Anchor Drills: Keeping One's Humility in Check

Sometimes a view like this doesn't come easy!

Life afloat offers many moments when you kick back and think, "THIS is the life." These moments usually involve a spectacular sunset, a perfectly calm anchorage in a beautiful bay, and, more often than not, are accompanied by an adult cocktail of some sort. Yes. Cruising is full of moments like these where you truly cannot believe how lucky you are to be living this life. A-men.

But cruising is also full of moments when you curse your choices and would do anything to be back amidst the convenience of land, away from the rigorous challenges that boat life offers in spades.

Those moments are too many to list, but one such instance is when you try - over and over and OVER again - to set your anchor only to have it drag. Every. Damn. Time. Mix in an audience of fellow boaters, throw in a couple of screaming kids, and you have yourself a one way ticket to the nut house, my friends.

Let me explain...

Anchoring, for the most part, is pretty straightforward; find a spot, drop anchor (with appropriate scope), back down on said anchor (to dig it in nice and solid), check that anchor (we usually dive it) and relax. Scott and I consider ourselves pretty okay at this drill... I mean, we've never ever dragged (touch wood) and we have a rather robust ground tackle set up, so at anchor, we sleep well. We don't fancy ourselves experts at anything, but after having anchored hundreds of times - we sort of feel like we know what we're doing in this department. Until we don't. 

The other day we returned to our quiet and peaceful Hansen Bay to rejoin our friends, and went to "drop the hook" as it were. We got the babies in their seats, pacified them with fig newtons, and Isla and I took our spots on the bow (she likes to be up there to "help" me, she stays very clear of the windlass). Typically, when the sun is shining overhead as it usually does in these parts, it's easy to find a nice sandy spot by the color of the water. On this day, however, it was overcast making identifying the bottom difficult at best and, we later learned, the bottom of this bay is sort of famous for being a mixed bag.

It was about 4pm when we arrived which meant the babies would be squawking and wanting some dinner in an hour. No biggie, we had time. We found a spot we thought looked good, I dropped the anchor, letting our our initial 3 or 4:1 scope, snubbing the chain and giving Scott the hand signal for "okay to back down". Under normal circumstances, this process takes all of five or seven minutes. Scott backs down, the anchor holds fast and when we are sure we are secure, we let out a bit more scope (5:1) and snub off our line for good.

This time, however, when Scott backed down, the anchor just skipped along the bottom. It'd grab for a second, and then start skipping along some more. I gave Scott the signal for "skipping across the bottom" (which is basically me making a wavy motion with my hand, very official), and then told him we needed to go for it again. Luckily, we have a windlass (which is a mechanical drum to raise and lower the chain) so the process of re-anchoring is no where near as laborious an effort as it is for some (Note: we LOVE our windlass). Up she came. We motored around some more. Scott and I discussed where to try next. And we got into position. I dropped the anchor, let out the scope, Scott backed down, the anchor once again skipped happily along the bottom.

Okay. Deep breath. No biggie. Third times a charm, right?

Wrong. Skippy McSkipperton again.

By now the babies were starting to pipe up and the fig newtons were doing nothing to quell them. Isla, too, was growing impatient because she had seen her buddies on the beach and was demanding in a whiny voice to go "RIGHT NOOOOOW" to be with her friends. Have you ever tried to reason with a toddler? It's not effective and utterly frustrating. "Mommy and daddy need to anchor, honey" I told her in a very strained but calm voice, "We can't go to the beach until we anchor so mommy needs you to be a very good and quiet girl right now and sit still." She did not get the memo and maintained her position of defiance. I ignored as best I could and tried to focus on finding a new spot.

"Did you see any sand," Scott yelled up to me, the annoyance starting to find it's way into his voice.

"Not really, it looks a little scoured out and rocky," I yelled back doing nothing to hide my frustration.

By now our buddy Eben had paddle boarded over to give us his two cents on the matter. We tried to anchor closer to our friends at his suggestion, the logic being it worked for them, surely it would work for us? Eben had seen sand down there when he scoped out the area the other day. Anchor down, scope out, back down. Skipskipskipskipskipskipskip.

Okay. This was getting ridiculous.

It was now about 4:45 and the babies, still strapped in their seats, were pitching epic fits. Isla was non-stop whining about going to the damn beach and Scott and I were at each other's throats.

"What if we try over there?" I asked him pointing to a spot in between a couple boats closer to shore.

"Because over THERE we are too close to that other boat and those ROCKS, BRITTANY," Scott seethed.

Haven had kicked it up a notch and was now wailing. Have I mentioned how loud this child is? She is very, VERY loud. 

"Well, then, SCOTT, do YOU have any OTHER ideas?" I retorted. I went below, grabbed a baby carrier and strapped Haven to my chest doing the frantic mommy bounce to try and quiet her. It worked, for a while.

Back up on to the bow I went where we tried - and failed - yet again. 

Serenity now. Serenity now. Serenity now. Serenity now.

By now, the beach was full of onlookers, fellow boaters were watching from their cockpits and I think even a few snorkelers had popped their heads out of the water to see what the heck this stupid boat that was motoring all over the place was doing.

Babies were wailing. Isla was whining. Mommy and Daddy were beyond frustrated. The stress level was high.

"I'm going to get you one of those marriage saver headsets" Scott threatened, "this is NOT working."

I cringed. No! Not the headset thingies!! (Sorry to those folks who love them, they just give me flashbacks to my days as a sales clerk at Old Navy. Note: we *will* have those dreaded things by the end of the season.)

To say we were humiliated would be a huge understatement. 

Finally, after another heated exchange between Scott and myself about where the hell to anchor, he put the boat into gear and zoomed - and I mean zoomed - to a completely different area of the anchorage and yelled, "DROP IT."

I did, but not without saying a little prayer first.

The anchor fell, I paid out the chain, and we backed down. 

I held my breath.

Pleaseholdpleaseholdpleaseholdpleasehold...

He revved up the engine a little more and a little more in reverse.

Pleaseholdpleaseholdpleaseholdpleasehold...

