It’s been a fairly quiet week with not much going wrong. We’ve been snorkelling from the boat most days. We have a few coral heads really close and the fish are so colourful. Being a marine reserve here they are also fearless which adds to the experience of getting up close and personal. The cruise ships have been quite active. Two came in on Tuesday and there were two in again today.
With all the delays we’ve just realised that we will need to get our allocated time here extended. No doubt it’s just a formality.
As usual we loaded up the dinghy and started the 10 minute run to the little beach between the 2 commercial wharves in George Town. We have had a few occasions lately when the outboard motor has died on us, but a few pulls on the starter cord and she comes to life again.
I knew what it was. The rotten old dinghy leaks so there is always water in the bottom. When that is compounded with a few particularly violent swells, the fuel tank gets flipped upside down, a bit of water seeps in through the breather and the motor doesn’t run on water.
It’s never been too much to cough and splutter our way through until it runs smoothly again. Today it decided it had had enough!
We were 2/3rds the way there when she died and refused to fire up again. We dug out the paddles and started paddling. This is not an exercise either of us is particularly used to, but we were doing just fine.
What really surprised us was that a big, busy tourist boat loaded with people made its way over and the skipper leaned out and asked if we needed help. It was early in the paddle so we just said ‘thanks, but we’re doing ok’.
Later on, when we were nearer the beach and could really have used a short tow in, a power boat went by, one guy at the wheel and the other snapping a few pictures. They studiously avoided looking at us as they passed, twice. It wasn’t even snobbery... their boat was a miserable little $20,000 affair. It’s not that we were desperate for a tow, but it would have been nice. Ten minutes later we were at the dock anyway.
I spent a few minutes fiddling with the motor, made sure no fuel lines were blocked etc, but Ms Tohatsu was not going to forgive easily. I was about to head into town when a van pulled up. It was Mike from the pirate ship, Jolly Roger. I quickly explained the situation and he said, “Our mechanic is on board today. I’ll see if he can take a look at it for you.”
About 20 minutes later Jolly Roger pulled in to off load it’s cargo of 21st century pirates. Once they were gone a lanky Jamaican with shoulder length braided hair sauntered over.
“Yo gotta problim...?” In any other circumstances I’d have crossed the road, hand over wallet in pocket, rings, pendants etc covered and avoid all eye contact. So much for my image of an expat mechanic from England, the US or New Zealand...
Our new best friend, Russell, had such a strong Jolly mon accent it was almost impossible to understand him. His real forte is big diesel engines, but he just lights up when a non functioning engine of any kind comes to life.
We battled away in the blazing sun with little success. We cleaned all the fuel lines, filter, carburettor etc. Russell splashed some fuel out of the tank. It looked ok. Off came the spark plugs, cleaned, returned. All the tools came out of various pockets in his jeans and in no time the bottom of the dinghy was awash with salt water, as usual, fuel, tools, and bits I didn’t recognise but no doubt would attract the very best voodoo aid around, and still Ms Tohatsu refused to forgive.
The process of elimination began. We grabbed the tank and jumped in Russell’s car.
This is always an interesting experience. The engines always sound fantastic. The seats are always after market, expensive and in good condition. The air conditioning always works and is always set on ‘blizzard’. The door panels are way past their use by date and always the next thing on the list. A variety of beads hang from the mirror in a colourful cascade and the music is some form of reggae/rap delivered through expensive speakers.
New fuel didn’t solve the problem. The engine would fire up, rev, and die. I should mention that every time, the carb would come off, be studied, prodded, fuel squirted, mumblings I was never sure were incantations or telling me what his latest diagnosis was, and all put back together again for another try.
Next was the spark plugs. Back into Russell’s voodoo chariot and a trip to Payless Auto Spares. There we found that the old plugs weren’t for marine 2 stroke engines, but some land based 2 stroke engine. You could actually see the difference in the electrode. Back at the beach Russell’s eyes lit up as the engine sprang to life... but it wasn’t over.
Eventually, Ms Tohatsu’s attitude was subdued. She fought all the way, refusing to idle until we fluked the setting, or maybe that last incantation kicked in.
With everything put back together again I asked Russell what I owed him. He looked uncomfortable and said “anything”. He’d been working away for 3 hours, but much of it fiddling and probably correcting things he was causing as he went. On the other hand he ran me around in his car and eventually did solve the problem.
I had no idea what to do, so I pulled out a note that was more than a tip, but less than a mechanic would charge and we both seemed happy.
Russell turned out to be a delightful character and by the end of it all I could understand almost 50% of what he was saying. If it looked to be important I got him to keep repeating it, slowly, until I got it. He must have thought I was retarded. He is obviously older than he looks because he is married with 3 daughters, the oldest being 16.
His big dream is to come to Australia and work on heavy diesel engines there. I’m not sure he has formal qualifications, but he sure has a good attitude and work ethic. We ended up exchanging phone numbers.
By this time Sandy and I were way too hot to go back to the boat. She had been beachcombing to add to her growing collection of sea glass. We wandered over to Jimmy Buffett’s blatantly commercial but comfortably air conditioned and Caribbean ‘Margaritaville’.
The meals and drinks cost about the same as anywhere else on this tourist island, but more than the full service of the outboard motor. We needed the treat.
So endeth another day in Paradise...