Entering the Great Barrier Reef without a working engine was exciting.
Entering Kupang without one was something else entirely.
I was sailing again with Franz and Mareike from Holly Golightly, who had dealt with their own share of engine problems along the way. They understood what it means when things stop working at the wrong moment—and they didn’t hesitate to help when I started drifting toward an anchored container ship.
At first, I still trusted the pattern. Over the years, my engine had failed a few times—sometimes after engine maintenance and sometimes sailing with the engine on, under slight heel. And each time, I found a way to bring it back.
Neutral.
1500 RPM.
Let it run.
Fifteen minutes later, it would settle.
And I would continue—sometimes for weeks, sometimes for months—without another issue.
Until Kupang.
After a ten-day passage, the engine stopped again. I assumed it would respond the way it always had. But it didn’t.
Franz and Mareike towed me onto a mooring. The boat came to rest, but something in me knew this time was different.
The next morning, I tried again. Same process. Same focus. And then I heard it.
A sharp, high-pitched scream.
Not external. Not a belt.
Internal. Metal.
I shut it down immediately.
A Pattern You Can Ignore—Until You Can’t
This hadn’t been the first time. Each failure had followed a pattern. And each time, I had found a workaround. But beneath that pattern, two problems were developing.
A fuel-related or air issue causing the engine to stall under load.
And finally something deeper—water entering the oil through a leaking head gasket.
The Point of No Return
Clarity came step by step. Together with other sailors, I checked everything. I sent videos back and forth to my mechanic in the Netherlands, Bas-Jan de Boer.
And then—the confirmation. Metal particles in the oil.
That’s the moment a problem stops being manageable.
The Decision
I didn’t want to be stuck in East Timor. There was no reliable way to repair the engine there. I wanted to get to Bali. And I believed I could.
With wind in the forecast, help leaving the anchorage, and assistance on arrival, it felt doable.
So I left.
I tacked out of Kupang, stayed clear of the FADs, and settled into 30–60 minute sleep cycles. It was a four day sail and I loved how fast we sailed, at 7 knots beam reach I had a great time sailing.
But during my sail I got a bad feeling. The person who was supposed to assist me on arrival did not respond to my messages.
That changed everything.
Alone, But Not Unseen
I called the Coast Guard. And reached the Bali Coast Guard with the help of the dutch KNRM Coast Guards. Bali Coast Guard explained that when I was sailing in the area of the other islands they where my contact persons. Unfortunately no one else responded but Bali Coast Guard. They kept an eye on me as I approached their waters.
When I finally entered the area, there was a shared sense of relief. And then the message came. There had been flooding. They were needed for rescues in Denpasar.
Suddenly, everything made sense. The debris. The tree trunks drifting past. The huge amount of water, flowing like a river, coming from the island.
Two Hours That Became Six
I was two sailing hours away from Serangan.
Then the wind disappeared.
No engine.
Currents running up to six knots, pushing north to south.
What had been manageable became critical.
Franz and Mareike were on the phone.
“You’re never going to make it. The current is too strong.”
Holding the Line
Together with my shore navigator Tim Lemeer, I plotted a route north, underneath Nusa Penida.
I set the autopilot and followed it.
Three knots of boat speed going north!
For a moment, there was relief.
But then I had to turn west toward Serangan.
With limited speed, I was being set toward breaking waves on the reef.
Anchor ready.
Fully alert.
This was no longer about progress.
This was about keeping me and my boat safe.
Arrival
Six hours earlier I managed to contact Ruth from Isle Marine Services. She sent a dinghy to come out to pick me up. They guided me onto a mooring. And I could rest safely at the mooring.
The next morning, a different phase began— figuring out what to do with the engine.
Five Weeks That Moved Fast
What followed took only five weeks. I was on it day and night, also because of the time differences in The Netherlands and the UK.
And it moved fast—because of the people around me.
John Reader connected me to Peter Ball,
who introduced me to the mechanic he trusted: Nunung.
Vivi Oktavia of Kokoba Marine helped organize the import. Now I could import the engine at 0% tax instead of the usual 60–70% import tax in Indonesia.
And Beta Marine UK supported the analysis and gave me a discount on the new engine.
Other sailors thought along. Questioned. Advised. Sometimes helpful. Sometimes conflicting. Because this world—marine engines and systems—is still largely a man’s domain. As a solo woman, that is both a blessing and a challenge.
Support is there.
But the decision is yours.
Choosing Certainty
I had three options:
Rebuild.
Adapt.
Replace.
Indonesia has skilled people who can make almost anything work. But “working” isn’t the same as reliability offshore.
And the next leg was the Indian Ocean. That made the decision clear. I chose certainty. A new engine.
With support of my husband Mark, I was able to buy the engine and have it shipped and installed in Bali.
Not Done Yet
Even then, it wasn’t seamless.
During the test run, reverse gear was not working. More adjustments followed.Then finally—the mechanic stepped off the boat.
Within the hour, I left.
Into Lombok
The passage toward Lombok demanded a reliable engine.
Currents. Traffic. Timing.
This time, I wasn’t managing a problem.
I was relying on something that had to work.
And it did.
What This Taught Me
I took care of my engine. Before every departure, I checked everything:
oil level, coolant, seawater strainer, belts, any sign of leakage.
There was never dirty fuel. No skipped maintenance. And along the way, I had all servicing done properly—by professionals, in each country I passed through.
In New Zealand, to my surprise after a full service, the issue appeared again.
The mechanics checked the engine and told me there was nothing wrong.
My mechanic, Bas-Jan de Boer, said it clearly:
he sees many engines neglected —this wasn’t one of them.
And still, it failed.
Looking back, the first signs were already there—not long after I bought the boat. At the time, I believed it was simple. Air in the system from motor sailing under heel.
A useful lesson, I thought. Something to avoid next time. But it wasn’t that simple.The problem didn’t start in Kupang. It didn’t even start in Indonesia.
It had been there all along. Quiet. Intermittent.
Was it the strain of the Panama Canal — running above my normal RPM for hours to maintain minimum speed with four line handlers and an advisor on board?
Maybe. Maybe not. We will never know. And that’s part of it too.
Not everything at sea has a clear cause.
Not every failure comes with a clean explanation.
What matters is how you respond when something does break.
I’ve learned to trust this: everything will be okay in the end.
If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.
Out here, you don’t control everything.
But you do choose how you move forward.
And I trust in a good outcome—
even when, in the moment, it doesn’t look that way at all.
My name is Jacqueline Evers from The Netherlands. Solo sailing around the world in my 27 foot sloop. While my husband and son may have chosen a different path, their unwavering support fuels my solo pursuit of this lifelong dream.
Not confined by age or the constraints of conventional life, in my 50s, I bravely departed from the rat race, trading it for the serenity of the open sea. Through my unscripted videos and blogs, I offer a glimpse into the authentic tapestry of my sailing
🔗 Explore my Adventures: YouTube, Polarsteps & Instagram
📸 Feel connected to my journey: Buy a t-shirt or sweater in the Loveworkx Shop
🌟 Support the Voyage: Join on Patreon or contribute via PayPal
Please Subscribe and Join me as I sail Around the World… 🌍