October 26 - What A Drag!

When we left you, I promised to tell you of more that I learned
in Oxford, MD. Boy, Howdy, as they say in the south where I used
to live...

We're in Oxford, a charming (are all Chesapeake area towns like
this??) very small city on the Tred Avon River. It's home to an
amazing wooden boat builder who uses kevlar in his construction,
a couple of museums, a major Hinkley shop, and the usual
assortment of very nice people, dogs, birds, squirrels and other
fauna. Just tonight, a goose swam up to our platform and begged;
we fed her a piece of bread which she daintily took, piece by
piece, from our hands. On our trip into town earlier, we
encountered yet another very friendly dog walking his owner, who
was also friendly, so we chatted both up for a while before
heading in for the touristy stuff.

That was today, what we expect, if the weather holds, to be our
last day here. I'd slept in, dramatically for me, for reasons
we'll discuss anon, but it's been really nasty weather for the
last couple of days. To bring you up to date on our education, I
have to back up a couple of days...

As usual, the ladies slept in yesterday, and so the laundry and
shopping got off to a late start. Worse, the weather was really
stinky, with pretty constant rain, and going off in the dinghy
wasn't much fun to consider. However, it looked like it was
clearing up, so Lydia and her Mom went off to load the machines
at Mears. Lydia was going to bring her mom back and then go for a
long walk but as soon as they got there, it commenced raining
even harder than before. So, they stayed and instead took
advantage of the showers there and chatted up the locals.

One of them, Pete, was considering the liveaboard and full-time
travel routine that we're doing, and asked to join us for dinner,
providing the ride to Latitude 38.

We'd noted that the other boats in the anchorage had left
overnight. Pete said that the power boat anchored in front of
Mears had dragged all the way across the channel in the storm in
the morning, coming to rest against a marker post. That would
prove very interesting to us later, but we felt smug on our 55
pound Delta and all chain rode, still stuck where we started.
Anyway, laundry finished, all showered up, they finally returned
in a lull in the rain.

Because it was so nasty, and also, by that time, so late, we
elected to stay another day, having still not gotten in to do our
exploring. After all, it seems a bit much to come all this way
only to go to dinner.

We dinghied in to the landing and Pete picked us up, heading off
to another memorable dinner at Latitude 38. Wednesday night is
Prime Rib night, and the place is packed. However, Wendy, the
owner, recognizes us immediately, and after asking how we got
there (she expected to come pick us up), got our table ready
quickly.

Pete and I talked at length about all the realities and
challenges of full-time cruising, but, even if he keeps his
Freedom 33 (he thinks it might be too small) to do that, he could
do it. He's a double retiree, Army and teaching, and has the
means to cut the cord. So, all that we'd been through was very
interesting to him, and we had a lovely time together as he
picked our brains.

By the time we returned to the dinghy, the weather had
deteriorated, not only raining but blowing rather energetically.
We'd found good holding, though, and our 55# Delta has been
criticized as too big for the boat as it was, so we felt
reasonably comfortable with our position.

The first thing we learned was that we likely had fouled our
anchor in all the changes of direction. In the morning, we'd been
facing, with relatively high winds, all 4 points of the compass,
but eventually straightened out from what had been a strong wind
South to land in a relatively northerly position. I say "likely"
because I couldn't believe that big mother of an anchor and the
long all-chain we'd put out, after being firmly set, could slide.

Wishful thinking. We were sliding, and in danger of winding up in
the docks of where we landed our dinghy. Hurry and start the
engine, pull up the anchor while motoring into the wind, but
still get blown on to, at the very end of the boat - our arch - a
marker pole.

No big deal, as we get off, and then go for a re-anchor. Once
again, we stick it firmly, and let out lots of scope. As the
winds are forecast to remain very consistent, after watching the
GPS like a hawk for about an hour, at close to 1AM I go to bed as
the winds outside howl.

A little after 3AM, I feel something's not quite right. We've got
more heel than would be likely with the level of wind we've got,
and even more strangely, it seems to be coming from more abeam
than would be the case from just sailing around at anchor. So, I
get up to have a look.

EEEK! There's a boat behind us, in a dock, not 15 feet from our
stern. Off to our port, about 100' away, there's a seawall. The
wind is exactly on our beam, and blowing pretty good. Worse, I
don't see anything I've ever seen, let alone recognize nor know
where I am. However, the good news, if you can call it that, is
that we seem to be aground, and appear not to be in any danger of
running into the boat behind us, nor the seawall. I grab a
boathook to confirm that we are, in fact, aground. Our chain is
stretched out nearly perpendicular to the boat. Obviously, we've
dragged, went aground, and the bow swung around until it stopped,

I got out the searchlight and tried to find any familiar
landmark. I couldn't. I didn't recognize anything. However, I
could see channel markers, much higher in number than I recalled,
so at least we could find our way out, if we could get off the
ground. I turned on the inverter, fired up the laptop, booted the
Cap'n, and saw that we were at high tide. Great! Just like in St.
Michaels, if we don't get off immediately, we're not going to,
for a while. However, this time, we're reacting in realtime,
rather than later, and it makes a difference.

