The anchor is the symbol you can give to just about anything to render a nautical feel! Salty sea sailors tattoo them on their arms, harbour masters and seaside towns place them on neatly tended lawns surrounded by flower beds. They work well to convey the romance of the sea, and to inspire your average Joe to thinking whimsicality about classic films ‘Mutiny on the Bounty’, ‘Captain Jack Sparrow’, and have them hearing squawking seagulls even when there are none!
Too many sailors these days will carry an anchor on their bow for exactly the same reason. Because they look good, and give the boat a well founded look. The reality, in the world of leisure yachting, is that picking up mooring buoys, berthing in marinas, and maybe going up against a tidal wall in an old fishing port, is the zenith of the average amateur sailor’s ambition.
However, to Wardleys Sailors they are an indispensable tool of the trade and most of us carry several of them. We don’t spend a hundreds pounds on on designer yachting garb when we can amble around a friendly boat jumble and come away with a a couple of Danforths, a CQR, or maybe a fold-away Fishermans? It been long understood amongst practical sailors that buckets, boat-hooks, ropes at hand, and indeed the all important anchor, are the essential pieces of kit for when the dark clouds descend upon us.
Now, remember our arrival at Derbyhaven Bay from the previous Wardleys website report.? Well, just to recap, a group of us sailed over to the Isle of Man at the end of May. It was the first major club sailing trip of 2018. As described in the report, Darren, Phil and Simon in ‘Jamila’ and ‘Rivendel’ arrived first. A day later, as promised, Nick joined on his yacht ‘Nimrod’ following an epic lone sail across the sea through near impenetrable ‘Manin Mists’. And let’s not forget Malcolm, who finally joined five days later, having sailed over in his amazing 18 foot Caprice .
Derby Haven is illustrated above. There are two parts. Inner and Outer. The inner-part could be loosely called a harbour and is guarded by a wall and dries-out at the three hour mark. There are lots of local boat, all packed in with cables criss-crossing the bottom, and frankly a little off-putting to the casual sailor. The outer part is spacious and doesn’t dry-out unless anchored by the beach at the southern end. It is suitable for larger and deep keel boats and indeed one morning we were woken by a loud clanking noise and saw a three masted tall ship sat there just north of the Derby fort. What a fantastic sight! As often is the case with many things in life, Derbyhaven bay has its strengths and weaknesses. In its favour, it is sheltered from the prevailing South Westerlies, it has a firm sandy bottom, it has a nearby golf club offers free ablution facilities to passing sailors. It also has Castletown nearby, perhaps the most charming of the Manx ports, but a short walk away. On the down side there is a lot of kelp on the bottom, lobster pots and abandoned lines , and precious little shelter from the wind being situated at a low point in the island. With the exception of a beach in the south west corner, there are some worrisome looking rocky-shoals on all sides.
The three Wardleys sailors spread themselves out at various locations leaving plenty of room for boats to swing . At the time of anchoring, a warm steady wind was blowing from the south west as about F2/3. The wind felt heavenly on the face as it came across the sparkling blue water. Everything about the scene was bright and pleasant. Its amazing how even the dinkiest cabins become alive in brilliant sunlight often revealing eye pleasing pastel shades not hitherto seen.
With reference to the map shown above: ‘Jamila’ was anchored in the shallows in the south western corner. Jamila’s two metre shallow water alarm rang-out loudly at the moment the skipper dropped the 10kg CQR anchor just a short distance to the bottom. The idea of finding such shallow water was to find a nice spot to do some snorkelling. Darren and Phil on ‘Rivendale’ opted for deeper water. Darren positioned his boat roughly at the ‘V’ in ‘Derbyhaven’. Finally Nick on ‘Nimrod’ dropped his anchor close to St Michael’s Island roughly to top right of the ‘P’ for Parking symbol. Given the prevailing wind all boats were laying off towards the North East and away from the rocky shores found off the port side.
The weather had been discussed the day before. For a Morecambe Bay sailor it couldn’t look better! The forecast looking two weeks ahead was an easy to read catalogue of sun and warm winds F2/4 SW. However there was one minor fly in the ointment, on the Monday night towards the evening the wind was for some strange anomaly due to swing around to the north and increase to F5 in the late evening with perhaps a touch of easterly. Well, WardleysMYC sailors are generally happy to sail out into the Lune deeps in anything up to a F5, so not much more was thought of it. The exclamation “We’ll be all right, … Mmm, I wonder what delicacies we’ll find the the Castletown Co-op?” essentially characterised the thinking at the time!
