Ploughing up Vinalhaven
Late one calm August afternoon, my wife and I in our Friendship sloop Eastward anchored in Carvers Harbor, generally known as Vinalhaven. We felt secure on a quiet night in a good harbor lying to a 35-pound CQR plough anchor, 3 fathoms of chain and a stout rode. We enjoyed the lovely evening
During the night, it breezed up quite fresh. I poked my head out the hatch to see that all was well. The moon was dodging in and out among the scudding clouds. By its light, it was clear that we had moved up the harbor and were still moving with each harbor chop that slapped Eastward in the face. We had to get under way.
I got the engine going and, with Mary at the wheel, I pulled the anchor, my pajamas flapping about my legs. While Mary kept us out of trouble among the securely moored lobster boats, I got the anchor on deck. Its throat was choked with a big wad of wiry grass and soft mud.
We motored slowly ahead to an open space and carefully re-set the anchor, letting it down slowly and not dumping the chain on top of it. As Eastward settled back on it, it appeared to be holding. Ranges on the shore did not open up, and we turned in warily, poking out occasionally to check our position relative to the shore and moored boats. It was not long before we found we were dragging. We did the anchor exercise again, more warmly dressed, and again found the anchor choked with weed and the soft mud in which it had been growing.
Full of naïve confidence, we anchored again, quite sure our trusty CQR would hold this time. Back to the bunk. But again we dragged, and this time looked for something solid to tie up to. We cruised around the harbor in the light of the flickering moon. It was getting to be a long night. We finally found a lobster car with a scale and a substantial little coop on it. It looked quite permanent. We tied up securely, immersed in the smell of salt herring. We turned in again with cautious optimism. The owner of the lobster car would make sure it was securely moored on a soft mud bottom. We slept, convinced that salt herring was the sweetest smell we had encountered in a long time.
In the morning, the owner of the lobster car came aboard, graciously replied to our sincere thanks, and left us two fresh herring for breakfast. If you ever visit the attractive town of Vinalhaven, try to get the use of a stout mooring. You may even be fortunate enough to get a whiff of lobster bait.
A regular contributor to Working Waterfront, Roger F. Duncan is the author of Maine: A Maritime History and other books.