It held! 

We were secure!!

Scott turned off the engine and jumped in the water to check and make sure our anchor was set. It was. I got the babies their dinner. Isla got a cookie. All was right in the world. Almost instantly, the mood on our boat returned to happy. Scott and I had a little chuckle about what a ridiculous drill that was and, within five minutes, it was almost as if the whole thing never happened.

We still needed those drinks though. BAD.

Such is the bipolar cruising life. One minute your loving it. The next, you are cursing it. And then you are loving it again. Love, curse, love, curse. And so it goes. Sigh.

Like golf or tennis, sailing is a game that can never be mastered - so it's best you remember that lest you find yourself getting a humility check in some tropical paradise too. Sometimes these views come at a price.

The Feeling of Calm

"And right now there is a very unique weather phenomenon happening in the Virgins..." we were listening to Chris Parker giving his morning weather report on our single sideband radio, a report which unfortunately coincides with breakfast time meaning picking up the whole thing between baby screams and toddler demands is near impossible.

"Momma! More yogurt please"
"....cold front.....creating a dam effect..."
(Various baby screeches and yelps looking for more food)
"....significant northerly swell..."
"Momma! More yogurt!!"
(more baby screeches)
"...and now for the Mona Passage..."

And that was about all I got. Something about a weather phenomenon, demands for yogurt and significant swell. I got the yogurt and the report for our area had ended.

***

I've written a few times about rolly anchorages. At best they are uncomfortable, at worst they are unbearable. They are, without a doubt, one of the negative aspects of living on a boat and cruising because no matter what, you will experience them at some time or another.  The past three days found us smack in the middle of the "unique weather phenomenon" Chris spoke of which just so happened to make our northerly exposed anchorage somewhere between uncomfortable and untenable. We, along with our buddy boat Necesse, had already moved once (from Caneel to Hawksnest Bay) in anticipation of the weather and subsequent wacky swell. Unfortunately for us, the anchorage that would have provided the best coverage was completely full (many other boats were also in search of calm), meaning we had to take the next best which, as it turned out, wasn't good at all.

"We need to move first thing in the morning" I said to Scott at 2:30am when the rolling began to peak. Our boat was rocking back and forth aggressively, so much so that laying in bed actually required effort and core strength. I could hear the books falling off our shelves and the contents in our cupboards kept threatening to bust out of their containment. Of course being a mom meant the only thing I was really concerned about was the kids and their precious sleep. Isla was stirring and complaining that her belly hurt, and upon the next roll which produced a particularly loud clanking noise from somewhere (we didn't have time to investigate) the babies started to wail.

Crap.

Up to the v-berth I went to calm them and nurse them back to sleep.  All was quiet for a brief moment when all of a sudden I heard the loudest, most terrifying banging noise coming from the bottom of the boat, followed by a shuddering thud. "What the..." Every subsequent roll I brought a BANG followed by a reverberation. My heart started beating double time. "Holy ***, we've broken from our mooring and run aground!" I thought. With the babies on each boob I yelled, very loudly and slightly panicked, to Scott. I didn't hear him.

BANG. Shudder. BANG. Shudder. Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod.

The babies were full-blown screaming now, terrified. I frantically put them back in their bunk and rushed on deck to see what was going on.

"Scott! What is happening?" I panicked.

"I tried to lower the centerboard to slow down the roll" he said back as he labored to crank it back up.

PHEW.

BANG. Shudder. BANG. Shudder. 

Babies screamed in surround.

BANG. Shudder. BANG. Shudder. 

We needed to move.

Unfortunately it was 3am meaning that moving was really not an option for us. I got the babies back to sleep, calmed Isla and got her back down and Scott got the centerboard up so the rolling no longer produced the horrible vibrations and noises. Exhausted and slightly nauseous, I retreated back to our bunk until daylight. Sleep evaded me the rest of the night.

***

By daylight our buddy boat had dropped her mooring in search of a calmer anchorage and we followed suit minutes later. The swell had gained size and momentum during the night and motoring into it as we exited the harbor turned our boats into aggressive hobby horses (broncos?). Because we had left in such a hurry, we didn't have time to properly prepare. It was raining. The boat was uncomfortable and stuff was everywhere. I had the kiddos down below, hungry and tired, and all three wailing and wanting to be held by mommy. Scott tried to settle our boat in the wind and waves and I worked on calming the kiddos. To say this little passage was "unpleasant" would be a very large understatement. Thankfully, it was short. 

Thirty minutes later we were in Francis Bay. The new anchorage was better, but still not great. I was exhausted and could feel the familiar "tired headache" kicking in. Scott got to work making fresh waffles for all of us and our friends came over for a couple hours of playtime and breakfast. By noon it became apparent that our new home was going to be just as bad as the previous one and once we heard that the swell was only going to get worse, we dropped our mooring again - the third time in two days - in search for a calm bay and a good nights' sleep.

After a beautiful two hour sail while the kids were all napping (so much nicer to sail while they sleep!) we finally dropped the hook on the other side of the island - the only area where we were certain to find protection from the dreaded roll - and found our calm in Hansen Bay. It was blissful and beautiful. Not a wave, ripple or roll in sight.

I don't think I have ever appreciated a flat anchorage, and a good nights' sleep, so much as I did yesterday.

The feeling of calm. Siigh.

Swimming at Anchor: You're Not Always Safe in the Water

And, no, I am not talking about sharks here.  Bad things seem to be happening to folks around us which, I must admit, is slightly unnerving.  First, there was the attack on the cruisers in the anchorage next to us, then our very good friends had their dinghy stolen (miraculously it was recovered), and - to add insult to injury (or visa versa) - one of those same friends was a potentially deadly accident while swimming in a popular anchorage.

