These little stories are my favorites to tell.
This took place a few weeks ago, at our second anchorage (Coches Preites) on Santa Cruz island. Great anchorage, with an awesome beach. On our second day there the wind shifted a little to the west and picked up quite a bit. Putting us on a lee shore. I was not feeling good about it, so we hauled up the anchor and moved to the next anchorage over (Alberts Anchorage). It was only about 1/2 mile away, just around the corner and dead calm.
Perfect.
There was only one other boat in the anchorage, so plenty of room. They were tucked way up in against the shore, so we stayed out a little ways. Plenty of swing room for both boats.
Perfect…
About an hour before the sun sets, another boat pulls into the anchorage. There was tons of room outside of where we were anchored. Tons of room. Absolutely no reason to drop the hook anywhere near us or the other boat.
As we sat there in the cockpit watching them anchor in a respectable spot, and silently judging their every move (as was our right, being already anchored), Tawn comments that she thinks it was a charter boat (this turns out to be true). For what ever reason, they did not like there first choice of spots. So they hauled up the anchor and chose another spot. Which by the way, was not a respectable chioce.
Before I tell you where they decided to anchor, let me first say that we were perfect situated behind the other boat in the bay. Close enough to leave a ton of room for anyone else coming in and yet far enough away that we were not to close to them.
As you can imagine, the new boat dropped their hook right between us and the other boat. Doing this put them uncomfortably close to both us and the other boat. While it was a very diplomatic move, not making one of us to feel singled out and picked on, he still chose to anchor exactly in the worst spot.
The sun sets. The wind picks up. I could flick beer bottle caps into their cockpit. They pulled anchor again and reset. Anchoring so close to the other boat, they almost hit them! They let out so much anchor rode that when the wind blew them back on their rode they were still a little to close for comfort, but what can you do. It as better than before.
Fuck it, go to below and watch a movie.
1am. I go up on deck to check things out. The wind had died to a dead calm. I notice that they have set a stern anchor. Go back to bed.
8am. Tawn is already up and wakes me up with a soothing, “uh CB, the dumbass charter boat is dragging us out to sea”. No time for a morning coffee or a constitutional. Right to work.
Me and Tawn are out in the cockpit giving this guy the “What the fuck, Mate?” look. As he is powering out of the anchorage, dragging his stern anchor, which has snagged our anchor chain and is dragging us along (slowly) with him.
He powers down, looks at us and says…..”What should I do?”.
I thought the answer to that question was fairly obvious, but apparently he did not. So I offered up a helpful, “Untangle your fucking anchor from ours, and have a nice day”?
He then proceeds to sheepishly cut his anchor line, ties an old life vest to it and takes off. Leaves. Gives us a “sorry, dude” wave and he is gone.
We spent the next hour and a half hauling up his anchor, which was completely tangled up with our anchor, untangling the whole mess and reset our anchor so we could get back to chilling. I still had the morning constitutional queued up. This was a very busy morning.
When we finally got his anchor up. I was hoping it would be a nice new Fortress stern anchor. We needed one, and I was fully prepared to claim salvage rights on it. But it was a small piece of shit. Barely big enough for our dinghy.
I was almost tempted to toss it overboard when at the last moment, randomly, I remembered we were out of beer and wine. I imaged those charter companies would require a security deposit on lost/damaged gear. A plan was forming. I loaded the little anchor into the dinghy and headed over to the next anchorage in hopes that is where they ran off to.
It was.
I pulled up to their boat. I watched them act like they were not watching me coming. They knew who I was.
As I pulled along side, I held up the anchor and gave them my biggest shit eating grin. They turned out to be nice guys, fully apologetic. Offered me a beer for my troubles.
I smiled…..
They offered six beers.
Still smiling….
Up comes a bag with twelve beers in it. I mentioned my wife really likes red wine.
Clink, clunk…in the bag that goes.
No harm, no foul. Bag of booze makes it all good. Just another day on the high seas.
The beautiful Channel Island landscape is a harsh difference to the green PNW…but I am really digging this desert motif! [/caption pi
