The Science And Religion Of Anchoring

Noi scanning for a good spot at Deshais, Guadeloupe

"We must respect the other fellow's religion, but only in the sense and to the extent that we respect his theory that his wife is beautiful and his children smart." -- H.L. Menchen.

(See also: Musings On Anchoring.)

You've heard it all before: new-fangled super-anchor, all-chain rode, plenty of scope, snubber. Check your set. Yep. That's anchoring in a nutshell. At least the science part of it.

Putting theory into practise, however, isn't always a fully quantifiable exercise. I will try not to sound smug or arrogant, lest we tempt the gods. We are not experts! However, after dropping the hook perhaps one-hundred times in the past year or so, we have not dragged once, either in fair weather or foul. That counts for something, I suppose. Pride before the fall?

First, if you're planning long-term cruising, take a deep breath. Now, double the line item in your budget for anchor and ground tackle. Put a pencil line through the satellite phone entry if necessary. You will miss a good anchoring kit that works 100 percent of the time a whole lot more than that sat phone that is only 30 percent reliable. Trust me on this one.

Anchors fall into the purgatory between science and religion. We love our primary anchor -- a Spade. Why do we love it? Because it has never let us down. Does that mean that it never will? We have no way of knowing that. But we have faith.

We did our research before buying the Spade. The numbers looked good in the (few) unbiased reports we could find. But, we could just as easily have gone with a Rocna, and most certainly would have if only it had fit our bow roller. The two hooks are roughly equal in performance. The only real difference is that the Spade is more expensive.

When we bought Symbiosis, she came with an oversized CQR and a large Bruce. When we purchased the Spade, we got rid of the CQR, but kept the Bruce. The reasoning was that the CQR and Spade were similar "plow-type" anchors, so they were basically duplicates (although we were quite sure the Spade was far superior). The Bruce is perhaps better than the Spade in a few types of bottoms, so it seemed the better choice to keep. Having said that, the Bruce has never come off the bow roller. We haven't found -- at least in the Chesapeake, down the ICW, the Bahamas and the Eastern Caribbean -- any reason not to use our Spade every time. And it's held nicely -- every time.

I passed up a good deal on a used Fortress I found at Bacon in Annapolis just before we cast off. I have been kicking myself ever since. It would be, in my mind, the ideal complement to the Spade and Bruce. It is an excellent anchor for kedging or for holding against strong wind in a single direction (its main drawback being that it does not reset as well as the others). In addition, it is very lightweight for its holding power, which makes it easy to handle, and it disassembles for easy storage.

A word about weight: I agree with the conventional wisdom to go big. Our Spade is a size heavier than recommended. Why not "supersize" me when it comes to anchors and go two or three sizes bigger? It sounds great in principle, but there's a limiting factor. We do not own an electric windlass and neither do you. For us, that's a literal statement (ours is an old manual Simpson-Lawrence Sea Tiger 555), for you, it might be theoretical. You might have a kick-ass electric windlass, but unless you can get the anchor up with two (or four) hands, the anchor is too big. Electric windlasses are one of those items that (along with refrigerators, water-makers and autopilots) keep marine repair folks in business throughout the Caribbean. Our buddy boat, Tropical Blend, recently experienced a jammed gypsy that resulted in a burned out motor. It took four of us to retrieve their 110-pound Bruce. The advantages of buddy boating!

Stainless vs. galvanized? I honestly cannot see any advantage to stainless except aesthetics. They do look nice and shiny. But at nearly twice the price for the stainless-steel versions, I can use the mirror in the head to brush my teeth. 

The next link in the chain, so to speak, is the connection between the anchor and rode. A high-quality swivel, such as made by Italy-based Kong, is a good investment. When the anchor comes up, it is almost invariably twisted the wrong way. The swivel will get it turned around easily.

And the rode. We met a couple in Florida who had been cruising for quite some time in the Bahamas on their home-built motorsailor. They claimed to be anchoring gurus and even had a self-published book on the subject. This couple were strong advocates of chain and nylon line instead of all-chain. They insisted that the elasticity of the nylon rode made for more secure foul-weather anchoring and that the extra weight of all-chain wasn't all that valuable. They have more experience than I do, but by contrast, nearly everyone who is a serious cruiser in the Eastern Caribbean uses all-chain rode. For us, it is the combination of the Spade and the chain rode that we believe (because, remember, it is religion we're talking about here) has kept us safe up to now.

