The Noise and the Night: A Midnight Breakdown on the Bay
Community
May 30, 2025
The following was adapted from a post made by SeaPeople user James Jackson @SVFirstLight.
A routine solo motor turns into an eerie, beautiful, and slightly dangerous night on the Chesapeake, complete with strange noises, zip-tie heroics, and one boater alone beneath the stars. We never want to hear new noises underway or at anchor, and especially in the night.
Everything Felt Right
“You never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from.” - Cormac McCarthy
Repair log #3 - The Noise
Fall 2023 – Heading Home from Lankford Bay
The alignment was right. The engine was purring. For the first time since I bought First Light, it felt like the boat and I were speaking the same language.
So I cast off from Lankford Bay and started the trip home. Singlehanded. Weather looked good. Water was flat. I had time, food, tools. Confidence.
That lasted maybe five hours.
A New Sound Enters the Chat
Somewhere near the mouth of the Chester, I started hearing it… rocks in a tumbler, but I wasn’t mixing a Manhattan. Not constant. Not urgent. But wrong. Like something brushing metal, or spinning uneven. The sounds of a boat underway have a familiar, soothing quality, and when it changes it’s instantly something you notice.
I slowed down. Put the engine in neutral. The noise softened. Started again. Changed with speed. I went through the usual suspects… lines overboard, gear shifting, loose mount. Nothing made it go away.
Checked the cabin, less noise. Checked the engine compartment, just an engine beating. Hung off the stern with a flashlight in my teeth, trying to see the shaft, the strut, the alignment. It didn’t take long to guess.
Cutless bearing.
Keep Going
It didn’t feel catastrophic yet, but it was clear. Something had shifted. Probably just enough… enough to start wearing where it shouldn’t. The sort of thing you monitor until it gets worse. And I was hours from anywhere. So I kept going.
By nightfall, the Chesapeake was glasslike. I was motoring through the Bay, mid-channel, alone… thinking about being immersed in the galaxy, with stars above and below.
The Sound Changes Again
Then the sound changed.
Not the bearing… the engine. Louder. Drier. Hollow in a way it shouldn’t be.
No water moving through the exhaust. The cooling had stopped.
Suddenly I was scrambling… mental triage firing fast. Throttle down. Flip the lazarette open. Reach for the kill switch. The engine still ran, of course, but it was heating up fast. No water belt, no raw water pump, no exhaust cooling. You’ve got maybe a minute before heat damage starts creeping in.
I killed the engine. Let her drift. Swore under my breath and opened everything up.
The Cause Revealed
The belt was gone. Snapped clean. The water pump pulley was dry, scorched from friction. I knew immediately what had happened.
Back at the yard, they’d overtightened it. Probably meant well, make sure it didn’t slip. But a belt that tight sings itself to death. And mine chose 1 a.m. in the middle of one of the busiest shipping channels in the world.
Zip Ties and Liberian Freighters
My quick mental inventory told me I had spares on board… but I’d have to dig for them. And like I said… busy shipping channel. Imagined images of my hull getting run down by a Liberian freighter bound for Delaware City while I was upside down in a locker looking for a small V-belt wouldn’t let me think it through.
Slack tide. Literally zero wind. I was a sitting duck.
I rigged what I had to hand… a few zip ties in place of a belt. Just needed to run long enough to get out of the channel. I fired the bodge job up and water flowed. I had a few minutes to gather my thoughts. Aimed the boat out of the lane and motored slowly until the zip ties failed.
Out of the Lane and Into the Locker
I stayed at the helm to make sure I drifted a good bit out of the channel. And once I could breathe again, I found the spare belts, a wrench to tension the pump, and the time to bury my head in the engine compartment for a few minutes.
I turned the engine over. She coughed, then started. Water moving again.
It wasn’t exactly the edge of life and death, but at that time of day your body is likely to say it is anyway. I didn’t have anyone with me to clap me on the back and tell me everything worked out well. Just the slow rhythm of things returning to normal… the engine purring, the Bay dark and empty, stars above, and nothing but the sound of water against the hull.
The Final Stretch
I stopped about halfway home at a fuel dock in Chesapeake City. I’d already arranged to be joined by some marina neighbors for the rest of the trip home. It would be a cold and tired trip, but I got a couple hours of sleep and welcomed the relief when they came aboard.
Shelby and Louis would help me get home, but I will always remember being buried in the stars and fixing my engine.
