Underpowered

“I need help!” I yell in Spanish, and throw a line to Enrique on the fuel dock. But Habibi’s motor craps out and we drift away toward the concrete sea wall. Men line the top of it, to help push her away from what I believe is a certain crash.

I’d been trying to leave the marina, to motor out of the channel and sail, maybe to the islands a couple of miles away. But when I untied Habibi at the dock and tried to steer left and out, she wasn’t having it. What the hell? Is something wrong with the rudder? The incoming tide catches us and turns us around, pushing us deeper into the marina warren. But I don’t panic. I think, well, okay, I’ll practice driving. 

We putter around the bayou, turning, and the steering system seems fine. So we aim out again. And the engine alarm shrills. The temperature is rising. So I throttle back, and eventually the alarm stops. But we are barely moving, about a quarter of a knot an hour. And when we reach a narrower part of the channel, forward motion stops completely, and the current pushes us backward. Yes, it is almost the full moon and the current is strong, but we’ve been in and out of here many times, no problem. We are underpowered. Why? 

Back in the bog, I try to anchor until the tide turns – it shouldn’t be long now — but it won’t hold. Must be mud or silt. Should I dock at the inner marina? I’m hesitant because it’s crowded and I don’t want to get stuck with maybe faulty steering and not much power. Is the tide turning yet? The sun is beating hot at 8 a.m., and sweat streams down my brow and body. I’m overheated too.

Again we try to get back to our dock. Again, the current pushes us back. Again the alarm sounds and I have to throttle down. I am quietly freaking out. I’ve never had to use full throttle before, but her zip is gone. And so is mine. All I wanted was to go out to the sea, to go swimming. But no. Not today.

After cruising around the inner swamp a little while longer, the tide eventually flattens out enough for me to try again. And yeah! Past the buoys this time! We’re moving! My dock is only a third of a nautical mile away. Surely…

But no, here I am at the fuel dock, yelling for help.

“Let it go,” shouts a familiar voice, and I look to the bow and see Rudy, the guy who helped me dock in wind and current back in May. He is confident, but not cocky, and I relax a smidgen, though still scared we’ll hit the sea wall. I throw him a rope (“I’m very glad to see you,” I say), which he ties to his panga, and he tows me away from danger. “Try it again!” he says, and the motor starts easily. Slowly slowly we make it back to Dock A.

Once she’s tied again, hours after we left, I try to cut the motor. Why won’t the engine stop?! With all the adrenaline coursing through the bod, I forget to pull the choke until Rudy mentions it. Jesus H. I slap my hands over my face and simply breathe. The quiet is deafening. He sits next to me in the cockpit, a calming presence.

Turns out there are very good reasons to clean the bottom of a boat. One of which is to scrape the ginormous barnacles off the prop so it is actually functional. When I dive the hull and see these big pink and green creatures happily ensconced on the blades, I’m amazed we were able to move at all. The propeller is a blob.

Another reason to clean the bottom is to pull animals off the raw water intake grill. The engine is water cooled, but these little cuties prevent easy flow into the impeller system. Thus the overheating. 

Boy, some things I learn the hard way. Over the past year, various men had explained that bottom cleaning is all about speed. A clean hull is a fast hull, they said in Little Lady tones. But speed (and patronizing) wasn’t a selling point to me. A functional boat, however, definitely is. I want Habibi to have access to her full range of power. Just like I want access to my full range of power. Sometimes I forget how strong and phenomenal I am, and stop caring for myself. Parasitical thinking convinces me I’m a loser.

But with a little help from my friends, I remember. Three days later, Rudy, his nephew, and I clean the hull. We’ve got the power. Again.