To complete the kit, there's the snubber. The winter before we set off on our big adventure, I did a bit of research on snubbers and bridles. I can't say the research was exhaustive, but for some reason I concluded that I wanted a Y bridle rather than a single-line snubber (which is what most monohull sailboats use). I looked at the one Mantus sold and decided that it would be easier (and cheaper!) just to copy it. Using 3/4" three-strand nylon, a stainless eye thimble, a chain hook and some chaffing gear, I set about recreating that bridle. It doesn't look nearly as good as the fancy Mantus bridle in the magazine ad, but it has proven excellent gear. It is, however, a bit of a struggle getting it around all the bowsprit stays on Symbiosis. One major advantage, in my mind, is that with the bridle (as opposed to the one-line snubber), you artificially increase scope by hooking the chain at or near the waterline, which reduces the angle of pull to the anchor. Those few feet from the bow roller to the waterline can make a lot of difference.

The home-brew bridle/snubber.

Middle: Our Spade well dug-in in Bahamas. Bottom: A Rocna(?) in Martinique.

How to pick an anchoring spot? We tend to only go for "approved" anchorages (i.e., those places marked as anchorages on the chart). On occasion we go off the beaten path, but seldom. We are conservative when it comes to anchoring and other sailing things and centrist or liberal on pretty much everything else. In a crowded anchorage, it's obviously important to have plenty of room to swing and to stay away from your neighbors. All well and good, but sometimes you have to make compromises. More than a few times we've found ourselves a bit too close for comfort with our neighbors -- either because we anchored closer than we should have or our nice and open spot looked good to everyone else who followed us. It is amazing how quickly the perfect anchoring spot can become downtown central.

On the rare occasions when we really feel uncomfortable with an usurper, we move. For those times we feel uneasy as the potentially offending party, we dinghy over and ask the neighbors how they feel. Almost invariably, this defuses the situation. Granted that it's human nature to avoid conflict and the smiles we typically get might be masking gritting teeth. But, if nothing else, it lets them know that we are keeping a close eye on the situation and are prepared to move if necessary. The truth is that we never hit anyone swinging at anchor and no one ever hit us. Sure, strictly speaking, there's some math I could pull out of my sail bag to explain scope and swinging room. If that's your thing, have at it. But, for us it's more a feeling. Not very scientific.

When we anchor, Noi is on the foredeck and I am at the helm. While we are still on approach to the anchorage, Noi is using the binoculars to scout out potential spots. A short discussion (or sometimes argument) ensues and we head for the spot we've picked (or the one I've picked). Thick mud is ideal, but we haven't seen that since the ICW. In the Bahamas and Caribbean, we are looking for lily-white sand on the bottom. And, if the sun angle is right and the water is relatively calm, we might be able to spot it visually. Looking at the chart plotter, I am careful to avoid areas marked "sand and coral." Sometimes that means "sand over coral," which is not good. Additionally, sometimes what looks like sand turns out to be broken shell or coral -- also unsuitable. But it's difficult to know that until you've actually dropped the hook. 

So, what about scope? Our standard is about 7-to-1, regardless of the conditions. Too many times we have seen squalls roll in unexpectedly, with wind quickly ramping up from nil to 30 knots or more. You don't want to be fooling with the anchor then. Here's an example of how I figure scope: if the depth finder says 15 feet, I add five feet for the distance from the waterline to the roller on the bowsprit. 20 x 7 = 140, so I round up to 150 (which, in any case, is an increment marked on the chain rode). If I am feeling a bit nervous about the weather, I spill out a bit more for good measure.

If the water is clear enough (which isn't always the case), we do like snorkeling on the anchor to see how well it is set. If you own a "look bucket" that works too. On at least one occasion, Noi went out to check things and reported that the Spade was over on its side and only partially dug in. We decided to yank it up and do it over.

After all that, it was just a matter of getting comfortable with the routine and what to expect from it. 

Sure, I still get a little nervous when 40 knots comes through our anchorage, but I don't panic. I am pretty confident that we are doing the right thing. The science (and our experience) is what gives me confidence, though. Others might prefer the power of prayer.

Thanksgiving In Martinique

After many years of living abroad on and off, I know how difficult it can be to keep going with traditions associated with the home country. Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday -- a family get-together without the gift-giving associated with Christmas. Much more relaxed.

One memorable Thanksgiving (in the mid-90s) was spent with Swedish journalists Ulf and Maud Linholm in India, who of course had themselves never had an "American" Thanksgiving. Not all the ingredients were available, of course, but we managed a pretty decent feast nonetheless.

