The author’s Nordic Tug 37 SkipStone underway. Even after 60 years of boating, there are lessons to be learned. Photo courtesy Dave Ashton
Winter 2024
By Dave Ashton
Sixty years of boating has taught me many lessons, but our experience of being adrift and disabled at night, in the Boston Harbor shipping lanes, has taught me that I still have more to learn.
A late-season cruise aboard SkipStone, our Nordic Tug 37, landed me and my wife Kathy in Gloucester Harbor in early October of last year. We had been cruising for two weeks and taken a leisurely path from Riverside, Rhode Island, to Boothbay, Maine. While the remnants of Tropical Storm Ophelia had sequestered us in Salem for five days (go ahead, ask us anything about witches), the remainder of the weather had been unseasonably cooperative with 70-degree days, low wind, good visibility and calm seas.
Part of the joy in transitioning from sail to power is the ability to log 40-plus nautical miles in a morning and still have the afternoon to relax and enjoy our destination port. We were in Gloucester, Massachusetts, and had another 10 days before we had to be back in Rhode Island. Our plan was to enjoy two days exploring Gloucester, then cruise to Plymouth (42 NM) and on to North Falmouth (33 NM) and through Woods Hole to Edgartown (25 NM), where we would spend a few days before the final leg home. SkipStone has a cruising sweet spot of around nine knots, so this itinerary would accommodate our leisurely pace.
We were on a mooring in Gloucester inner harbor when we woke up in a cloud. Fog diminished our visibility to less than an eighth mile and it showed no sign of burning off. The forecast was equally gloomy. The remnants of Tropical Storm Philippe were predicted to arrive in two days with strong winds and high seas. A cold front coming in from the west reduced our weather window even more. The entire next week looked iffy so we decided to cut short our cruise, accelerate our pace, and push on for home. We were 120 miles from Rhode Island. Two longish days for us, but doable, if we started early. Which didn’t look promising. And so we waited, and waited. Looking for a little local knowledge, we contacted the harbormaster. He thought the fog would lift around 2 p.m. At 2 the fog did, in fact, lift a bit; we could see about a quarter mile. So we decided to make a run for Scituate (25 NM away) to get a little closer to home.
After dropping the mooring, the fog closed in again. For the first time in 60 years of boating I issued a “Sécurité” announcement, to alert inbound boats that we were exiting the harbor. Twenty minutes later we were keeping one eye on the radar, one eye on the GPS, one eye on Navionics, one eye on the incoming traffic and one eye on the lobster pots. We only had four eyes between us and needed five, so we turned around and headed back to the mooring. Around 3 p.m. we could see about a quarter mile and the sky was brightening, so we decided to attempt another run to Scituate. From there, we figured we could still beat the weather and get home in two days.
Exiting Gloucester, the fog continued to lift but the seas continued to build. The wave heights were about six feet, but the wave period was less than five seconds. Very bouncy. This slowed our progress to less than eight knots, so we decided to throw a few more dead dinosaurs at the engine and increase our revs to get up to 11 knots. All was well – until it wasn’t.
Halfway to our destination, in the vicinity of the Boston Harbor entrance buoy, out of sight of land with the sun lowering in the sky, the engine revs started mysteriously dropping, then going back up, then dropping again. Remembering the old adage that problems with a diesel engine are usually fuel, fuel or fuel, we shut down and I switched to the back-up fuel filter (thinking that the rough seas had dislodged some sediment from the bottom of the fuel tanks and clogged the filters). We resumed speed and everything worked great. Until, again, it didn’t. Then the engine just stopped and wouldn’t restart.
We were in 185 feet of water, so there was no dropping the anchor. I issued my first “Pan-Pan” to alert the Coast Guard and any concerned traffic (including an outbound tanker) that we were adrift and disabled, but not in any immediate danger. Then we called Sea Tow.
