Practical Boat Owner - January 2016

Andrew SimpsonMonthly musings Yacht surveyor and designer Andrew Simpson own-design 11.9m (39ft) yacht Shindig. Read his blog at http://www.offshore-sailor.comcruises with his wife Chele in his

L

et’s face it, in the boating world there are few more stressful tasks than

that the stresses that arise from it often arise from our anchoring – and I venture to suggest

own actions.ago we were at anchor off Porto Conte, an attractive Something like a decade

community deep in a well-sheltered bay on the north-west coast of Sardinia; a very convenient landfall for sailors

crossing from Menorca some 180 miles to the west.passage ourselves a few days Having made that same

earlier, we were enjoying the relative calm of lying to the hook in what were, in our view, almost perfect surroundings.

towards dusk we were sampling an appropriate sundowner when we spotted a forty-With the light darkening

something-footer approaching under power from the south-west. A red ensign at the stern

and two fiand likely a cruising couple. She (who I’ll call Daisy to protect the innocent) was at gures on deck: British

the wheel and he (Derek) was in the bow.into the bay by now. The In they came; over halfway

sound of the engine and their voices could be heard.please,’ said Derek.‘Call the depth as we enter,

under fimetres,’ responded Daisy.‘Just a shade ve

‘Slower.’‘Four metres.’‘Slower still.’‘Three-and-a-half metres.’

was looking tense and increasingly agitated. ‘Slower – much slower.’As they advanced, Derek

astern! Go astern! Now!’‘Two metres.’‘Stop the engine! No... go ‘Zero metres.’

incredulity. Derek rushed aft to the shrouds and peered over Now there was total

the rail. They looked at each other in disbelief. Why weren’t they aground?Then Daisy’s quavering voice:

‘Sorry, Derek. I seem to have had the instrument display switched to boat speed.’Family spats in public can be

embarrassing for onlookers, don’t you agree?Many sailors have been And they aren’t alone.

confused by multi-functional instruments, and the potential for information overload increases with every new toy

that emerges. But the absence of

information can also deceive. I’m sure there’s a psychological term for it, and certainly some illogicality, but the more I can

see the more anxious I become. our home port is Poole, though we haven’t sailed there for As regular readers may know,

more than a dozen or so years. It’s an interesting place – the largest natural harbour in Europe, covering about 36

square kilometres. It has one of the smallest tidal ranges in Britain; about two metres

between high and low waters. It also has twice the usual number of high tides per day; four instead of the more usual

two. (Incidentally, Weymouth, 30 miles to the west, has by contrast four low waters per day; a source of wry

amusement to my neighbours.)Harbour is shallow for the most part and contains water Although large in area, Poole

of an opacity resembling mulligatawny soup. Yet over the 30-odd years Chele and I have been associated with the

area, I have never dragged an anchor while there. Indeed, my recollection of past experiences brings back

memories of nonchalantly tossing anchors over the side to see them immediately disappear from view. Once

set, we would go about our activities without further care. The anchor was entrusted to perform unsupervised.

last decade has seen us sailing waters that ranged from slightly murky to as transparent as So here’s the curious part. The

glass. You’d think that having sight of the anchor would be reassuring to a crew, but for us that’s not the case. It seems

that because you can see it, it demands to be seen. When we arrived in Port Elizabeth, on the island of Bequia last June,

the water was gin clear, the bottom of sand; excellent omens both. First we patrolled the anchorage looking for a

suitable spot – a matter of no more than a few minutes. It took little time to fiwanted and soon nd what we

of less than half a metre, tides had dropped the hook in about 6m. With a range

were not an issue. But had the anchor set properly? Going astern it certainly felt secure; but had it really?

take a look; too late to inflthe dinghy in the fading light; I vowed to check the next Too weary to swim out and ate

morning. Yet such visual reassurance would have been impossible in Poole, so why was I worrying now?

out of mind?Co uld out of sight mean

increases with every new toy that emergesThe potential for information overload

A very pleasant anchorage: Porto Conte on the north-west coast of Sardinia

Is seeing believing?

When dropping the hook, it’s usually a case of gone but not forgotten