The dinner we had yesterday in Martinique with buddy-boating friends John and Debbie aboard AfterMath and Larry and Debbie aboard Tropical Blend was equally memorable. AfterMath Debbie took the lead on the project and we managed to have turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing, and green beans. What a pleasant afternoon!

Moving On. But Where?

Tobago Cays, St. Vincent and the Grenadines

We are in Rodney Bay Marina in St. Lucia getting a few boat projects done while we try, with limited success, to shut out the rest of the world.

The big question is where do we go from here? When we left the U.S. a year ago October, we only committed to the Caribbean, although we (or at least I) definitely had a circumnavigation in the back of our minds. Of course, even to suggest such a possibility to others was a mistake. No matter the caveats, friends and family think you're going to "sail around the world."

I still love that idea, however. Alas, our budget does not. It's not really possible to start off heading west and then decide along the way. The Panama Canal is an expensive and involved proposition. Once through it, the options narrow. The only "logical" move is to do the Pacific crossing -- the Marquesas, Tahiti, etc., to Asia. Not out of the question, but then the boat is stuck half-way around the world and the only "logical" way to get it back home is to keep going, through the Indian Ocean and across the Atlantic. The whole project is a years-long proposition and nothing to take lightly. Are we up to it financially or psychologically? Financially, we might just make it, though I am doubtful even of that. Otherwise, I think I am ready for the challenge. Noi is much less enthusiastic.

Short of that, what? Returning to the U.S., as of Nov. 8, has suddenly become a lot less appealing. Besides, we have no real job prospects there. A few weeks ago we were thinking of heading west to Jamaica, Caymans and Isla Mujeres in Mexico before heading back, but now we might want to take longer. An Atlantic crossing to Europe has some appeal, but the cost of hanging out for any length of time in the continent (weather would necessitate it) would probably be prohibitive, too.

In the midst of all this, I have suddenly developed a chronic back issue that I can't figure out. It feels muscular (lower left) and comes and goes in intensity of pain. It's been going on for about two weeks now and is really bothering me. I have been taking Ibuprofin and gin. Both seem to help, but quite obviously neither is a long-term solution -- it's probably not a good idea to take that much Ibuprofin and eventually the gin will run out. I could go to a doctor here in St. Lucia, but somehow I feel like that might be fruitless, too.

So, that's sort of where we are right now. Just thinking, but trying not to think too much.

The Year Of Living Sailorly

"You will go on, and when you have prevailed

You can say: at this point many a one has failed." -- T.S. Eliot, Portrait of a Lady

It was a year ago tomorrow that we and Symbiosis set sail from a cozy slip on the Chesapeake, bound for the adventure of our lifetimes. We knew there would be many trials and triumphs along the way.

At the risk of sounding cliche, I think we can say that it has been worth the effort. The wonderful places we've seen and the fascinating people we've met have changed us in no small way. We aren't the same Scott and Noi who hoisted the mainsail with trepidation and let the wind and current carry us to the mouth of the Magothy River on Oct. 20, 2015.

Although we plan to turn north again for a probable springtime return to the Chesapeake -- and a doubtless less-than-seamless reintegration into society -- we are looking forward to all the new things we will experience on our homeward-bound meanderings.

I write as we sway gently to anchor in Prickly Bay on Grenada's south coast. 

Our log book and journals tell in short-hand the story of our journey so far: We have visited ten separate countries, plus Puerto Rico and the U.S. Virgin Islands. 

We have been escorted by dolphins and sailed nervously close to humpback whales. We've watched sharks, rays and sea turtles with a mixture of excitement and bemusement. 

We snorkeled the exquisite waters of the Exumas and felt the pure white sand of a deserted island squish between our toes. We made friends with countless locals and countless more cruisers from all corners of the planet. We caught tuna and mahi mahi, barracuda and a sailfish worthy of Ernest Hemingway. 

Dodged waterspouts. Crossed the Gulf Stream. Had engine trouble ... and then more engine trouble. Yelled at each other. Kissed each other. Ripped sails. Almost ran over a floating refrigerator, an oil barrel and a buoy. Sailed past an active undersea volcano. Went swimming under waterfalls. Swam with pigs. Got seasick. Got robbed. Went to the hospital. Won a poker tournament. Witnessed enough spectacular sunsets to last a lifetime.

In short, we are accomplishing what we set out to do. To do our own thing in our own time and by our own hand. We could have been more cautious, more concerned about money, possessions, careers and retirement. Every fiber of society tugs in the opposite direction from the one we have taken. We will no doubt be made to pay dearly for our transgression against "normalcy." But the risk of doing something unconventional seems so small compared to the risk of regret over never breaking the rules. 

