Search for Sunken Treasure

"If we weren't all crazy, we'd just go insane." ~ Jimmy Buffett
Yes, it may appear a bit crazy to drive back to Sesimbra for another bungled search for my Rocna anchor and chain - my third try. But wouldn't it be insane to stay home and miss out on the fun.

My brother Cesar filling the dinghy. We're fully equipped, including the "rock anchor" in the foreground a small grapnel anchor, a rusty chain to keep the anchor horizontal, etc.

Cesar's partner, Kathleen, went hiking up to the castle while we got ready. You can't beat it - on November 1 it's 23º C, sunny and the calm bay faces a beautiful hillside town crowned by a castle.

Leaving the port of Sesimbra in search of a Rocna 25. Photo courtesy of Kathleen.

"So where about did you lose it?" Cesar asks as we motored out of the port and into the bay.

"It's hard to say, exactly. I was so busy setting up the backup anchor that I sort of...didn't really...pay attention. But it's somewhere between up ahead and half way to the yellow buoy."

"Oh, OK. Hey, we got all day."

We tied the folded grapnel anchor a couple of feet ahead of the hook and then started motoring slowly, letting out line.

I'll be concise. It was hopeless, and we knew it right away. First the traction forced the dinghy to go in circles, and we couldn't even tell if we were actually moving anywhere.

Then we learned to steer by moving the line to starboard or port, that was cool. But it was hard to tell whether the force was just dragging force or if it had caught something.

"Feel something?"

"Yeah, I think so. Stop, let's pull it up."

"Nah, it's nothing, but it felt like it." Over and over.

Then we removed the grapnel and replaced it with about 5 feet of rusty 10 mm chain.

Same results, more or less, and the same tactic: feel something?, pull, nothing, damn, we're hardly moving, I think we're stopped, pull it up, nothing......

After hooking a coat, we removed the chain and used only the hook. That eliminated the friction and gave us a better feel of what was happening down there, like a spider waiting for the web to vibrate. But I suspect it was just bouncing around the bottom and not digging into the sand.

Time for lunch. We decided we needed a powerful magnet, perhaps a metal detector, maybe an underwater camera, a portable fish finder...Damn, I should have taken that diving course so that I could scrub Jakatar's bottom, but which I didn't and that would really be handy now.

I found some good magnets on Ebay. I think I'll order one.

Kathleen having fun while we were working.

Cesar and Kathleen

Bird watching in Sesimbra. Photo taken by Kathleen.

Me and my brother Cesar. If you're wondering, he's fairly tall, I'm extra tall. He also owns a Corbin called Lapu Lapu, so he's like a duck in water, a marina rat and all that stuff. Kathleen's photo.

Fort of Sesimbra

Treasure Hunt for a Rocna Anchor

My last 3 posts described:
1) how I fouled the propeller on my way to Sines;
2) how I dove under the boat, cut the boat free but failed to cut all the lines;
3) how I lost my Rocna 25 anchor and chain in the bay of Sesimbra;
4) and, how I finally managed to anchor with an heavy - but nearly useless - spare anchor and fouled the prop once more big time.

The next morning, as the sun  broke over the hills, I dove under the boat again and found a huge mess of old nets and lines wrapped around the prop and shaft. A bit scary when you think that I could easily get entangled and, like, die for real. But I didn't want to die just yet so I went at it very gingerly trimming away the nets making sure my legs were always out of reach.

A quiet corner in the Port of Sesimbra. I actually took this shot during a boat delivery from the Algarve shortly after my worst trip ever.

Anyway, I got the propeller cleared, re-anchored closer to the port, went ashore and contracted a professional diver. The diver had a great technique: he dropped a weight on the bottom attached to a thin line on a reel and swam in circles increasing the radius by 5 meters at every full turn. After one hour sitting in the dinghy watching his bubbles getting farther from the center, I saw him pop up and shake his head..and it's my fault because I got confused as to where I lost the anchor. One hundred euros for the diver's exercise session. He tried hard, but no cigar. 

The next morning I moaned and groaned hauling in the 3/4 nylon rode only to find that the stupid anchor was caught on a rock. I let out some line, cleated it, turned the boat around and gunned it in reverse. What a spectacle, when the line went taught the bow dipped low and, when the anchor broke free, the bow shot up like a trapeze artist. 

I was free and proceeded to motor against the wind for 22 miles to Cascais, eyes bulging wide on the lookout for buoys. 

Spent two days at the Cascais Marina. At least no anchor was needed

In Cascais I booked into the marina for 2 nights, drank the bottle of wine the marina receptionist gave me and slept feeling like I had watched a B-rated adventure movie.

The next day, I took the train to Lisbon bought 10 m of chain for the Fortress and lugged it back in a rucksack all the way from the train station to the marina. That called for another bottle of wine. When the chips are down, the bottles are up.

I limped back to Peniche where I got a call to deliver a boat from Lagos to Peniche. I immediately said yes. I'd be damned if a summer of my life was going to melt away without me sailing to or from the Algarve.

Sailing is not a sport, it's a masochistic ritual and an addiction; you don't need balls to sail, the thrill of escaping every-day nonsense and immunity to boredom are enough.