There is something quaintly romantic, sometimes even dramatic, about navigating a boat on a river, something that evokes nostalgic yearnings. Rivers are the life blood of the planet, vital green arteries coursing through the musculature of the earth, nurturing the land in some seasons and ravaging it in others. For humanity, rivers have endured as avenues of discovery and conquest, sources of abundance and destruction, and havens of contemplation and inspiration. It is no wonder that writers throughout the centuries have woven tales starring rivers as main characters.
Until our trip up the Napa River, I had only been down a river in a boat, a boat equipped with only paddles or oars for steerage. I had never been on a vessel navigating in the counter-current direction, an effort that requires much more than paddles; it means having a reliable motor. And, despite our efforts, that’s something that we don’t have yet onboard Kuani.
After replacing cooling hoses and the fuel filter, we discovered that the engine would sputter and die, especially when idling. By pumping the manual fuel pump, we could bring the RPMs back up and keep the motor from dying. However, this action requires the grand piano sized engine hatch, which happens to be the salon cabin sole, to remain open, effectively rendering everything forward of the companionway inaccessible. Knowing that the existing fuel in the tank is least three years old and assuming that it most likely came from Central America where fuel quality is reportedly less than primo, Ken decided to have the fuel polished and an inspection port installed on the tank. Nathan from MarineLube came out to clean the tank and polish the fuel; $500 later, he assured us that we have sparkling diesel onboard.
With the anchor ready to set in case of engine failure, we set out from Richmond to the Napa Valley Marina, where Kuani would be hauled for bottom work and where we would enter a new chapter in our relationship with our boat. We timed our departure so that we would reach the Napa River during a 4.6 flood tide. Captain Ken called the boat yard to remind them of our scheduled haulout for which he found they had no record. The boat yard office stressed that we needed to arrive by 4pm to meet the day’s haulout deadline; otherwise we would have to wait until Monday. We decided to go for it. Ken estimated we would be there by 3:30pm. With a sense of nervous anticipation, we pulled up the dock lines and headed out of Marina Bay.
Shortly into the trip, Ken noticed a small cooling line leak, which he promptly addressed. Five minutes later I opened the engine hatch to discover a steady stream of water squirting from the gasket of the main heat exchanger. Not daring to stop, we kept an eye on the exhaust to make sure water continued to circulate through the system, and I triggered the manual bilge switch every 15 minutes or so.
A couple hours into our journey Ken noticed the RPMs periodically dropped from 2000 to 1800 to 1600. By jiggling the throttle, the engine would recover and we would climb back up to cruising speed (about 8 knots). With our fingers crossed (but also ready for action), we were doing what we could to coax Kuani along to an important destination.
Finally, we rounded Mare Island and headed north up the channel towards the mouth of the Napa River. I called the bridge tender for the Mare Island Bridge and notified him of our passage. He replied that he would raise the drawbridge when he got a fix on us. We motored along, steering ever closer to the bridge and waiting for the ascent of the bridge deck. A hundred yards from the bridge, we had to abort our planned undercrossing, as the bridge remained unmoved. Ken called the bridge tender again, who then began raising the drawbridge. Like a railroad crossing, bells rang out as the final cars passed over the water. Slowly, the bridge deck lifted and we headed toward the crossing. As we neared the bridge, my heart started to race: I wasn’t sure that Kuani’s masts were going to clear the deck. I stood on the bow trying to compare the height of the main mast with that of the bridge (a difficult estimation from that angle). Luckily, the deck continued to rise, and we scooted underneath as I cheered jubilantly and Ken’s blood pressure returned to normal.
We continued past the next two landmarks: the Highway 37 bridge and a set of high power lines. The next landmark proved to be our undoing.
When you think about it, doesn’t every journey have something to teach us? We can second guess ourselves all day about which way to go, but it isn’t until we make a decision that we learn from it. Well, we had heard about beacon #7 in the Napa River from several boaters. Just that morning, a live-aboard neighbor had advised us to give beacon #7 a couple hundred yards of leeway based on his personal experience. This advise was somewhat contrary to Napa Valley Marina’s instructions, which suggested a 50-yard distance from the buoy. Kuani’s skipper, who weighed in favor of local knowledge, swung wide around buoy #7 and we slowly ground to a halt as the keel bore into the soft river bottom. We were stuck in the middle of the Napa River. Two miles from our destination. It was 3pm.
Still hoping that we could somehow make the 4pm deadline, I called Napa Valley Marina, who sent Jeff to tow us in. Within 15 minutes we had secured his tow line to our bow and he had pulled us free. We were once again on our way. We might still be able to make the 4pm “curfew.” We signaled to Jeff that we wanted to release the tow line and follow him in. As soon as I tossed the line free, our engine died and hesitated to restart! Jeff swung back around and I retied the tow line. By this time, Ken was able to get the engine revived, but not wanting to chance it, we followed Jeff’s lead like a reluctant dog on a leash the final mile to the marina. We pulled up to the dock as our motor died one last time. It was 3:50pm. By miracle, happenstance or plain dumb luck, we had made it!
We looked up the ramp to see the boat yard crew pressure washing a beautiful Hans Christian 43 that had just been hauled. Ken headed for the office while I talked with one of the workers. He suspected that we would not be hauled that day, as they had to finish washing then move and secure the Hans Christian on stands. His suspicions proved to be right. Despite my attempts of beer bribery, the yard manager matter-of-factly stated that we’d have to wait at the dock until Monday to be hauled.
I believe that the saying is true: it’s the journey and not the destination that matters. I know with certainty that the romance continues. And I still have a soft spot in my heart for rivers.
-JJ
