Adrift in the Adriatic

[Liza Copeland]

	There is a certain magic associated with night sailing, especially, when the ocean takes on the silvery shine of the moon.

It was a perfect night with a smiling full moon, a brilliant Milky Way, and a balmy breeze from the east-southeast on our starboard beam. We couldn’t believe our luck. Weather reports throughout the summer had called predominantly for northwesterlies, often gale force in strength—not ideal conditions for any cruiser when passaging north. The strength, direction, and resulting short, sharp seas would have been especially undesirable for our four inexperienced guests on their first overnight passage.

We had departed Brindisi, in southern Italy, at noon and were on track for an early arrival; good timing to see the splendors of the towering hills, picturesque towns and island churches of the Bay of Kotor in Montenegro, formerly part of Yugoslavia. Later, as the sails grew limp, we resorted to turning on the "iron wind," never being ones to drift along and wanting to  keep our landfall for the promised magic of dawn.

"The engine suddenly went silent. There was no warning—no faltering, no surging, no grinding or banging—it just stopped."

At 0025 the engine suddenly went silent. There was no warning it was going to quit—no faltering, no surging, no grinding or banging—it just stopped, and wouldn’t restart.

It’s ‘Sods Law’ that these events always happen at night, heightening anxiety and making it harder to investigate. Normal access to our engine is through small hatches in both aft cabins and via the aft head, now used for storage and filled to the brim. Not only did we have to turn our guests out of their berths into the main cabin, but we also had to unload the stored goods there too.  

Andy started by checking the fuel and air filters but found no dirt, water, or blockage and the engine turned over normally.  He bled the engine three times in case of air in the system, checking each of the seven separate components and trying to start after each bleed. When the engine still wouldn’t fire he continued to troubleshoot without success, workshop manual in hand. Finally, no more could be done until morning, when we could unseal and raise the cockpit floor for a far more thorough overall engine inspection.

	Renown for its deep blue waters, the Adriatic has become a favorite cruising ground since the fall of the Berlin Wall.

Meanwhile, all unnecessary systems were turned off to conserve power—refrigeration, autopilot, radar, instruments for wind, depth and log, PC charts and fans. Navigation lights, VHF radio and the GPS were exceptions. One person took the wheel and we trimmed the main and genoa to tease the most out of the whisper of a wind that was now from the east-northeast.  

The Adriatic was busy with shipping that night. Freighters and ferries whisked past ahead and astern with alarming rapidity while they serviced the Italian and Croatian coasts. Although traffic always requires careful monitoring, it generally isn’t a concern, but as one vessel came worryingly close and didn’t answer our call on the VHF radio we were increasingly aware of our vulnerability. Without steerage way we were unable to move out of a ship’s path. Twice during the night we had to use our powerful searchlight to announce our presence despite more VHF calls, lights, and the two radar reflectors.

The following morning access to the top of the engine revealed that the camshaft wasn’t turning and that the timing case cover was ruptured. Subsequent disassembly revealed that the timing gear had been bolted in place without the two flat and lock washers specified for each bolt. Two of these had worked loose, and the gear had wrenched free, shearing the third bolt.