The Hairy Eyeball

Block Island is a terrific place for boaters because it is basically a small island that encases a giant, circular, salt-water lake. There is a short canal that provides access to the Great Salt Pond, and then once inside, the boater has a huge playground in which to anchor, safely harbored from storms or high winds. The place is so popular that, despite its size, it gets pretty parked up, particularly on weekends. Boats are neatly packed next to one another, in much closer proximity than in most other anchorages.

Rick has long joked about the tendency of boat anchors to fail here, and about the boat owners who don’t know how to set an anchor properly. People come in, steering their brand new white plastic tub, put down an inadequate anchor with too little scope, and then take off in their dinghy for dinner. He loves to tell about the locals who frequent the nearby pubs that overlook the anchorage. They gather there during storms so they can watch what they like to call "the drag races.” Boats swing loose, dragging their anchors, and start piling up on the other boats that are anchored in such close proximity. There are rescue boats that keep a close watch during storms, and they are a common sight in the Pond.

Upon arrival at Block, Rick did his usual routine of finding a choice spot among the zillion boats, setting his anchor and turning off the engine. I was annoyed by the guy in the Beneteau next to us, staring at us through his coke-bottle glasses as though daring us to screw up. I had had a bout of seasickness on the way up, my first of the year, and was looking forward to some time on land. We loaded up the Trinka and headed in to the beach. The sun was close to setting, but we had a quick swim and then a blissful walk along the eastern shore of the island.

Totally refreshed, we re-board the dinghy and motor out to the Valkyrie, maneuvering in and out of the maze of anchored boats on the way. As we approach, Rick notices that something is amiss – Valkyrie is not exactly where we had left her! The sailboat that had been a hundred feet downwind of us is now right next door, its owners frantically putting out fenders to protect their boat from an onslaught. We clamber aboard our wayward yacht, yelling out apologies to our neighbors, and quickly motoring forward, chastened, but out of harms way. We work nervously to reset our anchor, all the while that same guy in the Beneteau blatantly giving us the stink-eye.

Rick has been coming to Block Island for twelve years, probably stopping here more than twenty times. He is a very experienced sailor and has confidence in his equipment, maybe especially his oversized forty-five pound Rocna anchor. He immediately blames himself for the incident, recalling that he had probably been overconfident and didn’t pull back on the anchor hard enough when setting it the first time. He later discovered upon pulling it up that the tip of the anchor had jammed itself into the joint of a big clamshell – what are the chances?! - which might have prevented it from catching properly. A more thorough yank in reverse might have unearthed the problem before it became a near-accident.

Rocna anchor

Rick was so spooked by the episode that he got me up at 2:00am to reset our anchor. Not happy with anything, we reset it THREE times. The only good thing about doing it at that hour of the morning was that the Beneteau was dark; I couldn’t see if the guy was peering out at us through his ports. The next morning, we upped anchor again. This time we went to a different area of the pond, to a spot that Rick felt better about. I felt better about the new spot too – new neighbors who didn’t know about our folly of the previous night. We can hold our heads high once more. Any new boats coming in to anchor? We’ll be ready with our own version of the stink-eye.