ANCHORING

She was having trouble holding back the tears- her throat was so tight it was difficult for her to get the words out, but she choked her way through it: “When we get to Puerto Rico, we’re going to have to figure out if we continue on with this. I don’t think I’m cut out for this anymore. “

He was having trouble himself- he was stunned at the way- and how quickly- things had gone from a lovely day on the water to a nightmare. His first thought was, “Why wait until Puerto Rico? If this is how it’s going to be, let’s just pull the plug on this when we get back to Salem.”

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Anchoring had become traumatic. Headsets on, communications good, everything going well until it was time to pay out the chain and set the hook on the bottom. The old manual windlass was touchy, and would either release the chain in a blinding rush and loud clatter, or once the brake was applied, would clamp down on the chain with a loud slam, which invariably jammed the clutch so that it would take effort, in the form of smacking the cogs on the roller with the handle, until the whole cycle repeated: rush, clatter, slam, jam. The stress of it was more than she could bear- every time, her anxiety would overtop her threshold and she would experience a meltdown. She was not handling anchoring well.

As they worked their way into the next anchorage, he made the decision to handle the windlass work himself this time. The wind was light, there was no other boat traffic, it would be a good opportunity for her to practice handling the helm to hold station while he dropped the anchor. No point in them putting themselves in that stressful situation again. But then, in order to give her agency and choice in how the boat was run, he asked her how she wanted to handle the anchoring. To her credit (and his surprise), she chose to do the task that frightened her the most- she had been studying up on technique over the last few days in a quiet cove, and felt more confident. He was proud of her.

It did not take long for him to regret his offering the choice. He slowly brought the boat into the anchorage, as they kept in touch over their headsets. The boat was inching forward slowly in idle, they were calmly discussing various spots to set the anchor, but in the intimacy of the headset, he could hear the tension in her voice, her anxiety rising. Her breath began to quicken. Soon she was panting as if she was in a marathon.

He realized that at some point between the commitment to an anchorage spot, and the release of the chain, they had ceased being partners in the operation, that she was now hostage to something beyond her control- there was nothing he could do to help her. Every suggestion he offered was rebuffed, every attempt to appeal to calm reason was met with an angry retort. Her breathing, amplified in his headset, became rushed and ragged, out of control.

The anchor was not biting into the bottom as it should. She had to haul the chain back in, but it piled up and became stuck in the chain locker beneath the forepeak, which required her to run back, go below and forward to knock down the pile of chain, and then back up to the windlass to pull in the rest of the chain. She cursed the whole way.

On the second try, the anchor dug in. The chain was payed out, an anchor watch set on the chartplotter. He sat in the cockpit for a half hour, watching to make sure they weren’t dragging, while she went below to calm down. When he finally came down, she made her pronouncement about Puerto Rico.

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The next few days were icy. They walked on eggshells around one another. At some point, he told her what he had thought about not waiting for Puerto Rico, that if it was this bad, they should end it sooner than later. They both sat with that for another couple of days, the thought of it festering between them.

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They both dreaded what came next. It had been a pleasant enough sail to the next cove. They had pushed past (or maybe just ignored) the anguish and actually enjoyed the sailing, but it was late in the day and that meant it was time to anchor.

“I’ll handle the windlass today,” he told her. “I don’t want you to put yourself through that stress anymore.” He left unsaid that he did not want to go through another meltdown himself.

She looked away, paused, and then said, “No. I’ll do it.”

He was conflicted. “Are you sure about that? Because there’s no point in making yourself miserable with this. You can practice steering the boat while I drop the chain. It’s OK.”

“No,” she said, “I have to do this. I’ve thought about it over and over, and I… I just have to do this.”

He took a deep breath, and reluctantly agreed.

Headsets on, they talked over how it would go. Part of her anxiety was in placing the anchor in the right spot, so that mooring balls, lobster pot buoys, or for that matter, other boats, would not bump into them during the night. Their new plan was that they would cruise through the anchorage and assess the possibilities, again and again if necessary. They would not make their final approach until she was satisfied that there was sufficient clearance.

“OK, here’s the spot. We’re in 28 feet of water, are you ready to let the chain run?”

She let out a nervous sigh, “Yeah, tell me when.”

“OK, let it go!”

She twisted the clutch off, and the chain, as usual, stuck. She worked at it, eventually having to bang it with the handle, until it broke free. The chain rattled out loudly- he could hear it in his headset from her microphone, along with her rapid breathing. He started to steel himself for her panic- and it never came.

She cranked down on the clutch just slowly enough that the chain slowed rather than jammed. She was able to call out the marks on the chain, “FIRST MARK, 25 FEET!”. A half minute later, “SECOND MARK, 50 FEET!”

He was at the wheel, grinning, and spoke into his headset, “Babe, you are doing great! Stop the chain when you’re at 125 feet!”

A few seconds later, “THERE IT IS, 125 FEET!” The clutch slammed shut, the chain stopped, and she asked, “What do I do now?”

He laughed, and said, “Nothing Babe. You just anchored the boat!”

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Authors note: This narrative is pretty much exactly as it happened. I started writing it before its resolution, and I truly did not know how it might end. I am SO proud of Kate for pushing through her fear and making this breakthrough.

And by the way, when we anchored tonight, it went flawlessly- she’s a pro!