|A tropospheric fuel spill pushed us past Sakonnet Point|
When we left Providence two weeks ago, I had convinced myself that the diesel tank wasn't half empty; it was half full. I know better than to leave port without having gorged on water and fuel, but knowing isn't doing. Besides, there would be opportunity to replenish along the way. Think of all those boats in Cape Cod, where do they buy diesel? She's a sailboat, yes?
|Let me tell you about Quissett . . .|
Quissett Harbor was lovely, except that -- from my point of view -- the boatyard's owner was a first-class jerk. Ask me about trying to take on diesel in Quissett sometime when you want to get me all excited and hear a long, boring diatribe. I ended up telling him that I wouldn't dream of inconveniencing him in any way and I would make other arrangements, somewhere, somehow, someday. Actually I would have preferred to swim across Buzzards Bay, towing Sweet Pea rather than have any further interaction. He'll certainly never have the inconvenience of spending any more of my money. So there.
Oops, I seem to be rehearsing that diatribe. Perhaps you've called at Quisset, met this guy, and he's now one of your best friends? Oh dear. Well, he's still a jerk.
|The perfect storm fueled a perfect reach|
Within an hour we were flying along on a beam reach, riding the edge of a squall line and thinking the monsoon had surely come. NOAA weather was warning about flash floods from the intense downpour of a slowly-moving storm. As it tracked east the sky brightened and the wind moderated and clocked, staying on the beam as we made a hard right turn and headed north up the Sakonnet River. These things never happen, but this one time they did.
|Up the Sakonnet River as the storm eases us along|
Uh oh, two grumps in one post. This is not a good sign.
Now we're tied to Port Edgewood's dock with deliciously full tanks, having sailed from Cuttyhunk, using only a drop or two of precious fuel. That lying fuel gauge was so wrong. It should have said one third all that time. We had ten gallons in the tank, more than enough to motor all the way.
Had I known, we would have left Cuttyhunk at our leisure rather than at first light. The storm would have hit while we were anchored off the beach in poor holding at the start of a falling tide. After we managed to kedge off, the wind would have been against us all the way. There's a lesson here, somewhere. She's a sailboat, yes?