The other day, sun climbing from Mount Baker, I drove
through sleepy Oak Bay Village before 6 AM. The day before, I had started the
boat, and listened to its purr of money, got the downriggers out, rigged the
rods with flashers, bait holders and spoons, so that I would be ready to go
when I cast off the lines. On my fishing day, I rigged one line with a large
anchovy in a 602 teaser, behind a Farr Better Flasher in green. The bait had
been moved from freezer to fridge the night before, so it would be unfrozen
enough to insert the wire, and bend it behind the dorsal fin, before inserting
the treble hook.
Heading out from Oak Bay Marina through the gap at the
Turkey Head, I throttled up. The bow rose above my eyes and stayed there. I gave
it more gas, but it would not settle, so I tried the other obvious thing: I
tilted the leg down, and as it descended the boat came up and settled flat at cruising
speed. Ah, the joy of a boat that treats you well, when you treat it well with
regular infusions of cash.
The tide was ebbing, and following my own advice,
prior to fishing the Flats, where fish had been brought in in the past few days,
and other boats were already fishing, I turned the corner to fish an ebb tide
back eddy, until 9 AM, when the flood would begin, and I would join my
confreres on the Flats.
My own advice is that in summer fishing, when big springs
are relentlessly heading east at 1.5 MPH close to shore in shallow water, it is
best to fish the ebb tide back eddies where they will fin forward, but stay
put, until the tide turns and flood pushes them east, toward their natal river.
By the time I had the slow spiral on the bait, that I use in summer for large
fish, rather than the slightly faster spiral for winter fish, the boat had been
carried to the west end of the eddy.
I swung the boat around, heading east, into the ebb.
After ten minutes, it dawned on me the ebb was strong enough that the boat was
not gaining any ground. The GPS speed-over-ground feature registered zero to half
a knot. Mighty slow. Several Grady White and Trophy-style boats motored past me
en route to the Flats. I was happy to see them go as it meant they would not be
fishing in the restricted area that comprised my back eddy.
Another ten minutes went by and it was clear I was
going nowhere. I hit the green button for the ball, disconnected the release
clip, and throttled up. At six knots, the boat soon putted up to the head of
the eddy, whereupon I sent the ball, release clip and bait down to 33 feet. Then
the boat made a loud beep, beep, which is what it does when the key reaches the
first détente prior to starting. But I was not starting the boat, and the beep,
beep continued blasting in my ear.
Several minutes of this rattling odd behaviour ensued
until it dawned on me that the ongoing beep must also be an engine warning sound.
Oil pressure was fine, the temperature was not over heating, and the fuel tanks
registered lots of gas. At which point, I hurriedly got the ball back up threw
the rod and gear into a glumph before the transom and throttled up.
I gave it lots of gas, but no matter how much I gave
the engine it would not speed the boat beyond 7 knots, nor reach the plane. Then
a tremendous backfire almost deadened my hearing, followed almost immediately
by another in-board engine backfire bigger than the first.
It was time to make for the marina and hope the engine
was going to make it back from Trial Island. I had been here before. One summer,
more than a decade ago, I was fishing pinks four miles south of Trial, in a
well-developed tide line. My main engine began over heating on the temperature
gauge, and smoke began pouring from under the engine cover. I throttled up onto
the plane and behind me left a cloud of smoke, flames coming out and beginning
to melt the gas line to the kicker.
At this point, I killed the main engine, and started
the kicker. I had to sit on top of the engine cover, smoke making me disappear
into purple haze, hand wrapped in a towel, to hold the hot tiller. As the minutes
went by, the boat stopped burning, my rear end began to cool, and my heart came
back to near normal. I waved at a boat going by, they waved back and kept
going, not understanding I was in trouble.
But, I thought, I’ll just putt my way home. Several
other boats went by, waving at my growing frantic wave, but not stopping to
help. The kicker kept putting. After two hours, the light beginning to move
well into the western sky, Trial Island was still some miles away, and the ebb
tide was carrying me away to the west. Wind began to rise from the north east,
bringing waves up to four feet. I was going nowhere, and was not going to reach
safe harbour going like this.
I had to make the difficult decision that I had no
choice but to restart the main engine and hope it did not overheat until I
reached safely. Soon, up on the plane, things began to look a little happier.
It was with relief that I passed the south tip of Trial. Then through a seven-foot
standing wave, that sent everything in the cabin flying. The boat landed so
hard, I thought the hull would break.
The engine began its skyward climb into the danger
zone. Soon it was higher than the boiling point of water, and heading for 250
degrees, as I passed the golf course corner at full blast. On shore, golfers
leaned on their drivers and one pointed at me. The reason was that I was
leaving a blue cloud of smoke. I passed the Oak Bay Beach Hotel at rocket
speed, and full bore made it through the Turkey Head gap, with flames coming
out the back end. At way over reasonable speed, I made fast for my slip, hoping
the boat would not explode before I had it tied off, and could grab the fire
extinguisher.
To my great good fortune, another boater on the dock,
seeing the long line of flames from my engine, raced to my slip, and grabbed
the bow line, while I hit reverse. The engine died, the flames grew higher and
I exited right over a gas tank that could explode, extinguisher in hand.
From the dock, I aimed the CO2, fearing the engine was going to blow apart,
taking me with it. The other boater handed me a hose, and I doused the back end
with water, enough to fill the engine compartment and separate flame from gas
tank.
All of this other near-death experience raced through my
mind as, just the other day, my boat slowly, achingly made the golf course
corner tee box, backfiring so loud, I closed the door between us. I opened the forward
hatch and prepared to jump and pull the toggle on my life jacket. There was no
way I was going to kill the engine. The anchor and line were in the forward compartment,
minutes away. The kicker may not be able to beat the ebb home.
The backfires grew louder, the boat speed slowed to five
knots, and I shot the Gap, too fast for the tethered boats beside me. If I didn’t
slow down, I would hammer the boats on B dock and hit my finger fast enough to
lift the bow right out of the water. I had no choice but to back off on the
gas.
To my great relief, as speed slipped down to 2.3
knots, the engine came clear and clean, as though nothing had happened. I
turned past the kicker of my neighbour, hit reverse, then hit neutral and
grabbed the stern line and slid it over the cleat. Thank god. Oh, to be on the dock
separated from an engine that might blow.
I went straight for Gartside Marine services, just by
the parking lot, and, fortunately, Kelly, their office person, was already in
working, and drew up a work order, before I left, shaking, to my car. Ah, the
joys of boating. The last time it was a completely new engine, that was $13,000
at the time, in 2003. No doubt a new engine is far above that price today. Will
my insurance cover the problem? We’ll see.