Jamila’s skipper was up early on the Monday morning, and with running shoes, tracksuit and a rucksack rowed ashore in his round-tail Avon inflatable. Very little wind impeded the passage towards the small settlement of Derbyhaven. Behind the austere nineteenth century break-water built on an outcrop of rocks lay a broad white sandy beach with the odd boat dragged up to the high water mark. Derbyhaven itself is a single row of cottages, and bijou Victorian villas with bright white painted exteriors stretching the full length of the north western side of the bay. To the casual visitor, it seems that everything falling to the eye had at least some aesthetically pleasing quality.
Stepping ashore in a foreign land from an inflatable is a strange experience. Pulling the dinghy up up to the high tide line over a white sandy beach requires a similar effort as to fighting your way to a airport baggage carousel to drag off an over-packed suitcase. But instead of being met by surly questions by folks in high-vis jackets, you receive a friendly and slightly musical ‘Good Morning’ from passing locals going to the shops. Nobody is bothered to see you advancing up the beach and are content to continue on their way.
All the sailors went ashore that first day. It was only a short walk from Derbyhaven to Castletown. The latter was delightful place that late May morning. The weather could not have been better. Every reflective surface sparkled. Castletown used to be working fishing village with an intimate little harbour and several pubs not a stone-throw from the quay side . A hundred year ago it would have been packed full small sailing smacks typically with huge masts and bow-sprites, and well over canvassed such that they stand a chance at dealing with the capricious I.o.M. tides. More recently, the Manx fisherman have been replaced by wealthy financial services types with lots of money to spend are not afraid to do so. There were no signs of ‘this was once a rich Victorian holiday resort now a little in decline’, as is often found to be the case in many British resorts. The three Wardleys Sailors eventually found the local Co-op, … where they entered, where they saw, where they loaded up, and in due course carried-off the likes of fresh milk and other general stores back to the small flotilla of boats awaiting them in Derbyhaven.
It was early afternoon when Jamila’s skipper got back to his dinghy. It was evident, whilst he had been running, shopping, and walking with a load of brimming Co-op carrier bags, that the tide had come a good twenty yards up the beach, kissing the stern of the dinghy, and had then had receded back to roughly where it was when arriving. Soon he was paddling towards ‘Jamila’ who was sitting serenely at anchor, framed by an extensive golf club house sat one hundred yards up a sloping field rising away from the high water mark. It was still a little early in the year but Jamila’s skipper decided to go for a swim in Derbyhaven’s crystal clear waters. The water looked gorgeous! He lowered himself agonizingly in from the stern ladder, and launched himself away with a little flourish, helped by a stabbing push-off from Jamila’s huge rudder. God was it was cold! It was so bad that even after five minutes of assimilation, it still felt ‘blumming’ COLD!.
Once out of the water it was payback time. The swimmer’s body, having been tricked to thinking it had just come through a life threatening ordeal, rewarded its owner with that lovely euphoric feeling of ‘wow, isn’t it great to be alive!’. There’s a sort of serenic calm where briefly there is not a worry in the world. This sense of well being was no doubt helped by the warm weather coupled with a delicious pork pie with pickle, and a chilled can of lager. This led to sleepiness and an afternoon nap, during which sun descended into the west and the tide continued its long ebb bringing Jamila’s two bilge keels closer to the gravel strewn beach below.
The skipper awoke from his nap with a start. Something weird was going on. It had suddenly gone cold. Wearing just shorts and T-shirt no longer felt pleasant and comfortable. Jamila’s halyards had started to clatter and bang in the rigging above. It was now early evening. Time had moved on during the afternoon’s bout of dreamy relaxation. The skipper stood looking out from Jamila’s companion way. A quick survey revealed that the sky had clouded over, that the wind had veered massively from the SW to the North and more worryingly, that the boat had swung around on her anchor such that she was blowing directly onto a lee-shore. Yes, the swing of the chain had brought the shore to only a matter of yards!
