Good Old Boat Issue 142: Jan/Feb 2022
alarm though. Subconsciously, I think, Well, the water hasn’t reached the batteries yet. The batteries. I remember that I have another spare Rule float switch in a cabinet down below, so I slide down the companionway steps to grab it. I can wire it from the batteries to the bilge pump and get it going again. Back in the cockpit, I fumble through the lazarette and pull out that spool of red wire, 12-gauge. Might as well grab the duct tape, too. From the spool, I cut off two long lengths with my Swiss Army knife, then peel back a couple inches of insulation at each end. I twist the gleaming copper ends to the float switch wires and duct tape over the whole thing. Wait—forget the float switch! The bilge pump’s wires can lead straight to the battery. I pull off the float switch. That can get rigged up later. I pull the bilge pump out of the water and twist and tape the new red wires to the pump’s gnarly old ones. Then
water- logged, oily, and falling off. The exposed copper ends are wet and green with corrosion.
mariner.
I set up the Gusher
in the cockpit, shove in the hose, and start pumping like a man possessed. The old rubber diaphragm disintegrates on the first pull. Just rips to crumbly bits. I decide that now would probably be a good time for a primal scream. It cannot compete with the high-water
Suddenly, like a diver underwater, I feel like I’ve been down here too long. Back up the companionway steps and into the cockpit. The Perkins diesel is still clicking over, but I have noticed that the ICW is starting to lap at the motor mounts. I shut down the engine. The sound of the alarm is louder now as it cuts through the hot air. I find my last penciled position on the paper chart and glance at the depth finder. I’m thinking that maybe I can make my way over to the edge of the river and ground myself in a shallow area while I work on the bilge pump. I look at the soundings: 8 to 12 feet with nothing shallow nearby. The banks are sheer. Traveller draws 5 feet 6 inches. Half the time the problem in the ICW is shoals when you don’t want them, and now that I want one, there isn’t one! I cannot believe that my old boat is going to sink along this quiet stretch of water. But, no! Hell no! Until now, my new life with my old boat had been pretty uneventful. Sure, there had been some large (expensive)
and small (annoying)
problems, but nothing as black and white, nothing as dire, as this. Options furiously tick through my brain, and it suddenly occurs to me that it’s just me and the boat now. I might as well be in mid-ocean. No one else is around to help me. Besides, what could they do? Pump! They could help me pump. I break out the manual pump, a big Whale Gusher.
It’s screwed down to a wooden board. The handle is short but luckily tethered to the pump. I rake through a heap of rusty tools, old gloves, an old roll of duct tape, a spool of red wire, and a 10-foot length of black plastic exhaust hose that I’d bought on one of my many trips to West Marine. I pat myself on the back for being so clever and forward thinking. Oh yes, I’m a
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January/February 2022
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