The accidental holiday
We provisioned and Lynne got her shot, though we still had a one or two details to attend to, so we crossed the harbour to take a mooring ball at Newcastle Island Provincial Park for a third night. No hurry. We had lots of time.
Then a couple things happened. The first was when we were in our dinghy, ferrying across to the park dock from where we would happily walk lovely Newcastle Island. Our two-horsepower engine seized, the flywheel frozen solid, the little cash register in my head sadly pinging.
The next day, while awaiting return calls after phoning around to find someplace to service or attempt such on our little engine, I decided to service our diesel auxiliary, changing lubes and such.
It was then I noticed that a crossbar to one of the front engine mounts had snapped clean in two. I thought a broken mount would announce itself to the world. I heard nothing. Lynne, who has a nose like no other, had reported before my discovery that the engine was giving off a sweet chemical flavour that she could taste in the back of her throat. I don’t understand it either, but many miles at sea with her has taught me not to ignore the scents she detects, though my inspections before today had failed to notice the broken mount.
Marine mechanical services in the harbour appeared to be booked solid. It would be at least two weeks before anyone we found could look at our broken mount. And, well, while no one would come right out and say it, perhaps our little dinghy engine might be better just laid to rest.
By and by, we found a little shop on the outskirts of Nanaimo that would look at the dinghy engine, no promises. As well, we got the pieces of engine mount off and couriered them to a shop we use in Sidney.
But the delay stretched to almost four weeks. Our cruising plans were ruined. At first we were frustrated and angry, but slowly we came to enjoy it. The break became what Lynne called a “staycation”. It had been a hectic year, especially for her, work-wise and family-wise, and the unplanned interruption was the perfect opportunity to just relax.
We did nothing that we didn’t want to do. Newcastle Island is a lovely park, and most days we made the effort to walk the two-hour shoreline trail, clockwise one day, counter the next. The park mooring buoys, docks and nearby anchorage fill up most days, especially on weekends, many boats with families aboard returning every week as cottagers might, clustered reunions on the docks, friends helping friends with their lines, relieved that Covid’s back might finally be broken.
One day we walked up Mount Benson. Another we investigated lots for sale on Protection Island, and another day toured condos on the market in Nanaimo. Just killing time. And several times, family drove up from Victoria for lunch at our new favourite restaurant. We even spent a few days doing fixes on a condo we have there. The uncomplaining tenant has lived there for 20 years, five of them before we bought it.
Unsure the dinghy engine could be saved, we spent some time looking for a replacement, new or used. We were astounded how much people were asking for 15-20-year-old little outboards. Collectors’ items?
Happily, a new engine would not be needed. It was a slow process, the shop repeatedly applying anti-seizing compounds and such. The flywheel was soon freely spinning, but a corroded oil valve had burst open, apparently running dry and causing the seizure, a prognosis which spared me having to repeat to everyone who asked that: “No, I did check the oil, I really did.”
Though it was perhaps a lesser form of negligence for not inspecting and replacing the corroded oil valve.
It was many days before the small bolts holding the valve in place could be loosened and removed without breaking, but they did it.
The owner of the little shop, Red Orca, doesn’t know we publish cruising guides or write this blog. It’s not an ad. The shop had our engine for over three weeks, 24 days, I think. It came with our sailboat, but runs now as close to new as it ever has. We were charged for one-and-a-half hours of labour, a $30 part and taxes.
The engine mount had long been returned from Sidney, thickly welded and confidence boosting. It was easily reinstalled, no need for a come-along to give the engine a helpful hoist. And then we were sailing home, to Victoria to catch a plane, after a holiday that was nothing like what we had planned. But maybe, by accident, it was the most restful holiday we could have hoped for.
(Newcastle Island Marine Park is covered in Salish Sea Pilot’s cruising guide to the Gulf Islands.)