Most boat folks love the water.  The two sort of go hand in hand.  Our friend, Mario, is no exception and everywhere he and his beautiful partner, Karine, sail they take to the water to either spearfish, swim or snorkel.  They also happen to be supremely awesome and kind people so when mutual friends of ours anchored nearby, Mario offered to dive their anchor for them (a good habit to get into each time you drop the hook to make sure your anchor is properly set and dug in, we do this every time we anchor).  As he was swimming over to the boat, another cruiser's dinghy came zooming through the anchorage at top speed, oblivious to the fact that Mario was in the water.  Our friend, Eugene, who was on the bow of boat who's anchor was being checked screamed at the dinghy to tell them there was a swimmer in the water - but it was too late.  They never saw Mario and ran over him with their boat.  Luckily, Mario was able to dive down far enough to ensure the hit was not lethal (this sort of accident can absolutely be deadly) but he still suffered lacerations on his back from the propeller, and recieved several severe bruises on his head and shoulder as a result.  It is truly a miracle it was not worse and we are so happy he will be fine.

There are two very important lessons to take away from this near tragedy:

1. Be a cautious and watchful dinghy driver at ALL times:  but especially when you are driving through an anchorage.  When you are motoring through a crowded anchorage, do not go at top speed and be very mindful that there might be swimmers in the water.  Proceed with caution and keep a watchful eye.  Same goes for driving your big boat (though they rarely hit the speeds that dinghies do).
2. As a swimmer, do NOT assume you can be seen.  If you are swimming in a busy/crowded anchorage do not assume other boaters can see you, it is surprisingly difficult to see a lone swimmer or snorkeler in the water, especially during certain light.  Take precaution and use some sort of personal safety buoy (no affiliation) to alert dinghies and local boats to your whereabouts.  You do not need to buy anything fancy, a simple white milk jug or an old (brightly colored) life jacket attached to a tether could do the trick as well.

The swim buoy Mario and Karine will tow from now on to help ensure they are seen in the water.

Big thanks to Mario and Karine of The Good Life for letting us share their story in the hopes of helping others.

Photos courtesy of Mario and Karine of The Good Life catamaran.

Holy Rollers

A rolly anchorage can lead to a Kurtz-like madness

Last night found us in a most uncomfortable anchorage.  I've written about them before, and while I know that rolly anchorages are par for the course in these parts and hearing people complain about them can get a tad...annoying...last night's was particularly unpleasant and since so many of you are really digging my "brutal honesty" posts, I'll tell you a little bit about it.

Due to squally weather and strong counter-currents, we did not make it to our destination of Iles de Saintes yesterday evening as planned.  Which is why we found ourselves in a less than desirable anchorage on the southernmost tip of Guadaloupe.  "Looks like it might be rolly" Scott said with defeat.  The aggressively tick-tocking masts in the distance confirmed his suspicions.

We dropped the hook, had our friends over for dinner and turned in for the night early.  I fell asleep easy, which falsely led me to believe that maybe just maybe I'd get a good night's rest.  The fact that I am writing this post running on fumes with bloodshot eyes and a bonafide dreadlock from my head tossing and turning so much on my pillow might indicate otherwise.

I first awoke two hours into my slumber to the boat rolling very aggressively side to side and all the wonderful noises that accompany this sort of movement.  Clank clank CLANK, clank clank CLANK.  Tap tap, tap tap.  Slap SLAP, slap SLAP. Tink, tink TINK, tink, tink TINK.  Bump bump, bump bump.  Creak, craaaack, creak, craaack....All these noises greeted me with exhuberance.  In case my onomatopoeia didn't do the trick, this boat - unlike our last boat - makes an incredible amount of noise when she rolls and before you suggest I try ear plugs or white noise  - save it.  They don't work.  The boat noise always wins.  Believe me, I have tried.

There are very few things that are more annoying than irregular noises on a boat when you are trying to sleep.  I've been thinking about this for a while, and I think the only thing that even comes close is the vexatious sound of a mosquito (or ten) buzzing around your head.   Both of these things are super annoying and, depending on their severity, border on maddening.  Last nights cacophony of rolliness was the latter.

I sprung out of bed to try to isolate the noises one by one.  Of course by the time I made it into the salon, the rolling would subside slightly and the noises, as if they couldn't taunt me any more, would temporarily abate.  I stood there in darkness; silent and still as a deer in headlights waiting...waiting...ready to pounce on the noise.  Finally, we'd start rolling again and I could get to work.  First, I isolated the culprit of the creaking.  It was the door to the forward head.  I jammed some paper towels between it and the jam trying to quell the squeak.  Nothing.  I tried more paper towels.  Nothing.  After ten minutes of fiddling in complete darkness, I decided the only way to shut this damn door up would be to keep it open.  So I grabbed some twine and suspended it mid-swing by tying it off to a small pad eye that we use for our lee cloths.  Success!  No more creaking.  I went back to bed.

Not an hour later I was jolted awake again.  This time, it was a rhythmic and muffled "bump, bump". Muttering my favorite curse words I clamored out of bed made my way back into the salon.  I repeated my method of discovery, which is not unlike a hunter awaiting it's prey:  stand still, listen intently, wait.  Knowing that it was only a matter of time before the noises reared their ugly heads again, I laid down on the settee and waited for the next surge which came within five minutes.  Bump, bump, bump...I isolated the sound to a cabinet.  Took off my shirt and shoved it inside in an attempt to wedge any void that was causing the noise.  No dice.  Edgar Allen Poe would have felt right at home on this boat, with each sound taunting me like a hushed "nevermore".  I listened closer.  The muffled bump, bump, bump continued.  Dammit.  I opened the cabinet again, looking more closely this time.  Ah ha! A can was rolling and hitting the wall of the bin it was in.  I took my shirt, jammed it in the bin and went back to bed.  "Victory" I thought.

Two hours later I was awoken, yet again, by a more agressive banging sound.  This time, however, it came from outside.  "The halyards must have come loose" I thought to myself.  Halyards clanging against a mast suck.  Period.  I grabbed some line (wasn't about to dig for the bungees) and tied them off with masterful precision.  I stood in anticipatory silence, yet again, to see if my efforts worked.....they did not.  More super sleuth listening indicated the sound was not the halyards at all - but the roller-furling mainsail banging around in the mast.  There was nothing I could do about that.  Defeated, exhausted, and utterly pissed-off, I went back to bed and threw a pillow over my head.

