We were moving northward up the coast of Central America. There are three windy "gaps" heading toward Mexico. One at the Gulf of Panama, the Gulf of Papagallo, and the third is the Gulf of Tehuantepec. We had faired well through Panama, but the winds have been intense this season along the coast of Northern Costa Rica / Southern Nicaragua. We had fifty nautical miles to arrive to our check-in port in Nicaragua, and we figured we could make the distance in one long day, but it was not to be the case.

The winds kicked up to nearly 40 knots, non-stop. Our main sail was double reefed, and we also had reefed the jib. We pounded for hours into the wind. This type of environment can be strenuous and taxing during the day, but it all becomes more challenging and deceptive with only the stars for light. Safety can become a real concern in the darkness of the night, and we opted to put the anchor down in a bay by 11pm.

The following morning the weather report indicated twenty-knot winds, so we opted to move forward. Once we were in the center of the Gulf of Papagallo, we concluded that the weather information we received was less than accurate. Yet, despite the winds were at or near gale force, the waves were small as this is an offshore wind and did not allow for much fetch to build the waves. Understandably Dave was tired from the previous night's sail. I felt comfortable at the helm, and Dave took me up on my suggestion to lie down in the salon.

All of a sudden, Dave said, "What's that noise?" I could not hear a thing outside with the wind screeching in my ears. He lifted his head, and then realized Ryan was making use of the electric toilet. All must be well. Then, Ryan popped out from the head (toilet), and said as he was peering out the salon hatch "What's that noise????" Then he yelled, "The anchor is deploying!"

Ryan and Dave ran out on deck. Wesley hearing the commotion raced from the cabin below. We all realized the severity of the situation. The anchor chain was shooting out from the locker at an extraordinary rate. Dave momentarily tried to grab the chain, but that was useless and inane. He ran back to the anchor locker and grabbed some feet of chain and wrapped it around the windlass. Luckily it did not rip the windlass unit right off its mount, and shortly thereafter Dave felt the "thunk" of the chain stopping. At least the deploying had stopped, but now there was 90 meters (270 feet) drifting between the hulls in a depth of fifty meters below us. Now how were we going to bring the chain up?

The boat was sailing between 7-8 knots. I tried to diminish the velocity, "pinching" it as tight as I could to the wind without back winding the sail. The only benefit of the boat speeding along was that the chain was being pulled at an angle behind us, sweeping it up horizontally. There was a real possibility that the anchor could hook to the bottom damaging or even ripping off the forward structure of the boat, potentially bringing the mast down with it. There was a need to fix this situation with due haste (a vast understatement with many naval expletives deleted).

Dave's MacGyverism went into hyper drive. He ran into the salon to search for some tool or spare boat part that could readily assist him to bring up the chain. His ingenuity came through, finding a steel chain grabber plate normally used in an anchor snubber/ bridle. The kids also grabbed two long lines, and the plan went into action. Dave hooked a link of chain, and then connected a line to port side, allowing use of the electric halyard winch. About ten meters were "reeled up." Dave then employed a second line attached to the starboard side for Ryan to winch up and take the pressure off from the remaining chain and anchor. Ten meters at a time, the chain was meticulously brought up, all the while I was sustaining the boat steady in 35 knot winds, helping Ryan and Wesley with their lines whenever I could.

It was obvious we were making headway, but my concern was, "What about when the actual anchor was to come up?" It typically swings so desperately whenever we have momentum, and with the speed we were maintaining, I was concerned about the final meter of getting the anchor up on deck. I turned to Wesley discussing my concern...and then he said, "It's already up!" Yippee!

We were all proud of ourselves. We had all reacted dynamically and without fear, all of us realizing the severity of the situation, and the need to perform. We had all saved the day together. Of all our trials during this sailing adventure, this was the nastiest of any situation we had ever been through. The outcome could have been disastrous, but we really executed a flawless performance. We were all worn after the event, but Wesley did help provide a final chuckle. He said, "Well, at least it made the passage go by quickly!"