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"Are you insane? Are you insane?" yells the hysterical
man on the other boat. It's a reasonable question. We must
be crazy to be in this situation. How did it happen? One minute
everything was fine and the next our world came crashing down,
literally.
We've been in George Town for over a week, and our anchor
is well buried in the sand and hasn't budged. During the day,
the wind has picked up steadily out of the southeast and is
now blowing 20-plus knots. As night falls, a two-foot fetch
with whitecaps rolls across the harbor, lifting the boat up
and down as if it were underway. We don't expect to sleep
well in these conditions, but we aren't worried about our
anchor since it has always held once it is set.
At around 10:00 P.M. I'm talking to my dad on Skype while
Nick takes Dakota to the bow for his late night "business."
Nick looks around and everything seems fine. Nick comes back
inside and goes to the aft cabin to undress.
Just seconds later, we hear a loud crash at the rear of the
boat. Pulling his pants back on, Nick rushes outside and is
shocked to see the bow of the Swedish-flagged Anastasia
protruding into our cockpit. This boat has been anchored close
behind us in the crowded harbor for several days. Apparently
our anchor has popped out, probably from a wave, and within
seconds Caribbean Soul has blown back and crashed into
her unfortunate neighbor.
"Go forward, go forward!" pleads the other couple
in frantic European accents as our boat slams again and again
into their hull. Nick goes to the stern to disentangle the
boats while I take the helm. We finally manage to pull away
from the stricken boat and think we're OK.
But then our boat starts pulling back down on Anastasia
again. Something--our anchor or their chain--is preventing
our escape. We can't go forward or turn away. The Europeans
are hysterical. "Are you insane? Go forward, go forward!"
But when we throttle forward, our boat pivots around their
bow, over their anchor chain, and crashes this time on their
port side. Now our dinghy painter has become entangled in
their bow pulpit. "Cut it away, cut it away!" they
cry. I run below to find a knife. Nick cuts loose our dink
and it floats off into the darkness. Nick calls on the VHF
radio saying we've drug anchor and our dinghy is adrift.
We finally manage to pull away, dragging our anchor behind
us. We need to drift back to pull up the anchor, but that
would put us too close to Anastasia. Instead we motor
forward and Nick drops our second anchor. However, it doesn't
seem to catch and we're getting close to Anastasia
again.
So now we're dragging two anchors through a dark and crowded
anchorage. I shine the spotlight on the nearby boats--they're
everywhere and some don't have anchor lights on. The wind
continues to build and lightning flashes on the horizon. How
can we possibly get our anchors up and reset in these conditions?
My helmsmanship is not up to this challenging task, and Nick
can't be in two places. The last thing we want to do is hit
another boat in the darkness. If we try to go out in the middle
of the harbor away from the crowd, our dragging anchors may
unseat the anchors of boats that we pass. We blow the compressed
air horn 5 times to alert nearby boats to the danger. A few
unlit boats suddenly turn on their lights.
Soon dinghy lights appear in the darkness. The Texas Rangers
are on the way! Fellow Texans Rob on Milano Myst and
Chris on Moonsail quickly tie their dinks to our boat
and climb aboard. Chris takes the helm while Rob and Nick
go forward to retrieve the anchors. I shine the spotlight
on the water and nearby boats. The captain of Iwanda
arrives and says he has our dinghy at his boat. He stays nearby
in his dinghy in case more assistance is needed. With Rob
and Chris' help, we get our anchors retrieved and reset. They
stay a little while to be sure we're secure. I don't know
what we would've done without their help.
For the rest of the night we take turns monitoring two anchor
alarms and keeping watch. We wonder how badly the two boats
are damaged. We hope this accident has not ruined our cruise
or that of Anastasia.
The next morning, we assess the damage. Our dinghy davits
are ruined and a mizzen stay has broken at the chain plate.
Although this is bad, it's not as severe as we had imagined
in the confusion of darkness. The captain of Iwanda
delivers our undamaged dinghy and tries to offer encouragement:
"We've been cruising for 13 years and these things happen
all the time. Don't let it ruin your cruise."
With the dink back, we go over to see the crew of Anastasia.
We hope their emotions have calmed down since last night.
They greet us courteously and invite us aboard. Kersti and
Thomas, a Swedish/German couple, turn out to be quite nice.
They hadn't realized that we were dragging our anchor the
night before, and this revelation helps them understand why
we had so much trouble. Anastasia is a heavy-built
European boat with a 95-lb. German anchor. We're grateful
that we hit a heavier boat than ours and that their anchor
didn't break loose during the ordeal, since that would've
sent both of us dragging through the harbor.
Damage to their boat includes a bent bow pulpit and stanchions,
broken bow lights, several ruined lifelines, and some damage
to teak and paint. Fortunately none of the damage will keep
them from moving on. We agree on how to handle the repairs,
and they invite us back for coffee and homemade strudel. Later,
Thomas digs into the bowels of his boat to find some parts
we might use to secure our broken stay. We're amazed and grateful
that they are so nice to us despite the trouble we've caused
them.
Since the accident, other boaters have offered their assistance
and sympathy. Although our morale and confidence is quite
low, we're trying not to lapse into the paralysis of self-pity
by staying involved with friends and by participating in George
Town's numerous activities. We've already had several challenging
episodes in this cruise, and in each case it was the support
of friends that helped us pull through.
We can't do much to make repairs while in George Town. In
the meantime, we'll secure the stay and carry the dinghy on
the bow when we go offshore. It's tempting to turn tail and
head home in defeat, but getting back to Texas would be as
difficult as going forward at this point. Come to think of
it, we'd have to go back through Louisiana, heaven forbid!
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