That's an interesting story. I have had a similar experience, though not with my own boat. Many, many years ago, when Whitey Berman first brought his 35' Bruno "Ho Choy" home from Maine, he invited me to come along on a "long-range" tuna trip.
We were both members of the Eastern Anglers fishing club - who's "unofficial headquarters" was Frankie Dee's Eastern Reel Service; right here in beautiful, downtown Seaford. Many a tale was woven at that place by the old timers, sitting on stools "in the back," sipping their horrible-tasting shop-brewed coffees, while Frankie was busy turning rods. I was just a dopey 19yr old, or somewhere around that age, anyway, and so I was "all ears" to their somewhat embellished, if not totally improbable yarns.
So back to the story. I have no recollection of where we were heading that trip, maybe the Bacardi, I just can't remember. I do recall being elated that I was invited on a "big game" hunt," which was a decided major step up from the Bay fishing I had always done to that point in my life.
Whitey had fueled up the day before, at a gas dock/fishing station in Freeport that shall remain nameless. He topped off his starboard tank, but not his port tank, which was already full. So very, very early the next morning we shoved off in the dark from behind his home on Seaford Creek, and made good time running down the Bay, and thence out into the open ocean. Hey, we had to leave early, as that big battlewagon had originally come with a Cat 3208 "Natural," meaning that it had a whole 210hp to push it along. For sure, not the fastest boat in the world. But to me, it was a real ocean-going battleship.
I was up in the flybridge with Whitey and my Uncle Frank, as the sun rose - and yes, for those local to me that now "know" that boat, it originally carried a flying bridge up on its house. I guess we were about 20 miles or so out when Whitey turned to me and asked me to go down below, lift the engine hatch and throw the fuel tank valve lever from Port to Stbd. I guess he wanted to remain at a somewhat level trim side to side, as those Maine lobsta' boats certainly didn't come equipped with trim tabs. In fact I doubt many old-time boaters have ever seen a pair of tabs back then. Certainly not ones large enough to make a difference on such a big, slow ride.
I did as I was asked, switched the tank feeding the engine. We went maybe another mile and the formerly purring big Cat diesel began coughing - and just flat-out died. Repeated attempts to get her restarted were pointless, no way would she catch, even briefly. Damn.
Lucky for us, Whitey had also invited our co-club member Jimmy N. along. He just so happened to be a heavy equipment repair specialist. Diesels were his thing, as we subsequently found out. He shouted up to the bridge for Whitey to "stop with the effin' cranking," got down in the bilge and immediately knew what the problem was. Wouldn't tell us though, until he cracked one of the fuel tube nuts at the top of its injector, had Whitey crank her again, and water came spraying out of the now loosened fitting. Damn, again.
It turns out that along with his fuel, Whitey had pumped about 25 gallons of salt water into his tank - and that was the source of our now-ruined trip. Jimmy switch back to the Port tank, and went thru the injectors one at a time, cracking each of the eight fittings loose while having Whitey crank the engine on command, until clean fuel came spritzing out instead of water. More cranking once that nasty task was completed, she caught, coughed a bunch of times and finally settled into a pretty normal idle. Thank the Lord! Who had ever heard of Sea Tow back then?
Luckily we had more than enough fuel in the "clean" tank to get us back to Seaford. But our trip was ruined. This was made doubly frustrating when the phone reports came in that evening that the tuna had been suicidal on the grounds that day. Everyone that was there had the best day of their tuna fishing lives, and we were nowhere to be found on the grounds. Triple damn.
That lost trip left a big impression on me. From then on, through the ownership of my own boats, I never trusted an on the water gas dock. Whenever possible I've fueled with gas from a land gas station - brought to the dock in various cans & totes through the years. This was easy for the first 20 years I've owned the Lep, because I kept her behind a friend's house in Seaford. Not really feasible the past four seasons, as I'm now docked in a Freeport marina. But to this day I will still never be comfortable fueling at a gas dock.
,, you said it all ,,,,,
