We were delayed in our departure on Sunday morning because we wanted to top off our gasoline cans, making sure we had enough fuel for the generator. And we needed ice. The Marina didn't open until 9 a.m., but then, when we explained our engine problem to the manager, he loaned us a can of spray used to clean electrical connections.
Through the tutelage of Stanley Fiegenbaum, the Beta distributor, I knew that there was a main electrical harness joining the engine's control pannel in the cockpit to the engine below. That harness, which carried about a dozen wires, was interrupted in two places by large plastic connectors -- each with male and female plugs and sockets for the dozen wires. I knew that the upper connector, in the back of the control panel, appeared clean but that the lower one, close to the bilge, had corrosion in at least half of its ports. I'd tried in Newport to use a fingernail file to clean the female sockets. But I wanted to try the spray, just in case. I dinghied back to the marina to return the spray, and then we headed out.
Earlier, while we were waiting for the marina to open, we'd stopped by the town dockmaster's office to pay for our mooring. There we asked for local knowledge to pass through Pollock Rip Channel.
"You don't want to do that," the dockmaster said, explaining that there was no need. Local fishermen avoided the channel, with its choppy rip currents, and simply hugged the edge of Monomoy Point. Just keep an eye our your depth sounder, he said, and you'll be fine.
Later, I was looking at the chart plotter, which showed a channel of deep water very close to the western shore of the point, and a depth of 27 feet when I happened to glance at the depth sounder. It read 2.7 feet. I steered abruptly to starboard, found deeper water out where there were small rips indicating current over shoals, and we made it around the point into the ocean at about noon.
The rest of the afternoon was unventful. The Beta ran smoothly, occasionally charging the batteries but not always.
We saved the leftover bluefish and had a simple dinner that night -- tuna sahdwiches as I recall -- and then began standing watch separately.
It was one of those clear nights when the stars are visible down to the horizon. Consequently, we kept mistaking low stars for the lights of approaching ships, too far a way to be picked up on the radar. Only when the stars rose from th horizon were we able to identify them and discount the possiblity of collision. But the stars and the moon, which at midnight rose as a huge orange scythe blade,kept us on our toes.
At the end of the 2 to 4 a.m. watch, I remained in the cockpit, dozing on one of the flattened cockpit seats while John stood watch. It was around 5 a.m. when he said: "What's that smell."
He and I both knew what it was: The odor of a heated electrical device.
I sprung from my pad and climbed down the companionway ladder, seizing the fire extinguisher mounted there before I opened the engine compartment and saw it.
Sparks and blue flames coming out the top of the alternator. I reached up to the cockpit and shut off the engine, then watched as the sparks and flames sputtered and died.