The unsanctioned spectator sport of anchoring:
Sometimes you watch the show. Sometimes you are the show.
While all eyes might be focused on the Paris Olympics these days, there have been unsanctioned spectator sporting events happening all over the Chesapeake Bay this season, as they have been since time immemorial. I snarkily refer to them as the Anchoring Olympics. But the snark applies only to the name of the event, not the games themselves, because we all should know better than to feel superior to other boaters.
The Blue Angels’ performance in May provided ample opportunity to observe the sport. With so many boats attempting to anchor at the same time in the Severn River, there were bound to be mishaps. Fortunately, the stakes were fairly low, as it was daylight and the weather was good. Nevertheless, many hapless boaters unaccustomed to anchoring in water over 20 feet in depth found themselves without enough anchor rode to manage a good hold. Whether they simply didn’t have enough chain and line, or didn’t know how much to put out, it led to much unhappiness, especially when they were perilously close to other boats.
The stakes were somewhat higher over a holiday weekend, where most people in a popular Magothy River anchorage were planning to stay for the night. One salty looking craft slid across the anchorage while its crew was belowdecks, claiming no such thing happened when other sailors tried to get their attention.
A racing sailor of some renown—which I mention because several racers I know take perverse pride in knowing how to sail but not having a clue as to how to dock or anchor—was at the helm of another boat nearby. That captain anchored right on top of us and neither let out enough scope nor backed down. We ended up re-anchoring elsewhere for the night, not trusting their anchoring. We were right to do so, because we watched the boat drag the next morning.
The Fourth of July holiday invites all sorts of mayhem, and we willingly took our chances to join the crowd. Wanting to avoid a busy creek, we anchored our boat just outside the entrance, but we were joined by plenty of others. The darkness, the sheer number of boats, the confusion of anchor lights and running lights, the inexperience of once-a-season boaters, and the amounts of alcohol consumed: these all made for an unhealthy invitation to chaos.
As we watched a small family in a center console boat repeatedly, unsuccessfully attempt to anchor, we could have sat smugly in our cockpit, sipping chilled wine, as we waited for the fireworks. Not everyone wants help, and they certainly don’t want an audience. But after six tries, my husband Rick waved them over and made a suggestion, acknowledging that we’ve all been there. Their next try was successful. We’d done our good deed for the day.
But good deeds don’t always get rewarded. It took us multiple passes into the fairway at our marina, and a few raised voices, to get our recalcitrant boat docked. Luckily, it was dark and there were few observers about. While we could have used a hand, we were happier to struggle without an audience.
We may have learned a few things about anchoring over the years, through repetition and out of necessity. Those years have also taught us many more valuable lessons. That there is always someone more experienced than us. That Mother Nature laughs at our efforts, and karma doesn’t always reward us. That it doesn’t matter how well we’ve anchored when someone else nearby hasn’t done so well. And that sometimes you’re watching the show, and other times you are the show.
by Eva Hill
