The very big anchor

This was being sensible: Tom Fisher was on his way over for the Yealm in Bonny. The first time I met Tom for a drink, we sat up over the rum bottle until three in the morning.

Add to that Connor Brosan and Alan Laine on their way from Salcombe in Feeling Groovy, and obviously it would be better if I did not try and row back to the boat at closing time without falling in. Just this once, I would fork out the £38 for a berth in the Haven marina.

I must say this hurt a bit because it was only the day before that the smart new harbourmaster’s launch came alongside and the harbourmaster’s polite assistant had informed me that no longer could I anchor for no charge in my favourite spot (it had been my favourite spot since about 1979.) Now the harbour commissioners wanted to charge me £10 a night for it.

While my mouth was working with nothing coming out, he added that, if I liked, I could pay for a year’s harbour dues instead: £10 a metre – £97 until April.

It seemed a lot, but I would be able to use the showers and launderette at the marina. I could land at the dinghy pontoon instead of climbing the ladder at Customs House Quay (and wading through the mud to get back in the water at low tide). Hey, I could fill the water cans with the marina hose and get my Amazon parcels sent to the Harbour Office…

I paid the £97 and rather looked forward to getting my money’s worth. Then I set about winching up the anchor. That was when things started to go wrong. It wouldn’t come. I couldn’t understand this. I had anchored here countless times before – that was why I hadn’t bothered to buoy the thing.

Although, now I came to think about it; this wasn’t my favourite spot after all – not the one marked by the anchor symbol on the Navionics app. Another boat had pinched that. I had been obliged to pick a spot a little further over towards the Falmouth side and a little closer to the mooring field – a spot where there was something on the bottom fouling my chain: I could raise about ten metres, and then the windlass started straining and making screeching noises. There was still 25metres down there, so it must be the chain that was fouled, not the anchor (so at least I had the satisfaction of knowing that an anchor buoy wouldn’t have helped, anyway.)

I did the obvious thing: I slackened off the chain and drove around it – first one way and then the other. It made no difference. Eventually, the windlass went on strike (well, the thermal cut-out stopped it burning itself out). I pulled by hand. Something shifted. The chain came in with a rush, and I had to pick myself up off the deck with a bump on the back of my head the size of a pigeon’s egg.

Then the chain jammed again.

There was nothing for it. I pulled out the phone and started Googling “Divers in Falmouth”. There were plenty of dive centres. They all said they weren’t insured for anchor recovery. I phoned Seawide Services, commercial divers “subsea welding, cutting and repair work”. They could offer a five-man dive team at £600 an hour.

Alternatively, they could send a workboat with a winch. The workboat arrived. It was enormous. The winch was enormous. The chain hummed under the strain. I stood clear. The workboat heeled alarmingly. This wasn’t going to work.

I turned to Facebook: Did anyone know of a diver in Falmouth? Of course, I had to explain why – which meant the advice came in thick and fast, everything from “drive around it” (tried that) to “get a mask” – I did think about it. I even have a wetsuit. But in five metres, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay down there long enough to do anything useful.

Seawide services called back. A couple of their lads had volunteered their own time for £200. I grabbed at it.

Sure enough, two young men turned up in another workboat. One of them climbed into a drysuit and disappeared over the side. Five minutes later, he came up to report that my chain was wrapped around the biggest anchor he had ever seen in his life. It must have been down there for 150 years.

What happened over the next quarter of an hour proved the claim on the Seawide website about “diligent project completion”. What this young man did down in the mud and weed at the bottom of Falmouth harbour was to take a 5mm Allen key, undo the retaining screw on the anchor swivel, drive out the bolt (which I always find difficult on the foredeck even with the big hammer) put the bits in his pocket without dropping them, remove the chain, untangle it from one turn round the Victorian anchor shank and another round the fluke – and then re-attach it.

“All OK, now,” said his mate. “You can winch it up.”

Well, actually, I couldn’t. The windlass was still on strike.

“Never mind,” I said cheerily. “I can pull it up by hand. I’ve done it before.” I have, too – all through the summer of 2019.

The two young men looked at my grey whiskers, considered how they would explain a dead old man to the authorities and pulled it up themselves – hand-over-hand in a trice.

I must say, it all made an excellent story in the bar of the chain locker that night. My greatest regret was that nowhere in all the drama did it occur to me to take any pictures – the workboard solemnly winching itself down to the bottom was most dramatic.

The following morning – after a good deal of urging from a beer-fuelled Tom, not to mention Con and Alan on Cornish cider, I presented myself at the harbourmaster’s office ready to claim a refund of my £97 harbour dues; the argument being that the said harbour was not fit for purpose (i.e. anchoring).

