It’s a five-minute motor from the idyllic Sandy Island to Carriacou’s main town of Hillsborough. The small settlement has an inordinately large about of neighborhood-style grocery stores reminiscent of the ones you see in the smaller islands in the Bahamas. They are stocked with a hodge-podge of items, many of which have collected quite a bit of dust and have astronomical prices (a roll of Bounty paper towel $13 EC, $5 US, ouch). The streets are lined with vendors in fruit stands trying to eke-out a living by selling fruits and veggies grown in their back yards. It’s a tough way to make money when your competition surrounds you on all sides and the Caribbean sun is mercilessly beating down on you all day long. Non-the-less, the welcoming and friendliness of the locals is ever-present here as it was throughout Grenada. After a small amount of provisioning we cleared out of the country and made our way to Union Island to clear into Saint Vincent.
For the past few days we have been island hopping among the Grenadines. The distance between islands is very close, so you can motor from one island to the next in a matter of minutes. We had just spent two days snorkeling and swimming at Mayreau Island. Phil, the lobster king, caught four of the delectable little creatures. Having cleared out the lobster, we decided to motor over to the Tobago Cays. There is a narrow passage between two reefs, which gives you a direct shot there. We fired up Bessie (our Perkins engine), raised anchor and motored towards the passage. Phil was our spotter and was positioned 15 feet up the mast on the ratlines. As we entered the opening in the reef the depth went down to 10 feet, then 9. The depth alarm was going off. Phil couldn’t tell where the channel was. Bessie was in neutral, but the momentum of the boat kept us moving forward. Phil was shouting “Port! No Starboard! No! I can’t tell the rocks are moving.” There were large stingrays that looked like rocks that began to move as the Adamo approached them. I didn’t like the situation and decided to abort. I shifted Bessie in reverse and . . . NOTHING. The engine was on but the prop didn’t turn. We had lost the transmission at possibly the worst time conceivable. The depth went to 8, then 7 while the incessant alarm kept blaring. Fortunately the wind was on the nose. As the Adamo slowed I turn to Starboard and the wind brought the bow around. We managed to turn on a dime. Sue said: “I think I’m going to puke” as she pulled out the headsail to give us power and steerageway.
We had one shot to anchor. Phil was on the bow ready to release the windlass and drop the anchor, Sue was manning the headsail, I was watching the depth and looking for a sandy spot with good holding. My brain was racing. What could be wrong with the transmission, or was it the prop, maybe a linking cable? There are no parts to be had here. I was sailing to Martinique in my mind wondering how will we be able to get into port without and engine. By the way, the propeller on the dinghy is spun, meaning we can’t use it to push us into port and no Mercury props to be found in these parts. (things always seam to happen in tandem).
We sailed over a sandy area, dropped anchor and dowsed the sail. I dove in to make sure the anchor was not going to drag and check the prop. Everything below the waterline checked out clear.
Off to the engine room. As I lifted the floorboard, the sun shined in and lit-up the bilge and the transmission. It took a split second to diagnose the problem. Lying in the bilge was the key that transfers the power from the transmission coupling to the prop shaft. Right next to it was the broken hose clamp that keeps it in place.
For the past few days we have been island hopping among the Grenadines. The distance between islands is very close, so you can motor from one island to the next in a matter of minutes. We had just spent two days snorkeling and swimming at Mayreau Island. Phil, the lobster king, caught four of the delectable little creatures. Having cleared out the lobster, we decided to motor over to the Tobago Cays. There is a narrow passage between two reefs, which gives you a direct shot there. We fired up Bessie (our Perkins engine), raised anchor and motored towards the passage. Phil was our spotter and was positioned 15 feet up the mast on the ratlines. As we entered the opening in the reef the depth went down to 10 feet, then 9. The depth alarm was going off. Phil couldn’t tell where the channel was. Bessie was in neutral, but the momentum of the boat kept us moving forward. Phil was shouting “Port! No Starboard! No! I can’t tell the rocks are moving.” There were large stingrays that looked like rocks that began to move as the Adamo approached them. I didn’t like the situation and decided to abort. I shifted Bessie in reverse and . . . NOTHING. The engine was on but the prop didn’t turn. We had lost the transmission at possibly the worst time conceivable. The depth went to 8, then 7 while the incessant alarm kept blaring. Fortunately the wind was on the nose. As the Adamo slowed I turn to Starboard and the wind brought the bow around. We managed to turn on a dime. Sue said: “I think I’m going to puke” as she pulled out the headsail to give us power and steerageway.
We had one shot to anchor. Phil was on the bow ready to release the windlass and drop the anchor, Sue was manning the headsail, I was watching the depth and looking for a sandy spot with good holding. My brain was racing. What could be wrong with the transmission, or was it the prop, maybe a linking cable? There are no parts to be had here. I was sailing to Martinique in my mind wondering how will we be able to get into port without and engine. By the way, the propeller on the dinghy is spun, meaning we can’t use it to push us into port and no Mercury props to be found in these parts. (things always seam to happen in tandem).
We sailed over a sandy area, dropped anchor and dowsed the sail. I dove in to make sure the anchor was not going to drag and check the prop. Everything below the waterline checked out clear.
Off to the engine room. As I lifted the floorboard, the sun shined in and lit-up the bilge and the transmission. It took a split second to diagnose the problem. Lying in the bilge was the key that transfers the power from the transmission coupling to the prop shaft. Right next to it was the broken hose clamp that keeps it in place.
I lined up the shaft and the coupling, put the key back in and attached a new hose clamp. We were back in business. Tobago Cays here we come, however, this time we took the long way around the reef.Talk about an emotional roller coaster ride. From everything is cool to oh-no, to oh-crap, to no-problem, to everything is cool in under 30 minutes.
