Looking good aboard and ashore

July 2005

By Tom Snyder

I wasn’t trying to look smooth and proficient. I was just going about anchoring my boat on the first night of my monthlong cruise this June. I wasn’t trying to look good in front of another couple already anchored in Southwest Harbor, although I was feeling just this side of cocky. Anchoring is as second-nature to me as breathing.

Why does this remind me of my first job interview in 1973? I wasn’t trying to look smooth and proficient. I was just a little cocky because I had just taught 5th-graders for a full year and was ready to interview any principal, anywhere. Teaching was like breathing.

* * *

Aboard: Half a mile before I reached a perfect 15-foot spot, I dropped my sails and motored at a considerate four knots, giving myself plenty of time to button her up all pretty. I walked forward slowly, stopping to adjust a cowl vent because there’s no hurry when you’re good.

Ashore: On my way to the interview, I went to Keezer’s, a store in Cambridge that sells secondhand clothes and rents fancy clothes. I rented a spectacular suit of a modern cut. The jacket liner boasted a print of the Wall Street Journal. No one would see it, but it made me feel accomplished. The rain began to fall.

Aboard: Kneeling at the anchor windlass, I saw that the drum and the clutch on top showed slight remains of a recent greasing. What a good feeling – gear all in order. I backed off the windless to let out enough chain to lower the anchor just off the bow roller. A prudently heavy anchor swinging from a prudent all-chain anchor rode. I should have thought more about that grease.

Ashore: I stood out of the rain under an ornate brick walkway on the perimeter of a wet grass courtyard. On the far side of that yard was the principal’s office. He looked up from his desk, smiled graciously through his bay window and waved me across. I had been planning to walk around the courtyard, but he was waving me across. I didn’t want to look like a science teacher afraid of a little rain. I backed up to the wall behind me to get a little running start. Perhaps I should have noticed the ornate iron railing at my back.

Aboard: At my feet, the anchor chain began to roll out of the chain locker, slow and quiet at first. Then it was thundering. Unfortunately, I had nothing to do with this. The drum was spinning of its own accord. It’s amazing how little time it takes for 200 feet of chain to leap out of a 25,000-pound boat going four knots in 60 feet of water. I watched for a while.

Ashore: Apparently a buttonhole on my sharp jacket had securely attached itself to a bit of iron fillagree on the railing. God, I wish I’d known that before I launched myself for a run across the courtyard. I got a very good start.

Aboard: “The windlass was greased and the clutch (pawl) was left loose.” That’s what I said to myself as I headed aft. I didn’t run. That would look silly, but I was moving smartly since that anchor would be setting shortly. Maybe a third of a second after I got to the wheel, the anchor set itself in splendid holding ground. Boy, did it set. Boy, did my boat rotate quickly. I did have a moment to smile at the very concerned couple even while hanging on to the wheel with two fists.

Ashore: I realized I was in deep trouble when my rented jacket pulled up over my head. My feet were now pointed directly at the principal, and I was horizontal, but luckily still two feet in the air. Because of that high-quality shiny lining, the jacked slipped off without binding, giving me hope that I had enough velocity to land with my head on the grass, not the brick.

Aboard: The couple watched me tighten the pawl and winch in 200 feet of chain. It takes a while. The woman yelled to me three of the most humiliating words in the English language. “Are you alright?”

I quickly reviewed the option of claiming that this is how I always anchor. Forget it. So I yelled back cheerfully, “I’m fine.”

Ashore: My head did not fully miss the brick, and this accounts for what I hope was only a two- or three-second coma. I got up on one elbow to see that the principal was now standing in his office. He clearly looked concerned about me, but it was also obvious that he was sneaking glances at the Wall Street Journal lining. He mouthed the words, “Are you alright?”

* * *

I re-anchored and had a lovely, lovely evening aboard. I did not get the job.

Tom Snyder sails his Island Packet Blue Moon out of Peaks Island, Maine.