Anchoring Again for the First Time

The sail from Great Guana Cay to Treasure Cay took about 3 hours. The excellent sailing matched the excellent weather and we arrived at Treasure Cay in time for lunch. Passage into Treasure Cay’s small harbor was pretty straight forward. Radio contact with the harbour master found that the 3 or 4 moorings were taken but that there should be plenty of room to anchor. As we entered, we saw one fairly large area free of boats in an otherwise crowded basin. We circled behind the already anchored boats and approached the open space to drop the hook.

Anchoring is one of the few spectator sports in sailing. As a boat enters an anchorage, people suddenly appear in great numbers on deck and in cockpits to watch. Both self interest and the chance for amusement prompt this attention. If not done properly, the anchor can drag and result in a collision, thereby, the self interest. Also, anchoring is challenging, requiring teamwork, skill and clear communication between the person at the helm and the person on deck deploying the anchor. The team usually consists of husband, a wife, a huge male ego, and not a small measure of female trepidation. Thereby, the amusement potential: a challenging exercise requiring teamwork between spouses, communicating back and forth along the length of the boat in front of a host of strangers, coupled with the real possibility of disaster. Add to this middle-aged hearing loss, strong wind, and engine noise, plus the fact that the helmsman can’t see the anchor or chain. The potential of this situation can only be rivaled by watching a couple try to back their 26 foot runabout on a trailor down a boat ramp at the beginning of the boating season. While the comedic relief for the audience can be great, we’ve seen couples almost come to blows. It’s one of the reasons I think guns on board are a bad idea. “Come forward!” “What?” “Forward, forward!” “Did you say go to port?” “No, forward!” Except, the person at the helm only hears the start of each word because the person at the bow keeps turning his head away from the helmswoman to see what he’s doing. The helmswoman hears, “Come forw...!” Which sounds, to those aging ears like “Come port.” “Did you say port?” “No, forward, not port!”“More port?” “No, no, not port, forward damn it!” “Don’t curse at me! I’m not going to do this if you yell at me. You can just can just come back here and do it yourself!” “What? Back? Not back...!!!” Meanwhile the boat is drifting toward a $600,000 yacht (I think they install huge magnets on expensive boats that draw their less expensive brothers inexorably to them). So, with drinks in hand the early arrivers settle back to watch the show.

With all eyes on us, we pushed gently into the most likely anchoring spot. Ken took the helm, Pat acted as spotter and anchor coordinator and I went to the bow to deploy the anchor. Fortunately, our marriage has successfully passed through the fires of anchoring hell and though a little singed, the heat has produced a crispness to our communication that brings a perfect understanding and clockwork precision in our anchoring. Or, something like that. Actually, we just use hand signals (no folk gestures, however).

With the wind blowing about 15 knots and we turned into the wind in preparation to anchor. As we moved into the open space, it seemed curious to me that this one area was so open. It could be that boats had just left or it could be that the bottom was not good holding. Some bottoms are better than others for holding (I mean in the anchoring sense). In the Bahamas, the bottom can be hard rock, sand, grass, or a kind of muddy/sand gumbo. The later is the best with sand next. With a hard bottom, your anchor won’t dig in. With grass, the anchor may pierce the grassy roots and seem to hold, only to give way as the weight of boat and current pull the anchor through the layer of roots. So, we moved into position with some measure of unease. When we reached the targeted spot, I dropped the anchor in ten feet of water with sixty feet of chain. Sure enough, as soon as Ken allowed the boat to drift back on the chain, it became clear that it wasn’t holding. Raise the anchor, circle, discuss the options, try again. Drop the anchor, wait. “Is it holding?” “No.” “Wait, give it a chance.” No, it’s not holding as we slide closer to surrounding boats. Raise the anchor, circle, try again. Now people have left their cockpit and are standing on deck to get a better view. No one offers any suggestions or advice. However, after about 4 attempts, it dawns on us that this is not going to work. I think it was Einstein who defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. After a brief crew consultation, we spot an area behind the other boats, just out of the channel and find ourselves anchored securely at last. Just as we shut down the engine, in comes another sailboat looking to anchor, sees the open area, moves into it, drops her anchor, drifts, drops her anchor, drifts. I call her on the radio and advise them that we had tried that spot several times unsuccessfully. They express their gratitude, try several more times (not a male ego at work, surely) then move just outside the bad area and also find good holding. Everyone in the harbor returns to their cockpits to await the next episode.

Treasure Cay, a private resort, allows those anchored in the harbor to take advantage of the facilities. A wonderful restaurant, a beach cafe/bar, a grocery store, electronics shop, liquor store (that, never seems to be open) and the usual resort amenities. It also has one of the most magnificent beaches in the world (I think it’s in the top ten). Even compared with the fantastic beaches we had seen, this one tops them all. I can think of no words to describe it that wouldn’t sound like a vacation ad: powder white sand, pristine aquamarine sea, etc, etc. Surprisingly, hardly anyone was there and we enjoyed a nice lunch in the cafe overlooking the beach. Then it's back to the boat to recover from lunch, a return to shore to Spinnaker’s Restaurant for probably the best meal we’ve had since arriving in the Bahamas followed by a starlite walk on the beach.

Sunday morning, we weighed the anchor so laboriously deployed the day before and headed for Marsh Harbour. Sadly, we will loose Ken there as he returns to the snow and ice of the far, far north. Marsh Harbour is the 3rd largest town in the Bahamas and has regular flights to Ft. Lauderdale and Palm Springs. We’ve really enjoyed having him and he’s been tremendously helpful in getting us here. With Pat out of commission for several days due to seasickness over the past few weeks, it would have been very difficult without him. At the least, our arrival would have been considerably delayed. He also worked hard to get the deck looking as good as it ever has and we really appreciated his help. And finally, special recognition goes to Ken as the survivor of my first on-board surgery. I knew the "When There's No Doctor" book would come in handy. Hope the recovery goes well! So, out of beer, out of fodder for political debate and out of longing for his wife and family; Ken is out of here! We’ll miss him.

Our plan is to hole up here for a while. Pat needs to get her annual physical and we need to address the ever growing list of repairs and maintenance items on the boat. Marsh Harbour has a large, well protected anchorage, plenty of stores, restaurants and services (including free internet).