Simpson Lagoon
Sint Maartin
18.02.721N
63.05.616W

Well once again, Dale was right. After surviving a horrid night of swells, he got up early to query the cruisers’ net about customs and going through the bridge. Apparently, they’d had heard the question before. Yes, we could go through without the customs shuffle I was expecting. So, as 9:30 approached, we hoisted our anchor and joined the line to go through the bridge. So did just about every other boat in the anchorage, including some of the big boys in for the race. I tried to keep a margin of safety between us and the big guy in front but apparently a couple of other boats thought that they were already racing and tried to nose in; only one made it. The other guy had to circle around and try to cut someone else off. The sphincter factor was already up a notch entering a new place in 25 kts of wind but with boats powered with an overdose of competitiveness, pucker power was clearly going to rule the day.

As the bridge opened, we started through. Most turned right heading to one or another of the marinas that catered to the mega yachts. We turned left and headed to France; or at least the French side of the lagoon. I have never in my life seen so many boats anchored in one spot so haphazardly; Dutch or French. Dale was on the front with his head set on but with the wind blowing so strongly, I had a hard time hearing him. When I asked that he cup his hand around the mouthpiece to block the wind, I nearly blew an eardrum when he cupped his hand around the mouthpiece and shouted instructions.

We ended up anchoring pretty much on the imaginary Franco-Dutch border through the lagoon as we lined up on the flags I could see on the shore. Orpailleur anchored a bit behind us. Well, at least that’s where they started. Once the anchors were down. I went down for a nap as well. I had been up and down all night with the swells and other boats coming in from the French side to either motor by us or anchor near us.

I heard Gerry come by and speak with Dale at one point but didn’t hear the conversation. A couple of hours later, when we went topside, they were gone. Dale said that he figured that Gerry had moved the boat to be closer to the dinghy dock to keep from getting drenched. In the lagoon, we were out of the swell but the wind still caused enough waves inside to make any distance in a dinghy, a wet ride. As we made our way to the dinghy dock, Dale wondered aloud why Gerry had moved his boat to a spot that was surely more exposed to the fetch than where he had been. I reminded him, it was a shorter dinghy ride.

As luck would have it, we spotted them as we approached the docks and waved them over to say hi. You can imagine our surprise when Gerry said that he had not moved his boat and that it certainly couldn’t have drug anchor the way that it had been set. We believed him. He sets his anchor the same way we set ours; drop, back, set, power back and wait for the bow to dip and watch for the spring forward. It’s set. He was so convincing in his statement, perhaps being so tired when we anchored this morning, we had been mistaken in our judgment of distance. Nope! When we returned to our boat later, Orpailleur was gone again. We saw Gerry in his dink talking with a catamaran owner and pulled over to find out what happened. Sure enough it had dragged anchor.

As close as we can figure, shortly after they left, the anchor pulled up the huge hunk of grass, weeds and mud it had grabbed onto. On its journey across the harbor, it kissed at least one boat gently and continued to collect an assortment of grass, weeds, mud, sand and gunk. An announcement was broadcast on a channel we didn’t have scanned in and 3 other boaters chased it down and deployed the secondary anchor.

When Gerry pulled up his primary anchor, it looked like the creature from the black lagoon. They took a couple pics showing what looked like a 4-5 foot tangle of muck and mire where their anchor should have been. What a mess. But then again, how lucky that the cruising community looks out for one another.

We dinghied to the Dutch side for dinner this evening and slowly putt-putted by the mega yachts lined up in the marinas. Dale & Gerry barely contained their drool, each picking out various “dream” boats; winch envy I’d call it. The tenders on these mega yachts (their version of a dinghy) cost more than our ‘big’ boats. I could go on and on about the differences but you know what? I noticed that they were rocking in the swell last night, just like us.