One Day in the British Virgin Islands
By Don Hardy and Rebecca Hill

"You just wouldn't believe what's going on down there," I gasped to Becky the instant I surfaced. "Our anchor chain is wrapped around a huge dead coral head. It's the size and weight of a piano and it has all kinds of knobs to snag chain."

Lungs bursting, again I dragged myself hand over hand down the taut anchor chain twenty feet into the deep blue water and took another look. There it was: sixty feet of chain wrapped and twisted around the huge stone in a crazy twist of high-tensile steel. Making matters worse, strong winds on the surface were continuing to push our sailboat/home Pioneer toward deeper water.

The short stretch of chain connecting the boat to our unintended stone anchor was dragging it into a deep underwater channel frequented by ferries and other large boats. Beyond that the water would be even deeper. By no stretch of the imagination would it be good to have 300 pounds of anchor and chain, and a 500-pound stone, dangling from Pioneer's bow into the depths of the British Virgin Islands' Sir Frances Drake Channel.

On each dive my ears throbbed long before reaching the tangle of steel and coral rock. Once there, I had only seconds to size things up before flying to the surface for air. I had no time to even begin unwinding the heavy chain. This was a serious situation, indeed. For a moment I considered using my hatchet and a large hammer to see if the rock could be broken into pieces. But when I touched it, clouds of grit and dust clouded the water. Hitting the rock it with something hard would no doubt quickly obscure it completely.

Again gasping at the surface, I shouted to Becky, "There is no way I can deal with this. We need help. Until we find someone with scuba gear, we might have to set another anchor to keep us from drifting if the wind gets even stronger. But if a second anchor chain tangles with the mess we have now, we might end up losing both of them."

Oddly, the expensive and oversized anchor that had served us so well - allowing us to sleep well hundreds of nights at anchor -- was now lying uselessly on its side ten feet from the bizarre twists of ball and chain. As Pioneer tugged from above, the entire mess rolled, tightening the tangle.

Suddenly I realized what those strange sounds had been the previous night. Stiff winds howling off the nearby mountain had seemed to hit Pioneer from all directions at once. I thought the strange metallic banging that made Pioneer shutter in the night had come from the two boom travelers being slammed back and forth by the wind. The actual source of the haunting noise was chain scraping on stone. The friction had radiated up the chain links to the bow, and from there throughout the rigging and hull.

A brief but blustery dinghy ride through driving rain brought us to the local dive shop, where an experienced scuba diver said that he and a friend could be available after lunch. The cost would be high, but not as high as losing $1,300 worth of anchor and chain -- and our primary system for staying put at night.

We were discouraged, but just as suddenly as this situation had presented itself, our luck changed. We were boarding our dinghy for the wet trip back to protect Pioneer and await the divers when Becky spotted a man she had seen earlier on the boat anchored nearest us.

Hoping against hope, she asked, "You don't happen to be a diver, do you?"

"In fact, I am," came the calm reply.

His name was Phil, the owner of the sailboat named Storm Petrel. He and his friend had been hosting a visiting couple, but were ashore because one of the guests had badly sprained her ankle. Phil looked as us and without hesitation said, "If you have a problem, I'll see what I can do to help. That's what cruiser's do.

Over the years, we have found that to be true. While some weekenders or day-sailors may not realize it, sailors living aboard and facing the challenges of this unique lifestyle develop a special bond. It's mutual protection, mutual respect. It's the way of experienced sailors worldwide. Oh there are a few selfish jerks out there, but for the most part, if someone has a problem, most cruisers will do what they can to help another sailor in need.

Minutes later, back at our ball and chain problem, I hovered nearby in our dinghy "Scout" as Phil dove to take a look - staying down twice as long as I had. He splashed to the surface with the words, "It's amazing - I've never seen anything like it. It looks intentional! I need my scuba gear."

A quick trip to his boat for equipment and he was soon back on the bottom -- for what seemed an eternity. He surfaced and shouted, "I might be able to free it from the rock, but the chain will be in a terrible snarl when you bring it to the surface. Start your motor and come forward to get the strain off the chain -- and don't get too close to me with your propeller!" Down he went.

After another few minutes that seemed like hours, he burst to the surface in exuberance. "It's free! Back down to see if the chain will pull itself straight." To everyone's surprise, it did!

Phil dove once again, and this time when he bobbed he was smiling widely. "That was really something. The chain is completely straight now, but the anchor is still on its side. Back up some more and see if it will set."  We were a single boat length from a vessel on the mooring ball behind us when the anchor flipped over and bit sharply into the sand, lurching Pioneer to a stop.

What a change of fortune. The day had started as one of our most miserable -- and yet it had been quickly transformed, due to the kindness and skill of a complete stranger, into a remarkable and exhilarating experience.

Phil's friend and guests were back aboard Storm Petrel as we delivered our Guardian Angel back to his vessel. He wouldn't take a penny for the service that might have cost us hundreds, but we weren't surprised. He was a true sailor, and real sailors watch out for each other. Still, he didn't escape without a bottle of our favorite wine.

In less than an hour Storm Petrel was out of sight -- northbound from Spanish Town on Virgin Gorda toward Anegada, the northernmost island in the British Virgin Islands chain. We were slipping over the horizon southbound, to Peter Island.

Life aboard Pioneer has provided some of our biggest and most frustrating challenges -- and some of our greatest rewards. Both occurred that day, December 7, 2004. What started as a serious and frustrating problem ended an emotional high -- and a reminder that were it not for our chosen lifestyle, we would not know people like Phil.

We never learned Phil's last name. It doesn't matter. Phil is a sailor and a fellow human in the finest sense. That is all we need to know. Perhaps it's a good lesson for sailors and dirt dwellers alike: if we can raise our own horizons by living life to the fullest and seeing the best in others, the friends we need to help us through tough times will magically appear.

Thanks again, Phil.

December 8, 2004
Peter Island, BVI

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