The harbourmaster came down to the front desk, ponderous with authority, his shoulders creaking under gold-braided epaulettes. He sympathised with my experience. He explained that the Harbour Commissioners could not guarantee that the seabed was totally free of obstructions. He suggested that I might be able to claim on my insurance (it’s third party).

The end of the story played out today – 48 hours later. Somewhat delicate after the previous evening’s welcome for Tom’s brother Sebastian and nephew Joe – who obviously deserved a session in The Stable and dinner at Balti Curries (brandy on the house), I returned to anchor in my favourite spot – now free – and was just having lunch in the cockpit when this turned up.

Over the next 20 minutes, while I raced to inflate the dingy so I could get round the other side of it and take better pictures, the peculiar craft raised the offending anchor as if it was nothing more than a 10lb CQR.

The diver was right. I had never seen an anchor as big as that either. The shank must have been three metres long. The flukes dwarfed the man directing operations from the deck.

I would love to know who paid for this operation on a Saturday. Was it the Harbour Commissioners? (ensuring without delay the harbour was free of obstructions after all?) Did Seawide services’ staff have their eye on a bit of scrap value in their spare time? Do I get a cut – after all, I discovered the damn thing.

.

19 Responses to The very big anchor

  • Johnny, here’s the review I left for you on my Kindle – apparently Kindle and Amazon (same company) don’t share reviews

    Top reviews from the United States
    Dan Jackson
    5.0 out of 5 stars Love of Sailing
    Reviewed in the United States on August 25, 2022
    Verified Purchase

    I really liked this book for many reasons. First John and I are about the same age, so I can relate to a lot of the things he writes about. Secondly, his love of sailing in quite evident, His love of family is also brought out. I big thing is he shows the mundane parts of sailing, the gripping parts, the wonderful parts.
    One of the greatest moments in my life was at Ambergus Key in Belize in the 1980’s. Everyone in the town was at Captain Loco’s Bar partying til dawn. As the sun came up the fellow next to me (whom I had been drinking and conversing with all night, stood up and yelled “time my children”. With that, the band quit, everyone in the place filed out and went next door to a small chapel. The Preist (surprise to me my drinking buddy) opened the door and every single person who was at the bar (everyone- customers, bartenders, servers, cooks and me) filed in. The chapel was a very simple one, but I did notice the double doors on the back (behind the alter) matched the entrance doors at the front. With everyone inside, the Preist held up his hands and signaled for quiet. He then opened the doors behind the alter and shouted as the sun arose “Good morning God! All of your children are here to thank you for the blessing you have bestowed on us!” With that everyone let out a loud cheer, started kissing and hugging everyone around them. All to the tune of one beautiful sunrise slowly climbing up over the alter. If I had not been sailing than this memory would never have happened. This memory can never be taken away from me, lost or destroyed. It is treasured forever in my mind. To sail is to experience life it its fullness. John and I are of the same mind. He said he wants to circumnavigate the world when he hits 90. I’d like to race him.

  • Hi. Have you made a claim on the Victorian anchor before it goes to the British museum.

  • Did you make a claim on the Victorian anchor?

  • Hello Finished one book. Another on the way. Reall interested in health concept. Can you send me the info ? Inspired sir !!! Phil A

  • Another wonderfully written story

  • Wow….that is a huge ####ing anchor….new follower here Jim, almost done with the book….Phil A

  • Maybe they wanted to avoid further complaints about fouled ground tackle. I think you got your point across. Thankfully they didn’t charge you for finding it!

  • Hi John

    I ordered and paid for the natural supplements as per your article but it was not delivered notwithstanding various enquiries.

    Can you perhaps advise any other method for enquiries/

    Regards

    Hennie

    • Hi Hennie, Apologies for this rather public reply, but I’ve been in touch with the company, who say they emailed you several times between March 23rd and 28th but received no reply. Although you have paid twice with two different cards, they don’t have an address to send the product, nor a full name or phone number – so obviously, they haven’t been able to send it. Please would you email me directly – john@oldmansailing.com so we can get this sorted out. Best regards, John

  • Still loving your adventures.

    Liam

  • Hello Sailor,
    Hope you had a good passage despite the Pringles.
    Were you able to get a good repair of your damaged goose neck fitting?
    Cheers Jonas

  • Great story. One imagines the ship

  • If you hadn’t produced the photos to prove it I would have sworn you made the whole thing up in the midst of some sort of alcoholic fuge. It knocks “you should have seen the one that got away” for six.

