Quiet. And disquiet.

Pickwick Lake is the last of the Alabama portion of the Tennessee River, on its western end. It’s a lake that we’re unfamiliar with, but it will be our new cruising grounds for the next few months at least. We’ve been here a couple of weeks now, but the weather hasn’t cooperated with our exploring plans. Thunderstorms in between heat advisories and triple digit temperatures have kept us at the dock and near the air conditioner.

The last couple of days however have been comparatively pleasant, and brought some decent sailing wind, so we decided to go out for a sail. We’re still learning Kotona’s sailing quirks. She’s the heaviest boat we’ve sailed, and while she sails well for her size, we’re still working out what does and doesn’t work to sail her to her capabilities.

Winds were 5-10 mph, which is perfect for a quiet day sail. Scenery was nice. Development, in terms of crowded together waterfront homes, hasn’t reached this part of the lake for some reason. At least not along the main channel, so lots of trees. It was bordering on hot, but not too bad under the shade of the bimini. And it being a Tuesday, we pretty much had the lake to ourselves, save a few fishing boats and one or two pontoon boats out for an afternoon float. So most of the sounds we heard were just the wind in the sails and the water against the hull. Quiet. It’s one of the biggest reasons we sail.

We headed south toward a nice little cove we found on the navigation chart. Good shelter from wind, good anchoring depth and holding, and way out of the main channel so very little other boat traffic. Yay.

We arrived at our anchorage about 4pm. Dropped the anchor in about 18’ of water. Wind was still between 5 and 8 mph and we hoped the nice breeze would help cool off Kotona’s interior. We love the forest green color of the hull, but it absorbs heat and the thick fiberglass seems to hold it quite a while. Amy went for a swim, then we sat in the cockpit and enjoyed the breeze with what shade we had, but as the still hot sun sank lower, that shade diminished.

So, cold beverage time. That’ll help. And it would have, save a demonstration of the laws of physics involving said beverage and a cushion. Something about momentum and gravity resulted in beverage contents distributed over portions of the cockpit seats, floor and engine control panel. Seats and floor are fiberglass so no harm done. The control panel though, hmm. It’s supposed to be waterproof, isn’t it?  We wiped everything off and just to be sure, restarted the engine.

On most boats, turning the ignition switch to ON, sets off an alarm and lights a series of lights, the same way your car instrument panel warning lights come on when you start the car. Pressing the starter button starts the engine and after a moment, the sensors detect oil pressure and alternator charging and the alarms stop. That all worked like it was supposed to. Except the TEMP (coolant temperature) light didn’t come on. And for the life of me, I couldn’t remember if it had come on before its participation in the aforementioned physics demonstration. Looking at the wiring diagram for the panel didn’t really help, though we could tell that the coolant sensor was also wired to the alarm. So if the engine started overheating the alarm should sound even if the light doesn’t come on. I’d have to take the panel apart to check the bulb. A thing to do when we get back.

Late afternoon turned to evening. Even with the sun behind the western hills, the cabin temperature was still about 90. The open hatches just weren’t catching enough of the diminishing breeze to cool it down. We sat on the cabin top, watching the last of the sunset, enjoying what little breeze was left. After the second mosquito was swatted we made our way below. We had already installed the bug screen in the hatches, so we could leave them open all night. All the ports were open as well. The air conditioner doesn’t run off our battery bank, so we had to hope eventually the cabin would cool down.

We’ve cooked many nice dinners in Kotona’s small but very functional galley. But in the already warm cabin, we just couldn’t bring ourselves to light the alcohol stove and add additional heat. So dinner was what we could open from a can or pull from the fridge and eat at room temperature. We did have enough of a cell signal to watch a episode of one of our favorite British gameshows, so that made it more pleasant.

We each sat by a fan and did some reading for a while. Finally, around 11:00 we thought it had cooled off enough to go to bed. The open hatch above the v-berth was allowing some cooler outside air to filter in. The fan on the bulkhead was moving that cooler air around. Tiredness eventually won out over temperature.