I awoke two more times after that.  One to jam our gimbaled stove *just so* so it didn't make the deplorable "ting ting" sound that ate my brain as we rolled.  Another to tie off yet another creaking door in Isla's room.  If you are counting, that is five times I got out of bed between the hours of 10pm and 6am.  Each time I was up at least 15 minutes booby-trapping our boat and playing McGuyver.  That doesn't include the time I spent laying awake in bed, wide-eyed as I drifted slowly into a Kurtz-like madness.  If you carry the two, this means I got - at most- about four hours of sleep last night.  This is no bueno.

You might wonder where Scott was during all of this?  If your guess was "sleeping", you would be correct.  When I asked this morning during breakfast how he slept last night he replied in a chipper voice, "Pretty good.  I mean, I woke up once or twice, but all in all I got a good night's rest".  Typical.  I took no haste in pointing out that he had me to thank for that.

We upped anchor at 7am and got the hell out of there.  I am happy to report we are now in "The Saintes" in a beautifully idyllic spot in a perfectly un-rolly anchorage.  AMEN to that.

Low Tide

It's official, Black Point is probably my most favorite town in the Exumas.  I sincerely love this place and after being here for eight days, I'm sad to leave today (remember, I get attached).  We've made friends here.  We can walk down the street and say hi to people by name.  Isla has thoroughly enjoyed playing with the local kids and the local kids love her toys and snacks.   We've had a blast exploring by foot, walking along the remote windward beaches, discovering blowholes and footpaths.  Alas, we're aquatic nomads now and growing roots is not on the agenda so we must move on to some place new.  We'll be back though, of that I am certain.

One natural feature that makes this place interesting is the fact that the tides effect the landscape so drastically here in the anchorage.  At low tide, what is usually just a normal strip of beach becomes an incredibly huge and vast stretch of beach.  If you bring your dinghy ashore a the highest of high tide, and return at the lowest of low...you will have to drag your dinghy a VERY long way to get back to deep water.  I love low tide.  There is so much exploring to do when the water recedes and lets you take a peek at what is hiding below it.  Every tide pool is a potential spot to find a little treasure and a leisurely barefoot walk during low tide always produces some cool discoveries.  Shells, crabs, sand patterns and all sorts of interesting things lay in wait for the water to return, or for you to discover them first.

"Life is a tide; float on it. Go down with it and go up with it, but be detached. Then it is not difficult". 

- Prem Rawat

Anchor Alarm

Our anchor alarm set the other night, see the cluster of squiggles in the middle?  That is good. Long, straight lines are bad.

Peace of mind.  It's a great thing to have on land, and an even greater thing to have at sea.  It's why prudent mariners expend a tremendous amount of energy maintaining, preparing, and fixing our boats.  We're always dropping a few coins into that little "black box" in the hopes that our efforts will be repaid with a safe, sound vessel that will take care of us, through thick and thin.

After the squalls the other night, several of you wrote us inquiring about the "anchor alarm" I mentioned on our Facebook Page.  Having an anchor alarm is one relatively easy way to have peace of mind on "the hook" (especially during a squally, moonless night).  A boat will move quite a bit at anchor depending on wind and current, which is fine...but pivoting around your anchor and dragging it are two very different things.  We set an alarm to help alert us to the latter.  We do this whenever we feel that the threat of dragging is real, usually in very strong currents and/or very high winds.  Believe it or not, Scott and I have yet to drag anchor - but there's a first for everything, and it's best to be prepared.

Some people set an anchor alarm using their chart plotters, but for energy reasons, we use our hand held Garmin GPSMAP 78S (we found ours on sale for $100 off, so look for deals) which Scott has loaded with all the marine charts for the areas we plan to sail in the foreseeable future*.  We use re-chargeable batteries that we swap out regularly to ensure it's always ready to go.  This particular unit has a specific 'marine' mode and a built-in anchor alarm setting.  All we do is activate it, set the drag parameters, and we are good to go.  If our boat moves beyond the programmed distance, an alarm sounds.  Not much gets you going faster than the sound of an anchor alarm.  Lucky for us, they've always been false and due to wind shifts or tide changes.

Regarding drag parameters: for us (sailing in the Bahamas and Caribbean), we usually set ours somewhere between 40-80 feet with the average being about 60 feet.  Your setting will depend on a few things: the depth of where you are anchored, the proximity of other boats (or hazards) around you, how much scope you have out and how far you will swing (for example, in a strong current you will possibly swing 180 degrees as opposed to the "normal" 45 or so degrees, so you must set the parameters higher).  We always opt for the highest conservative setting to eliminate as many false alarms as possible.  Scott also wants me to make sure you know to put the unit within arms reach of both crew members, so the "worry wart" (i.e. me) can check it whenever they feel the need without waking the other up (cough cough).

While sleeping well during bad weather is never easy (for me, at least), having an anchor alarm makes it a little easier.  Nighty-night!

*Handheld GPS's are great for many reasons.  If you download the proper charts, your handheld can either be a primary or back up chart-plotter, and a handheld GPS is also very useful for day excursions.  We've used ours several times to locate shoreside attractions or navigate our dinghy into interesting places our boat cannot go.  Furthermore, if you get the proper data cable and software, you can connect your handheld to a laptop, essentially turning your computer into a chart-plotter.  They are a great addition to your cruising kit, in our opinion.

Simple Solutions are Sometimes Best

Isn't it funny how sometimes the cheapest, simplest solution is often the most evasive?  When we put our new anchor on our boat, it became immediately apparent that we'd need a way to prevent it rocking side to side when we were underway.  Tying it off prevented any up/down and forward/back motion, but regardless of how much we tied and how tight we pulled, the side to side rocking could not be quelled.  It might not seem like a big deal to those of you who aren't boaters, but a 73 pound anchor rocking to and fro and banging against the bow roller over and over is not only dangerous, but would make a tremendous ruckus in our boat.  We needed a better way to secure it before we left.

