Sitting out Isaias

We heard about the possibility of a named storm about a week before it actually came up the coast.  Isaias (which, we learned is not pronounced Eye-zay-us, but EEs-uh-ee-as) was first predicted to affect the Florida coastline before possibly coming up this far, but probably would never get enough wind to become a real hurricane.  Then it was predicted to be farther East, causing havoc in the Bahamas before bumping along the Carolina coastline and maybe slide into the Chesapeake.  The model waffled a little to the East, then a little to the West, before staying more to the West, and moving even more Westward.  Would we be affected much? Would the forecasted SW winds gust up to 35 or up to 50?  And would the day after be a NW clearing kind of day?  

All these questions affect a cruiser’s decision on where to anchor and how best to prepare.  Dan is veteran of both this cruising area and the many possibilities of weather outcomes and he chose Smith Cove, up near Castine, to hole up for Isaias.  We headed up there Tuesday morning, and found we were one of nearly forty cruising boats with the same destination.  Luckily Smith Cove is large enough to accommodate at least twice that many, but that doesn’t prevent some of them from adopting the cruiser’s warning stance (aka “bitch wings” - you know, standing in the bow, hands on hips, elbows thrust out at forty-five degree angles) to intimidate that one boat from anchoring too close to theirs.  As we searched for a good spot to anchor - and there was really plenty of room throughout the cove - we saw a handful of wary watchers, and one couple in a dinghy heading to town decided to turn around and come back to inform us where their anchor was (a more polite way of making sure we didn’t get too close to them.)  We get it.  There’s an air of mistrust during such events; with the possibility of heavy winds blowing through an anchorage, no one wants to be close to the boat that drags anchor or the boat with the skipper who is not that skilled or prepared.

Prepared is Dan’s middle name.  We spent the next few hours taking down the bimini and tying it up, removing anything small (or not so small) that could blow or roll around, and laying out a second anchor and rode at the ready.  Then we sat down to enjoy a late afternoon drink and hors d’eovres and watch latecomers arrive.  We were better prepared than most, but all the boats survived the storm just fine because it never lived up to the forecast.  Isaias didn’t start his appearance until nine that evening, with a few heralding gusts, and intermittent rain.  By one am the sky was clear and the moon was shining and the winds had died down considerably.  No one dragged anchor, and no one had more than a dinghy full of water to deal with.  

Morning dawned sunny and breezy.  One by one boats hauled anchor to leave while we put the bimini back up and brought the deck chairs back out.  Everyone waved congenially to other boats as they passed by.  Another named storm under our collective belts, and it could have been much worse.

Alright, this has nothing to do with a storm.  Just some seals hanging out on a ledge.