The next morning, I woke to a chill in the cabin. Overnight it had cooled into the low 70s. A hot cup of coffee took some of the chill off. Sliding open the companionway hatch revealed the beginnings of a lovely sunrise. But that was not the thing that got my attention. The thing I noticed the most was the quiet. Complete quiet, save the infrequent bird song, or fish splashing and what I think were a couple of foxes (the two legged kind) discussing breakfast options. An osprey grabbed a fish just off the port bow. You could hear the thunk and splash as its talons broke the surface and its meal emerged from below the water.

We’ve always lived in a city. Sometimes large, sometimes small, but always a city. We like the convenience of a city, but you almost never hear quiet in a city. There’s always traffic noise or machinery noise or music or something. This was not that. This was quiet. This was absence of noise. Sounds, yes but not noise, not distractions from what was around you. This was nature as it ought to be experienced. Some people aren’t comfortable in the quiet. I’m not one of those people. I wrapped this around me like a blanket. This is why we sail, to find places like this and experience them.

Sitting in the cockpit, enjoying coffee and the sounds of quiet, lasted until the sun got high enough to remind me that the forecast for today was more heat. We had decided to try to make it back to the marina before the worst heat of the day arrived. Showers and air conditioning beckoned. Back to the noise, but hey, everything in life is a trade-off.

We raised the anchor. We haven’t yet installed the windlass, the device that helps raise the anchor. So we’re doing it by hand. We found our anchor on sale and so we could afford to go up one size from the size recommended for our boat. One day we will appreciate the extra safety margin that will provide. Today was not that day. Our anchor weighs about 35lb. Our chain weighs about a pound per foot. We had 100’ of chain out.

Morning weight lifting concluded, we began motoring back toward the cove entrance. Our boat uses raw water cooling, pumping water from the lake, river, or ocean into the engine. The water circulates, then is moved to a muffler where it is combined with the exhaust from the pistons and forced out an opening on the side of the hull. I’ve gotten in the habit of leaning out periodically to check that water is properly exiting that opening as we motor along.

As we started moving, everything looked fine. About a half mile further toward the entrance, I checked again. Water was coming out still, but it was accompanied by white smoke, steam. And there was less water than normal. That’s not good, in case you’re wondering. That means the exhaust water is hot enough to turn to steam. The engine is not cooling properly. I quickly checked that the engine seacock was open, the raw water strainer was not clogged, the water pump was not leaking. Everything looked normal, but it was not.

We shut the engine down and dropped the anchor again. The temperature warning light had not come on - was it broken or just not seriously overheating yet? Nor had the alarm sounded, so maybe we stopped in time. In my head, I went through how the cooling system works and where there could be a blockage. The water pump impeller was first on my list. And fortunately, we have spare parts for that.

On our engine, removing the pump is pretty simple. Two bolts hold the pump in place. With those removed, and the belt out of the way, you can remove the outlet hose, which allows the pump to flip over so you can remove the access plate. Six small machine screws hold that plate which covers the impeller, a rubber paddlewheel-looking thing.

On the TV show Mythbusters, Adam Savage would often say, when something didn’t go as expected but they’d realized why, “Well there’s your problem!”  Removed the cover, and that phrase popped in my head. The impeller had lost one of its vanes, paddles. That would have been less of a problem, but the broken off one had lodged partly in the outlet side of the pump. Some water could still make it through, but not enough. Broken impeller out, new one in. The worst part was getting the belt properly tightened after everything was back together. That took three hands. Amy loaned me one of hers.

Started the engine and waited as the pump refilled the now empty water passages. A moment later a sputter of water exited the exhaust. Followed by a pause, then another sputter. Then, happily, a large splash, followed by another. That’s how it should work. We let the engine run while we raised the anchor once again. Two workouts in one morning - this is supposed to be retirement.

Checked the exhaust again and all looked correct. Simultaneously hot, worn out and relieved, we headed back out. Amy took the helm and let me rest a bit. A cold Gatorade helped. It had been quite a morning. I love the quiet, but you know, a properly working diesel has a song that’s not so bad.