We got mightily hammered last weekend. The weather forecast was for wind, which means nothing to the residents of Oyster Cove, where the hurricane force winds blow from April through September. It's not uncommon for our afternoon "˜breezes' top 40 knots. So when the weatherman said it was going to be windy, we just ignored him. Those guys make far too much money to be wrong as often as they are anyway.
We pulled out of our slip on Saturday morning. The wind was blowing about 15 knots, spring conditions for our neck of the woods. We toddled back to our new favorite spot behind the marina and set the anchor in 12 feet of water. The cove where we anchor is small, so we let out 5 - 1 scope. We were content being away from the dock, doing our projects and anticipating an afternoon of quiet reading. As the afternoon wore on, the breeze filled in and, I confess, we felt smug as we watched frenzied white water heaving just beyond our tiny anchorage. The channel leading to our marina did not look like a happy place to be!
When conditions deteriorate, I like to keep an eye on the anchor. I found, to my dismay, that the shore was closer than it had been only one hour before. We hauled up the anchor and reset, not once, but three times. Sweetie said, "If we have to reset again, we are going back to the slip."
We had a tidal window to get over the shallow bar that leads into our secret spot. If we didn't meet that window, we would be stuck where we were. By the time we finally gave up, the wind was screaming. Palm trees along the shore were dancing like insane hula girls. It must have been blowing 45 - 50 knots because the flag at the marina was straight out and the surface of the water looked like the inside of a washing machine.
We made it over the bar and turned into the marina. There is a high, wooden, sea wall that protects the marina from the brunt of the weather, but it was only funneling the wind into the narrow channel with greater force. Three-foot waves were cresting onto Dock 5. We had to make it all the way down to Dock 3, take a hard left downwind then another hard right into our slip. Sweetie's effort was valiant.
Although he did get the bow about 5 feet into the slip, the wind blew him off and we were headed down our narrow fairway sideways. Anyway, we were headed for the rocks when Sweetie finally encouraged the big Isuzu diesels to spin us back in the right direction. Our teak swim platform barely swept under the swim platform of the last boat in the row by mere fractions of an inch. The barbecue wasn't so lucky. It scraped against the concrete piling and bent the mount. "To hell with this! Let's head back to Dock 5 where there is an end tie!" was my suggestion. Sweetie agreed and we were once again underway in hurricane force winds.
As we motored past Jolly Blonde, our friends Bob and Diane were waving to us, cocktails in hand, from the comfort of their enclosed cockpit. "Help!!!!" but the wind carried my plea past their ears. After several attempts, we managed, with great difficulty, to side tie to the end of Dock 5. At one point, Sweetie had the bow inches from the sea wall, while the swim platform was pressing on the bucking dock. I have already replaced that damn swim platform once and don't want to have to do it again. The boat was rolling and pitching and waves were breaking on the port side. We had spray on the flying bridge windows, which NEVER happens. If I wanted spray on the dodger windows, I would still be on a sailboat.
Eventually the sun set and the wind died down to a steady 30 knots. There was no damage to the boat other than to the barbecue mount and nobody was hurt. The cat was upset, but that's his lot in life.
You know, if you don't use your boat, things like this don't happen. Sometimes, it's tempting...
