We began taking on water, and then panic set in. Why are we sinking?
It was the first boat trip of the year, following an unrelenting and bitterly cold winter. Kraken, our steadfast vessel, had endured the season on her trailer, tethered to shore power with two electric heaters standing guard against the frost. Eager to embark on the long-awaited adventure, I followed my usual launch routine. After backing her down the ramp, launching smoothly, and tying off to the float, I set to work.
First, I started the motor. Then, I flipped on all the switches, checked for water exiting the exhaust, and gave the manual bilge pump a couple of precautionary strokes.
That’s when I noticed something unusual. Eight hearty pulls on the pump produced nearly half a gallon of water per stroke before it finally sucked air. "No big deal," I thought. "It’s probably just rainwater that collected in the bilge over the winter."
Reassured, I tidied the dash, switched on the sounder and radio, and prepared to enjoy the trip ahead. But curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to test the bilge pump one more time. To my horror, another eight to ten strokes brought forth a steady stream of water. My stomach dropped. This wasn’t residual rainwater—we were actively taking on water. Nearly ten gallons had already made its way in. The realization hit me like a cold wave: We’re sinking. Our trip was over before it even began.
I called out to Linda, my ever-steady partner, and told her to hold everything. “We’re taking on water. We need to get Kraken back on the trailer immediately,”
“I hear water running.”
Her words stopped me in my tracks. She opened the cabinet door beneath the sink, and there it was—water streaming down the inside of the hull. It was three or four feet above the waterline, an odd place for a leak to emerge. Something wasn’t adding up. Leaning closer, Linda pointed to the source: “It’s coming from the water filter.”
Without a moment’s hesitation,
I flipped off the water pump switch, and just like that, the stream of water ceased. Relief washed over me as swiftly as the panic had set in. The trip wasn’t over after all—though we’d likely pumped all our fresh water overboard in the chaos.
Upon closer inspection, I discovered the culprit: the water filter canister under the sink had splintered at the bottom, likely a casualty of the winter freeze. With the fresh water tank now dry, our onboard supply was gone, but thankfully, we had an extra five-gallon container with us. We made do and carried on with our trip, albeit with a newfound appreciation for preparation.
When we returned home, I replaced the broken filter and vowed to prevent this from happening again.
That winter, I installed a lightbulb beneath the sink to keep the chill at bay.
I’m not sharing this story to impart any profound message or lesson. It simply makes me chuckle now—how a seemingly routine launch escalated into a nerve-wracking ordeal before turning into a small adventure we’ll never forget. Sometimes, the scariest moments on the water make for the best tales once you’re safely ashore.
Click below to see a satellite view of Obstruction Pass
