Day Three – Wednesday-  Cuba Landing to Clifton Marina

            Dumb strikes again. I am not an anal individual by anyone’s standards and as a result I have learned the hard way over many years experience that boat procedures are critical to trouble free running.  It is a little like when a few days ago when I opined about leaving friends.  I mentioned several individuals, boat slip neighbors who had become fast friends.  The one person I did not mention was the one person instrumental in my decision to move the boat to Kentucky Dam Marina in the first place. Brenda is their office manager and in the fall of 2013 when I had driven down to the Kentucky Lake area to visit marinas and decide which would become the fresh water destination for AURORA the following spring, KDM was the first of a dozen marina visits.  Wow, this woman could market ice cubes in the Arctic.  I have never seen her without a smile and a kind word for whomever she was with at the moment.  Although we had visited a ton of marinas and were greeted by wonderful folks, I kept coming back to that woman, Brenda, who convinced me her marina was the best place for AURORA.  And she was right. 

            So what does this have to do with me and dumb?  It points directly to my dumb “caught–up-in-the-moment” nature.  I was so anxious to relate my sadness at leaving dock neighbors, I had forgotten to mention the very reason I had met those boat neighbors, the marina’s public face, Brenda Simpson.  Sorry Brenda.  I consider those lapses dumb and try desperately to limit them.  However,  I did not succeed in limiting them this morning in Cuba Landing.  

       Morning River Fog blankets our marina and the main river as well so we have a second cup of coffee to wait it out.  When it begins to clear, I start up the engine and wave to our two new sailboat friends who were headed out of the bay ahead of us.  As I untied the last dock line, our engine coughs and dies.  Quickly re-tying the lines, I climb into the pilot house and attempt to re-start the engine. No luck. With a sinking feeling I open up the engine room to investigate this very disturbing occurrence.  This is a single engine boat and no engine, no control, no go… anywhere.  At least I am still tied to the dock rather than dodging barges in the river channel.   As soon as I glance around, I realize that in my haste last evening to socialize, I neglected to follow through on my usual procedure to turn my fuel switch from the “fill day tank” to “run engine.”  I have run the engine out of fuel and in the process allowed air into the fuel lines and the engine.  The entire engine must be bled of air and fresh fuel fed into all the lines.  I have never bled the entire engine before.  I have bled the lines when I changed fuel filters but this is far more extensive.  With my engine manual spread across the main salon floor and a myriad of tools scattered about, Kris accesses the internet (thank heavens we are in coverage with her phone) and for the next two and a half hours I learn a new skill.  When the moment comes to try the engine again, I hesitate, hoping I have done everything correctly and not made a bad problem worse.  Kris hits the start button and I watch the air bubbles release from the loose connections, tighten them and then…  VROOOOM.  My old Perkins sparks to life with a smooth roar and I breathe a huge sigh of relief.    Dumb, dumb, and dumber for not following through my normal procedure and triple checking to make sure all was ready for the next day’s running regardless of the distractions.  Procedure IS important.  I wait another ten minutes to make sure everything is working properly and we finally pull away from the dock far later than we had intended. 

       Originally we had expected to travel to Riverstone but due to our late start have shortened our run, instead stopping at Clifton Marina where our new friends had already stopped for the night.  Clifton is a cozy marina with a narrow entrance and little maneuvering room for our single engine sans thrusters 40 footer but there were half a dozen folks patiently waiting for me to line up the boat and bring her in to the slip.  Among those waiting to receive docking lines were James and Dennis our new sailboat acquaintances.  Even after a few cold beers, no one reminded me of my stupid mistake.  I think we have found real friends and we three boats agree to pot along together to Pickwick Lock and Dam.   So we have a plan for day four and day three was ok in spite of my dumb forgetfulness.  At least I now know how to bleed the entire engine.  Progress. .. I think. 

Will never again question turtle on a fence post