Our Watermaker Broke During a Sailing Trip
I wish I could say this story started with dolphins playing at the bow, a glorious sunrise, or even a strong cup of coffee. But no. It began with a blinking light and the soul-crushing realization that our watermaker had stopped working.
Now, if you’ve never worked on a boat before, let me explain: the watermaker is not just “nice to have.” It is the life source. The holy grail. The magical machine that turns salty sea water into glorious freshwater for showers, dishwashing, cooking, brushing teeth, rinsing dive gear, and—you know, staying alive.
So, when it broke, I did what any seasoned yacht crew would do: I smiled. Outwardly, I was calm. Inwardly? Screaming.
The Anatomy of a Watermaker Meltdown
Watermakers are sensitive creatures. One moment they’re humming happily, the next they're throwing tantrums. In our case, we had a small technical issue that turned into a full-blown “the pump is dead, Jim” situation.
I don’t want to bore you with the mechanical details (and frankly, I blacked most of it out due to trauma), but let’s just say: no spares, no quick fixes, and we were miles away from any marina. Welcome to the middle of nowhere, floating with a full boat of guests and no Plan B.
Guests Blissfully Unaware, Sipping Their Coconut Water
Onboard, the guests were thriving. Morning yoga, cold coconuts, rinses after snorkeling, romantic showers before dinner… all of it, as if Poseidon himself was refilling our tanks.
Little did they know, every drop was precious. So precious, I had to make a spreadsheet. I’m not joking, I made a water allocation spreadsheet for the crew.
Crew Showers Turned Into Olympic Sprints
I gathered the crew that evening, sat them down, and gave The Speech.
“Listen, I love you all. But from now on:
One shower a day
Max 1 minute of running water per crew
No hair washing
Absolutely no hosing down the decks unless someone vomits or bleeds on them”
I was met with the quiet nods of understanding... and a little heartbreak. The cook wept quietly into her onion prep. The engineer looked like he’d aged five years. But we all knew: this was survival.
Improv Queen Activated – Operation Freshwater
Now, I may not be MacGyver, but I’ve got local connections, baby. And a SIM card loaded with enough pulsa to launch a rocket.
I began calling every coastal contact I had. Local guides, village chiefs, that one guy we helped with a broken outrigger two years ago; everyone. I explained the situation, begged for freshwater access, and promised future bottles of arak in return.
And bless them, they came through.
The Secret Itinerary Re-route
Originally, we had a nice remote itinerary planned: pristine beaches, snorkeling over untouched reefs, not a single human settlement in sight.
But now? I needed people. Specifically, people with freshwater wells.
So, I revised the itinerary. Subtly.
“Today, we’ll explore the charming fishing village of X!” (Translation: they’ve got a pump and let me fill jerrycans.)
“Tomorrow, we’re anchoring in this rarely-visited bay.” (Translation: there’s a waterfall and I’ve sent the tender to fill our buckets.)
Nobody noticed the switch. The guests thought it was all part of the plan. I smiled. I guided. I cracked jokes.
I was crying on the inside.
The True MVP – The Jerrycan
There is no hero in this story more underappreciated than the humble jerrycan. These plastic warriors were loaded into the tenders, lugged across slippery piers, filled at local wells, and brought back with sloshing glory.
We treated them like royalty. The crew practically held ceremonies when they returned.
Shower Time Became a Strategic Operation
To make sure we didn’t run dry, I implemented a system. A shower rota, where crew members had scheduled time slots and a stern warning: “If I hear that water running past two minutes, I will know. I have ears. I will find you.”
(I was mostly joking. Mostly.)
And we still had to serve guests with grace. Do you know how hard it is to do a turndown service while fantasizing about shampoo? Or to give someone a foot rinse while your own feet feel like salt-cured anchovies?
The Art of Illusion – Keeping Guests in Blissful Ignorance
I’m actually quite proud of this part. Not a single guest knew. We pre-filled their rinse buckets. Made sure their shower tanks were topped up manually. Gave them gentle reminders to “try our eco-style rinse!” which just means “don’t you dare leave that water running.”
The guests were delighted by our “mindful water-saving practice.”
I, meanwhile, practiced deep breathing so I wouldn’t cry into the communal drinking supply.
A New Appreciation for Water
You know what? Crisis aside, it did spark some good.
The crew got creative with their hygiene. Wet wipes became currency. Dry shampoo was treated like gold dust. Someone made a hair oil from coconuts. (It didn’t work, but 10/10 for effort.)
And it made me realize how ridiculously easy it is to take water for granted. One week without a watermaker, and suddenly I understood what every survival reality show contestant had been through.
The Sweet, Sweet Return of the Watermaker
After seven days of tight rations, strategic rerouting, and sneaky jerrycan missions, we finally reunited with a spare pump flown in from the mainland. Our engineer kissed it. Literally.
Within hours, the watermaker was humming again. Crew showers turned into celebratory events. I used shampoo twice just because I could.
The guests? Still blissfully unaware. One of them even complimented how "smooth everything seemed to run." I thanked her with a smile so wide my cheeks hurt.
What I Learned from the Great Watermaker Crisis
Would I want to go through it again? Absolutely not.
Am I low-key proud of how we handled it? You bet.
Do I now bow to the watermaker every time I pass it? Yes. Yes, I do.
Here’s what the ordeal taught me:
Always have a backup plan (and a backup to the backup)
Local connections are priceless, treat them like family
The crew is your real MVP, they endured it all with grace and humor
Guests don’t need to know everything, sometimes the best service is the one they never notice
And finally, dry shampoo is sorcery
Final Thoughts (and a Tiny Cry of Relief)
In this glamorous world of sailing yachts, gourmet meals, and sunsets on deck, sometimes we forget that behind the scenes, it’s all hands on deck, literally. A broken part can change everything. A rerouted itinerary can save a trip.
So next time you’re sipping champagne in the tropics, rinsing off sea salt in your en suite shower, just know: somewhere in the back of the boat, someone might be hugging a jerrycan, whispering, “please let this be enough.”
And if that someone was me… don’t worry—I was smiling.
Just crying a little on the inside.
Thank you for reading and now back to happily roaming!