Smith Cove is an acknowledged “hurricane hole” so it is no wonder that boats of all shapes and sizes come here when foul weather is expected. Bill and I arrived a little late to the party, since I had just returned from North Carolina, and there were conservatively 50 boats anchored or moored when we got here on Saturday afternoon. The inner cove was full, but we were able to secure an aisle seat in the outer harbor, just out of the swing range of a bevy of major sailboats. (Let’s Dance is the green boat far right.)
All afternoon the radio chatter increased as crews checked in with each other to discuss scope, drag, weather and, there being a fair number of Kiwis in the area, sundowners as well. From our vantage point on the periphery of the action, we watched the drama unfold. Rows of sailboats, ranging in length from 40 to over 150 feet have dropped anchors -- some have two or three anchors out, some have buoys on their anchor lines to mark the direction of their chains. The winds increase and the radio chatter increases with it. Now, a few of the sailboats admit that their anchors seem to be dragging and are having difficulty maintaining a good hold. More chatter, more wind. The games begin!
The major players in this little drama turn out to be named “Huckleberry”, “Nirvana”, “Zephiro” and “Cracker Bay.” Apparently Huckleberry (the massive, blue hulled sailboat above, weighing in at 130 feet with a 13 foot draft and 23 foot beam) with her professional, uniformed crew of six, arrived early and settled herself and her three anchors across the center of the field of play. She has effectively created the skeleton of the underwater (and therefore invisible) web of anchor chains. Nirvana is the smallest of the lot, with a length of only about 50 feet. She has only one anchor and as she attempts to strengthen her position she catches one of Huckleberry’s lines. They consult, confer, decide to wait a few minutes to see what shakes out. Now Zephiro breaks loose and she becomes tangled in Huckleberry’s lines as well. The captain of Huckleberry is remarkably calm as all sorts of posturing takes place. Darkness is coming on fast. The wind is picking up. The intertwined boats agree to remain joined, although Nirvana believes that she is hooked on a rock rather than a Huckleberry. The radio is practically sparking as conversations fly back and forth in the twilight.
Now Cracker Bay enters the fray. She is a motor yacht and, while in no immediate danger from one of the wayward sailboats, she feels that Tivoli, a latecomer to the party, is too close to her. Who should move? More chatter. Bill sets the radio on “scan” so we can hear all the conversations on various channels and we watch and listen in amusement as the drama continues to unfold. Cracker Bay decides to pull up her chains to move further from Tivoli and grudgingly begins the process. She has out 300 feet of chain from each of her two anchors, so this is no quick and easy task. Artemis and Lady Sandals remain quiet while others chime in with comments and suggestions. Azucar and White Wings agree with Wild Horses to stay on the sidelines and out of harm‘s way. Zephiro repositions herself and is told that she’s now 15 feet closer to Huckleberry that she was before her move.
The weather is still uncertain, and even though Irene veered inland after making landfall in New York, it’s clear that we are still in for an eventful night. Winds on our anemometer have ranged from 10 to 42 knots all afternoon and are pretty steady in the 25 to 30 knot range. Let’s Dance is a trooper, and she hardly rocks as the waves in the harbor grow to over three feet. It’s choppy, but comfortable and after dinner and a movie, I head off to my cozy berth to be lulled to sleep by Irene. No sleep for Bill…the captain always stays up with his ship in foul weather. It could be a long night! Bill creates an anchor alarm circle with a 160 yard diameter on our navigation software. If Let’s Dance wanders beyond this range an alarm will sound and we will rush into action! Luckily, we only swing in a wide arc and no alarm sounds. Likewise, through “AIS” he is able to keep an eye on the cast of characters sharing our cove. A significant move by any of the other boats would be noticed immediately by the alert Captain Bill.
Rain comes and goes throughout the night, but it’s never heavy. Winds come and go as well, but the real story is the neighbors. Close to midnight, Nirvana admits the need for a second anchor, but doesn’t have one. And all her chain is out -- she has nothing more to give! Huckleberry sends two crewmen over by dinghy to help and another boat lends a spare anchor. A third has extra chain to lend. No one wants to be the recipient of a late night bump and run, so all are vigilant and ready to assist the needy. The radio chatter finally recedes about one in the morning and it seems that everyone is tired of talking and ready for some quiet time. I get up about three to check on the captain and find him on the settee in the pilothouse with only one eye open. All is calm for the remainder of the night.
Dawn comes early down east, and with it a deceptively gorgeous day after. The skies are a brilliant blue and the waters in the cove have gentled significantly. Only a few of the flotilla have left our safe haven and all of the players from Saturday’s drama are still at anchor. The radio starts to buzz again as crew members awaken. There is talk about moving out to spend some time in Belfast to our north or to move onto a mooring closer to town now that the storm is history. No one is moving quickly, however, and there is still the tangled sub-sea web to be unraveled. Nirvana’s crew had a longer night than most and it shows in their radio transmissions. They are ragged. Huckleberry’s captain has it all in hand, however, and by early afternoon the knot of anchor chain has been unwound and Nirvana is free. She returns the borrowed anchor and other gear and moves away from the crowd to nurse her pride in private.
Bill and I spend the day watching the action and eavesdropping on the radio banter. We are much more confident this summer and, having learned that it can take several days for the ocean to quiet after a storm, decide to lounge in Smith Cove for another night. We are entertained by some of Skippy’s bewhiskered seal friends…curious little fellas who stick just their slick, smooth snouts above the water to check out the neighborhood. Very cute, but camera shy. No seals were captured on film. The Love Me Tender is secured on the upper deck, so there is no way to explore the area, but we busy ourselves reading and making a blueberry pie. If blueberries are indeed brain food, we should be geniuses by the end of the summer!
Finally, two full days after Irene’s departure we are ready to leave the security of Smith Cove. Headsets on for communication, we prepare to raise our anchor. Bill on the bow pulpit, me in the pilothouse, we begin the familiar process. Forty-five minutes later we have finally brought up all 230 feet of chain that we deposited on the muddy bottom of the cove. Bill re-marks the chain with color-coded ties at each 50 foot interval and hoses it down with salt water as it comes up…a very messy business for him.
We depart Smith Cove for parts south at about 1100 hours on glassy water with clear skies and 62 degrees. Time to take this song and dance show back to South Carolina and the warmer waters there. We were grateful that this year’s hurricane event was, for us at least, a non-event. Our second summer in Maine, our second hurricane, singing the same tune, this year with a new verse added.
Let’s Dance……Carol & Bill
