You can see the channel of deeper (blue) water where most of the boats that dragged were.

That’s what sudden 40 knot wind and torrential rain combined with a boat rally that has waaay too many boats packed into a relatively small space becomes. Boats blowing loose down the “alley” bouncing off each other like so many bowling pins.

First off, we had a great day yesterday. The Lattitude 38/French Polynesia Sailing Rendezvous in Moorea was a great success. Much fun and camaraderie were had by all. There were lessons in Polynesian arts (including basket weaving from coconut palms, Parea making with traditional dyes) and Polynesian games culminating in the much anticipated outrigger canoe races. As an aside here, I’m disappointed to report that neither Ann’s nor my team made the finals. OK, we didn’t even make it past our first heats. I’m not sure what Ann’s excuse is, but our lead Polynesian paddler (we had two per 6 person boat) looked back at one point, surveyed the canoe and pronounced; “You team too big!”

After such a great day of festivities, everyone retired to their boats right around sunset and were rewarded with an awe-inspiring lightning show beyond the mountains in the distance during the cocktail/dinner hours. That should have been the tip off to “get ready”.

As darkness (and ominous looking clouds) drifted down over the anchorage, I was just finishing sending last night’s blog entry and had come back up into the cockpit to enjoy a last glass of wine for the evening with Ann and watch the sky lighting up with the continued (and now much closer) lightning show. A few drops of rain started falling and we reluctantly moved into the cabin to close the hatches. Very suddenly, in what one person later described as “about a couple of micro-seconds” the wind went from “balmy” to blowing 40 knots-sustained. Not gusting, but a solid 40. Equally as suddenly the drops of rain turned into a torrential downpour. The combination immediately set loose chaos and havoc in the anchorage with the first gust.

Before I describe the carnage, I’ll add a personal note about how I felt setting our anchor the previous afternoon that could have led to us “cutting loose” in to blow. When we got to Moorea the afternoon before, there were at least a dozen other boats who got there at almost the same time. There were also a couple dozen others who were already here, turning a modest size anchorage into a tight one. The result was that everyone was jockeying for a spot and wanted to get the “hook” set as soon as possible to establish “their territory”; we were all tired from a trip that had substantial wind and good size waves. In Charisma’s case, instead of our custom of slowly going through the anchorage twice-once to find a spot and rehearse how we’re going to line up to drop anchor and then back around for the actual event, I told Ann as we were briefing what and where we would anchor, that we were going to drop on the first pass. We very quickly identified a spot, moved toward it (ahead of three other boats heading for the same spot) and dropped. We then went through the litany of backing down, testing the hold and setting the anchor. Backing down worked. Testing worked, but when we increased engine RPMs in reverse to set the anchor I felt it break out and drag. I signaled from the foredeck to lower RPMs, which Ann did and the anchor reset. We then tried to firmly set it and it broke loose. Since it was setting at moderate RPMs and the anchorage was so calm, and we had a full 200 feet of chain out-which is a real workout to crank back in with our manual windlass-I was sorely tempted to leave good enough alone figuring that 200 feet of chain would keep us from dragging. Boy, am I glad I didn’t take that shortcut. I have learned that things change really fast and usually go from bad to very bad in a heartbeat and when they do it’s too late to “fix” something like a bad anchor placement. So, up came the 40 pound anchor and 200 feet of chain (at a couple pounds per foot). Two cranks on the windlass per foot of chain. 400 cranks at least. Good thing we have lots of Advil on board.

Once the anchor was back up, we maneuvered a little to one side of the first drop to a spot that looked like it might provide a better hold and dropped again. 200 feet of chain went back out. Reverse, test, set. This time the set worked. I could feel the anchor dig in and despite full reverse power, Charisma didn’t move. This proved a decisive move when “all hell’ broke loose last night.

