At Anchor

Liz being a Scot was amazed and astounded to read on our 45lb CQR anchor that it was “Made in Scotland”. Despite this reassurance of quality riding to an anchor has always seemed to her a tentative way of holding on to terra firma. This was brought home by embarrassing failures in Turkey and Greece some years ago but this year we spent more time at anchor than in the last three seasons put together.

The west coast of Corsica always seems so exposed especially if you listen to the Italian/English weather forecast on Ch 68 VHF. Roger, Jenny, James, Victoria, Liz and I left Calvi to beat down the coast with a wind south of west and a lumpy sea. James and Liz were sick and it didn’t take much working out that no one was enjoying the day and so we went into Galleria which is a small bay with no marina or mooring buoys and open to the north west. With the wind in the south west the day suddenly became calm and sunny. No problems with the anchor that night.

Galleria to Ajaccio was a slow trip so by the time we arrived in late afternoon all the berths had gone. I motored through the anchorage in the south of the bay but it was very crowded and a lee shore so we dropped the hook by the ferry port and spent a calm night until we could get a berth the next morning.

A night at anchor and two in the marina was long enough for Ajaccio so the day after our train ride to Corte we left Ajaccio with a westerly F4 taking us south along the coast to Bonifacio. The wind filled and went further aft and soon we were on a broad reach down the rocky coast and at 6kts Compromis was eating up the 40nM. Liz was reading. Jenny was reading. Victoria and James were trying to outdo each other on some matter of teenage importance while Roger and I watched the autohelm steer the boat.

A couple of miles south of Les Moines Liz phoned Bonifacio on the mobile to ask about a berth.

“Phone back at 16.00” and so we did.

“Port complet, port complet” came as little surprise so late in the day.

At least it gave us time to find a refuge and there it was Figari five miles north of Bonifacio and more importantly downwind of us but upwind of Bonifacio. Liz had saved us an unpleasant beat back.

The entrance is rocky and has two dog legs and Roger looked up the headings and back bearings and wrote them on the chart table with his pencil, hung the handbearing compass round his neck and in we went. Since the pilot was published a red buoy has been placed at the first turning mark and a green conical mark at the second. Easy peasy, but it usually is with good preparation.

We anchored of the north shore in 9m of water and 15/20kts of wind. Following the advice “Better on the bottom than in the anchor well” 40m of our 60m of chain chattered out and never moved all night.

80m to starboard was a 10m yacht with elderly Italian liveaboards. Their boat had the look of liveaboards including two bow anchors set at 45 degrees and since they weren’t buoyed this created an inviting looking space in front of them for late arrivals. Each successive boat that snagged the Italian’s anchor caused the wife to run around the foredeck shouting and the husband to buzz the offending boat in his dinghy-also shouting.

By now Roger was getting used to the foibles of Compromis’ anchor and so we had lunch and swim stops without a care. Anchored in the Cala Razza di Guinco on the north east of Sardinia there was a fresh offshore breeze but Liz and I swam while Jenny prepared dinner. The breeze became a blow and boats were running off in the direction of Porto Rotundo and Marina Portisco which I decided would be full so we drove the anchor in even harder and laid out 30m of chain in 6m of water, Roger and I sat anchor watch but the boat didn’t move even though it blew a steady 30+kts for long periods of the night.

By now my confidence in the holding power had grown so much that we scoured the pilot book for anchorages rather than marinas. Sail in, drop the hook, swim, happy hour, maybe another swim, dinner, read, chat, another drink, blow out the candle and go to bed.

Compromis sailed into Golfo Aranci the day before the Uttings had to catch the ferry to Civitavecchio. Both marinas in the bay proved inhospitable so down went the CQR 50m off a very small harbour for boats up to 5m. James wanted red meat so we all went ashore for dinner leaving Compromis pinned to the seabed. I ate my pizza and drank my wine without a thought of Compromis-except the once when I nipped round the back of the restaurant just to check.

Now I am a confirmed anchor man-Jerry will be pleased. In Brandy Bottle the anchor and chain were carried forward from the cockpit locker, thrown over the bow and recovered by sweat of brow and much cursing. Oh no! Press the “Up” control on the hand set and the electric windlass brings the anchor up. Press “Down” and down it goes.


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