Ok, Ok, I can feel the snicker packets coming right back over the Internet. I’m at a marina, Utsch’s in Cape May. It’s not because of the Northeaster with 50 knot winds they are talking about for early tomorrow morning; I’ve got the big Guardian anchor and 120 feet of chain down in the bilge. It’s not comfort; I’m more comfortable on an anchor than listening to dock creak and loud parties on other boats. No, it’s fear, in this case of, …The Americans.
Let’s back up to last night. Oh, the marina welcome bag with a bottle of wine, some Biscotti, and information on the area was pretty nice. As I said to a new friend who retreated in here with me, “I always wondered how the other half lives.”
Anyway, yesterday: The forecast wind never arrived. We all sat around on a reasonably warm and pleasant day. I rowed around the mooring and chatted with people. I persuaded Don, a new sailor who just bought a boat in CT and is making his first learning cruise home to Houston, TX, to try setting out a stern anchor. I told him that it was not just for comfort in the current, he could adjust it to keep his boat from sailing on her anchor and worrying it out of its set. It would also be there as a backup if his main anchor let go.
Late in the afternoon, a delightful and rugged Canadian couple who spent eight years rebuilding their boat and are now sailing it to their new home in Panama invited me over for dinner. We had just finished our pleasant dinner when we heard a roar. I looked out the companionway and the wind was starting to blow suddenly. She said, “20, 30…”
I said, “I’ve got to go.”
I heard her say. “40”, as I was climbing down into the dinghy.
Rowing back was an adventure. The current was fortunately with me and the side with the boarding ladder was in the lee but it was quite clear that I was going to have to make it on the very first try. It brought back memories of some of the short strip airports I used to land at.
The Coast Guard rescue boat zoomed past close abeam as I climbed aboard and I could see that many of the boats in the anchorage had their running lights on and the pattern of all the lights was changing quickly.
Since I hadn’t been there to tend to the stern anchor properly, Strider was now broadside to the wind and the strains were enormous. It’s the first time I have seen three strand nylon creeping slowly through a cleat with the standard turn and two hitches. The boat was bucking like she was underway in a seaway.
Someone had come in and anchored just to leeward of me and it was going to be a mess if I dragged. I let out stern anchor which brought me closer and closer to the other boat. Better I figured to be frighteningly close than to drag down on it. I had a boat length to spare when I had eased off enough on the stern anchor to bring her nearly head to wind which eased things considerably.
I carefully led the stern anchor line up around the boat through a bow cleat, laying it inside the toe rail and checking each foot to be sure that nothing would snag and making it fast forward. It was still like a iron bar but a kick with the engine (which I had started warming up the instant I climbed aboard) gained me enough slack to cast it off the stern cleat. Strider instantly swung into a comfortable lie with an anchor off each bow. I ran the stern anchor line back through the block on the midships cleat to the jib sheet winch, slacked it way off to lie briefly on the single main anchor long enough to cast it off the cleat completely, and then cranked until the boat was lying midway between the anchors and far enough to the side of the other boat to give both of us a little peace of mind.
Strider was now lying reasonably easily and felt quite secure. I could turn my attention to the chaos on the rest of the anchorage. I could see by the Coast Guard’s floodlight that the fellow I had persuaded to put out a stern anchor way lying by the stern and dragging slowly toward the beach. I patted myself on the back for that one. Without the second anchor buying him some time, he would have already been a salvage situation.
The two big ketches in the anchorage, one a subject of my previous post, had both dragged and were right up to the rocks with engines running. The both got out to clear water and then started attempting to anchor. They would find about the farthest inshore position that the boat should end up in, feed out some chain, put tension on it immediately, and start dragging back. Then they would pull it in and motor out to try a slightly different spot. One ketch finally got itself secured and the other then started the strangest odyssey I’ve seen in a while.
