Continuing from my previous posting, I present you with the tale of the dragging anchor, part 1.

Bequia

We arrived in Bequia late on Sunday afternoon, and proceeded to drop anchor in Admiralty Bay.  Bequia sand is notoriously hard, so it can take a few tries to get a good bedding on the anchor – we’ve done it numerous times though, and know exactly where to go.  Unfortunately, Sunday was no exception as there was another boat where we intended to go and the first attempt failed to bite properly, so we went around and tried again (and Admiralty Bay was like a sardine can).  On the second try, the cat ‘bounced’ as the anchor bit into the sand, normally a good sign.  Mum and I went over the side after a few minutes with snorkelling gear, and checked the anchor and rode.  I, unfortunately, staked £100 on the fact that while the chain was lifting a bit,  we wouldn’t drag since the anchor was buried quite well – Mum bet the opposite, and as Bajans would say, “Who tell she say dat!?”

Thinking we were securely anchored (in about 15 feet of water), we cleaned up, got dressed and called a water taxi to take us over to the restaurant where we had booked a dinner reservation for my parents’ wedding anniversary.  The taxi came, dropped us off on the Hamilton side of the bay, and we had a good dinner (callaloo soup if you please).  On the way back, we ran over the mooring line of a rather large and dark yacht – had I not been watching out for it, the taxi would probably have fouled his prop.  As it was, it took a good few minutes of pushing and paddling to get us off of the mooring line so that the engine could be restarted.

Admiralty Bay, Bequia

Back on board, we decided to call it an early night, as we were tired from all the travel (and adapting to the motion of the cat).  Barely an hour after our return, Dad noticed that something wasn’t right, and sure enough, we had tripped the anchor and were drifting.  I grabbed the helm, fired up the engines, and held us on station in 25 knot winds while Mum and Dad dealt with the anchor.  Since it was now about 21:30, we decided against re-anchoring in the same spot (too many boats nearby), and circled around to drop to the west of where we had dropped before, away from the other yachts, and with (hopefully) open ocean behind us.

We dropped in 17 feet of water, put out as much scope as we could (chain and rope), and thus started a night of anchor-watch.  Anchor-watch is very, very boring – Bequia is a sleepy place at night, and other than lights on the shore and my MP3 player, there was no activity.  I took the first watch, until midnight (intending to push through to 01:00 or so) at which point Dad came up and took over.  Thus was spent the first night in Bequia, and we didn’t drag at all (though we were swinging around like a brute since we didn’t have the bridle attached).

Come morning, Dad and I sat and watched The World attempt to anchor.  I do say attempt, because they had the same problem we had in the 25 knot winds channelling down the bay – they dragged their anchor on the first attempt, and got a good hold on the second.  It was vaguely satisfying to see a largish ship pull into the bay, drop anchor and then just keep going backwards in the grip of the wind.

Rather than deal with the Bequia sands (and a re-anchor attempt in shallower water), the decision was made to sail down to Mayreau, and anchor in Saline Bay.  It turns out that the shank bent overnight too, never a good sign.  We checked the emergency anchor, and found that it was a 16 kg anchor, on a short scope – nowhere near the right size for a 40 foot catamaran, so we didn’t bother to change out the anchor.

Mayreau

Getting in to Mayreau can be interesting due to the various reefs and rocks that ‘protect’ the northern passage and Saline Bay itself  – Baliene Rocks, Jondell Rock, Catholic Island and Grand Col are all nasty places to run in to (we’ve run into Grand Col before in the 40 foot monohull the family had part-ownership in – went from several knots to dead stop in a heartbeat; Mum ended up doing a bit of emergency patching to the keel in Union, but it was pretty much a scratch on the keel), though in most cases well marked and clearly visible.

Water Taxi going to Union

I had the helm again coming in to Mayreau, a spot I would find myself in several more times over the course of the vacation.  We found a patch of sand in the grass, and dropped the anchor in to it, then let the wind catch the cat and push her back.  First time lucky this time around, and the anchor dug in properly, just missing the wreck of a dinghy.  Again, we dived the anchor to ensure it was down properly (it was, Mum was happy), and had the cat out on full chain scope, with the bridle attached.  Up went the Bajan flag, and off went the engines.  Oh yes, engines.  We’d been getting a warning alarm from the starboard engine, but the mechanic at the charter company indicated it was probably a false alarm.

Saline Bay is a quiet place – a long beach, a dinghy dock and a ferry dock, a decent reef on the north of the bay, and salt flats between Saline Bay and the eastern coast of the island.  We were, pretty much, content to sit and watch the day go by – observing the water taxis heading over to Union Island or the Tobago Cays, and generally leaving us alone because we were flying a rather large Barbadian flag.  We put in an order for some bread, ice and batteries for the GPS with one of the taxis, and then Mum and I went diving on the northern reef to see how it had come on in the intervening years since we last went there (the answer is quite well, with new reef growing, and the remains of the old pier being converted by nature).  We didn’t bother to go ashore, as we were quite content sitting on the cat watching other boats come and go, and just generally taking life slowly.

Morning Ferry

The morning and evening ferry is a sight to watch as it comes in at a decent speed, heading for the ferry dock.  It then slows down a bit, starts a hard turn to port (left) and drops an anchor, effectively performing a hand-brake turn.  Once the way is killed, the ferry back-backs to the dock, dropping the ramp and lifting the stern slightly to ensure a good contact.  When it comes time to leave, the ramp lifts, the engines kick in and the ferry weighs anchor and steams off towards the next destination.

The first night in Mayreau was just fine, no dragging of the anchor, and a solid night’s sleep.  We continued to take life slowly, watching other yachts come and go, along with a cruise ship or two.  Saline Bay is used by cruise ships as ‘your own private beach’, which is partially true – there’s never more than one cruise ship in the bay, so the beach is private to you (the passenger) and several hundred other people, plus the various t-shirt and trinket vendors.  We also watched what appeared to be a youth training ship anchor far too close to us and two other catamarans; close enough that at one point in the night, they came within five feet of one of the catamarans.

Unfortunately,  the anchor was not as well bedded as we thought, and we dragged the anchor again on the second night – though my parents were kind enough (and smart, it meant someone got a full night of sleep) to let me sleep through it.  So, fed up with dragging anchors and anchor watches, we decided to go to the Tobago Cays.  The Government has installed insured moorings in the Cays, and the charter company endorsed their use – so no anchor watch, no anchoring shennanigans, no dragging, just peace and quiet.  And turtles.