Some Trouble with the Dinghy

Asunción Bay in Baja California Sur

Upon arrival, there were already signs of trouble. Even while the motor was running, the charge on the batteries was going down. Julie ran back and forth, examining various gadgets as our amps slowly disappeared. Our freezer should have been the first sign; it was no longer producing any ice. But since we had just put a new compressor in, we assumed that it was still not fixed.

It was a gorgeous, warm evening when we got there. We dropped anchor just east of a couple of other sailboats already in the bay. We were pretty wiped out and starving, so all we had left to do that night was grab some food and enjoy the sunset over a little hill by the village. Before hitting the sack, we ran the generator for an hour, hoping to have some power left in the morning.

We figured the alternator might be causing the issue, so we decided to grab some extra fuel the next day, just in case we ended up running the generator more than planned. The Ensenada group on WhatsApp gave us contact info for a guy named Larry who delivers fuel by panga. We tried reaching him on the radio, which might not have been working, and called him, but no luck. So, the next morning, after breakfast and tidying up a bit, Maike and I decided to hit the beach to figure out how to get diesel and gas. We lifted the dinghy from the deck using the halyard and lowered the outboard with the preventer.

We were around a quarter mile from the shore, and the water wasn’t too choppy. Once we got to the beach Maika disembarked right after I killed the engine and raised it out of the water. We don’t have a fancy outboard. A two-horsepower 4-stroke, with no reverse. Just a kill switch. Our dinghy is a soft-bottom. Light, not very fast, and wet.

As soon as I hopped out of the dinghy, a wave hit me and sent me tumbling, probably giving the locals a good laugh since they know better. Soaked and all, we managed to drag the dinghy onto the shore, taking it way farther than we needed to. One of the guys came over to check if we needed a hand. In broken English, he introduced himself as Maurcius. We told him we were on a mission to get fuel for the sailboat. Lucky for us, he had a truck and offered to help us out for a tip. We agreed to meet at the same spot in an hour with our jerry cans.

No vids or photos from our adventure, so here is a spectacular jellyfish

So Maike and I were off again. We really did well getting back out through the surf. The motor started right away, almost like we were pros. Back on the boat, I changed into a swimsuit. Much to my dismay, it was then that I realized I had forgotten to put my cellphone in the dry bag, and it was soaked in my wet shorts. Of course, we put it in rice immediately. We then emptied four cans into the tanks. We have two tanks, one on each side. We don’t have a working fuel gauge, but we do have dipsticks, so Julie watched below to make sure we weren’t overflowing, since the port side tank is known to leak a little when too full. Now in bathing suits, we headed back, feeling a little more confident about landing. We killed the engine and lifted the motor. Maike was trying to get out of the boat as a wave caught us, and we capsized. When I came back up out of the water, Maurice was running toward us. He helped us schlep the dinghy onshore and collect all our belongings that were tumbling around in the surf. Maike and I were laughing the entire time. We knew well that we were the comedy show and how ridiculous we looked. Drenched, scurrying around trying to make sure we didn’t lose anything. Then we tended to our outboard. It had taken a dive along with us, thankfully, and was already turned off. Maurice took the lid off and poured a bottle of water over it. We tried to start it. Nothing. So we figured we would let it dry out. He had a panga, and I asked him if he would mind taking us to the boat with the fuel. It was decided that we would tow the dinghy back to Chewb-a-Doo.

Just our evening view in Asuncion

Not long after, we hopped into Maurice’s truck and headed to the gas station. We filled up our cans there and then drove to the other side of our little village of 2,000 people to get to his boat. When we arrived, we saw two small rowboats, and Maike thought one of them must be his. Her expression said it all. But Maurice took one of the rowboats to row himself over to a panga with a shiny big engine. It even had reverse! As he got closer to shore, he turned the boat around and, holding the engine slightly out of the water, motored towards us in reverse. Quite the trick.

Later in the day, we tried to start the dinghy motor again. No dice. It would not turn over. Eric needed to come to the rescue. He had me take the spark plug out, then change the oil, but it was to no avail. We decided to drain the fuel the next day since it was getting dark, and I was sure there was water in the fuel since the vent was open when it took a dive.

The next day, after draining the fuel, and the engine still not wanting to start, and the oil that was drained into a water bottle had separated from water, the fuel that was siphoned into a Pepsi bottle had water and sand in it, we knew that we wouldn’t be able to repair the motor ourselves.

Maike had the idea to call a local place she had found on the internet, whose website was in both English and Spanish. Our Spanish is still subpar. We called the place, and lo and behold, an American woman answered. We explained our problem, and she was able to get us in touch with Mauricius. Mauricius was then able to organize a mechanic for us who picked us up an hour later, along with our dinghy motor.

Language still being a barrier, we agreed to meet at the shore again in an hour, while not believing he could possibly get the engine done in an hour.

The three of us went our separate ways. Desperately needing a break from each other. I took photos and spent some time walking and conversing with a local woman, Marie Antonia. She spoke little English, I spoke little Spanish, and somehow, we managed to understand each other perfectly. The most amazing thing to us was that both of our names were Antonia. Maike and I later met at the Mercado and did some shopping. Somehow, I managed to spend another 1000 pesos.

Our mechanic punctually met us at the shore after an hour with a fixed outboard. We were flabbergasted. Not only that, when he dropped us off, and I tried to find out how much he wanted, he said none. I dropped another 1000 pesos. He more than deserved at least that.

Once we arrived at Chewb-a-Doo, we tucked everything away and went anchor up. Heading further south on the Baja Peninsula. Next stop Punta Hipolito.