We took the road less traveled ... and that has made all the difference. 

Matthew On A Rampage

Wind speed probabilities for Matthew. National Hurricane Center graphic.

Matthew has passed us. We knew him as a toddler with a mild tantrum. By now, however, he's turned into a ranging teenager. Unfortunately, he is going to make lots of trouble for our friends in Dominican Republic, Florida, and especially the Bahamas.

One couple from Brazil that we met at Magothy Marina a few years ago got a very late start from Florida and are in Georgetown, Bahamas, as I write. They have taken shelter at Emerald Bay Marina, but we are worried for their safely. Matthew will likely remain a Category 4 storm when it reaches them starting this evening. The force of such a storm is almost apocalyptic and the storm surge could be 10 to 15 feet in the Exumas.

When we sailed through the Bahamas in the spring, we stopped briefly at Rum Cay, an island that had been torn apart the previous year by Joaquin, a Category 3 when it hit. Matthew could prove even more destructive across a larger expanse of the Bahamas, which are barely above sea level.

And of course our hearts go out to the people of Haiti.

Another friend is in Biscayne Bay, just south of Miami. Matthew's track looked earlier like it might skirt Florida and present it with its back side -- a better outcome than the other side, due to the vagaries of cyclonic winds. Now it looks like it might be nudging west closer to the Florida coast. Not good.

For us, things are back to normal. We dodged a bullet, preparing for the worst and hoping for the best. Matthew was just getting started when it moved over us. We saw no more than 35 knots of wind -- and that in gusts. By comparison, the storm is now packing 100-knot sustained winds, with gusts as high as 130 knots. There is simply no comparison.

Boat Chores

Just a quick update here to say that life goes on pretty much as normal.

We are having fun in Grenada and getting some work done on the boat.

The latest chore is repainting the cabin top and deck. The non-skid was wearing through on the cabin top, which is potentially a safety issue. So, that needed to be repainted for sure, but the white trim was also looking shabby. No sense in doing one without the other.

We are also wanting to do the brightwork (i.e., varnish) -- a monumental undertaking on a Tayana 37, for sure. But we've seen a few boats here with their brightwork newly done and it is mesmerizingly beautiful. I decided on both the painting and the varnishing to do it "by the book" this time, so I have spent a few hours reading up and watching YouTube videos to get ideas on the best approach.

Doug, where are you?!

Grenada: How The U.S. Invasion Hit The Reset Button

If you've been following our adventures from a distance, chances are you knew nothing about the island of Grenada, up to and including exactly where to find it on a map, when we announced our arrival here last month.

You can take a moment to google it now. No, farther south. All the way down there, sort of close to Venezuela. Yeah, that's it.

If you do know anything, it's probably this: sometime in the 1980s (1983 to be exact) the U.S. rolled over this small Caribbean island in the first such deployment of American forces since the end of the Vietnam War. In one of the Pentagon's initial efforts at melding a code-name with a public-relations ploy worthy of a sixth-grader, the venture was dubbed Operation Urgent Fury.

More than 30 years later, you'd think everything would be forgotten. But you'd be wrong.

Few, if any bitter memories of Yankee imperialism. Instead, Grenadians are more likely to stop an American on the street and thank him or her for "saving" the country. That hasn't happened to me personally, but I have spoken to more than one cruiser from the states who's experienced it. There's even freshly renewed murals that appear on some street corners with American flags, or 82nd Airborne logos, thanking the United States.

This got me thinking. I do remember the invasion, but it is close to the periphery of my political consciousness. I was only 17 at the time. So, this post is sort of a study exercise in the history -- mostly for my own edification, but perhaps for you, too:

First, the backdrop. Reagan had been elected president three years before. The U.S. Marine barracks in Beirut had just been blown up by a suicide bomber, killing 241 marines. Some critics saw the move on Grenada, coming just days after the Beirut attack, as a "wag the dog" distraction (years before that term entered the popular lexicon). The evidence doesn't support that claim. However, Reagan -- always eager to reassert the Monroe Doctrine of U.S. hegemony in the Western Hemisphere -- had been eyeing the situation in Grenada for some time. An influx of money and contractors from Cuba, and some from the Soviet Union, had alarmed him. The focus of their concern was a new international airport being built on the island's south side with help from international donors, including former sovereign Britain, but most worrying to Reagan's people, also Cuba. Ostensibly a commercial entrepot, the Reagan administration saw the 9,000-foot runway, able to accommodate large (Soviet) military transports, as a threat.

