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The Anchorage!
Sailing south from
Bequia (see map - 258K), we
had observed a beautiful, but tiny, bay set deep within the limestone
cliffs of Canouan Island. We did not try entering the bay at that time, as
we had another destination in mind for that evening, but we made a mental
note of its location for our return trip. Several weeks later we
departed Meyero Island, heading north along the lee coast of Canouan
Island when we again spotted the little bay that we had seen during our
southern voyage. It was getting late in the day and the welcome
appearance of a protected bay seemed just the answer after a day of rough
seas, high winds, and heavy sailing.
The date was February
19, 1973, and at that time of year in the Windward Islands of the West
Indies the seas can get very rough. The thought of a secure anchorage was
almost too much to resist. I pushed the tiller over and headed toward the
very tiny opening in the cliffs. The bay was cut into the vertical cliffs
of the island, and looked as though someone had dropped a giant cannon
ball, hitting the edge of the island and creating the bay. The sides of
the bay were all vertical cliffs except the very back end, where a steep
shingle beach lay. The entrance to the bay was guarded by coral reefs and
a very narrow opening, not much wider than Sea Dart, allowing entry
into the rocky bowl. The sea on the leeward side of Canouan was very flat,
so entering the bay presented no problems.
We dropped the sail and
motored easily into the opening with no more than 5 feet on either side
between Sea Dart and the coral reefs. It was very close, but not unusual
for sailing in the Caribbean basin and the West Indies. Fitz and I set the
anchor and settled in for what we though would be a relaxing night.
Normally, as soon as I
set anchor, I would get out the hand bearing compass and shoot an
"escape bearing" and plot it on the chart in order to allow us
to sail out safely in the dark of night if conditions in the anchorage
deteriorated. This time I felt there was no need, for two reasons: first
the sea was flat calm, and second, the opening through the reef was so
narrow that a bearing would be of no value. We could only sail out in the
light of day.
I needed to move the
jib fairlead tracks forward, so while I was doing that Fitz dove for our
dinner. He came back with 13 nice sized glass eyed snappers, so once again
we would feast. Normally it was my job to do the diving, but with the work
on the fairlead taking my time, Fitz offered to take over for me. I
thought that was pretty nice since he also did all the cooking.
That evening was a very
relaxed one, and I spent some time looking at the strange little bay we
were in. The opening faced west, and therefore was normally very calm. At
the head of the bay was a small, and very steep, shingle beach. The
steepness was a curiosity to me, but I dismissed it as of no importance. A
few hours later I would learn the reason that the beach was formed the way
it was. The bay was almost circular, and about 200 yards across. Since it
was so small we were anchored almost dead center in it. The sides of the
bay were vertical cliffs some 150 feet high, or higher, on all sides
except the opening and the extreme back where the beach was.
We had experienced a
rough day's sail up from Meyero, so were glad to get the chance to turn in
early. Fitz, as usual, was asleep almost instantly, but I lay awake for a
long time. Something was telling me that all was not well, and I felt
slightly uneasy. What the cause was I didn't know, so I tried to shrug it
off and finally joined Fitz in welcome sleep.
I had not been asleep
very long before I awoke again with my heart beating hard. I was not sure
what was wrong, but I knew that all was not well. I got up and went up on
deck. There was a full moon and the little bay was bathed in its light.
At first I could not detect anything wrong, but then I realized that there
was a background noise that had not been noticeable before. Small waves
were now rolling up the shingle beach at the head of the bay and returning
to head back out, undiminished in size. The beach was a perfect wave
reflector! When the outgoing wave met the next incoming wave they would
momentarily combine to form a wave twice the normal height. It was
immediately apparent to me that this could be a very dangerous situation
if the waves coming in from the west increased in size.
Even as I watched, the
height of the incoming wave trains increased, and the noise also
increased. Sea Dart was beginning to bounce around on the increasing
choppiness, and I became more concerned. We were trapped until day light,
when we would be able see the narrow channel through the reefs to escape.
I hoped that the waves would not continue to grow in power. I remembered
all too well the huge waves that had almost claimed Sea Dart when she was
anchored in Gibbs Bay in Barbados almost two years earlier. They had come
right out of the west in beautiful weather. I knew that any repeat of
that, and we would not survive to escape the bay.
I noticed that the
water in the bay was no longer clear, but was milky white, and composed of
countless little bubbles coming up from the bottom. It was an indication
of the violence that was going on underneath, and on the outer reef
guarding the entrance. As I looked around the bay I had to hold on to a
"stay" in order to keep my balance. The little yacht was
beginning to be thrown around with considerable violence. The effect of
the returning waves from the beach was to create a violent caldron out of
the bay. Being inside the bay was becoming very uncomfortable.
Without further
thought, I decided that we would have to take emergency measures if we
were to remain afloat until morning. It was imperative that we get out two
more anchors so that there would be no chance that we could be pushed into
the cliffs by the wave action in the bay. We would have to set up a three
point anchor system with Sea Dart in the center. Getting the other two
anchors out would have to be done quickly, before it got too rough for the
dingy. I awoke Fitz, and he knew immediately that something was wrong. He
came up on deck and broke out the anchors and lines while I got the dingy
out and climbed in to transport the anchors to their positions in the
triangular pattern.
We had taken action
soon enough, and the additional two anchors were quickly set and
tensioned. Dart was now riding somewhat easier, as she was no longer
surging forward and back with the waves. The meeting of the incoming and
outgoing wave trains was becoming alarming however. The combined waves
would suddenly shoot up to between 6 and 8 feet high. In the moonlight it
was very strange and alien, and I desperately wanted to be out of there. I
wished we had passed the bay and sailed on to the next island, Bequia, 24
miles north. We had no choice now but to play out the situation, however
it would go.
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Copyright © 2001
- 2003
by Donald R. Swartz
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