Jamila’s 25 pound CQR anchor had been well set the day before. A long and sustained spell in reverse had done its job. The plough shaped anchor was dug deep into the seabed. Now, the CQR is a good anchor, but has a well know weakness in that it can often fail to reset in time after being pulled-around in a wind shift. They can drag along for a while! Suffice to say, they don’t cope well with wind shifts in tight anchorages!
An eerie juddering vibration could be felt through the anchor chain back to the chain roller. Time to get the engine going! To late! Jamila’s twin keels scrunched onto the bottom and the bow swung around putting the boat side onto the shelving beach. The engine was now useless. Action stations! Must think fast and act fast, and in that order!
The Bruce is another type of anchor. Its ultimate holding power is not as vaunted as the CQRs, but is liked by seafarers because it sets fast! Luckily ‘Jamila’ had one squirrelled away the stern locker and its time to step into the breach had come. By this time the wind was gusting F5. The small fetch across the bay was sufficient to generate waves strong enough to push Jamila that little bit further up the shelving beach each time the rising tide lifted her off the bottom. The Avon round-tail dinghy was pressed into service to haul the Bruce and twenty yards of rode to deep water where it was dropped onto a kelp-free patch of sand. Jamila’s skipper (simon) could only now hope and pray for deliverance! At this point Darren (aka the ‘Piel Sailor’) in Rivendel’s dinghy came punching through the mounting waves shouting an offer of assistance over a strong whistling sound coming from Jamila’s rigging . His usual jovial demeanour had been replaced by a granite jawed look of resolve.
The two sailors went back on board Jamila for intense discussions. An idea was hatched to barge Jamila’s bows around pointing back into deep water using the full might of the Piel Sailor’s Honda 2.5 outboard. Before this plan could be executed, little by little Jamila’s bow edged around on its own accord. The rode to the Bruce had become taught. The scrunching of keels on the bottom had ceased. The Bruce was winning the battle! Jamila was lifting with the tide and staying put! It was time to play the joker in the pack. The Volvo Penta D1-20 was fired up and Jamila three bladed propeller got a firm grip of the water slowly shoved her forwards. Darren took station on the bow and quickly hauled in the Bruce. This late substitute anchor had scored a vital goal. The next task was to haul up twenty five yards or so of chain leading to the main anchor. At the end of the chain was a morass of kelp. The CQR was somewhere underneath. It was never going to set in a month of Sundays. The kelp had to be cleared first to have any chance of penetrating anew though the kelp. This messy task was undertaken whilst Jamila crossed the bay. It was important to get Jamila into a safe anchorage, putting clear water between herself and the lee shore.
Down went the anchor once again. Not too much chain up front this time. Allow Jamila to slowly drift astern. Must help the CQR dig through the kelp and not skate over the top. So, Jamila did just that, and drifted backwards at a controlled rate. Eventually it caught the bottom and offered some initial resistance. Some more chain was offered. Jamila eventually pulled-up with a gentle shudder. After a short pause yet more chain was released. Finally a four to one scope was reached. Now it was time to put the D1-20 in reverse to test the hold, though limited to tick-over. Some transit bearings were taken using the end of the breakwater and the edge of a foreshore villa beyond. It was now hoped the anchor would dig in deeper. The revs were slowly increased. And yet more revs to simulate a good blow. After a few more minutes in reverse the engine was killed. It was time for a well earned cup of tea. Thanks Darren, what a pal!
Unfortunately the ordeal wasn’t over yet! And for Darren and Phil on ‘Rivendel’ the night had only just started!
At this point attention turned to Nick in his Hunter 25 ‘Nimrod’. He was anchored just one hundred yards from waves noisily breaking on the rocks on a lee shore between himself and the golf club house. Earlier he had tried to re-position but had had difficulty weighing his anchor and had given up. On the radio he seemed amazing calm about the dangers surrounding the growing situation as the wind increased to gusting F6. This was much much more that what had been predicted! How much worse would it become? A GPS anchor alarm had been set and a plan to run ‘Nimrod up onto the beach where Jamila had been anchored previously, was the only practical option. He was single handed, so spinning two plates at once, i.e. operating the engine and dealing with the anchor in failing light, was considered a none starter. The failing light eventually turned to darkness. It was now no longer safe to helm a dinghy. He would have to hang on and hope for the best.