PBS writes that for Reagan, Grenada had been "something of a pet project ... since his visit to Barbados in 1982." Regional leaders had bent his ear about the socialist country, that it "could become a Communist beachhead in the Caribbean."

There is some historical evidence that Grenada's governor-general at the time, i.e., the British Commonwealth's representative on the island, had requested the U.S. intervention. Assistance had also been solicited by the Organization of Eastern Caribbean States, thus giving the Reagan administration diplomatic cover.

Grenada, the smallest sovereign country in the Caribbean, had won independence from Britain in 1974. Less than a decade later, the political situation was turmoil.

The events of October 1983 would have been hard for anyone inside or outside of Grenada to follow:

The country's prime minister, Maurice Bishop -- a socialist who had forged development deals with Cuba and the Soviet Union (thus alarming Washington) -- had toppled Grenada's first premier, Eric Gairy, in a bloodless coup four years previous. On October 13, Bishop himself was deposed and placed under house arrest by his ambitious deputy prime minister, Bernhard Coard. Within days of the putsch, mass demonstrations occurred in support of the popular Bishop. The crowds snatched him from his captors and paraded him through the streets. On the same day, military chief Gen. Hudson Austin seized the government, deposing Coard and recapturing Bishop, who was executed along with several of his close associates on the same day.

Maurice Bishop

Enter the U.S. The chaos offered an opportunity to make a few points in the Cold War containment game and to get rid of the (military trained) Cuban contractors. Gen. Austin had issued a shoot-on-sight order to enforce a dawn-to-dusk curfew on the island. One main justification for the intervention was the "rescue" of some 800 students, many from the U.S., who were attending the St. George's University School of Medicine. Otherwise, they might get shot.

Six days after Gen. Austin's counter-coup, on Oct. 25, U.S. forces, including Marines, Navy SEALs and Army special forces, landed on Grenada -- deployed at several points near St. George's Bay on the southwestern and southern side of the main island (including the cruisers' anchorage of True Blue and the resort island Calivigny), as well as on the windward side near Grenville.

Credit: Wikipedia Commons

It was supposed to be a cakewalk. While no one doubted that vastly superior U.S. numbers would score a quick victory against the tiny, poorly trained Grenadian forces and the better trained, but small contingent of Cuban contractors/soldiers, it didn't go exactly as planned for the Pentagon.

Famously, U.S. forces lacked proper military-style contour maps of the island and had to rely on the same ones handed out to tourists. As a result, they had a difficult time finding the medical students they had ostensibly been sent to rescue (many of whom, when located, had no idea that an invasion was even underway). The Army and the Navy couldn't talk to one another because their radios worked on different frequencies, which contributed to a friendly fire incident that caused U.S. Navy A-7 Corsairs to mistakenly bomb a brigade headquarters of the 82nd Airborne, wounding 17 army soldiers, three of them seriously. Navy A-7s also mistakenly bombed a mental hospital instead of the actual target, the Grenadian command post at Fort Frederick. Eighteen civilians were killed in that mishap. In that same raid on Fort Frederick, three Marine helicopters were shot down. As Military.com notes, "The Grenadian Army and its Cuban allies also offered greater resistance than the Americans expected."

The whole David and Goliath confrontation ended up taking weeks instead of days and the mop up wasn't finished until mid-December. A provisional government was installed that served a year until things had returned more or less to normal and elections could be set.

For the U.S. military, it was a hard lesson. It was also a training ground for future leaders, such as Norman Schwarzkopf and Colin Powell, who both played major non-combat roles as major generals (two-star) at the time. Schwarzkopf was the Army's liaison to Vice Admiral Joseph Metcalf III. In hindsight, Powell -- who at the time of Urgent Fury was an Army liaison officer to Secretary of Defense Casper Weinberger -- deemed the operation "a sloppy success."

Today, Grenadians seem to understand that the outcome of the U.S. invasion can be separated from Washington's rationale for it. A taxi driver, who goes by the name of Cutty, who says he personally knew Bishop and other top government leaders, said he thought the United States had "done the right thing for the wrong reasons."

The threat of communism in the Caribbean, especially given the collapse of the Soviet Union a few years later and the slow withering of Cuba that it triggere, was overblown. Serious Soviet military adventurism in the Caribbean arguably ended with the Cuban missile crisis and despite some support for civil wars in Central and South America, was never again a serious regional challenge to the U.S.

For Grenada, however, U.S. military forces helped push a reset button on the island's politics. Since 1983, there have not been any more coups. Democratic governments have come and gone, with peaceful transitions.

And that airport that caused so much concern? That would be Maurice Bishop International.