Pax River

One nice thing about sailing is you learn how to relax, how to slow down and take life as it comes. As a society, we have forgotten how to slow down, how to relax, and how to take life on its terms. When sailing, you take the good times and the bad as they are thrown at you. You either survive or you go down.

After hoisting anchor at the Rhode River, Tyche and I headed south. It was a slow go as the wind had changed and we no longer had a beam reach. Progress in a sailboat is slow when the wind is on your stern. The Rhode River is about 65-70 miles (as the crow flies) from the Potomac River. With the wind behind us, we were making about 5-6 knots (6-7 mph) meaning a 10-11 hour sail. We could only hope for better winds.

We moseyed along, slowly but surely heading south. As Tyche & I passed the Pax (Patuxtent) River, 50 miles south, I briefly thought about pulling in there for the night. Then, I remembered that the Pax's boat basin has an iffy bottom for holding an anchor fast.

The year before my journey, a friend (Jim) and I anchored there. Jim had the aft port quarter berth & I took the forward V-berth. Late that night, a storm blew in and through the anchorage. Awaking with a start, I sprinted through the boat barefooted in my nightshirt, hollerin' as I went through, "WE'RE DRAGGING ANCHOR!!!!" I hit the wet fiberglass deck, slipping and sliding my way to the bow where I desperately fed out more & more rode, begging the anchor to grab. **Grab! Dammit! GRAB!** All this time, we're heading stern first towards a multi-million dollar yacht! EEK!

Finally, I felt the anchor bite into the bottom and snubbed the line on the cleat. Tyche fetched up and her stern slid into an open spot on the quay wall, missing the yacht by a mere 12 inches. Way too close for comfort. We spent the night tied to the quay wall. That was when the Pax boat basin in Solomons became one of my least favorite places to anchor.