Go with me on this. Any resemblance between this story and real facts are purely incidental. It has been a great day at sea. We left Miami early morning aboard a wonderfully equipped boat and are looking forward to sun downers and a good nights sleep. We pull into a very nice, albeit small anchorage. Locals are on shore with runabouts pulled on the beach. Everyone is frolicking in the gentle surf. It is late afternoon and we decide to don mask and fins and check the anchor only eight feet below in crystal clear water. A bright red star fish is near the anchor so it is easy to spot. We have more than enough rode (chain) out to assure a good "set" yet it appears the "hook" is only partially buried it he coral sand. Without getting the scuba gear out, we are limited in the effort to dig a hole for it to the thirty seconds or more that we can hold our breath. Being lazy, we decide to forgo the tanks and live with the anchor as it sets. Soon, the sun is below the yard and we are, as they say, splicing the main brace with guests. The locals leave the anchorage and we have it to ourselves. Darn lucky we think. What a place. The burgers were outstanding and the evening continues until someone yawns. Then the contagious nature of that event takes the entire crew into those last glimpses of the dark shore line and that last sip in the glass. Slowly, the crew head for horizontal surfaces thankful for the day and the safe passage. We are confident of waking up where we started before dark. There is no sitting in the dark below listening to the sea or the boat. We are tired. Sleep comes fast and deep. How sweet it is.
It seems like only a few minutes when an unusual movement to the boat wakes the crew. This movement is not just a roll or a pitch, it also includes a lunge of the type that says we are "making way". But wait, we have an anchor down, or do we? This is when, like the kicking of the squad bay trash can at 0300 by the drill sergeant, one can go from deep sleep to vertical sprint in less than a heartbeat. Mind yer noggin you say as you head for the companionway at mach .000000001 to see "what the heck". There is a driving rain pelting the deck. Once topside, it is pitch black. So much for the plan. Looking at the gps, you notice that we have a straight track drifting to the only boat busting bolder in the entire anchorage. But before we hit that rock, we will encounter a lovely million dollar yacht that is not moving, that is except the owner with the Q beam attempting to burn our retinas out of existence. Now, how the hell am I going to see anything except for that white ball of light permanently etched in my vision? Oh yes, that light also comes with some faint suggestion of my having questionable parentage. Not to worry, we have a second anchor which, if deployed in the next 15 seconds will save the day. Why the heck did I use all that line to secure it to the rail? Ah, but we have a knife. Quick work and the line is gone, the anchor is attached to the rode and overboard. Let's see if it sets in time for us to stop before we sink the Queen Mary. Just then it sets and the boat stops on a dime. Both chain and rode are piano wire tight and holding. The dude with the hand held sun mutters something about our IQ and goes below. He cannot help it, he is French.
Having narrowly averted an international incident at sea, one notices it is 0300. For now the boat is stable and the rain has stopped. Wait, it is darn cold and not only am I wet but also sitting in the cockpit in my underwear. No wonder the fellow turned off the light. Too wired for the moment, the best thing to do is to grab a towel and sit there for a bit. It is too early to have adult beverages and not late enough to make coffee. After all, it is 0303. Staring toward the east, the next three hours pass slowly as one contemplates that darn anchor. The Admiral comes topside at around 0900 with that "what a restful night it was" look on her face. Gee honey, when did you get up? Why are you sitting there in wet underwear? What are we gonna do today?
Log entry: Stardate 111111, Caribbean Sea- note to self- discard that dufus anchor and get something that will hold.
Enter Rocna, a well known anchor with supposedly great holding. It comes with a warning that when retrieved, it comes up with really foul bottom stuff stuck to it. There are trade offs and a bucket brigade is needed to keep that stuff out of the anchor locker, but hey, one may be able to sleep------that is except for concern over the boat upwind some dark and stormy night. Where do we keep out Q beam?
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