Our first idea was to modify our bow roller to accomodate our specific anchor.  That seemed simple enough.  We called a local metal working company and after they presented us with a quote for over $2,500.00, the decision to go a different route was very easy.

It became comical, actually, how many people were putting their heads together on this thing.  Even guests here at the building we are docked behind came over to offer their two cents on how to rectify our issue.  With each new idea the solution snowballed into something more and more complex.  I'm all for brainstorming, but this was getting out of hand. One afternoon, when Scott and some of our friends were on the bow talking about new rollers, drilling contraptions into the deck, raising the windlass, the addition of a pulley system and god knows what else I said, "We need a block to fit around the top of the anchor, essentially wedging the anchor into the roller, and then we need a hole in the top of that block to lash it down to the roller".   The guys looked at me, looked at the roller, scratched their heads and after a pause replied, "That could work".

And it did.  The very next day Scott fabricated my solution with $25 bucks worth of parts, and a little modification of his own.  What we did was make a block out of pieces of starboard, with a slot down the middle for the anchor shank to fit in.  Scott made the block sightly larger than the bow roller, and then routed out the sides of the block (with the new router I got him for Christmas!) so that it fit in the roller exactly.  With the sides routed out (Scott's brilliant modification) the block will not slide fore or aft, and all I need to do is lash it down to the bowsprit with some line through the hole he drilled though the top.  Make sense?  I'm sure there are other solutions, but we think this will work for now.

It's strangely easy to overcomplicate things on a boat (we've done it time and time again).  But usually, there is a very simple solution for just about any problem.  You just need to clear the table, clear your head and find it - it might mean the difference between $25 and $2,500!

Solid as a Roc(na)

Our anchor is laughably huge.  It is 73 honking pounds of galvanized steel and looks positively ginormous on our bow.  This is just the way we like it.  On our 35 foot Hallberg Rassy, we had a 55 pound Delta as our primary anchor.  It, too, was huge.  People commented on it all the time, "Wow...got an oversized anchor there, huh?"  Why, yes.  Yes we do.  While there aren't too many places on a boat where "more is better", I think your ground tackle is one such place where you're doing yourself a disservice if you don't round up.  You do not want to be the dude in the anchorage with the dinky anchor.  We don't want you to be that dude with the dinky anchor.  People with dinky anchors make cruisers around them really nervous.

So why did we go with a Rocna this time?  Word. Of. Mouth*.  There's really nothing more to it other than the fact that we met many cruisers between Chicago and Trinidad who had them and nary a one had a bad thing to say about 'em.  In fact, most used the word "love" to describe their anchor and would spontaneously launch into an account of some storm in some anchorage where every boat dragged but them.  We heard story after story of Rocna's being put to the test** and passing with flying colors.  Call it the cruising version of "keeping up with the Jones'", call it covetousness, but we wanted one.  Bad.  The fact that they agreed to sponsor us made the deal that much sweeter.

When cruising, you put an insane amount of trust in your anchor***.  There might even be a time when your life depends on it.  Picture this: You are sleeping in your cabin when all of a sudden you hear the wind start howling and something feels different.  You check the GPS.  It is pitch black outside but you know there is a reef behind you now because the wind has unexpectedly shifted and repositioned your boat.  You will be fine as long as you stay put.  Your boat begins to aggressively and erratically lurch and pull at the anchor chain as the wind builds.  The rain starts.  Sheets and sheets of water turn your cabin top into a drum making it difficult to hear anything else.  You turn on the instruments and see the wind is now gusting to forty knots.  It is shrieking and whistling through the rigging and again, there is a reef behind you.  Dragging and re-setting anchor at this moment would be horrible.  Definitely boat threatening and possibly even life threatening.  You, however, are confident you won't budge because you know you set your anchor properly (you dove on it) and you trust your ground tackle (perhaps it's a Rocna?).  Despite this, you decide to do anchor watch shifts anyway because a) you are a prudent mariner and b) you can't trust the folks (the ones with the dinky anchors) around you.  A couple hours pass and by the time the sun rises, the storm has cleared and it's a beautiful day in paradise.  You have a fresh cup of coffee in the cockpit, share a chuckle with your partner about how annoying last night was and jump in the water for a snorkel.

A scenario similar to this will happen to you at some point if you go cruising.  Do you want to worry about dragging?

Dragging anchor can, at best, be a nuisance and, at worst, be catastrophic.  Part of the allure of being on the 'hook' is how peaceful, calm and relaxing it is.  And it really is most of the time.  We chose a Rocna for when it's not.   Because we like a good night's sleep every night.

* As I mentioned in an earlier post, cruisers have strong opinions about gear ESPECIALLY anchors.  We strongly urge you to do your own research when selecting an anchor for your boat.
** An independent anchor performance test compilation consistently showed Rocna to be an outstanding performer. 
*** No amount of anchor can make up for human error.  If you don't know how to anchor properly, it won't matter what size and type of anchor you have, you will most likely drag at some point, possibly often.  There is no "magic" piece of gear in sailing.  Before you rely on a piece of gear (like an anchor) make sure you trust yourself using it first.

Anchor Locker Evolution

There was far too much chain in this anchor locker compartment, plust the compartment was not well constructed.

After two full days of work by two day laborers from Yacht Carpentry Services, our boat has a new anchor locker!  I blogged about my plans for the new locker and, luckily, I was able to orchestrate and oversee those plans rather quickly.  I told these guys what I wanted and they made it happen.  I was a tad bit nervous it wouldn't all fit, but it did and I think this is going to work very well for us!  The glass at the bottom of the locker tapers to the port side where the drain hole is and I poured about a half gallon of water down there and it drained perfectly, no soggy bottom at all!  We'll keep you posted how our new locker works in practice, but either way, this is DEFINITELY better than it was before.

V-berth sealed off, and compartment removed.  First they had to grind down to the fiberglass so that they could attached the new "wall".  Fiberglass powder is very fine and gets EVERYWHERE and is toxic to breath. Hence the wrapping.