None of us dared snuggle into our sleeping bag awaiting below. By two in the morning the wind was gusting F7 as times with sustained spells at F6. A half gale was upon us that was not all all expected. We felt suddenly exposed and unprepared. Jamila’s anchor chain was bow taught. For how much longer would it hold? However. With his anchor alarm set for thirty meters radius, Simon sat dozing in his saloon, not exactly awake but definitely not sleeping. He was suddenly stirred from his slumber by shouting voices in the distance that were carried over to ‘Jamila’ on the wind. A little later the unmistakable sound of a diesel engine clattering into life followed.
The scene out of the companion way hatch was mortifying. It was two thirty in the morning and one of our Wardleys’s boat was in deep trouble. Earlier, as the evening turned into a black moonless night, we started to get to know each other by reference to the steady position of each other’s LED anchor lights set against shadowy dark sky. One of those lights was not where it should be. ‘Rivendel’ s light was out of position! She was steadily falling down wind towards the ragged shoreline that we knew was there, now hidden in the black of night. Above this scene further in the distance could be made out the cluster of lights from the Golf Club. But, no sound came from the VHF. It remained quiet. The quick slice of roaring static emitted from a momentary turn of the squelch knob confirmed it was working. Further and further the anchor light drifted away. The sound of a horrible crunching sound now seem inevitable! Rivendel had now woken up fully to her mortal plight! Now there were additional lights up on deck. Two cones of intensely bright light were scanning left and right and down into the raging waters. The hapless by-standers on ‘Nimrod’ and ‘Jamila’ could only watch-on in terrified awe. Still further and further she drifted until eventually the wayward movement appeared to have been checked. Was there now some hope? Had the anchor reset? Had the propeller belatedly got a grip on the water? The spectacle of lights, now some way away in the distance, appeared to shift slowly to the right, away from the rocky shoreline, towards the location of the gently shelving beach between the Golf Club and Derbyhaven.
Was the skipper going to beach ‘Rivendel’? Apparently not! Maybe it had been an option on the table that had been firmly rejected! The Piel Sailor’s iron jawed resolve that had been witnessed hours earlier was out there in the darkness doing its damnedest to sort matters out. From time to time you could make out a figure on the deck, a figure at the helm, a glimpse of the cabin windows, a glimpse of mast and rigging, as the two cones of bright LED light worked left and right. Shouting could now be heard now and again. Rivendel was coming back to us, albeit slowly. Hopes were now improving. Eventually she was back and in a steady state in terms of relative position. But it wasn’t to last! Off she went again towards the very rocks whence only half an hour ago she had been delivered. Were we seeing Rivendell final death throws? Were we at WMYC in the weeks to follow going to be mourning the lost of one of our finest yachts? Was ‘Rivendel’s anchor just a useless morass of kelp? Was there a lobster pod wrapped around a blighted prop? Would the crew manage to save themselves, scramble onto the rocks away from harms way. Find sanctuary in the nearby golf club surrounded by concerned but tipsy late night revellers?
Once again the spectacle of lights withdrew slowly from danger, but this time back tracked across most of the bay. She pressed on and even moved to windward of ‘Jamila’. Whilst passing close, a figure clinging to the pulpit in Rivendel’s bows could be seen clearing kelp from an engorged length of anchor chain. Then a glimpse of the clean metallic lines of an anchor was briefly had before disappearing down into the cold black depths. Rivendel slowly fell back, ever so slowly she retreated, now just a little down wind of Jamila but still off the beam. Phil could be seen at the tiller holding the boat steady hunting for an anchor bite! Finally she held her station. One minute passed. Five minutes passed, Half an hour passed. Yes! no change in her position, the anchor had finally set! The morale aboard ‘Nimrod’ and ‘Jamila’ lifted and a sense of jubilation was briefly felt. A quick look at the windometer showed 35 knots; no one was out of it yet. There was to be no sleep for the next few hours. Then suddenly the wind dropped back to a F3/4 as quickly as it came. The sky in the east began to brighten. Day break was upon us. The four WMYC sailors collapsed into their bunks physically and mentally exhausted. They had all entrusted their safe keeping to their respective anchors. Lessons had been learnt with respect of ensuring anchors ‘reset’ properly after important changes in wind direction. No faces would be seen on the decks of any of the three Wardley’s boats until well into the following afternoon…
Next instalment to come: the remaining trip around IOM, the return across to Ravensglass, and interception by a military patrol boat en-route back to the River Wyre.
And since you got this far: