Usually we don’t have too much of a problem as in most cases the boat will naturally be pulled by the wind in the right direction and we can easily control any deviation with the engine. Generally I am at the bow braced against the genoa forestay operating the windlass control and indicating which direction the anchor is to Patrice who is at the helm and adjusts the boat accordingly (see diagram #2).
Diagram #1
Diagram #3
Sunday morning, the harbor master informed us that a berth in the marina was now available, so we prepared the boat to move and then got down to the tricky business of raising the anchor. Our anchor has a windlass which means it’s electric, so technically all we have to do is press the control button on a handy remote and the windlass will pull on the massive chain to bring up our anchor. It’s quite an impressive sight to behold and I have a healthy respect for it and not a little trepidation when using it.
On any given day, the biggest challenge is keeping the boat in alignment with the chain while we pull up the anchor. As soon as the chain deviates too far to the left or too far to the right, which happens when the wind or current pushes us, it’s impossible to continue as the chain will jump out of the bow roller and get stuck (see photo here and diagram #1 below). To put it back in place is tricky at best and potentially dangerous to the fingers, so we do everything we can to avoid this happening.
On any given day, the biggest challenge is keeping the boat in alignment with the chain while we pull up the anchor. As soon as the chain deviates too far to the left or too far to the right, which happens when the wind or current pushes us, it’s impossible to continue as the chain will jump out of the bow roller and get stuck (see photo here and diagram #1 below). To put it back in place is tricky at best and potentially dangerous to the fingers, so we do everything we can to avoid this happening.
Bird's eye view of the marina and its popular bay filled with boats
Boats anchored closely near in the bay of Le Marin
However (and I’m guessing if you’re still with me here, you realize that all has been leading up to this ‘however’), on this particular day, the winds were gusting quite strongly and as soon as I started pulling up the anchor, the boat fishtailed violently to one side making it impossible to lift. I waited for the boat to right itself, but then it immediately fishtailed to the other side. The process repeated itself again and again, which, in normal situations, wouldn’t be too worrisome, but in this case we had boats crowding us on all sides and as we began to move our position shifted--often precariously close to other boats. Needless to say, I am terrified at this point.
Moreover at some point in the process, the anchor got dislodged and started moving along the ocean floor giving us no holding point, but impaired our ability to steer the boat. Patrice did his best to control things at the helm while I desperately tried to get the chain up as quickly as possible even as the boat continued to fishtail wildly. We probably would’ve succeeded without incident if it hadn’t been for the fishing net.
As the chain came up, painfully slowly, it brought an old fishing net to the surface which was tightly wrapped around about 5 feet of the chain. Merde! I knew I had to get it off before it got to the bow roller, so I had to figure out how to reach it to disentangle the darn thing. To do so I had to leave my stable position propped against the forestay and go on my knees out on the pulpit (the raised platform which juts out from the front of the boat—see photo here), balance myself as best as I can in a very awkward position and lean down over the bow to reach the chain.
I did succeed, but no sooner had I gotten the darned thing off, a gust blew us smack into the boat anchored off our starboard (right) side--holy crash Batman! Thanks to my RYA training, I had a spare fender (a plastic cylinder which hangs over the boat's side to protect it against impact) handy and I was able to grab it in the nick of time and use it to cushion the blow.
The owner of the boat (let’s call him Fred) came charging out of his cabin screaming at us and pushed us away--I probably would’ve done the same in his shoes. However, because all my weight was thrown onto that fender and I was still on my knees on the pulpit, when he pushed our boat, I lost my balance and fell, fully clothed, into the water (see diagram #3).
Moreover at some point in the process, the anchor got dislodged and started moving along the ocean floor giving us no holding point, but impaired our ability to steer the boat. Patrice did his best to control things at the helm while I desperately tried to get the chain up as quickly as possible even as the boat continued to fishtail wildly. We probably would’ve succeeded without incident if it hadn’t been for the fishing net.
As the chain came up, painfully slowly, it brought an old fishing net to the surface which was tightly wrapped around about 5 feet of the chain. Merde! I knew I had to get it off before it got to the bow roller, so I had to figure out how to reach it to disentangle the darn thing. To do so I had to leave my stable position propped against the forestay and go on my knees out on the pulpit (the raised platform which juts out from the front of the boat—see photo here), balance myself as best as I can in a very awkward position and lean down over the bow to reach the chain.
I did succeed, but no sooner had I gotten the darned thing off, a gust blew us smack into the boat anchored off our starboard (right) side--holy crash Batman! Thanks to my RYA training, I had a spare fender (a plastic cylinder which hangs over the boat's side to protect it against impact) handy and I was able to grab it in the nick of time and use it to cushion the blow.
