Dragging

 

This is The Graveyard in Linton Bay, one of the most popular anchorages on the Atlantic coast of Panama. You can see four wrecks (not counting the one in the middle sitting upright on its bilge keels with just the mast sticking out vertically like a lamp post).

All of them dragged their anchors in a stiff northeasterly at one time or another and bounced across the rocks and coral to end up in front of the Casa X restaurant. Nobody bothered to do anything about them and now they provide the clientele with a salutary view over their $10 Platos Completos.

Samsara might have joined them yesterday.

Fortunately, it appears that although I can be very forgetful about taking shoes when I go ashore or running the watermaker with the inlet closed or (as has just happened) boiling the kettle dry and only realising because of the funny burning smell) I do seem to be more reliable about the important routines.

For instance, it may seem pedantic and annoying for my neighbours but every time I set the anchor, I have a habit of backing up until the chain is taut and then gradually increasing the revs until the little Nanni 21hp is screaming in reverse with water boiling all around the cockpit.

When this happens, the boat is supposed to stay where she is, transits of buoys and trees and boats and houses all steady on their bearings. Only then do I let it idle for a bit to recover and then shut down (to everyone’s relief).

It’s a trick I learned from Shane Acton when he returned to the UK after setting the record for the smallest boat to sail round the world. He had an outboard but couldn’t really afford the petrol to run it, so the only time it got used was to set the anchor.

“Only thing it’s good for,” said Shane.

I’m not sure I’d put it quite like that, but using the engine to dig the anchor into the bottom has got to be just as important as getting out of a marina in an onshore Force 6.

Or, in this case, I arrived nicely on schedule from Porvenir in the San Blas and found a vacant spot equidistant from the Casa X and the Marina’s Black Pearl Restaurant. I let go in 13 metres, allowed the boat to drift back while I organised the snubber, put the chain on the cleat to spare the windlass, stowed the autopilot, switched off the electronics… and finally clicked the gear lever into reverse.

We backed down gently until we were level with Lulu the Swedish cutter I last saw in Curacao – although I hadn’t thought I’d end up so close to the American Westsail behind me. This was the first clue that something wasn’t right. We weren’t stopping.

Putting the engine back into neutral, I nipped up to the foredeck and planted my foot firmly on the “Up” switch (which is actually the “Down” switch but I wired them up back to front and couldn’t see the point of changing them all over again just for the sake of correctness.)

With the usual grinding and screeching from Mr Lofran’s machinery, 45 metres of chain crawled back aboard – and at the end of it, the anchor emerged backwards. That is to say: upside down – with the chain wrapped tightly around the crown and then back over itself so that I could have dragged it backwards all the way to Colon and it wouldn’t have shown the slightest inclination to dig in.

I got very muddy hanging over the bow, sorting it out – all the while feeling very glad I have a small boat with an anchor I can lift on deck with one hand (while holding on to the other side of the pulpit for dear life with the other).

Magnus from Lulu turned up in his dinghy just as all this was coming to an end – kind of him to offer to help but, as I say: small boats have their advantages.

So, by the time I had gone through the whole palaver all over again and Samsara showed no sign of shifting no matter how much the gearbox protested, the evening had advanced well towards the hour of the beer.

And guess what: At two o’clock in the morning, I was awakened by the wind charger screaming with delight at being able to produce 400W from a 30kt gust – right out of the northeast.

3 Responses to Dragging

  • Thanks for the tale John. I had an incident last August in the Outer Hebrides. Big storm, my anchor dragged and I couldn’t reset it.

    After four hours I was on the rocks on a deserted island , only just holding onto my mind. I’ve learned a lot, dragging anchors can lead to losing everything. Miracles do happen, though, Soldemar, my Rival 34 has been salvaged and the insurance is covering repairs in Scotland. I’m back up there in 10 days to get her launched and sailed back to her mooring in Helensburgh.

    I think I’ve got a reasonable dose of PTSD to deal with, but I’m about to see Soldemar come alive again.
    ( I will be publishing, the full tale in due course)

  • Well, well. What a palaver. Another great read John. Just love hearing about the everyday, mundane. Far more interesting than facts, figures and boasts of high life super boats. You are the real vagabond, with real stories to tell. Thanks for keeping us so amused..

  • thanks for the salutary tale well told

Leave a comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.