What happened? When the squall hit there was literally no warning. One minute it looked like a little rain squall that we see so often and the next moment wind speeds that popped anchors that were not up to the task. Within moments, numerous boats in the anchorage broke loose and started dragging and drifting downwind onto others who were still anchored. It was ugly. You could hardly see because the rain was being driven so hard it stung to look into it. Dozens of anchor lights suddenly blurred into smears of white light against the black sky with lightning occasionally adding further confusion to the chaos. Searchlights started to light up, stabbing the night sky. Deck lights flicked on, shinning down from the mast adding a surreal glow to the whole event. Rain smearing glasses. Skimpy tropical tee-shirt and shorts soaked to the bone. Cold. Scared and concerned that someone would run us down without us having time to react. Adding to the confusion was the radio which suddenly came alive with shouts from boats that had come free and ones who were about to be run down by a 15- ton menace rapidly gaining momentum as its anchor broke loose that is being pushed by 40 knot winds. Several of the calls for help were particularly alarming. One boat with only one person, a single handing woman, on board was shouting into the radio that she was adrift and heading for the reef and could anyone please help. Another boat was being announced on the radio as adrift-their owners were having dinner on another boat and not aboard.

Those whose anchors were holding had turned on their engines (including us) and were actively using forward and reverse power even while still anchored to avoid those who were drifting down on them. Back 40 feet, oh no, here comes another one, forward 80 feet. You are limited since your anchor is still attached like a dog chained to his tree, but in many cases that small amount of movement meant the difference between two hulls smashing together and safe travel.

In our case, we narrowly dodged two bullets. One was almost miraculous and we’re still not sure why we didn’t get hit. There was a boat just upwind of us. Within minutes of the gusting wind and rain I finally got my wits about me to the point where I looked around to see where they were and noticed they were gone. They were nowhere to be seen. We didn’t have a lot of time to figure that one out as the boat whose owners were on another boat for dinner came barreling down and hit the boat just upwind of us. I thought we were next abut just as it started to pick up momentum, its anchor caught, jerked it around and it stopped about 100 feet away. About that time the rain started to ease back a bit and I could see the rest of the boats upwind. ” Bowling Alley” was the thought that went through my head. 40 foot long boats were careening downwind and hitting others, then tangling into a knot and twisting into a dance of fiberglass, metal and wood. Boats sitting still at anchor facing into the wind. Boats turned right tangled on others. Boats turned left. Warnings on the radio.

The aftermath: It was a “fortunate” squall. There was no major damage or injury. No one lost a limb or rode up on the reef. There was some bent metal, torn wood, a few bruised egos and still some sorting out about who drifted onto whom, but all agreed that given the severity of the winds, it could have been much, much worse.

There WAS a tremendous amount of cooperation. Numerous folks whose boats were not in the line of fire in the bowling alley, jumped in their dinghies and (my opinion) heroically helped others. They boarded the shorthanded boats and helped raise anchors to relocate and re-anchor, helped untangle twisted metal and separate boats that had collided and generally helped bring order back to the chaotic situation.

It turned out that the boat that was directly upwind of us that disappeared in the early going, had broken loose from their spot and was spinning in 360 degree circles out of control (as it was described to me the next day by three different people who saw them) and hit two other boats directly downwind of us. I have no idea how we escaped that one as we were anchored directly in the line that they had to have taken. I am very thankful that we did.

For our part, I’m glad I made the choice to completely reset the anchor when it wasn’t perfect the first time even though it seemed “good enough”. It’s really a lesson I have to be reminded of time and again that even though conditions may be completely benign, things change very fast. They rarely change when you expect them to and more often than not change so fast you literally have zero time to react. It’s either right or wrong and you sort it out later. We also stayed on “anchor watch” for much of the rest of the night as there were additional squalls, a couple of which required me to put Charisma in reverse to avoid a neighbor. I’m hoping for more sleep tonight.

When a VHF request went out today asking what was the actual wind speed observed last night ( a response of 40.8 sustained was the record) the best response was from the Kiwi who said, “We call that wind that blows the dog off the chain in New Zealand!”