The owner of the boat (let’s call him Fred) came charging out of his cabin screaming at us and pushed us away--I probably would’ve done the same in his shoes. However, because all my weight was thrown onto that fender and I was still on my knees on the pulpit, when he pushed our boat, I lost my balance and fell, fully clothed, into the water (see diagram #3).
Diagram #2
Due to an unstable weather pattern in our area and the fact that is currently high cruising/chartering season here in the Caribbean, the bay was already jam-packed with boats seeking a calm place, so we had a devil of a time squeezing a safe place for ourselves. ‘Safe’ means 1) finding in a spot not too deep and not too shallow where the anchor will hold on the ocean floor and 2) placing ourselves far enough away from all other boats to ensure not banging into them even if the wind and currents pivot us around on our anchor chain. After two attempts, we managed to squeeze ourselves into a tight, but secure spot and spent three pleasant nights there without incident.
Warning! This is a story which requires quite a bit of tedious background information, so I will have to risk boring you for a time before I get to the heart of the matter. I will also impose several homemade sketches necessary to illustrate the tale on you—please forgive my lack of talent for this sort of thing. So for those of you who have a bit of time and are game to hear about our latest….ahem….drama, here goes:
When we arrived here in Le Marin, Martinique last Thursday with the problems with our engine our #1 priority, we were told there was no space in the marina until Sunday. In the that was fine since the engine expert was not available until Monday anyway and we worked out how to use the engine temporarily despite the malfunction. In the meantime we anchored in the bay, which we always prefer as it is much cooler there, has no mosquitoes, the view is better and we have a place to swim at our doorstep at all times.
When we arrived here in Le Marin, Martinique last Thursday with the problems with our engine our #1 priority, we were told there was no space in the marina until Sunday. In the that was fine since the engine expert was not available until Monday anyway and we worked out how to use the engine temporarily despite the malfunction. In the meantime we anchored in the bay, which we always prefer as it is much cooler there, has no mosquitoes, the view is better and we have a place to swim at our doorstep at all times.
Diagram #4
We often jump off the bow of Taka Trois for fun as my brother is doing here. It is a much different experience, however, when it is done involuntarily--not fun, to say the least.
Only God’s helping hand could explain why I was not crushed in-between the two boats or hurt in any way as I fell. I suffered no more than getting totally drenched, a case of shock and the indignity of falling off a boat. I didn’t even lose the hat and sunglasses on my head or the crocs on my feet.
I wish that was the end of the story, but from that moment on, all hell broke loose. Our anchor chain was now see-sawing savagely against Fred’s boat, which was now positioned between our boat and our anchor (see diagram # 4). A half a dozen guys from other boats around us came speeding over in their dinghies to assist us and (justifiably) to try and protect their boats from potential mayhem. I mean absolutely no disrespect here as I am incredibly grateful that most boaters are willing to lend a helping hand in times of trouble, but there is something comical in that most guys really love to have a reason to get in their dinghies and be part of the cavalry.
As always when we have been through something new, we carefully assess what happened and see what we could have done differently. We figured out roughly what went wrong and agree that given the conditions it probably would’ve been more prudent to wait for a calmer time to pick up the anchor—what’s that expression about having perfect 50/50 vision in hindsight…? We also agree that as best as we can, we need to plan for possibility of a ‘fishnet’ (or shall we say the unexpected) when planning a maneuver. And in our sailing experiences so far, that unexpected fishnet is to be expected. It’s a good lesson, but realistically speaking, almost impossible to put into practice, so we will just have to trust that God will provide what we need to help us untangle the next fishnet.
I won’t go into the details of what it took to disentangle our chain from the other boat and get our anchor up—Patrice would be delighted to tell the story in detail to anyone who wants to listen—but I think this missive has gone long enough. I will say that we did eventually figure it out, in a relatively calm manner despite the continuing gusting winds, the chain scraping against Fred’s boat and the hysterical screams of a woman on another boat who was probably terrified we were going to hit her boat, but seriously not helpful.
Fred had kindly pulled me out of the water onto his boat after I fell where I sat drenched and abjectly apologetic while he frantically tried to save his boat from further disaster. Eventually one of the dinghy guys kindly rescued me and took me back to Taka Trois where I gathered my wits and tried to make myself useful. Thankfully Taka Trois suffered little damage and there was no visible damage to the Fred’s boat and if anything is damaged underneath, he has our number and our insurance details. Whew!
Fred had kindly pulled me out of the water onto his boat after I fell where I sat drenched and abjectly apologetic while he frantically tried to save his boat from further disaster. Eventually one of the dinghy guys kindly rescued me and took me back to Taka Trois where I gathered my wits and tried to make myself useful. Thankfully Taka Trois suffered little damage and there was no visible damage to the Fred’s boat and if anything is damaged underneath, he has our number and our insurance details. Whew!
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