The Time I Didn’t Trust the Anchor—or the Captain

Where’d That Island Go?

If your husband anchored the sailboat next to an island one night and woke up the next morning wondering, “Where’d that island go?” I’m betting you’d react exactly as I did—with a “no confidence” vote in his anchoring skills.

I wasn’t with Roger that night early in our sailing life, but two of his friends were. After cruising around Long Beach Harbor all afternoon—which is enormous—they dropped anchor and enjoyed a peaceful sunset dinner next to this tiny island.

(Interesting side note that has nothing to do with the topic of this blog post: The island in question was one of four small, artificial oil islands built in 1965 in Long Beach Harbor, called THUMS Islands. They tap into the East Wilmington Oil Fields, and they’re the only decorated oil islands in the United States, with landscaping and sound walls to camouflage the operation and dampen the noise (straight from Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/THUMS_Islands.)

By the time Roger opened the forward hatch at sunrise, the boat had drifted about half a mile away from that island. Only God’s grace kept the boat from running aground or getting hit by another boat during the night.

Micromanaging the Captain

So, for a long time I felt justified in not leaving anchoring decisions up to Roger. In fact, I considered it my God-given right to dictate, argue, and insist on how and where to anchor regardless of what Captain Roger said. Never mind the fact that I didn’t know the first thing about anchoring.

A few months after that missing island incident, we sailed to Catalina Island off the coast of California one afternoon only to discover no harbor moorings were available. Instead of being secured to a metal floating ball attached to a giant cement holding block, we were forced to anchor in the “sorry spot” outside the harbor among 20 or 30 other boats swinging gently in the swell. Most were much larger than our vintage 25’ sailboat, and the available parking spots looked tiny.

Nagging the Captain

Still, Captain Roger skillfully maneuvered our boat into a slim spot and dropped not one, but two anchors, which is what you do when you see that earlier arrivals used two anchors.

But I wasn’t satisfied. For the first hour I sat nervously on deck, calling softly to Roger every couple of minutes:

“I think our anchor is dragging.”

“We’re moving towards the boat on our left. Don’t you think so?”

“I’m sure we’re too close.”

Why was I whispering? I didn’t want our neighbors to hear me panicking—they might yell at us to anchor somewhere else.

An Unnecessary Refuge

At last, tired of my nagging, Captain Roger got on our VHF radio and asked Harbor Patrol whether any harbor moorings had opened up. Yes! But we’d have to hurry to get the one that just became available. I might have done a little dance of joy on the deck, except I was raised Baptist.

We quickly hauled up the bow anchor, then began tugging on the stern anchor line. Surprise: that anchor was stuck between rocks. It took all our combined strength to yank it free and stow it aboard.

Roger didn’t have to say it (but he did): If I’d had more faith in my captain, we would have been perfectly fine staying right where we were.

What I’m Still Learning about Anchors and Faith

Here’s what that day taught me, although I confess I still need reminding:

• Trying to micromanage anchoring (or anything) without experience is about as effective as trying to control other drivers on the freeway or commenters on social media.

• Instead of trusting the anchor, I forced a move—a decision made out of fear and anxiety. Decisions made on that basis usually don’t pan out so well.

• Sometimes the danger I perceive isn’t real. It’s worth pausing to enlist an expert and maybe test another perspective before reacting.

Trusting God’s promises and His presence can be just as difficult for me as trusting Roger’s anchoring skills once was. But when Roger sat me down with Sailing for Dummies and explained the logistics of anchoring, my new understanding prompted deeper trust in his abilities.

It’s the same with God: the more I study and read His Word and watch how He works, the more I trust His ability to hold me steady—even when I suspect I’m drifting.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart;    

do not depend on your own understanding.

Seek his will in all you do,    

and he will show you which path to take.

Proverbs 3:5-6 (NLT)

Have you ever tried to “help” someone do something you didn’t actually know how to do? I’d love to hear your funniest (or most humbling) moments learning to trust—whether in marriage, sailing, or with God.