Yesterday as we puttered alongside the paprika sprinkled hills showing their Autumn change, we decided it was time to start anchoring each evening.
While sailing we spent ninety-five percent of our time anchoring at each port. While traversing the Great Loop in America we had vast, stunning bays all to ourselves, as everyone went into marinas. Thirteen years ago, in France on our sailboat, we anchored most of the time.
I love the rituals that go with anchoring, where we both concentre on the sounder, our position and the best place; the finite control to stop the boat just where we want her, before applying astern propulsion so the chain is laid out nicely in a line.
The boat easing to a gentle stop with the anchor dug in and the chain straight then slack, restful. The anchor light set up for when nature’s light slinks off behind the horizon, and raising the black ball. The noting of position using bearings to know whether we’ve dragged.
On anchor it is softer, there are no lines to pull in one direction then another as the boat shifts. Rouge Corsair is held steady by the catenary in the chain, acting as a soft spring. She moves with the water, everything is so much gentler, while we watch the slowly shifting view.
The new solar panels earn their keep and make it all worthwhile, as now we have our own private island with no neighbours – bliss!