Slam-dancing sailboats Lindsay McRory December 10, 1995 Off early the next morning for St. Augustine. Another quick day. We were supposed to be there by noon and settle down for a week or so. A beautiful day. Easy going down the Intercoastal Waterway. Smooth sailing--until we hit St. Augustine inlet. On the charts it looks like a piece of cake: follow the day beacons in a nearly straight line. But once we entered the inlet, the channel markers did not match what was on the chart. The passage looked pretty straightforward; we could see our next marks. As a precaution, we slowed down. A few seconds later, wump. In less than three boat lengths, we went from 20 feet of water to two feet, which was not enough to float our boat. Hakuna Matata drove right up and fell over to a 10-degree list. The tide was falling. We had to get off now or wait for four or five hours for the tide to come up. Backing out under full reverse was not working. Full forward managed to spin the boat around on top of the shoal and we slid off, back into deeper water. We reconfirmed our position and reconfirmed it again. This was supposed to be deep water here. It took another hour with the depth sounder to sniff our way out. The worst part was 100 or more yards of water that was 7 to 8 feet deep. Low tide wasn't for another two hours. We couldn't imagine going through here at low tide. We tied up to St. Augustine Municipal Marina. Time to veg. Did I mention how nice it was here? A black band of clouds on the horizon in the late afternoon could only mean trouble. I added a couple of docking lines and fenders. The wind picked up, then picked up some more. We were fine. Denise yelled for me to look up. A sailboat was dragging its anchor at a incredible rate of speed, with nobody on board. It was going to crash backwards into a bridge. I dropped our dinghy into the water and started the engine. The skipper's wife was back from shopping, but the skipper wasn't. If she took the dinghy out, he would have no way to get back to the boat himself. So I gave her a lift. High winds had created fair-sized, steep waves. The dinghy was about half-flooded by the time we made the short trip. Once we got to her boat, Second Wind, it was pounding against the bridge. That is a sound I never want to hear again. She got the engine going quickly, and I started retrieving the anchor. We were moving away from the bridge. Then the engine died and we just shot back into the bridge with a shuddering crash. The engine started again, but it was too late. The mizzen mast was caught up on the bridge. As we pulled away for the second time, the mizzen mast crumpled and fell into the water behind us, shortly after which we were joined by the woman's husband. After securing the dragging mizzen and raising the anchor, we docked at the marina fuel dock. Not a good day. I would not have believed they could drag so fast if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. The wind and the current were both against Second Wind. Eighty feet of chain in ten feet of water with a CQR anchor should have held firm. Dock talk with the cruising fraternity is lot different than yacht club chat. The armchair sailor always has a magical anchor, or a special technique so this kind of stuff can never happen to them. Back to reality. This season on the Intercoastal, all anyone can say is, "S*** happens." It is pretty nice here. Or did I say that already?