Looking down into anchor locker, bottom all ground down and the fiberglass wall is glassed in.

Picture of new fiberglass wall from the v-berth. Note the fine glas powder.  Use a mask when grinding this stuff! It's nasty!

Once the fiberglass cured, a 1/2" hole was drilled in the very bottom port side corner of the anchor locker (and tested).  Then the entire locker got painted with epoxy, including the inside of the drain hole (to seal it). 

Looking down into the new anchor locker.  You can see the drain hole on the lower left corner if you look closely.  The wall prevents any water intrusion from going into the bilge, but enough room for us to access the chain and/or windlass if we need to.

We loaded the new chain into the locker...

New chain at the bottom of the anchor locker...

The drain hole covered by a "midget vent" (some call it a clam shell)

All buttoned up!

Anchor Locker Reconfiguration

The "before" picture of our anchor locker.  This will NOT work for us!

Work on a sailboat is rarely straightforward.  It is not unusual to solve one problem, only to run into another.  Such was the case when we beefed up the anchor chain for this boat from about 100 feet to 275 feet.  It became very clear very quick that the current anchor locker configuration wasn't going to work (as evidenced in the above photo).

I looked at it for a while, pondered some ideas and came up with a plan.  I consulted my dad, texted back and forth with Scott and got TONS of great suggestions and feedback from you all on our Facebook Page.  After doing more research and consultation, I have decided how to remedy our little problem and make it even better than before.

As you can see, our current locker has a divider in it and a small compartment for the chain on the starboard side.   The idea is to be able to have two separate rodes for two different anchors.  It's a great setup, unless you have 275 feet of 3/8 G40 high test chain which takes up a LOT of space.  As such, it must be changed.  Another aspect of this locker that we dislike is the fact that any water that gets into the anchor locker drains down the length of the entire boat into the bilge.  This is no bueno in our opinion.  Because we will be full time cruising and will be anchoring 90% of the time, we need plenty of room for our anchor chain to sprawl out in and we'd prefer if it drained directly overboard, just because we have a bilge doesn't mean we need to fill it.

The divider and box has been removed, lots more room for our chain to live in now!

Here is what I have come up with: we are planning on glassing a complete "wall" of sorts a little aft of where the currrent compartment is. We will remove the existing divider and compartment, and re-paint with epoxy. The new "wall" will be high enough to contain the chain and prevent water intrusion into the v-berth, but not too tall that we cannot access the chain and/or windlass motor if we need/want to.  Furthermore, we will be drilling a 1/2 inch hole (above the waterline of course) on the port side of the anchor locker so water will be able to drain out.  We will then add a stainless steel "eyebrow" to the outside of the hull where the hole is to help deflect any water intrusion that might enter in a seaway.  I considered two holes, but I think we will start with only one and see how we do.  1/2" should do the trick.  This was the system we had on Rasmus and it never clogged up and worked great.

We will add an "eyebrow" like this (technically called a midget vent) to prevent water from coming in underway

In addition, we have a salt-water anchor wash down hose at the bow, so when I raise anchor I will always hose off the chain to free it from any debris and grime.

Any thoughts on this?  The work is being done as I type so speak now or forever hold your peace!

New Anchor and Chain

"Have you thought about the logistics of getting 275 feet of  chain from a store onto the boat?" Scott asked me before he left.  I hadn't.  I just figured we'd buy chain, throw it in the car and put it on the boat.  If you're dealing with 275 feet of 3/8 G4 chain, however, it's not that easy.  Minor oversight.

The whole anchor system thing was one of my jobs and I'd been chipping away at it quite nicely:  I researched and determined what size anchor and chain we wanted (73lb Rocna, 3/8 G4 High Test chain), I worked directly with Rocna and got an awesome deal on a new Rocna Anchor (more on this beast later), I found a company that produces our out-of-production windlass and ordered a new gypsy for it (with the help of a blog follower and some internet super-sleuthing) and I contacted West Marine who agreed to price match Defender for our anchor chain. We were good to go! One thing I forgot about, however, was that moving 400 plus pounds of anchor chain is no easy feat. "I'll figure it out" I told Scott with feigned confidence.  I think he just shook his head.

To simply measure the chain required the man power of two strapping, young West Marine employees.  They laid out the 275 feet along the floor, making a clanking sound for all to hear as it left the barrel (I know because when I checked out the nice girl said, 'Oh so *you* were the one buying the chain').  Lucky for me, my dad is in town for a visit and it was he who had the foresight to ask if we could have a barrel to house the chain and borrow a trolley cart to transport the stuff.  They happily obliged.  I honestly have no idea how I would have gotten all that chain from the store to the boat otherwise because the barrel and the wheel cart were integral to the operation.

This is how it went:  We loaded the chain into the barrel.  Wheeled the barrel out to the car.  Unloaded the chain out of the barrel and loaded it into the car.  Drove home.  Unloaded the chain out of the car into the barrel.  Wheeled the barrel 3/4 of the way to the boat.  Unloaded 1/2 the chain from the barrel so we could lift the barrel and the cart up the step.  Reloaded the chain into the barrel.  Wheeled cart to boat.  Unloaded chain completely.   Laid it out all along the docks and marked it every twenty feet (we used the same system we did on Rasmus). And only THEN we were finally able to load the chain onto the boat.  The whole process took about three hours. Turns out, loading/unloading 275 feet of heavy chain nine or ten times takes a while!  Did I want a beer by the time it was over?  You betcha!

So anyway, our windlass works great with our new gypsy, our new anchor looks downright frightening on the bow, and our incredibly heavy chain is all marked and piled up in the chain locker.  I was worried that our boat would be bow heavy after all of this but you know what?  Our blue beauty barely budged an inch in the water.

The day didn't go off completely without a hitch though (do they ever when working on a boat?); we discovered that the anchor locker will need some modification in order to properly house all the new chain.  It's nothing that some plywood, epoxy and fiberglass can't fix but it is another item added to our to-do list.  But as long as we keep taking two steps forward and only one back, we're making progress!