SkipStone is a tug-style trawler with a symmetrical profile that left us lying sideways to the wind and waves. She has a 13-foot beam and we were rocking and rolling to the point where it seemed prudent to put on our life jackets. And then we waited. It took about an hour for Captain Ethan from Sea Tow Marshfield to get to us. While en route, Captain Ethan stayed in communication and when we described our situation, he suggested dropping the anchor 50 feet to help point the bow into the waves. Hmm . . . hadn’t thought about that. This helped, but we were still getting tossed around. However, I’ll remember that trick. Lesson learned.
Captain Ethan took us under tow at a little after 5 p.m. Sunset was at 6:45, and we had about 14 NM to go. Sea conditions limited our speed to around six knots, so landfall in Scituate would be in the dark.
Being towed was far more comfortable than bobbing about in the seas and this gave us a chance to consider what had happened. Our single Cummins diesel seemed like it had run out of fuel. SkipStone has two tanks with a total capacity of 324 gallons. The fuel gauges at the helm said each tank was one-quarter full. This meant about 80 gallons in total – more than enough to get us to Scituate. Hmm . . . maybe our fuel gauges were wrong? An inspection of the tank sight gauges confirmed that the helm gauges were accurate, so we had plenty of fuel in the tanks. But it wasn’t getting to the engine.
We had reserved a mooring in Scituate through Dockwa and contacted the harbormaster to alert them to our new situation. Lexi, in the harbormaster’s office, told us that they had a T-dock available and someone would be in the office until midnight (bless you, Lexi). Captain Ethan did a masterful job hip-towing us into the harbor and we docked in the dark, around 7:30 p.m. as Jimmy Buffet tunes wafted from the dockside restaurant mixed with the sounds of laughter and revelry. We sat in the cockpit and lifted a glass as “Margaritaville” played in the distance, very glad to be safely docked.
An early morning conference with the harbormaster put us on a path to the local Cummins mechanic, at Bosch Marine in Plymouth. Two hours later Buddy, from Bosch, showed up with three gallons of clean fuel and new filters. Buddy connected his portable fuel tank to the engine. It started right up. We then motored to the fuel dock and added 60 gallons in each tank. Returning to the harbormaster’s dock, Buddy reconnected the main fuel tanks to the engine, replaced the primary and secondary fuel filters, bled air from the fuel lines, made final adjustments and checked for fuel leaks. Everything was working properly, and we were on our way to Plymouth. So, what happened?
My initial theory about sediment from the bottom of the tanks proved untrue. When Buddy removed the Racor filters, the fuel looked clean. Not a speck of dirt or drop of water. With 40 gallons in each tank, we should have had plenty to run the engine. Buddy’s theory was that the fuel tank pick-ups were sucking air in the heavy seas, and that we needed more than 40 gallons in each tank to keep the pick-ups immersed in fuel. Hmm . . . so 80 gallons of fuel meant we were essentially empty?
Well, in a way, yes. The tanks are in the aft end of the boat. They are about six feet long and the pick-ups appear to be located about two feet from the forward end. When we increased speed, the bow rose. This moved the fuel into the aft end of the tanks. When this new trim angle combined with the heavy seas, the fuel sloshed around, and the pick-ups started to suck air instead of fuel.
We have owned SkipStone for about two and a half years and have traveled from Rhode Island to the Florida Keys, logging over 600 engine hours. During this (and subsequent trips) we didn’t always know when we would be able to fill up. So we started each long voyage with at least one tank topped off and never ran the fuel much below half in each tank. We had done this before starting for Maine, and had never run the tanks as low as we did.
After returning to Rhode Island, I was going through one of the operating manuals that came with SkipStone and stumbled on a single line that, paraphrased, read: “Caution . . . in heavy seas, especially when the boat is pitching and the tanks are low, air can enter the fuel system, causing the engine to stop.” Wish I had read this before I had to learn it the hard way!
Dave and Kathy Ashton are members of the Narragansett Terrace Yacht Club and have cruised SkipStone from Maine to the Florida Keys.Their home port is Bullock Cove in Riverside, Rhode Island. If you would like to amuse yourself with an account of their recent trip down the ICW, visit their travel blog at ashtonsgreatadventure.com.
