Monday night was hard work.
We were at anchor, in a reasonably sheltered, shallow bay on the south side of the North Evia Gulf.
View Larger Map
At around 2330, we were about to turn in for the night. I did a final check on deck, only to witness a fantastic display of sheet lightning to the north, on the other side of Evia. We watched it for ten minutes. We became fairly confident it was not heading in our direction, but we know a thunderstorm can bring strong winds so decided to lay a second anchor.
The ten minutes spent enjoying the spectacle cost us dearly.
We laid our second anchor, which is a 16kg Delta plus about 25kg of chain - not an easy thing to lug about. While doing so, it became apparent that the chain of the primary Rocna anchor was caught round something on the bottom. It looked to us (in the pitch black - a new moon), that the two chains were somehow entangled, but in thinking about it afterwards we are sure they weren't. We decided to lift both anchors and re-lay them both. This is not the first time that laying the second anchor has caused us grief.
We've thought hard about whether we should have done anything different with respect to the wind, and decided no. It was likely to blow hard from the North East during the night, and had chosen the anchorage accordingly. We certainly had shelter from the swell in the bay, even with the wind blowing directly from the North.
We were very unlucky that the wind turned up when we were in the process of lifting the anchors. Sara had inexplicably not put the safety line on the anchor lid (she's normally a stickler for this), and it clonked her good. This didn't prevent her superhuman effort to lift the second anchor (which has to be done by hand), then get the Rocna one up.
As the anchors came up, we began drifting towards the land about 100m behind us. The darkness made it hard to estimate the distance. Concerned about the depths (we only had 2m under us when we dropped, and the sounder was now showing 1.4m), we loosely tied the second anchor to the deck and I headed out to the deeper water of the bay. There things were much worse. There was a 3-4m swell, and I had to hammer the engine to turn the bow through the bay. Unfortunately, the anchor lashing proved inadequate, so Sara spreadeagled herself over it while the boat pitched and rolled and the spray soaked her. I couldn't leave the helm to check the chart, and we had to tough it out while Sara did a proper job of tying down the second anchor.
We cautiously navigated ourself back into our bay, laid the Rocna with 40m of chain, and began an anchor watch. An hour later, it was all over.
We did a lot right. The boat's fine, and Sara's wound will heal, but it became more risky than we like. We've learnt these lessons well.
We were at anchor, in a reasonably sheltered, shallow bay on the south side of the North Evia Gulf.
View Larger Map
At around 2330, we were about to turn in for the night. I did a final check on deck, only to witness a fantastic display of sheet lightning to the north, on the other side of Evia. We watched it for ten minutes. We became fairly confident it was not heading in our direction, but we know a thunderstorm can bring strong winds so decided to lay a second anchor.
The ten minutes spent enjoying the spectacle cost us dearly.
Lesson 1: If a thunderstorm is about, don't dawdle - get prepared.
We laid our second anchor, which is a 16kg Delta plus about 25kg of chain - not an easy thing to lug about. While doing so, it became apparent that the chain of the primary Rocna anchor was caught round something on the bottom. It looked to us (in the pitch black - a new moon), that the two chains were somehow entangled, but in thinking about it afterwards we are sure they weren't. We decided to lift both anchors and re-lay them both. This is not the first time that laying the second anchor has caused us grief.
Lesson 2: Trust the Rocna. Only lay a second anchor when sure that the Rocna is dragging, and then first lift and relay the Rocna.At this point, the wind turned up. We'd seen the potential for a good blow from the North earlier in the day, with clouds indicating pressure building up behind the Evia mountains. Although the thunderstorm did not come in our direction, it pushed the air over the mountains into a strong Katabatic wind. That came at us over 10 miles of water. When it turned up, we had half an hour of Force 8 winds, with a peak gust of 48 knots.
We've thought hard about whether we should have done anything different with respect to the wind, and decided no. It was likely to blow hard from the North East during the night, and had chosen the anchorage accordingly. We certainly had shelter from the swell in the bay, even with the wind blowing directly from the North.
We were very unlucky that the wind turned up when we were in the process of lifting the anchors. Sara had inexplicably not put the safety line on the anchor lid (she's normally a stickler for this), and it clonked her good. This didn't prevent her superhuman effort to lift the second anchor (which has to be done by hand), then get the Rocna one up.
As the anchors came up, we began drifting towards the land about 100m behind us. The darkness made it hard to estimate the distance. Concerned about the depths (we only had 2m under us when we dropped, and the sounder was now showing 1.4m), we loosely tied the second anchor to the deck and I headed out to the deeper water of the bay. There things were much worse. There was a 3-4m swell, and I had to hammer the engine to turn the bow through the bay. Unfortunately, the anchor lashing proved inadequate, so Sara spreadeagled herself over it while the boat pitched and rolled and the spray soaked her. I couldn't leave the helm to check the chart, and we had to tough it out while Sara did a proper job of tying down the second anchor.
Lesson 3: Don't leave shelter until you are fully prepared, even it it means motoring to stay still.Here's some of the things I wish we'd done: sorted out the foredeck properly, tidy up down below, studied the chart, thought hard about whether we needed to leave the bay at all.
We cautiously navigated ourself back into our bay, laid the Rocna with 40m of chain, and began an anchor watch. An hour later, it was all over.
We did a lot right. The boat's fine, and Sara's wound will heal, but it became more risky than we like. We've learnt these lessons well.
Comments
Post a Comment