  • Great story John. You had me hooked.

  • Thoroughly enjoyed this blog old man.
    Cheers and hopefully many more to come

    Best of luck from another old man.

  • Wondering if it would have been cheaper to cut your anchor loose and buy another? Or is that a maritime no-no?

  • That looks like an old Admiralty anchor and looking like it’s the best part of 3 tonnes at least. It could be really interesting to learn where it came from but I guess that will never happen.

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The blog is back!

It is with great relief that I can confirm the Oldmansailing blog is back. It has been an anxious week waiting for it to reappear.

I left Jost Van Dyke in the British Virgin Islands on June 11th. On June 13th, 318 miles in the vague direction of a waypoint somewhere 100 miles east of Bermuda, I received an email (I would have received an email if I had some way of doing so) telling me that my domain name oldmansailing.com was about to auto-renew.

Five days later, there was another saying it had not been possible to take payment because the card on file had expired. There followed several more until, on the 28th: “Important – suspension notification.”

Of course, I was unaware of all this – blissfully unaware, as it happened, since the wind had filled in and on the 28th, I see that I recorded a day’s run of 131 miles.

The first inkling that anything was wrong came on July 23rd off the Scillies when a rather tentative mobile signal wandered south from St Marys and informed me that gmail had received no emails for me since June 10th.

That couldn’t be right, surely? That was six weeks. Six weeks without anyone offering to fix my bad posture or set me up with a new wife from south-east Asia?

Complaining to Google seemed about as useful as shouting at the weather so, instead, I called my domain-hosting company – the one connects to the other. I gave them my new card details. They withdrew what seemed to be rather a lot of money and said they hoped to recover the name (providing nobody else had grabbed it) and then restore all the content (no guarantees there, either).

This was slightly alarming. “The Content” dates back to 2017 – how many hundreds of posts is that? Everything from playing kissy-kissy with a racing pigeon off the Casquets Traffic Separation Scheme to “Death on the Foredeck” halfway up the Deben. Was it possible that all this could just have gone pop into the ether, never to be seen again?

I started playing the “What’s best about this situation” game. All I could come up with was “Well, if I do have to start again, next time I’ll keep control myself – instead of being held over a barrel by the web designer who refused to release the password and wanted me to carry on paying him forever. As it is, whenever I want to change something fundamental, I have to get someone in India to hack into it.

So now it’s all back up there, and I can relax.

Relaxing is what you do in Falmouth – it seems to consist entirely of pubs and restaurants.

And yes, the return from the West Indies was very straightforward, thank you: 3,437 miles, 44 days, nothing important broke or fell over the side.

But I did run out of Pringles 100 miles short of The Lizard.

16 Responses to The blog is back!

  • I was beginning to wonder….

  • Welcome back! Glad nothing important broke or fell over the side. I’m in my van on the coast near Dover. I still have Pringles.

  • Glad you’re back! When folks get to be our age and then go radio silent, it makes friends worry.

  • John, you left us after having dinner on our charter catamaran on June 10th. It was a true pleasure to meet you. Our whole crew has been checking in your progress daily. So glad you made it. You should find some young person to help you backup your content!

  • Would love to “sea” some recent photos, especially of the waterfront in Falmouth if you had any!

  • Welcome back, I was chatting to a fellow sailer about your antics only three weeks ago and said you were homeward bound from the BVI, but when I searched you on AiS it had you still enjoying the Caribbean sun off the BVI. I told him perhaps you had a change of heart, not ready for the British weather perhaps? Good to hear your home safe, just hope you don’t need too much reliance on the AIS…!
    P.s I should say it was through an app on my phone that I found you, hopefully the rescue services have a slightly better means of detection.

  • Welcome back John.

  • What a nightmare with that technology! Lovely to have you back though, enjoy your blogs.

  • Oh no. Out of Pringles. NOW that is a disaster.

  • Nice to see you’re back

  • Hello John
    Good to hear from you en to know that you are still alive and kicking!
    We missed your blog and were abouth to send you an email abouth it.
    Very nice too your blog is back!!

    Rob & Anke
    Holland

  • Can’t seem to add a pic here John but saw your “artwork” in Horta the other day and it needs patching up. 🙂

  • Thank God, I can get my sanity back on track again!
    From an armchair sailor!

  • So glad you are back! Your followers may be few, but you are a huge inspiration, especially to this 70 year old sailor. Keep on keepin’ on John.

  • Pringles… Terrible.

    Never touch then, artificial rubbish.

  • No! Not the Pringles!
    Glad to see you’re still onboard and online.

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