Practical Boat Owner - June 2018

Yacht surveyor and designer Andrew Simpson

cruises in his own-design 11.9m (39ft) yacht Shindig.

Read his blog at http://www.offshore-sailor.com

Monthly musings

Andrew Simpson

What’s on the end of the

chain? Hopefully not a boat

Chain reactions

Sometimes you get more than you bargained

for when dropping or raising the anchor.

Just be sure you don’t have an audience

U

ntil recently I believed I had

witnessed every variation on

the anchoring theme that

could possibly be imagined.

Good techniques, bad

techniques, preposterous techniques,

slick, clumsy, downright dangerous

techniques – I’ve seen a fair selection.

But there was more to come. A popular

Ionian anchorage was to serve up a

sample as memorable as any that

Dionysus – Greek god of booze, madness

and merriment – could have devised.

It was early evening, a time when winds

in those waters tend to fall away. Like

birds to their roost, boats were homing in

on what is truly one of the nicest

anchorages you could hope to fi nd.

Gin-clear waters over fi rm white sand;

obliging tavernas and a huddle of shops

ashore. Perfect.

One of the later arrivals was a bulky

Italian ketch. Its anchor dangled ready to

drop, and was garlanded with what at fi rst

appeared to be weed. But, as she drew

closer I realised it wasn’t weed at all, but

chain. Moreover, chain in prime condition

and plenty of it. Closer still and I became

intrigued. The

arrangement looked

deliberate. Was this a

new method of

anchoring? If so, this

was without doubt

something PBO

readers should know

of. I went below and grabbed my camera.

Our Italian skipper waved merrily as he

swept past and I watched as he rounded

up not 50m distant. Crisply done. Full

marks for precision. The anchor

disappeared bottom-wards taking its

unusual wreath with it. Soon, the popping

of a cork signalled our newcomer’s

satisfaction with his situation. Collectively

we all settled in for the night.

The following morning saw the usual

sluggish stirrings. One of the features of

cruising the Ionian is that everywhere is

fairly close. Add to that a virtually tideless

sea and it matters little how early or late

you leave. Indeed, it’s often said that the

Greek word ‘avrio’ (tomorrow) is like the

Spanish ‘mañana’ but without the latter’s

sense of urgency. As it happened we were

staying at least another day or two so

none of this mattered much to us.

However, on the anchoring front I felt the

need for closure. Chele’s suggestion of

breakfast ashore was declined – with

some anguish, I admit. Instead I found

things to busy myself with on deck just in

case il capitano made a break for it.

Which he did just short of noon. Up

came the hook, still draped with chain.

The fi gure on the foredeck watched its

ascent with mounting astonishment.

It became plain both from his

demeanour and the rat-a-tat exchange

between him and the lady at the helm that

his mood had vaulted from languor to

agitation without passing through

anything rational in between.

It was clear that this was the fi rst he

knew of his metallic mistletoe.

They were now motoring slowly

seaward. I watched him race aft, scanning

frantically astern. And who can blame

him? When one picks up a chain, one

assumes there’s a boat attached to the

other end. Indeed, with luck you might get

a couple and they will draw together in a

most agreeable fashion as you pull them

forward. Not much relish now, though. Our

man cannoned around his side decks,

leaning far out to see whatever might be

going on below. Was it wrapped around

his keel... rudder... prop... all three?

I’ve never seen a bloke actually pull his

hair out but he was patently getting close

• even getting to the point of grasping a
  couple of handfuls.
  Meanwhile, the lady in
  the cockpit was giving
  him some grief.
  He looked troubled, as
  if from some spectral
  visitation.
  I never got the chance
  to commiserate. Taking the helm, he
  opened the throttle – tentatively at fi rst,
  then with more confi dence. Apart from
  glances astern to confi rm he really was
  unattached, he stared straight ahead,
  passing us closely without making eye
  contact. Yes, I sympathised, there are
  times when all of us would like to slip
  away unnoticed.
  Shame about the camera.

Andrew Simpson

The arrangement

looked deliberate. Was

this a new method

of anchoring?