A fellow from the anchored ketch motored over to the other and climbed aboard. The boat then made a couple attempts to anchor. For some reason, they seemed to need to make a 360 turn in each place they tried and the apparent lack of understanding of the leeway of a big shoal draft boat in a strong wind and the effects of the current made it a hair raising thing to watch. They passed within a boat length astern of the fellow riding to his stern anchor and I heard him yelling at them on the radio.
Over and over they attempted to anchor using the method they tried unsuccessfully the morning before. I guess they didn’t want to try the one I told them which worked the very first time because of the fellow getting his hand mangled in the winch. Handling the chain and windlass is a completely separate issue than the advice I was giving them. If you can’t safely take the strain of the rode at some point in the process, you are never going to come to anchor.
Eventually, they seemed to give up and started a tour of the anchorage like a small child seeking succor and comfort, in and out among the boats, back and forth in the channel. Strider now felt secure enough for me to turn in but I couldn’t stop watching this new “Flying Dutchman”. There wasn’t much I could do if she came my way but I wasn’t going to sleep waiting for the possible crash. Sure enough, one of her excursions took her so close to my bow that her keel must have been just a couple feet above my anchor rodes. I screamed unprintable bloody murder at them. They attempted to anchor a bit up the harbor from me, unsuccessfully again. A while later, they finally got the hook to set about 100 yards away back down the harbor on the other side of me and I turned in for a sound sleep.
I woke up this morning and no one was on the rocks. One of the Canadians cruising in a small centerboarder or swing keel sloop did go up on the beach farther down but was able to push himself off by wading in. The big ketch was exactly in the direction the strong winds forecast for tomorrow morning are expected to blow from. I noticed on my row up the harbor to talk to my friend who had been saved by his stern anchor that she was still riding on fair weather scope.
Don and I decided that we could probably ride out the coming weather with a full day to prepare our gear but that we couldn’t risk sharing the anchorage with these two loose cannons in the dark. I’m due for a resupply, laundry, and I would like to see some of the town of Cape May. It all added up to an easy decision so I’m here at a comfortable marina dock waiting for Don to have a nap so we can go up and take a look at the town. I spoke to my dinner hosts on the way out and I won’t be surprised to see them come in before long. They were also quite concerned about the two clueless ketches that will be just upwind of them early tomorrow morning when it is expected to be blowing harder than it did last night.
Let’s back up to last night. Oh, the marina welcome bag with a bottle of wine, some Biscotti, and information on the area was pretty nice. As I said to a new friend who retreated in here with me, “I always wondered how the other half lives.”
Anyway, yesterday: The forecast wind never arrived. We all sat around on a reasonably warm and pleasant day. I rowed around the mooring and chatted with people. I persuaded Don, a new sailor who just bought a boat in CT and is making his first learning cruise home to Houston, TX, to try setting out a stern anchor. I told him that it was not just for comfort in the current, he could adjust it to keep his boat from sailing on her anchor and worrying it out of its set. It would also be there as a backup if his main anchor let go.
Late in the afternoon, a delightful and rugged Canadian couple who spent eight years rebuilding their boat and are now sailing it to their new home in Panama invited me over for dinner. We had just finished our pleasant dinner when we heard a roar. I looked out the companionway and the wind was starting to blow suddenly. She said, “20, 30…”
I said, “I’ve got to go.”
I heard her say. “40”, as I was climbing down into the dinghy.
Rowing back was an adventure. The current was fortunately with me and the side with the boarding ladder was in the lee but it was quite clear that I was going to have to make it on the very first try. It brought back memories of some of the short strip airports I used to land at.
The Coast Guard rescue boat zoomed past close abeam as I climbed aboard and I could see that many of the boats in the anchorage had their running lights on and the pattern of all the lights was changing quickly.
Since I hadn’t been there to tend to the stern anchor properly, Strider was now broadside to the wind and the strains were enormous. It’s the first time I have seen three strand nylon creeping slowly through a cleat with the standard turn and two hitches. The boat was bucking like she was underway in a seaway.
