Wind...

If the Goddess that we pray to is the wind, and the temple in which we worship is this 30’ vessel of fiberglass, wood, and canvass, then the pews we sit on, the thing that carries the bulk of our faith on a daily basis is that old Volvo Penta MD6A. Our world is full of pet names for things from the plethora of nicknames we have for each other, to the various, rather un-nautical, names we have for nearly everything else in the boat. But as a sign of respect and dignity, our Volvo Penta MD6A remains just that.

Because we have invested all of our money, energy, laughter and, yes, tears on this “real nice powerboat.” Er…I mean sailboat. At the top of the list of reasons why the reality of this dream is considerably less glamorous than any of us had envisioned is the fact that the Wind, that divine force, seems so often to have forsaken us and we chug along at three hours per gallon of diesel, ears ringing and spirits tuned to the drone of living essentially inside of a tractor.

Yesterday, after motoring all day from Catalina Island and picking up a whopping 29 balloons out of the ocean (Happy Birthday Ocean, indeed) and lapping through the Dana Point Marina, we felt the wind at our face and decided to push on South to Mission Bay. Sails up and motor off, we spent two blissful hours racing downwind at six knots while Sharkfoot made dinner.

When she graces us with her presence our hearts raise up to that Wind as Misty neatly cuts through the water and I, for one, always find myself compelled to sing. We watched the stars come out over the lights of Southern California and, stomachs full, began our night watch rotation. As I crawled into the V-berth I heard the scurrying above deck as Wind, once again, left us out to sea and the sails were doused and the engine cranked.

It’s worth noting the details of this particular incidence for several reasons. First, it was the first time that the Captain here was able to walk away from a change of sail. It’s a sign of our advancement as a team on the water and bodes well for our overall sustainability. But perhaps more importantly, it proves that we are getting our sea legs. Gone are the days of fending off nausea by sleeping all night on the narrow cockpit benches. Instead, we now dive into our berths and, even under motor (admittedly on a glassy night), quickly fall into a deep sleep.

Not so deep enough, however, for me to miss the distinct sound of the engine turning off.

“Are you guys alright?”

“The engine isn’t spitting out any water.” Sharkfoot had expertly detected something wrong with the engine—one of those subtle little sounds you hear only when you know an engine intimately.

“Roll out the Jib and get some steerage” I said as I grabbed some layers. We were at the mercy of Wind again, safely offshore, but unable to run our engine until we solved the problem.

“What a dumb bleeping idea. Buy a bleeping sailboat, and sail it to bleeping Mexico. It’s probably the dumbest idea I’ve ever had in my life!” I cursed as Sharkfoot and I pulled all the gear stowed in the hatch leading to the engine compartment. After looking at the sea strainer and exhaust hoses I sat down in dismay. “I have no idea what’s wrong with this thing.”

Pause…two…three…

“The salt water impeller!” The wonderful thing about an old diesel engine is that they are surprisingly simple machines. Fifteen minutes later the cap was off the salt water pump and sure enough that little piece of neoprene was shredded. The mood changed as we pulled out our spare, and as Hornsby handled the helm, Sharkfoot and I chattered away in a variety of accents as we worked to put the new impeller in.

It’s hard to describe the feeling of being at sea and spooning a diesel engine with two people in the hot, oily, compartment with the lid down. Sharkfoot was crouched in the hatch passing me tools and parts and reading off instructions as I laid on my side across the propeller shaft, head resting on the exhaust hose, butt generously being scratched for me by the ever-moving gears of the steering column, feet halfway up the hull, and working with my one free hand—conveniently my non-dominant Left. And all the while Wind blew at our backs as we made a steady four knots directly on our bearing.

“Evacuate! Evacuate! The Captain has broken wind!” The hatch popped open in a flash and we backed out of our little nook. Thankfully, the job was done and we fired that engine up watching with eager anticipation to see if our fix had worked. With a great whoop we celebrated the first spits of water and found ourselves (well, mostly me) strutting up and down the cockpit, fists in the air, proclaiming our victory in loud voices. But Wind was still with us and we shut the engine right back off and let our hearts settle back into that easy rhythm. Quiet. Smooth. Blissful. And then she was gone. Once again it was time to roll up the Jib and turn on our Volvo Penta MD6A.

The fortunes of our trip so far are too many to name, from finding the right boat, to meeting the one guy at West Marine who was willing to take us under his wing, to finding $50 on the street. But our faith is in Wind, who appears with a gentle breeze at our backs at the moment when we most need her and lifts us from the pews of our church to that airy, light place of this amazing dream.