreeze coming out of the outlet. I looked again—the pump wasn’t turning! I looked closer and found that the belt to the engine was not on its pulley. It was seated against the crankcase behind the pulley. Another dope slap!

When I corrected this, and we restarted the engine, antifreeze circulated normally through the heat exchanger. I added some, then some more, then some more. “The temperature is falling,” called the Commander.

With the antifreeze level up, the engine temperature fell to usual range and stayed there. We could have said, “Well, we fixed it,” and headed out as planned. However, lacking confidence in the system, we voted for staying on the Waterway, foregoing the perfect day and night at sea! Those days don’t come all that often along the east coast of the United States, but you need absolute trust in your ship and your ability to deal with problems when they arise. With that trust shaken by the recent events, we thought it better to heed the old adage, oft repeated and always true, “Better to be in here wishing you were out there than to be out there wishing you were in here.”

So we continued on along the waterway, past St. Augustine to the friendly marina at Marineland. Here we tied up at one of the newly installed concrete floating docks.

Along tidal waters, floating docks which rise and fall with the water level are preferable to fixed docks which require crew members to jump down on or climb up to the dock as the tide changes and the boat goes up or down. And the gold standard has become the concrete floating dock.

Luna at the floating docks in Marineland

To my ears, the juxtaposition of concrete and floating sounds oxymoronic. I looked at the website of Bellingham Marine Industries. With offices in Jacksonville and Ft. Lauderdale and manufacturing facilities in nine locations, Bellingham is one of the leading suppliers of concrete docks. Indeed, most of the concrete docks we walk on are stamped “Bellingham.”

According to the website, the company has installed  over 20 million square feet of floating docks (nearly a square mile). The docks float because the centers are expanded polystyrene foam that are then encased in a reinforced concrete shell. They are quite strong and feel secure when you tie the boat to their cleats. The surface is not slippery when wet, and feels safer to walk on than wooden planks..

With Hurricane Matthew last year and Irma this year, we have seen damage to concrete docks in Fernandina and St. Augustine. When some of the concrete breaks off, the docks cant to the unaffected side at a steep angle. These will need to be replaced.

The marina was not at all crowded, and Luna was alone in her section. That was fine with us, as we watched the sun set over the western edge of the Waterway and the marshland beyond. Before sunset, however, we had time to walk along the beach and survey the damage done to the houses there in the past two years.

Four years ago, we took the same walk and found a road, likely the old Route A1A, between a row of houses and the beach. After a dozen or so houses, we came to a part where the road had washed away, and pipes and wires were protruding from the sand bank. Two houses perched precariously close to the edge, waiting the inevitable.

Storms have damaged homes and destroyed the road along the beach

Now, there is no road. A row of canted telephone poles marks the edge of what once was the road but now is just sand. All of the houses were damaged by the recent storms, some severely; however a few have already been repaired or rebuilt by their optimistic owners. The houses at the far end are simply gone. The Matanzas River, which flows west of the current AIA and the ocean, cut a new inlet to the sea with Hurricane Matthew last year, sealing the fate of some of these houses. Yet, new houses continue to rise along this section of the waterway at Palm Coast, a little south of Marineland. In this housing market, there is little wonder why the governor of Florida refuses to acknowledge climate change in any official state business.

Leaving Marineland the next morning, we’re closing in on Stuart, our final destination before the holidays. We anchor for the night in a little creek off the Waterway below the Ponce de Leon inlet in New Smyrna Beach. It’s quiet and calm, but at night, when the wind dies, a horde of no-see-’ems descends on the boat. These little stinging insects manage to get in through the screens, and we all have a sleepless night, too hot under the covers and too vulnerable outside them. The next night I sprayed all the screens with Off, but by then we were in a slip at the New Smyrna City Marina, and the bugs weren’t a problem.

The course from the creek to the marina was only about five miles, but Luna was having another problem, this time with her transmission. Reverse was fine, but she would go into forward only if you revved the motor. Once you slowed down, she would go back into neutral. The Commander had first noticed this when we anchored the previous afternoon. Once settled, I swam off the back of the boat to check for stray ropes wrapped around the propeller, but all was clean.

After we weighed anchor, we quickly came up to the New Smyrna Beach drawbridge. It opens only on the hour and half hour, so we had a few minutes to wait. Normally at this time, we would idle Luna in neutral if the current is slack or slowly reverse if the current is flowing toward the bridge, as it was when we arrived. With the finicky transmission, neither seemed like a good idea, so I made lazy circles on our side of the bridge until it began to open and we could get through.

Meanwhile, the Commander checked Active Captain and found that the City Marina, just on the other side of the bridge, has a resident mechanic. Once through the bridge, we called on the radio and were given directions to a slip.

Rick Graham, the mechanic, came aboard, and inspected Luna. “Is this a C&C?,” he asked. “I used to have a C&C. Sure sailed good.” His assistant said, “I had two of them.” Rick climbed down through the cockpit locker to look at the transmission. His diagnosis: the conical drive gear is worn out and will not turn the propeller. It would work for a while at high revolutions, but not for much longer. The transmission will need to be rebuilt, a process that may take two weeks, and that’s if parts are available.

Later, he called to say he has located a used transmission from a boat whose engine was replaced. He can install this in a few days, and we’ll be back on the Waterway. Finding a used part in the salvage yard and installing it in your vehicle — how utterly Vermont and how instantly we are transported back to the days of funky old cars, patched together with Bondo, pop rivets, and aluminum printing plates, sweating with friends over which is the least discerning mechanic as a source of the next inspection sticker. Back in the day, if we had had cell phones and speed dials, every junkyard in the state would be on there.