Someone had come in and anchored just to leeward of me and it was going to be a mess if I dragged. I let out stern anchor which brought me closer and closer to the other boat. Better I figured to be frighteningly close than to drag down on it. I had a boat length to spare when I had eased off enough on the stern anchor to bring her nearly head to wind which eased things considerably.
I carefully led the stern anchor line up around the boat through a bow cleat, laying it inside the toe rail and checking each foot to be sure that nothing would snag and making it fast forward. It was still like a iron bar but a kick with the engine (which I had started warming up the instant I climbed aboard) gained me enough slack to cast it off the stern cleat. Strider instantly swung into a comfortable lie with an anchor off each bow. I ran the stern anchor line back through the block on the midships cleat to the jib sheet winch, slacked it way off to lie briefly on the single main anchor long enough to cast it off the cleat completely, and then cranked until the boat was lying midway between the anchors and far enough to the side of the other boat to give both of us a little peace of mind.
Strider was now lying reasonably easily and felt quite secure. I could turn my attention to the chaos on the rest of the anchorage. I could see by the Coast Guard’s floodlight that the fellow I had persuaded to put out a stern anchor way lying by the stern and dragging slowly toward the beach. I patted myself on the back for that one. Without the second anchor buying him some time, he would have already been a salvage situation.
The two big ketches in the anchorage, one a subject of my previous post, had both dragged and were right up to the rocks with engines running. The both got out to clear water and then started attempting to anchor. They would find about the farthest inshore position that the boat should end up in, feed out some chain, put tension on it immediately, and start dragging back. Then they would pull it in and motor out to try a slightly different spot. One ketch finally got itself secured and the other then started the strangest odyssey I’ve seen in a while.
A fellow from the anchored ketch motored over to the other and climbed aboard. The boat then made a couple attempts to anchor. For some reason, they seemed to need to make a 360 turn in each place they tried and the apparent lack of understanding of the leeway of a big shoal draft boat in a strong wind and the effects of the current made it a hair raising thing to watch. They passed within a boat length astern of the fellow riding to his stern anchor and I heard him yelling at them on the radio.
Over and over they attempted to anchor using the method they tried unsuccessfully the morning before. I guess they didn’t want to try the one I told them which worked the very first time because of the fellow getting his hand mangled in the winch. Handling the chain and windlass is a completely separate issue than the advice I was giving them. If you can’t safely take the strain of the rode at some point in the process, you are never going to come to anchor.
Eventually, they seemed to give up and started a tour of the anchorage like a small child seeking succor and comfort, in and out among the boats, back and forth in the channel. Strider now felt secure enough for me to turn in but I couldn’t stop watching this new “Flying Dutchman”. There wasn’t much I could do if she came my way but I wasn’t going to sleep waiting for the possible crash. Sure enough, one of her excursions took her so close to my bow that her keel must have been just a couple feet above my anchor rodes. I screamed unprintable bloody murder at them. They attempted to anchor a bit up the harbor from me, unsuccessfully again. A while later, they finally got the hook to set about 100 yards away back down the harbor on the other side of me and I turned in for a sound sleep.
I woke up this morning and no one was on the rocks. One of the Canadians cruising in a small centerboarder or swing keel sloop did go up on the beach farther down but was able to push himself off by wading in. The big ketch was exactly in the direction the strong winds forecast for tomorrow morning are expected to blow from. I noticed on my row up the harbor to talk to my friend who had been saved by his stern anchor that she was still riding on fair weather scope.
Don and I decided that we could probably ride out the coming weather with a full day to prepare our gear but that we couldn’t risk sharing the anchorage with these two loose cannons in the dark. I’m due for a resupply, laundry, and I would like to see some of the town of Cape May. It all added up to an easy decision so I’m here at a comfortable marina dock waiting for Don to have a nap so we can go up and take a look at the town. I spoke to my dinner hosts on the way out and I won’t be surprised to see them come in before long. They were also quite concerned about the two clueless ketches that will be just upwind of them early tomorrow morning when it is expected to be blowing harder than it did last night.