With a low and falling glass,
Soundly sleeps a careless ass…..

With mares tails in the sky as night fell, and barmoeter reading a fall in pressure, both Clare and I tucked ourselves into bed last night with our hot toddy’s and a bit of bedtime reading before we finally succumbed to the gentle sway of Sunny Jim.
It was only when I awoke in the night and had a quick look at the barometer that I noticed the considerable drop in pressure. Outside the wind chorused with the melancholy moan of the turbine, and Big Cuddles, tied alongside, made rythmic thuds against the hull.
I popped my sleepy head outside to casually check the conditions and the creeping realisation hit- Sunny Jim was drifting out to sea. She had been dragging her anchor way beyond the perimeter of the other boats. In the distance I could make out the orange glow of shore lights but the anchorage in which we were so comfotably resting was lost within the grey murk. Dark silhouettes of French granite provided a sinister backdrop and notice of our increasingly precarious situation– where were we? How far have we drifted?
Clare was up immediately and switched on the chartplotter. Yep, we have travelled a whole kilometre….a full kilometre with us both cuddled up in bed. The boat, if it had drifted in a straight line would have had to pass 2 submerged rocks and was well on the way to heading out to sea!
We don’t have one of those red alarm buttons on board with a proper red siren but if we did I would have pushed it there and then- several times. What followed from that point was both of us scrambling into action, Clare on the tiller and starting the engine and myself heaving on the anchor chain for all I was worth, praying to the anchor gods(or gods that deal with general ground tackle, buoys and other submerged stuff) that the anchor hadn’t fouled, and that it would just a matter of pulling up the chain. After some serious grunting, the anchor came up with a clunk and we motored in the general direction of where we had drifted from. But for a moment it was touch and go, and im quite amazed at the speed we both came to our senses.
It wasn’t just us though. As we picked up a vacant mooring buoy after our little incident, I noticed during the course of untangling the lead line which was attatched to the buoys securing rope, a little red dinghy came floating past on its merry way out to sea. I even called the harbour master but had no response so Clare made tea and I sat down with the binoculars to watch the poor little dinghy floating off.
Still, panic is over and the lesson learn’t – always, always pay the right amount of scope out.(shameful to admit but we payed out 20 meters – ok at low water, but

when the tide comes in at 12 meters, its just not on).

So the day turned out to be pretty blustery after all. Towering culmonibus hurried past and the anemometer was regularly recording 25 knots. To avoid any other little sojourns into the night, I suggested that we pay out plenty more chain to allow for the return of high water. Yeah? No problem? Well, to do this we were going to have to move into a spot which would allow us to reverse into a space with more swinging room so the whole anchor and chain would have to be lifted again. Right, well, I’m getting used to this heaving lark and its not all that bad. Don’t really mind it at all actually, a good heave ho and a jolly good tug and its done. Anchor on the deck. Except that we had to co-ordinate the retreival of the little darling anchor buoy which is like a little inflatable attached to the other end of the anchor by 10 meters of rope. So you can guess whats gonna happen. No? Clares on the tiller, engine on, slowly motoring forward. I’m there, stood on the fordeck, pulling at chain when the anchor buoy, with mindless determination, bobbing along with all its might, inevitably dives right at the last second to secure itself nice and tightly around the prop.
We had heard stories of lines becoming so tight that the force of the shaft trying to turn has pulled itself from the boat causing it to sink.
The engine went off immediatley and anchor secured to the foredeck.
Without any way, the boat was left in the unhelpful hands of some pretty powerful elements.
The wind blew fresh and the tide began its afternoon flood as our boat began drifting towards a buoyed shoal patch where small waves lapped over glistening stone…..
Clare and I stood digesting the situation. It was pretty grim. My cogs were turning but the panic inside was preventing rational thought and the dog had done a mr. whippy on the foredeck.
The headsail was whipped out and with the wind filling the sail gave us enough way to tack out of our situation, leaving the shoal patch, rocks and dire consequences in our wake.
With time on our hands the panic subsided and the next step to sail onto the mooring buoy that we let go only hours before. This we pulled off without a hitch and must of looked pretty slick. A nearby family on board sat up in there cockpit and gave us the thumbs up.
Step by step, the boat had been made safe.The dinghy was fastened alongside wherein I stood, balancing myself in the swell brandishing a jagged diving knife lashed on the end of a 3 foot stick, fashioning soiled and soggy underpants, socks and sandals(the fashionable footwear of a man who has lost touch with his sense of dignity), and with the fearless courage of a british paratrooper begged Clare to dive down to the propellor.
Another hour went by as the remnants of the anchor buoy’s line was sawn away from the propellor shaft and after having checked that everything was alright and no damage done the engine thumped into life and we found ourselves in an anchoring spot, paying out 40 meters of 8mm chain and 16kg’s worth of galvanised steel.


Its been a hell of a day. We had to leave the anchorage in the end because of strenghening winds and a northwesterly swell making the whole place untenable. As we left, there was only one occupied yacht toughing it out, pitching and rolling in the uncomfortable swell.
We came round the corner and dropped anchor hopefully for the last time. The wind has eased and the swell was unable to find its way into the estuary so were hoping for a quiet night. It’s a beautiful spot- the rocky cliffs and stone bluff’s have been replaced by woodlands and farms, but we’re a mile offshore in this wide place so there is not much chance to go ashore. After the weather prevented us from setting foot on land today, I feel at a bit of a loss. Even though I have been unable to make contact with friends and family, just writing and reading old emails has helped us keep in touch with you guys back home(we had planned to get wi-fi access at a restaurant sited on the beach today), but with the weather denying us that small mercy I, for one, feel the burden of a very long and tiring day.