But that was then, and this is Luna. Nonetheless, we decided to go along with his plan. We’d be back on schedule, and we’d have the old transmission to send for refurbishing. Luna, built in 1984, is 33 years old, and this is her original engine. Sooner or later, I suppose, the little Yanmar diesel will go, too, though it seems to be running perfectly now. Dealing with repairs on the fly has become a subtext of this adventure so far. Rick’s diagnostic visit was on Friday, so we had a few days to stew about it before his promised return on Monday.

Meanwhile, the thought of maybe spending a couple of weeks stuck in the marina proved too daunting for the first mate. A few phone calls found her a flight out of Daytona on Monday morning and a ride there with Mike, the local driver-for-hire. In three weeks she has become an integral part of Luna’s crew: minder of the lines, grinder of the winches, water bottle filler, juicer of the happy-hour limes, social media maven, and cleaner extraordinaire of the head. She has even taken an occasional turn at the wheel. Over a “last hurrah” dinner at Cork Screw on Sunday evening, we discuss the trip. Was it fun? Even better than expected. Marinas or anchorages? Anchorages. Favorite part? The scary part!

First mate at the helm

On Monday morning the first mate drives off with Mike and dreams for the flip side in the spring. A little later, Rick appears with his assistant, Larry, and transmission in hand. The day becomes an emotional roller coaster, the rises and falls only amplified by the dock master’s announcement that the marina will be full starting Tuesday. There will be no room for Luna, and we’re not totally clear what will happen if Rick can’t get the job done by Tuesday noon.

Rick is not a small man, and to get at the transmission, he has to go down into the locker on the port side of the cockpit. It’s clear that he doesn’t fit, so his first task is to remove the hot water tank that takes up part of the space. He accomplishes this and hands it up. Then he can stretch out on his back down in the locker. He is not comfortable, but he goes at the transmission bolts, some of which are very difficult to reach. Larry hands down wrenches and sockets on request.

But then the unit is out, and Rick is delivering it up to his assistant through the narrow opening. This is good. The new one goes down. Rick has it in place, but it does not fit. The housing that bolts to the engine is too shallow. It will not work. This is bad. Both units and Rick are on the deck. He removes the housing from both units and will attach Luna’s housing to the new unit. This is good. But the bolt holes don’t line up, so no go. This is bad. Rick says he will take both transmissions to his shop and take the parts out of the new one and swap them with the ones in the broken unit. This will take a few hours, giving the Captain’s mood more time to marinate.

Rick Graham (right) and Larry work on Luna's transmission

I can’t remember a time when my feelings have oscillated from optimism to pessimism with such frequency. This is an emotional bungee jump, though I’m not sure the bungee will hold. “It will work out,” the Commander notes. “Don’t worry.” She has heard Rick’s pronouncement that “failure is not an option,” and she departs confidently with the laundry and a shopping list.

Rick returns with Larry in the afternoon. He’s got Luna’s transmission repaired. Back in the hold, he fits in in place, but it will not seat completely. He tries several times, but it doesn’t work. He rarely swears. “I don’t know what to do,” he says. (Emotional free fall.) Larry, from above, gives a suggestion. Rick tries it, and the unit clicks into place.

He replaces the bolts. (Break out the champagne!) But when he goes to attach the linkage from the shift lever at the helm to the lever on the transmission, the latter is backward. (Boing!) Still on his back in the narrow hold, ever calm, he removes the lever, turns it around, and reattaches it.

“Start it up,” he directs. (Send up the fireworks!). He tries it. The propeller spins in reverse, but not in forward. (Unprintable). “It worked in the shop,” he notes. He removes the shift lever again, lines it up, and bolts it back on. “Let’s try it again.” This time it works. The unit shifts cleanly between forward and neutral, neutral and reverse. The propeller spins normally. He replaces the water heater. It’s 5 pm.

I will say I have nothing but respect and admiration for this guy. He spent most of the day on his back in an uncomfortable position dealing with a series of frustrations and never gave up. Beyond an occasional “dammit” uttered beneath his breath, he never lost his temper. I saw him the next day when he presented the bill, and I thanked him for staying with it, expressing sympathy for what must be his aching joints. “I’ve been in worse places.” he noted. I admired his calm perseverance. “It’s easier just to keep going,” he said, “and get it done.”

Little's Pharmacy in New Smyrna Beach, where you can still get a real milkshake at an authentic lunch counter

Tuesday came, and we were ready to check out. We walked into town to the auto parts place to buy some new heater hose to replace the ones Rick had to cut to remove the water heater. Back on Luna, all is ready. Our boat neighbors helped push us off, I stood by to fend off if necessary, and the Commander put Luna in reverse. All good. Out of the slip, into forward, and Luna is off, everything working perfectly.

We’re planning to motor down to Titusville, about 25 miles away, but 10 miles before that is Mosquito Lagoon, a large open area extending nearly two miles off the Waterway. It’s shallow, but deep enough to drop the anchor quite close to the beach of the Canaveral National Seashore on the eastern edge. The water gets quite rough when the wind is blowing, but the forecast is for calm winds tonight and the next few days. After four days confined to the marina, we decide to treat ourselves to an afternoon surrounded by water, and we leave the waterway for the anchorage.

It’s perfect. We don’t get to the beach. We’re the only boat in sight. This watery world is ours, sitting in the sun and bobbing in the light chop. The sun sets. Dinner happens. The stars are out. The waning gibbous moon rises orange. We have a lovely night.

Ruins of an earlier time at Marineland

Luna floats in the Sea of Tranquility in Mosquito Lagoon