It was a dark and stormy night.

I’ve always wanted to start a story that way. In reality it was exactly the opposite.

At noon, Admiral Debra was anxious to be under way. And yes, flags were filled with a NE zephyr; the remnant of a Santa Ana. Fired up the diesel; cranking a bit for a relatively good start. As usual we backed out the finger into the channel. As soon as we got the pointy end moving in the right direction, captain orders; that is, raises the main.

Been using the engine a lot lately, Bill thinks its been a year since last fueled, but decide we’ll stop at Rocky Point for diesel mañana. I swear, not more than 100 feet past the fuel dock the engine dies. It’s obviously not getting fuel.  Says Bill “Are we out of fuel?” Says I, let’s sail around a bit and check things out. 

Still have 3 inches of fuel. Crank her. She starts then dies. Hmmmm, must be air or blockage. Crack the bleed nuts. Crank her. Good, no bubbles. She starts, then dies and takes the wind with her. Forecast called for just the opposite, peaking at 4 PM. It’s noon-30, so decide to anchor over there to wait for the wind. At 50 yards from ‘over there’, speed reads 0 point 0 – and I swear it was dropping.

Down anchor in 29 feet but keep the scope real short. Don’t want to run into Capt Jack, moored a boat and half away.

Did I mention my favorite cap jumped overboard and it cost a beer for a friendly to pick it up?

What to do? Admiral is not enjoying this at all. Pressure is on. Wind is not on. We break out the dinghy. Pump her, dump her. Bill wants to do the honors. Admiral wants us to call Harbor Patrol for a tow. Bill hops in and I weigh anchor. I thought about letting him row a bit before weighing – hey, what are friends for? You weigh anchor ‘cause the thing weighs a lot. Glad I opt to downsize the anchor chain.

Stroke Bill, stroke, towing QT, 12,000 pounds, at 1.2 kts! Amazing. Much better than I expected. Debra kept repeating “amazing”.

We whip by harbor patrol, Bill stroking away. Bay Watch shows up: “As much as we don’t want to interfere with your exercise program do you want a tow?” Bill waves them off, we keep on trekking. Some guy offers to beat a drum to time the strokes. Wise cracks all over the place. You’re supposed to tow the dinghy. Don’t you think you should tell him about the engine? Some guys will do anything for a beer. Etc.

We should have charged admission. 

The last 50 feet: cast tow line off, slide into slip, done. Not a bad adventure; ghosting, anchoring, dinghy, exercise, native catcalls and home safe.

Admiral says “I’ll bet you were too embarrassed to get a tow”. But Bill and I know it was being self reliant, and perhaps a little about playing with the toys.