That flaming red sky with sulfuric yellow undertones, after looking at pure blue up there since weeks, looked ominous to me.
Check the anchor rode, check what's anchored near my swinging room, put up the canvas enclosure. On deck, the first heavy droplets started their tentative drumming.
Saturday Fireworks evening, the Inlet is packed with boats, everyone either waited on their boats for the fireworks to start at dusk, 21:45, or had dinghied to Butchard Gardens to watch them on land. They were iin for a wet pleasure.
Rumbling in the sky, no lighting to be seen - the air looked thick and smelled weird. It started to rain heavily.
I bedded down, the cannonade of exploding fireworks would alert me to 'the action'.
Yes, at 21:45 (quarter to ten, darker than usual) the first fizzly burst of colour fought against the rain.
Not much to see, back to bed until the Grand Finale, no one can sleep through that noise anyway.
Suddenly I felt the boat heel steeply and a noise unlike any fireworks, but more like a agonized moan, filled the air. Then the squall hit full force, not with benign 30 knot winds either...
Time to put on real clothes, foul weather jacket, to check things out above. As I do that in the dark (preserve night-vision etc) I could see through the porthole: something white slipping by about a foot away, sounds of whistling, shouting, more hollering, wind howling, fireworks bursting...the 'action' had started.
Turn on engine, VHF radio (channel #16: Bayliner aground in Sidney Spit, anyone who can render assistance...Victoria Coast Guard....) spreader light, anchor control, GPS (for drag) Depth Sounder (for grounding), all in seconds, up into cockpit, take down enclosure (it ripped), look at a raft of two sailboats a couple of inches beside me - closing in for collision - move to bow, see their anchor line draping itself over my suspended chain (being hooked in progress), all of us moving down-squall with my anchor fighting against the pull of three boats. Another boat, no one aboard, sweeps by. Upwind powerboat rafts tied to shore in a tangle, opposite a boat ashore with its mast hooked into trees and its keel stuck (falling tide, too), bedlam, shouting, screaming squall, thunderous fireworks - oh, shit.
Fend off, bring up search light, (only one in inlet) check drift (further into inlet, but apparently stopped - ah, my luverly overkill ground tackle!!), now hull to hull with raft, squeeze a couple of fenders in between, shout at them: 'put engine on and separate raft, hold boat into wind!' no reaction, chaotic zigzagging of our now 3 boat raft.
I shout, 'might have to borrow one of your crew, to help me out'. Tender maneuvres to my 'free' side, skipper accompanied by spare crew of one of loose boats, asks me: 'Do you know how to handle a boat, is your engine running?'
Not the right time to give lessons on anchoring, although I was sorely tempted.
Tanya, the borrowed crew climbed aboard, barefoot but with lifejacket. I lengthened, shortened chain -to loosen things up down there, and people on the still joined boats started to heave at their anchor rode. I shone my high beam into the water to see where it led to (right under my keel), Tanya - hanging from my bow, to fend their bows off, boats reacting to changed tension. I shortening chain (to help along, as combined weight of my hooked chain, their anchor, was too much to haul in without a winlass on their part) My electric winch groans, stops - their anchor must have pinned my chain into the sea floor - I crouch down, winch by hand (put my back out), my chain is immovable. Fireworks come to grand finale, huge colourful burst over the tree tops, accompanied by crescendo of explosive noise to almost drown out all the hollering in the inlet.
Time for the absent skipper's return to find their boats.
I wait a few seconds, try electric winch again (those bare feet of Tanya were giving me the willies, amidst all that anchor stuff) chain comes up. Good, at least it's free of seafloor. More hauling by the other boats, I can see their anchor rising to surface with a loop of my chain around its flukes. Way up high - all that wiggling must have helped their anchor to slip upwards along my chain. I yell 'stop hauling, get in the dinghy and unhook your anchor', they do. 'Now back away', they do - finally separating their boats (why so late?).
At some unnoticed moment the wind had died. I remark to Tanya 'Nice Fireworks, eh?' She looks at me, as if I am crazy and says 'I did't notice them'. 'Joking, Tanya', I respond.
'What happened to the wind,' she asked. 'Gone and won't come back, squall is finished', I say.
Tanya gets picked up by dinghy...and they are off looking to re-park.
22:45 - quarter to eleven...
No clapping and horn sounding to salute end of fireworks tonight.
Work carries on out in the inlet until midnight, boats untangling, getting dragged off mudflats, out of trees, rafting up to stationary boats, dinghies whizzing everywhere, overloaded engines groaning, all barely visible.
I keep checking position - anchor holding. Water dead flat now, not a breath of wind. Took a while to re-bed myself...
This morning, I can't move (don't even think of doing anything relating to anchors), can't even pick up a waterbottle without a stab of agony.
A day of Ibuprofin diet coming up.
Brilliant sunshine, calm this were morning. The occupants of the inlet for the most part 'rearranged'overnight, and now on the verge of leaving. Amongst them a catamaran, that arrived after all the hullaballoo - he anchored after his main and jib tore to shreds outside the inlet - he was sailing during the squall.
Too sore a back to get into the dinghy today to check for new scratches. Suspending my weight from handhols ever so often, might make my back click in again.
Just hope for a boring day, and no bad anchoring around me, please, I would not be up to more than lifting a cherry (lots aboard) - if that.
