Ditchis Interruptus

Coinjack, 25 October 2006, 0735 hours. It dawned cold, clear, and calm when we cast off. The goal was to reach Morehead City, NC -- an ambitious 155-mile run, bridges permitting. Leaving the tight ICW channel into Albemerle Sound we were exposed to rough beam seas kicked up by westerly winds for a good 15-mile run. Walt's stomach held up, however, and we made good time.

So good, in fact, that we reserved a slip at Beaufort Docks (pronounced "BO-fort") just across from Morehead City, with an ETA of 1645 hours. The wind dropped, skies cleared, and the sun's rays were enough to get Walt's tan started. Diverting from the ICW, we followed the buoys east into Gallant Channel. A berth in beautiful Beaufort, and a seafood feast with wine and rum, was only minutes away when suddenly...

... our whole world came to a violent halt!

In about one second Deregulation became Deceleration, going from 15 to zero knots. Chuck slammed into the helm. Walt became one with the salon hatch cover. Binoculars, charts and anything that wasn't bolted down went crashing to the deck. Deregulation twisted and settled, dead in the water.

We were aground.

As Walt stared at the blood from his forearm and hand, Chuck, the master of understatement for once in his life, succinctly summarized the situation: "This is not good."

Shock wore off quickly and Chuck flew into action. Flinging open the engine cover, he dived below. Water was gushing in where the starboard prop's drive shaft used to be. A through-hull plug took care of that, then he ordered Walt -- very master and commander-like! -- to get on a wetsuit and find the missing prop. Ignoring the blood running onto the deck and Chuck's tennies, Walt slipped his toned and buffed bod into one of those rubber suits and jumped off the stern.

The water was only three feet deep, murky brown and warm. Walt quickly found the prop (four blades, 24-inch diameter) about 20 feet astern, still attached to the drive shaft and sunk deeply into the muck. Applying the brute strength acquired from a lifetime of the gaucho life -- can you tell by now who's writing this? -- Walt wrenched the whole thing free and plunked it on the stern step.

Just then, by sheer coincidence, a TowBoatUS tug happened to be cruising by, so we hailed it over. Chuck explained our situation, which was no surprise to the skipper who nonchalantly informed us that our problem was not unique. The channel hadn't been dredged in years and boats were going aground here all the time. Welcome to Beaufort!

For the record, two fancy money-is-no-object charts and the Raymarine electronic chartplotter clearly showed the Gallant Channel as a viable, well-marked route. There were no Coast Guard warnings or Notices to Mariners, and we were heeding each nav aid closely when we had our "mishap."

Chuck arranged to have us towed. Dereg was dragged out of the muck, then lashed to a beefier tug to take us to a nearby boat yard. Walt canceled the reservations at Beaufort Docks, bandaged his arm, and called a personal injury attorney.

At Town Creek Marina Dereg was unceremoniously hoisted "onto the hard" for a survey and repairs. Although we didn't know it yet, Town Creek would be its home for the next two weeks.

Chuck surveys the undamaged port rudder and prop.

Nautical engineer Steve (right) and

repair expert Greg (left) survey the damage.

Below, Greg (aka "Rooster" for all his ex-wives and lady-friends), does a string test to see if the drive shaft support (cutlass) had been bent. The initial test shows it to be straight. The rudder, however, was driven up into the hull, requiring replacement and lots of work on the fiberglass. The drive shaft that got ripped out was bent and would have to be made new in a local shop.

Total damages were pegged at $12,000, not counting the pain, suffering, and permanent disfigurement inflicted upon Walt.

While repairs were started and parts ordered, we took the opportunity to paint the hull, wax the freeboard, and make other needed repairs. Chuck obssessed over buffing up Dereg till she gleamed with her former beauty.

Between painting and buffing we took in nautically quaint Beaufort, but after a day or so we knew the whole town. One good thing was the fresh seafood, caught daily right off the coast. We gorged on jumbo prawns, crab, clams, and Chuck's breaded flounder which was strictly 5-star (paging Zagat!).

With nothing to do over the weekend, we rented a car and escaped to the home of Dusty Powers, a top-notch cameraman who has worked with Chuck in the past. Dusty has a beautiful home right on the edge of the ICW, just outside Wilmington about an hour south of Beaufort. Dusty's terrific hospitality briefly quelled any thoughts of mutiny by the crew.

The ICW is just visible to the left, which

we would pass as soon as Dereg got fixed.

Bad news: our new shaft, rudder, and repaired prop arrived, but the cutlass turned out to have a tiny bend after all. If it couldn't be straightened locally we'd have to wait 10 days for a new one to be cast and delivered. Crew morale plummeted. So much for the string test.

The culprit -- a bent cutlass.

Days pass, and we're antsy to get on our way. We've been here so long our accents they be a-changin' day-by-day and we's be gittin' right local. If'n they cain't mend that there cutlass right quick we be fixin' to go on home fer a week or so, yep.

Every morning Chuck musters up his most "pathetic" look (very easy for him) and shambles on over to the office to see if Steve's got any good news. Luckily, they were able to straighten the cutlass, so all that remained was to slap it in, put the boat back together, and do some sea trials.

The fixed cutlass and drive shaft are reinstalled.

Back in the water, Steve helms Dereg for a test run. Where's Chuck's grin now...?

Rooster listens to the Yanmars. They sound great -- no shaft vibration, no leaks.

Dereg passes with flying colors. After two weeks, we're outta here. Only 776 miles to go!