The fog is thick.  Everything on the boat is dripping wet as though it had just been plunged and pulled from the sea itself.  The shore is only 200 yards away, but not even a shadow of a structure can be made out.  The fog acts as a curtain isolating me in an anchorage where I am the only boat who’s hooked onto the muddy bottom.  It’s Saturday morning.  I connect to the world I know is there, but cannot see through the 7:00 a.m. NPR news broadcast on the radio.  I’ve got some work to begin.  Coffee is a good start.

My engine is running up for a few seconds then settling back down once every 30 – 60 minutes.  I pulled out my Marine Diesel Engines book by Nigel Calder and have some ideas on how to start trouble shooting the engine.  I am guessing it is either a clogged primary filter or a misfiring cylinder due to a bad injector.  The newly forming little puffs of white smoke in my exhaust point towards atomized fuel that wasn’t burned.  It would also explain why the RPMs don’t increase when the audible run up begins.  I think the cylinder is occasionally firing then stopping again.  I’ll open up the fuel lines to each injector one at a time while the engine is running to see if I can hear a slow down.  If I don’t, then I know that cylinder isn’t firing.

Pulled the dingy off the davits and it is dancing on its painter just behind Jargo’s transom.  The dog has earned a long walk, but the fog has to show me where I can land the dink first.  More coffee.  There’s a shadow coming in through my opening port.  That means the sun is making itself known.  Shouldn’t be long now before the fog must start to give way to sun’s heat.  It’s a good day, but a strong cold front is coming through tonight.  I need to get ready to hunker down through Sunday and Monday.  May reset the anchor this evening to get ready for the North winds.

Lee