I’ll start by saying we’re fine and LouLouDitsi is safely moored on the IBA pontoon in Nidri. But we had a bit of a scare . . .
We’d enjoyed our few days at anchor and I was about to call Alex at Karnayio in little Vathi on Meganissi to see if we could book in for a couple of nights on their pontoon from tomorrow. John had been doing some engine maintenance and was just tidying up in the engine room.
Then I hear him say “We have a problem.”
I know that tone of voice, although I’ve rarely heard it – this is serious.
We have a leak from the stern gland. Without getting too technical, the engine drives the propeller shaft, inside the boat. The prop shaft goes through the stern gland, lubricated by packed blue grease and sea water. It then goes through the stern tube and cutlass bearing, through the hull below the waterline, and turns the propeller to drive the boat.
The stern gland and cutlass bearing were replaced this spring before launch. We remember asking what we needed to do on launch – as a child I remember my father greasing the stern gland regularly with a gorgeous brass grease gun. And that this was a critical job. The stern tube is one of the largest skin fittings (holes) in the hull, and can therefore let in a lot of water. We were told to bleed the stern gland after lift in, to make sure it had water in, and we did this. We think we asked about greasing and both had the impression this wasn’t necessary . . . But this work was commissioned by the previous owners and all communication went through them.
“How fast is it coming in?” I ask. “As fast as I can sponge it up” says John. The anchorage starts to feel too remote. Are we going to sink? “How much water until it goes into the bilge?” I ask. Once it’s into the bilge, the bilge pump can start working. But we don’t want it to be that much.
John comes out of the engine room with a tupperware bowl full of oily water. “Do you need a bucket?” I ask. “No, I don’t think so. Probably not.”
“Shall I call someone? IBA or CYS?” (Both do call out rescue service, like the AA or RAC.) “Yes, that’s probably a good idea.” John doesn’t flap, this wasn’t reassuring.
I ring IBA, on the basis that they’re marginally closer. I explain the problem and where we are, including our GPS coordinates. He takes my mobile number and says they’ll call back in 2 or 3 minutes. John’s still mopping.
In a couple of minutes the phone rings “Hello, it’s Kelvin, how are you doing?” We know Kelvin, the owner of IBA, from our earlier stay in Nidri. ” Well, Ok, I think” I say in a slightly wavering voice. “It was better before this happened.”
Kelvin’s voice is calm and reassuring as he asks questions which I try to pass on to John. “How many seconds between drips? What sort of stern gland is it?” John hesitates about the frequency, but confirms it’s a Volvo gland, lip seal. Kelvin suggests tightening the clamp, which John does, but there’s not much free. There’s no movement in the stern tube when shaken, which is good news. Perhaps the drips aren’t so frequent.
From the information we’ve given, Kelvin assures us that such leaks are generally slow and suggests we make our way gently to Nidri where they’ll make space for us on the pontoon and have a look.
We quickly get the tent down, shut all hatches and ports, close all seacocks and start the engine. It’s 5.15 pm and our neighbour of 2 days, a man on a lovely wooden yacht, looks as surprised as we are at the sudden shift from settled in to on our way.
Anchor up and off we go on a hastily plotted GPS route, which I did nevertheless check on the chart.
Once underway, John checks the leak. “It looks slower” he says. About 3-4 drips every minute. We don’t know how long it had been leaking unnoticed.
It’s a lovely evening, a gentle F4, good for sailing, and there are a few yachts making the most of it. But we’re too focused on getting to Nidri. A slow leak can become a faster leak and it’s better to be safe than sorry. But, as the leak stays slow, our stress levels reduce very slightly.
After dodging a small fishing boat trailing nets we approach Nidri and prepare lines and fenders. The wind’s dropped, which will make mooring easier. Just as well, as when I radio in on channel 73 I’m directed to berth North 14. “That’s quite far inshore, isn’t it?” I ask. “Correct” comes the reply. I know it’s shallow there, we’ve never been more than 4 or 5 in, but I’ve confirmed our draft is 1.8m and trust that they’ve accounted for that.
A nice long run up in reverse, round the anchored boats, avoiding the fenders marking lazyline moorings, depth 4.2 then 3.4, then I just stop looking as I make the final approach. “Nicely done” from Jason on the pontoon and the crew on the boat opposite. Lazyline and mooring lines secured, we get the passarelle out and breathe a sigh of relief.
The drip is still slow. We agree that we’ll keep checking, but it looks as though it can wait til tomorrow morning. It’s now 8.30pm. We put the tent up, open the hatches, have a beer and a shower and then go to Pomodoro for pizza and salad. On our return, the drip rate’s the same.
We’ve discussed what may happen – if we have to come out of the water, it may not be worth lifting back in until we return at the end of August. We fly back to UK on 27 July and LouLouDitsi is booked into Gouvia marina on Corfu for 4 weeks. There’s lots we could usefully do in 3 weeks on the hard. And it may not come to that.
It’s good to be somewhere with help on hand. Harbours may rot ships and men, but they’re also safe havens. And we’ll sort this one way or another. It could’ve been a lot worse.