In the Pink! (VERY long)
We went for a sail Saturday, the first non-sea trial outing of the season
for Pentaquod. At least one boat was heading in as we headed out, saying it
was a bit challenging out there. There were whitecaps on the Bohemia River,
which doesn't have that long a fetch, so it had to be blowing pretty good.
We expected the winds to hold westerly, so we figured we'd be in for a
roaring reach down the Elk River to the head of the Chesapeake and back
again. There's what you figure, and what actually happens.
We stopped at the gas dock to top off the tank; the 18 gallon tank was down
to 3 so we figured it was time to top off with 13 gallons of fresh fuel, and
we dumped in the Marvel Mystery Oil as our engine's mate (and partner in
Pentaquod) had instructed (based on Don Moyer's directions for proper Atomic
4 maintenance.) My brother-in-law (the third Pentaquod partner) was
concerned about the new ethanol additives to the gas in this area, and had
clippings of articles that described instant catastrophe for sludge release
by the ethanol that would clog gas filters and cause major problems. The
table was now set.
We motored the mile or two where the Bohemia joins the Elk. Into the wind,
the wind guage was reading about 14 knots, and minus the boat speed, put the
true wind under 10 knots. It felt like more, but I figured it was because it
was a cool day. I later revised that opinion.
As we headed dead into the wind to hoist the main, I throttled back. And the
engine died. And wouldn't start again. No problem; this is a sail boat. Put
up the sails and then sort it out. I was not as far upwind as I wanted, so
in spite of pinching, we had to tack to clear the mouth of the river; more
work than I wanted, and since I was expecting to be on a reach momentarily,
I had not tucked in the reef on the main.
As we worked our way upwind across the Elk, I decided not to troubleshoot
the engine now. We'd enjoy our sail, and we could try to start it as we
neared the marina on our return. If it fired up, fine. If not, we could
either drop anchor and troubleshoot, or the winds were favorable, and I
could make the two right-angle turns under sail to make it to our slip.
We turned to head down the Elk, and the rail was in the water because the
wind was more on the nose than I had expected. So we paused and put a reef
in the main and cranked in about half of the genny. We stood a little
straighter, but it still was not enough. The wind meter was still showing
only about 16 knots, but the boat was behaving like it was over 20. We
sailed on, with the wind continuing to swing around to head us further. Soon
we were close-hauled and weren't going to fetch the mouth of the Elk. And
who knew what awaited outside Turkey Point at the head of the Bay. This was
becoming too much like work, so we spun around and blasted back, making 8+
knots according to the GPS.
According to plan, we tried the engine again as we neard the marina. At full
choke, it ran roughly. At about half choke, it ran smoothly at higher RPMs
but wouldn't idle. And it would die if the choke were pushed all the way in.
Hmmm. And we were producing prodigious amounts of white smoke. Black exhaust
is soot, and a bad mixture. Doesn't white smoke mean oil or water or both?
Hmmm. My brother-in-law was convinced that we'd made ethanol-induced sludge.
Maybe it had clogged the gas filter and the engine is starved for fuel; no,
because it ran fine at high speed and not at low, which is the reverse of
what you'd get with reduced fuel flow.
Well, we could get back to the slip, and so we headed for the marina. Just
before the first turn, I throttled back, and the engine died. I made a
dead-stick landing in the slip without too much excitement. After the lines
were secured, we tried the engine again to work on diagnosing the problem.
And the dock master came roaring up in his pickup truck. "Please turn your
engine off right now," he asked firmly. I figured he didn't like us smoking
up the joint, so I complied. He then told us that the new kid on the gas
dock had fueled us from the diesel half of the pump.
I had known that the pump was half and half. I was busy with the pump-out at
the bow, but I did go back to call out the gallons briefly when the dock
hand was called away for a moment. And I was looking square at the diesel
side when I did. My brother-in-law saw that the fuel was pink, but didn't
say anything thinking maybe the ethanol was dyed that color or something.
And he later recalled not smelling any gasoline fumes during the fueling;
again thinking maybe the ethanol made it smell different or something.
The dock master was understandably a bit anxious about our reaction, and
promised that they'd have a mechanic working on it first thing today to pump
out the diesel and clean up the fuel lines and fill it with gasoline. He was
relieved when my reaction was to laugh at the whole situation. I'm
reasonably sure that no permanent damage was done (unlike what would have
happened had it been a diesel fueled with gasoline), and I learned once more
about just how durable the little Atomic 4 is, that it can even run on
diesel. (Not well, but it ran.) Now I know that if we ever run out of fuel
in an emergency, I can just dump the salad oil in the tank at get another
mile or two out of it!
But this was just one of many lessons learned, including triple-check what
tank the fuel hose is coming from before you put the nozzle in the fill
hole. Also, it's easier to shake out an unneeded reef that put one in, so
reef before you are sure you need it. Oh, and I have put a new wind unit on
the wish list; the direction module stopped working last year, so now that
the speed unit has also gone unreliable, it's time to replace them all.
Alfred Poor
1969 Cal 29 #132, "Pentaquod"