I was up early yesterday with a million things to do still before 8 a.m. Top of the list was running up to the grocery store for some Dramamine. I can’t leave on a longish passage without Dramamine pills for the first day, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. After that I’m good to go for however long I may be bobbing around. And yes, this is a new monohull only experience for me. Or maybe it’s a new “working on the engine in rolly seas” thing for me. Either way it seems to be tightly related to this boat.

I paid my bill, picked up lines, and sail bags, and other assorted crap on deck while the hose ran fresh water into the tanks. After a while I glanced over and noticed that the water wasn’t overflowing yet, meaning the tanks still weren’t full. This seemed off so I went down below and pulled up the engine hatch to find that water was pouring in. The bilge was full, but the water hadn’t reached anything important yet. I remembered then that I hadn’t put the water tank’s access hatch back on from months ago. In fact now I can’t even remember what my reason was for removing it in the first place.

A few minutes after eight I could see the lift was moving a boat to the water’s edge—my cue to get out of there. A neighbor tossed my lines aboard and I was off—a hundred yards to the fuel dock. And then I was really off. Two hundred yards to the bay to spend an hour or so reinstalling the dodger and the main sail. And with that, I was off—380 miles or so to Mazatlan.

Engine was running good, and for the first time in memory the exhaust was clean—not a black, blue, or white cloud to be seen.

I motorsailed for a few hours in light winds and six-foot quartering swells. Things were uncomfortable, but I was pointed in the right direction. My last e-mail to Ali said, “On my way at 7 knots.”

After about four hours I shut the engine down and sailed along at a leisurely four knot clip. After an hour or two of letting the engine cool down I went in for a close look to be sure everything was good.

I pulled the coolant cap, still full. Good. I checked the dipstick, still full, good color. Good. I opened the oil cap on the rocker cover—hmmm, a slight white-ish film of mayonnaise. Not much, but I knew what it was.

I thought it over and decided—in my most optimistic of attitudes—that it was just caused by some leftover water and/or diesel in the bottom of the oil pan. I’ve read of guys having to change their oil four or five times after these jobs to get the milkiness to stop completely.

Soldiering on. I sailed for a few hours—a six foot swell shoving me along—putting some good mileage behind me and my most despised “cruising” ground, San Carlos. The wind petered out and the swell continued to rock me so back on went the engine, with a very close eye on the temp and oil pressure gauges. After three hours I noticed the temp begin to climb, and decided to shut it down, let it cool, and have another look.

This time there was half a gallon of coolant gone, and there was more mayonnaise looking stuff inside the rocker. But the oil still looked perfect, no milkiness at all. Strange.

I was not a happy boy. I may have screamed obscenities at my boat.

(I only had one memory card with me, so instead of taking pictures myself I left the GoPro in different places around the boat taking a picture automatically every minute. Unless I took a picture with the other camera while the GoPro was charging, these are the results.)