June 24: Musings on trusting your anchor

Mom left on Monday afternoon. The winds came that night.

Of course, Mom and I had perfectly calm quiet nights. Of course, as soon as she leaves, a strong northerly fills in.

Let me back up a bit. I already told my story of dragging in False Creek when I was alone on the boat. I called it ‘When the worse case scenario is actually ok’. And while the situation certainly did turn out ok, I was not.

It started a few days later on Bowen. We were anchored in Deep Bay, tucked in among the mooring bouys with less than 3:1 scope due to space. That night I woke up to hear wind in the rigging. I bolt out of bed to check if we are dragging. We are fine, but I am worried about the amount of chain we have out. I grab a headlamp and go to the bow to double check the scope. This wakes Kolby up ‘Is everything ok?’ he asks, also alarmed. ‘The wind picked up, I just wanted to check on stuff.’ I replied. ‘Come back to bed’ he calls, ‘it is hardly a breeze.’ And he is right, of course, there is less than ten knots of wind. ‘You’re like a night gremlin, rustling around out there.’ Kolby says as I’m back in bed. I willed myself back to sleep.This incident was followed by several nights where I would be wide a wake with any type of noise at night. Then we have a week of blissful calm and deep sleeps.

As per my learning of the first incident, I have been following the weather on Predict Wind. To my horror, a northerly of 20+ knots was predicted for Monday night in the Straight. At this point I am anchored off the breakwater in Comox, in a spot recommended by the gas dock owner who keeps his boat on a mooring ball there. It is a tiny hole and I am surrounded by boats on moorings balls and the rock breakwater. I am in 40 feet of water with only 100 feet of chain out. I had a little more room behind me on a northerly, so I let out another 20 feet. There is absolutely no room to drag. Then I go back to the gas dock and ask the owner how much wind I can except in this spot with this forecast and he figures I should be fine behind the breakwater.

About now I realize I am slightly traumatized by the False Creek anchor dragging experience. And by traumatized, I mean I am more scared than the situation calls for. It feels like Deja Vu all over again. So the winds pick up around 10 pm, and at first I am trying to sleep in the bed, but I just can’t. I download Drag Queen (an anchor drag alarm app) and moving my bedding to the cockpit. I turn the wind instruments on and they read 12-13 knots. The rational part of my bran registers that this is not a lot of wind but I can hear the wind howling in the straight and whistling over Comox. I sleep fitfully, checking our position every time I hear a gust…. however the most I ever saw was 15 knots. The wind died around 3 am and I thankfully go back to bed.

The forecast continued to call for strong northerlies, so I had to make a decision between 1) staying where I was, which is a leeward shore, but not enough space or 2) motoring down to Henry Bay which is more open to the North but I can put out 200’ of chain and have some breathing room.

I chose option 2. So Fynn and I headed out around 5pm and anchored in 50 feet of water at high tide. The tide was going out all night so I would only get more scope as the winds picked up. It was still pretty quiet while I anchored, but the winds came howling again around 9 pm. I was nervous again. I set the anchor alarm, secured the dinghy and forced myself to sleep in my bed. Nevertheless I did check on things several times throughout the night. This time the most wind I saw was 20 knots in a big gust.

That was last night. Today I am exhausted. It stayed windy all day, which effectively helped to cure me of my dragging phobia. Around 2 pm I noted to myself ‘Oh the wind has dropped off, I wonder what it is reading now.’ I smiled when I read it was still 16 knots, more than I ever saw while sleeping in the cockpit at Comox! Of course I will stay cautious, but at least I have most of my trust restored in Asunto and her oversized anchor.