All stern tied-up

So I mentioned previously that one of the koans my cruising Zen master, Sturt Bay, gave me was about stern-ties. Also called shore-ties, this common Pacific Northwest practice involves dropping one’s anchor in the desired water depth off-shore, then backing down on it toward the shoreline and running a second line to a convenient anchoring point on shore. Like the venerable Med-moor, this allows more boats to fit into limited space than would otherwise be possible. It is used to allow anchorage in tight spots otherwise unsuitable due to limited swinging space, such as notches, or along steep depth gradients where only a narrow shelf of anchoring depth is available very close to the shoreline. It is also, as I mentioned, simply the polite thing to do in popular anchorages. Many a tree along the Pacific Northwest shore has a groove in the bark from shore-tie lines (dead trees preferred; otherwise, you’ll inadvertently start contributing to the clear-cutting endemic to the region) and some particularly popular anchorages feature rings set along the walls for this purpose.

After my stern-tie fiasco in Sturt Bay, it became clear that we needed to work out some other method for setting things up in contrary winds. We’ve been running shore-ties for several years now but for whatever reason all our previous experiences had been in relatively benign conditions. So, faced with the new challenge, I put some thought into it and was ready when we got to Prideaux Haven in a nasty cross-wind. I would send Mandy ashore with the line while I jockeyed the helm and got the anchor set; I could back against it and keep enough slack in the line for her to loop around a tree and bring back.

In the event, this did not prove to be much easier, and required about forty-five minutes and several trips between ship and shore to accomplish. Prideaux Haven is a popular, usually crowded anchorage, but it wasn’t busy on this day and by the end of it I felt vaguely stupid for having gone through such exertions (although having no doubt served the admirable purpose of having entertained the rest of the anchorage for an extended period) to save space when there was swinging room available all over the cove.

So when we picked up and moved to Walsh Cove, another Provincial Marine Park slightly north of Prideaux Haven, I breathed a sigh of relief that it seemed relatively empty. I could pick a nice, empty patch near the middle, slop out a kingly 4:1 scope, and dangle in the winds to my heart’s content, inhibiting no one and saving vast amount of exertion and frustration.

That was around noon. By late afternoon, the place started to fill up. I thought anxiously about good citizenship and stern-ties, but I had set fairly deep, and the closest likely candidate was a small islet with nothing substantial growing on it to tie to. At that, it was further away than I could reach; our designated shore-tie line is about a quarter the recommended length (most people say 600′ is good). Still, that very position put us pretty well clear of where others might drop the hook… I thought.

It didn’t take long before someone came in and got a little too close. After fending off one another, they decided to set a stern-tie ashore, and I thought nothing more about it.

A couple hours later, the currents and wind got a little odd, and I heard an accented “Excuse me!” through our companionway, and it sounded like whoever said it was standing in the cockpit. I got up, and there were our neighbors again, with our stern swinging dangerously close to their anchor rode.

The rule may be that he who anchors first has the right of way, but I was already feeling like the stupid American, so when they offered to lend a hand getting the line ashore and finding a way to secure it, I jumped on the offer. I paid out enough rode to get our stern closer and the intrepid yachtsman from S/V Effervescence rowed the line in and found a piece of scrub sturdy enough to hold it. We were still too far out to loop it back again (which would allow us to take off without rowing ashore again to untie it) but although thoroughly embarrassed by my continued bad manners, I felt better with it out there.

“Everyone will sleep better this way,” one of the men from Effervescence called across in a strong Quebecois accent.

But, in fact, I had an unsettling dream that a small tugboat worked in behind me and cut the line during the night, sending us spinning around through the anchorage. So much for a good sleep! I was forced to stay an extra day, laying around napping, to recover from the ordeal. Such is the life of a sailor.