Marina Life

"Secret Harbor" - one of the many harbors Grenada has to offer

Inspired by a recent post by our friends over at Zero to Cruising, I thought I'd share some of our thoughts on being at a marina versus being at anchor.

First of all, we chose to come to a marina for a few reasons:

1. We were leaving the boat for five weeks (leaving your boat on a mooring or anchor for that length of time is a big, fat "no no") 
2. Carnival is here (yeah, that giant party made famous by the Brazilians) and this particular marina just happens to be on the main drag of the festivities... and, oh yeah 
3. We don't have a dinghy* (you remember this story, right?  We finally gave it away - full disclosure - to a particularly friendly Rasta named Ashley and he's been fixing it up for himself).  

So here we are, dock-bound.

Port Louis Marina, I'll have you know, is top of the line.  It's beautiful, it's protected, there are loads of friendly folks around, there's a pool, a private beach, a restaurant that serves one heck of a pizza, it's walking distance to Grand Anse beach and the showers, oh the showers!...(sigh)...they are 'rain' showers and you can just stand under them and scrub a dub-dub to your little heart's desire...but I digress...

Despite all these wonderful amenities (along with shore power, super fast Internet and all that) there is something just...I don't know...different about being at a marina.  It doesn't really feel like cruising.  In fact, it feels a little tiny bit like cheating.  Everything is so convenient and easy - no monitoring the batteries, no having to run the watermaker, no need to angle our solar panel, no need for me to be a light/power Nazi as I obsessive-compulsively check our battery meter (yeah, I admit it) - things are just hunky dory over here.

So what don't we get?

Well, privacy for one.  They are squeezing three where there would typically be two boats at the moment (lots of people down here avoiding hurricanes and such).  Right now, we are anchored stern-to the dock and the boat next to us (and I mean, right next to us) is bow-to.  This morning I awoke to them having a conversation in their cockpit and, if I could understand what they were saying (which I couldn't as they speak French ), I would've heard every. single. word.  Clear as a bell.  It's weird when I, half asleep (and half dressed), push open our forward hatch with a yawn and lock eyes with our neighbor drinking his morning coffee.

Breeze is also scarce.  No breeze means it's hotter than a tamale down here!  When we are at anchor we are (almost) always pointing into the wind and there is almost always a constant belt of fresh air travelling through the cabin.  Not here.  You know what else comes when there is no breeze?  Bugs. Mosquitoes and flies, specifically (they are evil winged beasts, I tell you!).  You do not know annoying until you sleep in a boat with a mosquito buzzing around your face.

We also find we spend a more money when at a marina.  The restaurant is just a little too close (and the pizza is oh-so good), the grocery store's $2 pre-made sandwiches beckon daily (I'm lazy in the galley) and finally, Island Water World is a hop skip and a jump away, and who the heck can turn down a marine store?  We can't.

Overall, we miss the peacefulness of being at anchor;  being able to jump in the water to cool off, watching the sun set or rise from the cockpit, hearing someone on a distant boat strum their guitar, the solitude, the stillness.  Life at anchor is just, well, nice.

For now - we love our home here at Port Louis Marina and we'll probably be back and forth between here and other places, but we look forward to checking out some other coves and anchorages around Grenada.  This might be one island, but there's still a lot of exploring to do!

Love,
Brittany & Scott

* We will be picking up our new one tomorrow from Island Water World!!  Am I excited?  Like a little girl at Christmas!

The Rolly Anchorage

This is a photo I took in Guadalupe (I think) - it's an example of an "open" anchorage

I can not sleep.  I have been trying for the past few hours but it has continued to evade me.

I am, literally, tossing and turning.

Not because I am not tired, mind you, because I am.  Oh no, we are tossing and turning because we are at (...dun, dun, dun...) - a rolly anchorage.

I don't know if I can adequately do the "rolly anchorage" justice to you land lubbers - but suffice it to say it is the bane of the cruising sailor's existence.   Well, mine at least.

We are anchored at the base of Petit Piton in what would be considered an "open anchorage" meaning it is not protected from swell and waves.  Because this is a tight spot and a marine reserve, anchoring is prohibited here and one must take a mooring instead.  Because of the limited swing room (the circle which a boat will pivot around a point, like a mooring or an anchor), you must also bring a stern line to shore to inhibit movement.  What does that mean?  That our fancy swell bridle that worked so well for us back in the Bahamas will not work here.  Ugh.

What makes a rolly anchorage uncomfortable?  Allow me to break it down for you:

• The boat is moving, inconsistently side to side; rolling about 20 degrees each time.  To stay flat in bed during this kind of undulation you actually have to engage your core and brace yourself lest you roll into your partner.  No bueno.
• Because we are tied, stern to (that's the back end of the boat), to a tree on land and very close to shore - we can hear the breaking of waves.  These are the same waves and swell that are causing us to roll so vigorously.  While breaking waves are wonderful from a shore-side tiki hut, they are not a pleasant sound while on a boat.  Again, this is disconcerting and not conducive to slumber.
• The lines attaching us to the mooring ball are pulling and stretching in such a violent way that they are screeching, stretching, tugging and causing such a ruckus that Scott actually woke up a bit ago and asked "Did you just hear someone scream?"  Nope.  Just the lines. Pulling and wrenching and squeaking and rubbing and overall making some very unpleasant sounds. (This is probably the worst part, actually).
• While we are on the subject of noises - our water tank, which is in our keel, is sloshing back and forth, back and forth adding yet another splashy, gurgley noise to the cacophony.
• The fact that we are trusting our boat (which, as I stated earlier is really close to shore) to a mooring ball.  For those that do not know; a mooring ball is a buoy you tie your boat up to.  Their strength relies on how and how well they are set.  There are many horror stories of people tying up to poorly set moorings only to find themselves broken free and drifting, usually in the wee hours of night and usually in inclement weather.  The pulling sounds mentioned previously only add further to the nightmare that our boat is trying to extricate itself from it.  This, again, is slightly unnerving and not sleep-inducing.

So there you have it.  Can you imagine how uncomfortable it is?  If so - multiply it by ten and you have the idea.

