by Dan McFadden
We were all excited. Though the occasion occurred some time ago, it seems like yesterday. A weekend away from TV and phone and routine. As we loaded the boat with the help of our friends Sue and Mike, we anticipated a wonderful uneventful weekend on the Chesapeake Bay. It would be our first overnight on our then new (to us) Catalina (C25) boat, Deo Gratias. The boat looked great since I had cleaned and waxed her. At the time, I didn't consider that we were long on enthusiasm and short on experience. Marietta and I had some ancient experience, me with sailing a kayak and sunfish, and both of us overnighting as guests on a 48' motor sailor. Sue had not been on a boat before and Mike had some limited boating experience. By noon on Saturday, we had the goodies loaded and were motoring down the Wye river toward Eastern Bay. The weather forecast was for fair weather with a mild cool front moving through the area that night.
We had a glorious sail on Eastern Bay for several hours, before heading into our anchorage in Shaw Bay at the mouth of the Wye. Shaw Bay was chosen because it was convenient and the only nearby anchorage I had experienced from my 48' motor sailor days. By 6 PM, securely anchored, we enjoyed a great grilled chicken salad dinner. It was warm, so, as we turned in, I got a chance to set up my Windscoop on the forward hatch, which resulted in excellent ventilation.
We determined our sleeping arrangement by mutual agreemennt, resulting in Mike and Sue(who are not small people) being in the spacious(?) Vee berth, thus revealing the depth of our combined cruising experience. Marietta and I ended up on the starboard settee and quarter berth, respectively. As we turned in, I noted another 10-15 boats (all larger than us) shared our spacious anchorage, the closest being at least 150 yards away. I set the Loran on anchor watch and settled in for what I anticipated to be a perfect nights sleep. I've since learned that sleep on a boat is called "boat sleep" because it's never total unconsciousness, except for far too-short periods.
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By midnight, I was aware that the wind had freshened, and the excellent ventilation was now too excellent, the interior of the boat being like a wind tunnel. In fact, Mike and Sue, having latched on to the forward bulkhead, were now flying, horizontal in the main cabin, like a couple of small craft warning flags. Okay, so I exaggerate. But I'll believe that, before I believe the next weak front weather forecast. I heard the flapping of a loose corner on the now over stressed Windscoop, so I scrambled topside to take down the scoop and close the hatch. I was greeted by the sight of a dark moonless night, the screech of 25 knot northwest winds and a sea of whitecaps. So much for the weak front. With PFD on, I went forward, removed the scoop and closed the hatch.
Back in the cockpit, I suspected I might not get much more sleep that night. The now agitated Deo Gratias was straining mightily at the 1/2" anchor rode secured to the starboard bow cleat. Unsure of the strength of this untested boat, I moved forward once again and secured the bitter portion of the rode to the port bow cleat. As I straightened up from my completed task, I was aghast at the sight of a wind driven bare pole 35' sailboat (doing 3-5 knots) emerging from the darkness only 25 yards away and closing rapidly. Especially disconcerting was it's bow-first course, heading right for my bow, intent on ruining my first sailing weekend. I was reminded of the movie Ben Hur, of a Roman galley in battle, with the slaves straining at the oars to maintain ramming-speed, motivated by the lash. I visualized grappling hooks and sword wielding devils swarming on deck intending to deepsix Deo Gratias.
Fortunately, I was already located at the bow, and the centerlines of the two boats were offset by about a foot or so. Charlton Heston I am not, but I yelled as loud as I could into the wind and while pushing off mightily the bow pulpit of the runaway boat, I rushed aft along the starboard deck of Deo Gratias until I was checked by the mast stay. As the intruding boat swished by, with just her starboard side kissing the starboard side of Deo Gratias, I could see a now lit cabin light and crew scrambling in the cabin. The pirate vessel, with dingy in tow, raced by, passing into the darkness like the Horseman Of Death. The whole episode took less than 30 seconds. Deo Gratias emerged unscathed. The only sound left was the wind in the rigging and the pounding of my heart. I went back to the cockpit, taking a few good breaths, a little shaken but uninjured, and realizing that further sleep was out of the question. In the meantime, Mike and Sue had been captured and properly furled in the post-wind-tunnel cabin. Mike came topside to sit with me for a while, Marietta said some prayers and went back to sleep and Sue worried, in amazement at Marietta's calmness.
I now had some time to think and chat about how quickly things can happen. As I sat there in the still strong wind, with the outboard up out of the water and the tiller secured with bungee cord, I realized that if the anchor rode let go, I could be that runaway boat. I then lowered, primed and verified motor starting and positioned the tiller for instant use. With a spotlight, I then located the nearest boats which could become a threat in a breakaway situation (I've since learned to shine the light near, but not on other boats, so as to not disturb the occupants, though I doubt many were sleeping that night). The rest of the night was uneventful with the wind dropping off somewhat by 5 AM. I never saw the runaway boat again, although at 5 AM, I noticed a large sailboat (could have been the offending boat) 150 yards off my stern, which was joined by a power work boat, that spent a half hour monkeying in the anchor rode area, before both departed. Mike, Sue and I then joined the now rested Marietta for a couple of hours of nap.
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After a good breakfast, though we still had fresh (15 knot) northwest winds, my tired crew mutually agreed to motor out of the anchorage toward home. Since I had never motored this boat in these kinds of winds, and didn't know how the 7 1/2 HP Mercury outboard would perform, it sounded good to me. Everything went fine and we were home in a couple of hours, tired but with a sense of accomplishment, and a little more experienced than when we started. In fact, just a few weeks later, Mike and Sue again joined us for a weekend (some people never learn). On that occasion, we anchored in nearby Dividing Creek, which is a well protected anchorage. That was a cold night, but that's another story! It was not a night of firsts, Thank God! Happy Cruising!
P.S. Other lessons learned - Shaw Bay, while being a good big boat anchorage has a fetch to the northwest. Northwest winds accompany cold fronts in this area. Also, when anchored with large sailboats, consider anchoring in shallower water to be protected from those deep draft puppies.
Dan McFadden is a former electrical engineer with Westinghouse (at BWI airport location). Dan and wife Marietta are spending retirement between sailing the Chesapeake Bay and enjoying their eight grandchildren. They live on the Wye River near Queenstown, MD., and sail the Chesapeake Bay on their boat, Deo Gratias, a 25 foot Catalina swing keel.
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