I got Lydia up, raised the front window of the dodger so we could
see against the glare I was creating, put on our Marriage Saver
headsets so that we could communicate even in the howling wind,
with me on the bow and her driving, and commenced getting off.

Fortunately, our anchor, while it had dragged all that way, was
still stuck, so my kedging got the nose around, and as Lydia
applied full starboard and throttle, she stood up and we were
off. We picked our way back to where we'd been, as, now that we
were the only boat in the anchorage, there was plenty of room.
Later, in the daylight, I was able to see that we'd dragged
probably a quarter mile, managing not to hit anything along the
way to our sandy/muddy resting place. WHEW!

(Back to the education.) I also learned that I was very annoyed
that our already oversized anchor should have dragged. However,
we also have a second, even bigger anchor up front. The 75# CQR,
with, also, all chain at this length, was deployed for the first
time, following a longer-than-normal rode on the Delta. It hooks,
and I let out about a 7-1 scope on it. The two hold, with about
an initial 30* angle between them.

However, twice burned, infinitely shy. All this has taken about
an hour and a half, and it's about 4:30. I send Lydia to bed and
take up anchor watch. I look at the GPS in thousandths of a mile.
Each thousandth represents about 5 feet, and the boat's swinging.
Initially, it looks like it must be dragging again, but I watch
it like a hawk. It varies enough that I figure the only way I'm
going to have a comfort level about whether it's actually
dragging is to log it. As some of the N/S variances were as much as
10, that would mean 50 feet or so. Not a comfortable feeling,
especially as it's happening over a relatively short time frame. But,
I can't really see any apparent movement with the circle-scope trying
to do mental calculations about what that would mean in N/S and E/W
movement.

So, every minute, beginning at 5AM, I log the thousandths of
north and west. After about the first hour, I also log the wind
at the time, in order to calculate the swing and change in
location. More education, I think I learn that I can't fully
trust the GPS, as it seems that we've actually moved, based on a
landmark reference, but the GPS doesn't track that. However, I'm
able to see that our noted position has recurred in several cases
throughout the total of logged minutes, so we're revisiting the
same spot(s). Whether or not the "automatic rough" (the syndrome
that has pilots hearing something wrong with the engine when
visibility declines making them not have ready emergency landing
places visible - but the engine's actually just as it always is)
was responsible or it really was slightly dragging, if we were
going back over the same spots we'd been in over that time, we
couldn't be doing too badly.

None the less, as no further apparent (negative) movement occurs,
after 2 hours, I go to every 5 minute logging, and finally, at
8AM, when it's light again, conclude that we're fully hooked, and
aren't doing anything more than swinging on our two anchors.
Lesson learned is that our two anchors will hold when one
oversized one, on excess scope, in good holding, apparently, won't.

Another lesson learned is that were this a hurricane, we'd need a
great deal more holding than we had put out last night, as I don't
have confidence that our second anchor would have made the
sufficient difference. I'll save our hurricane prep for another
time, but it's enough to say that we have a great deal more
holding and tying aboard than we've used here, so we think we'll
be ok. Of course, the main thing will be to not be where there's
a hurricane!

So, in the end, I slept until 2, unheard of for me, and we went
to town in lots of wind, but still relatively warm. Our return
was dry, if a bit spitty with rain, and lots of wind, and we
settled in to an early dinner and movie in the still-warm cabin
made even toastier for the cooking. We've stayed fixed in exactly
(swinging aside, of course) the same position throughout the
20-25knot winds all day (and for that matter, since before 5AM),
so we're relatively comfortable that we'll still be here in the
morning.

Winds are forecast for 15knots east all day for our run to
Solomons, where we expect to anchor in Back Creek. We'll be there
for several days as we pick up various shipments sent to us, and
try to enjoy the area with a little less drama than here!

Postscript to that is the weather deteriorated to the point that not
only would it be not much fun out there, but vis would decline in the
afternoon. This morning, as I type, we're actively thinking in terms
of going to Cambridge, with hopes that we'll be in graduate level
studies there, rather than the painful underclassmen studies we're
enduring here :{))

Stay tuned for further adventures.


L8R

Skip

Morgan 461 #2
SV Flying Pig KI4MPC
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