I'm off to try and get a couple hours' sleep before we drop this mooring ball like a bad habit first thing in the morning!

Marking the Anchor

Remember this post from back in January when we spray painted our anchor chain?  Well, (as expected) it didn't last too long.

A huge part of successful anchoring is knowing how much "scope" (chain or rope) to put out.  In most circumstances (for an all chain rode) this is around 5 to 1 (meaning: 5 feet of chain for every 1 foot of depth*, in strong winds we'll go up to 7 to 1).  If you're chain isn't adequately marked it is really, really hard to measure correctly by eyesight.  The difference between sitting comfortably at anchor and dragging into a reef (or out to sea, or into another boat...) can be in a 10 foot miscalculation so knowing where you are on your chain is kind of a big deal.

The past month or so have proven detrimental to the spray paint on our anchor chain.  I have been Squinty McSquintsalot while dropping the hook trying make out the colors marking various lengths; Wait, was that red that just went by?  Are we at fifty feet or eighty feet? Oh - shoot - that's blue...but is it forty or seventy? 

Not good.

We needed something better.

People suggested zip ties and spinnaker cloth - but neither of those sounded too appealing to me or our windlass gypsy - so I kept my eyes peeled for a better option.

I found this product at Budget marine in St. Maarten and let me tell you - I LOVE it.  Scott just put them on last week (we bought six packets of various colors and mark the chain with four in a row, every twenty feet) so we'll see how they stand the test of time - but so far, so good.

Love,
Brittany & Scott

* Make sure to compensate for the distance of the bow roller off the water...On our boat, it's four feet.  So if the depth is 6 feet - we actually scope out as if it were 10.

Slow your Roll!

This is what the swell bridle looks like in practice.  Notice the whitecaps on the horizon?  The ocean is just around that point!

When we left Chicago (as total cruising newbies) we, or at least I, had this vision that all anchorages are protected, cove-like, calm and serene.  For those of you out there who think the same - this is false!  Not all anchorages are created equal!  While there are the rare few that offer all around protection, most do not - and oftentimes you'll find yourself dropping the hook in a place that feels like your bobbing out in the middle of the ocean somewhere.  This is not fun, even in paradise.

There are a number of reasons for this.  Wind direction is the most obvious - as this is what you want to be protected from.  So you find an island or a cay that will block you from that particular direction.  Considering there are hundreds of islands and cays around here, this is not a problem.  The problem, we are learning, is ocean swell.  I don't have the scientific reasoning for this - but basically, it works like this:  the western side of the Bahamas is protected and (relatively) calm, the eastern side is exposed to thousands of miles of ocean and is not.   Huge underwater waves (or swell) can wrap around these islands and make their way to you, causing a seemingly "protected" anchorage to be rolly and very, very uncomfortable.  If the swell is coming from a different direction from the wind (a boat almost always points the direction of the wind at anchor), it can become unbearable.

Such is the case here at Calabash Bay.  Luckily for me, a) I have a teflon enforced stomach and do not get seasick and b) I married someone who sees a problem and finds a solution.  We were sitting down below, pitching and yawing, rolling and bobbing when Scott said, "This is downright miserable".  I had to agree.  He then said (what are becoming his famous words), "When there is a problem, there is a solution..." and up on deck he went.

What he did was make what Bruce Van Sant calls a "swell bridle" and this thing makes me want to marry Scott all over again.  On a boat, being comfortable is in direct proportion to being happy.  Here's how it works:  You attach a line to your anchor chain (or rode) and then bring it back to an aft winch and cleat to secure it.  You then let out more anchor chain (or rode) until your boat is positioned into the swell.  We are now sitting at a very comfortable 90 degrees to the wind, and directly into the swell - a much more pleasant motion.

Here is a diagram in case my words don't make sense:

So instead of up and moving to another spot - just use this method and slow yo' roll!

Anchor Management

We read in our guide book that anchoring in Nassau Harbor was tricky.  The holding isn't good, there are strong currents, and you are subject to the wake of all sorts of traffic from cruise ships to whalers...ugh.

The thing is this:  anchoring is free.  That equals zero dollars which is equal to more beer.  No brainer, right?

So we opted to anchor.  We felt that with our 275 feet of chain and our (way) oversized 55lb anchor we'd fair okay.

Anchoring is an art that we have admittedly not quite mastered.  There is so much to factor in - from length of scope (that's the amount of chain you let out, usually either 5 to 7 feet for every 1 foot of water), to swing room (your boat will pivot on anchor, it will not stay in one place); current, wind, and tide also play a big roles.  But most important is staying clear of other boats so you don't swing or drag into them.  That is a major boo-boo and a big no-no.

This particular anchorage was a little crowded and Scott and I dropped and retrieved our anchor twice before coming to what we thought was our final resting place.  Just as the sun set and we kicked back with some wine and ukelele tunes - a local man who was quite over-served dinghyed over to us and started cursing and swearing like a crazy man and kept saying something like, "@#@()#*&()@*&$ two anchors! #$)(&@$@)* two anchors...do ya hear what I'm saying...@#*&^@ do ya understand?!"  Thinking this guy was - quite literally - crazy - we weren't sure what to do - but after some time we realized he wanted us to have to anchors down so we didn't swing into his boat (due to the current here).  He was right.  He, in his own little way, was trying to be helpful.  We decided to just move.

I'm guessing he felt bad because shortly after we started pulling up anchor he dinghyed back over to our boat to try to explain the Bahamian Moor style of anchoring (with a lot less cursing), all the while slurring his words as he bobbed about in his boat.  He was even nice enough to offer to come over at 8am the next morning to teach us more.  Neither of us were surprised when he didn't show.  That must have been some hangover.

After three attempts to set our anchor, we finally got it dug in.  It turned out to be a win/win.  We learned how to set a Bahamian moor anchor (though did not do it) and found a better place to anchor just a few hundred feet from where we were - with plenty of room to swing and pivot to our little hearts desire.  Believe it or not, there is a lot of peace of mind in that.