Several weeks ago, Jordan and I added a little more spice into our lives in the form of a larger boat. More prudent people would have taken a smaller leap; moving from our 19’  “dinghy” in 5-foot increments. But, no, Jordan likes to go at everything full throttle, and we made a giant step forward to a 30’ ocean liner!

 We are now faced with that most reviled learning period in every boating career: docking, un-docking, and anchoring. Despite good advice from fellow boaters and our Power Squadron course, it is difficult. Not just difficult, but scary, heart-palpitating, stomach churning difficult. It hasn’t helped that the two weeks since we got the boat have been the two windiest weeks of the summer.

People have be oh, so kind; the kind of smug “kind” you can afford to be when you have already been through the fire and survived. We have heard more homilies in the past few weeks than at a funeral.

“Everyone goes through it,” “You just have to get back on the horse,” “Don’t be embarrassed; we’ve been their ourselves,” “No pain; no gain,” “It’s like learning to ride a bike,” “It will get easier every time, you’ll see,” “Soon you’ll be laughing at all this!”

Don’t get me wrong; I appreciate all this empathy; I just wish it would hurry up and get better. One fellow remarked, “Unfortunately, docking has an extremely steep learning curve.” Steep! It’s so steep I swear we are sliding backwards, straight off the graph!

I would have been quite content to spend the remainder of the summer honing our skills; going in and out of our berth at Silva Bay, occasionally venturing out into the bay to do a little anchoring.

Jordan’s approach is more the “grab the bull by the horns” sort, and so we picked a Saturday; with gale force winds; on a long weekend; smack at the peak of boating season; in an already busy little bay that would require using a stern line. Well, we had come prepared with our 600’ roll of line; still on its cardboard reel.

We got anxious and didn’t take the time to make sure we were first anchored well (we weren’t), then we fumbled around getting the dinghy in the water (it should have been ready), we had some difference of opinion on who actually should be the one going ashore, rowing against the extremely strong current (Jordan ended up doing it, leaving me in a drifting boat, practically hysterical), and the stern line wasn’t ready to feed out, which was fine because by this time we had drifted into shore.

It was probably the sight of Jordan and I yelling at each other (and for the record, I did not accuse you of goofing off!) that had our neighbours jump into their dinghy. They untied our first attempt at stern lining from the now distant tree; 100 feet of line cut free to save my fingers. Jordan was now attempting to thread the remaining 500-foot knot through a metal mooring ring. When he finally got back into the boat, we had drifted into dangerous water, and as he moved the boat away from the rocks, the entire spool of line went overboard, catching in the ring, threatening to pull off our transom unless I quickly cut it free.

I suppose that at this point, some of you would have sucked up your pride, and made a hasty retreat, leaving the tangled evidence behind. But not Jordan. By now, there were two dinghies in the water, one un-snarling the large knot from the mooring ring.

It was suggested that we could anchor out in the bay, but with our first attempt, our anchor winch jammed, and as we drifted back into another boat, I was pulling in 150’ of chain and anchor line by hand.

Sometime during this, an older gentleman had come aboard offering help if we still wanted to stay. We tried twice more, the anchor refusing to catch each time. I may have started to cry at this time.

Our patient advisor asked us whether we would like to try once more because there was still just enough room, but at this point my confidence level was so low, and I was so cold, I told Jordan I just wanted to go home. Jordan agreed. In came the anchor, which of course was now firmly wedged into the bottom, albeit in the wrong place. At least we were getting this anchoring thing down.

After a rousing chorus of thank-you to all, we departed, leaving behind some priceless dinner conversation! Back to Silva Bay where the sun was shining, and the friendly faces of Laurie and the dock crew were waiting to help us in, although I must say that this was Jordan’s smoothest docking yet! I guess we have started moving up that curve afterall.

While I can’t say we aren’t eager to be sipping wine in some quiet little bay in Desolation Sound, you can’t argue with the fact that a weekend in Silva Bay is a get-away that people anywhere wouldn’t mind having; listening to a fabulous band, wonderful food, and great company.

The next morning, enjoying coffee on our rocking porch, I finally read one of the boating books I had bought after taking Power Squadron, Boat Docking: Close Quarters Maneuvering for Small Craft, by Charles Low. It is likely no coincidence that the closing chapter of the book is about the importance of good communication.

He stresses how important it is for the captain to have a clear plan and make sure all involved in the docking are clear on what needs to be done. If there appears to be a problem with the original plan, or confusion among the crew, go back out into open water and re-group. He points out that you can learn a lot by simply watching others bring in their boats. I observed that in the smoothest dockings, there was absolutely no argument or accusation; sometimes a simple hand single was all that was needed.

I did get a smug sense of satisfaction, however, when after an almost flawless docking of a deadly-sexy  50’ power boat, the well-tanned fellow on the bow threw his perfectly coiled line into the water, leaving the dock crew to fish it out. There is a god after all!