‘Be the Captain’ Excerpt: Lying to a Sea Anchor

First, Have One. Second, Deploy It Correctly

James Evenson Nov 12   ∙   Guest post

READ IN APP

This excerpt from the newly released book, “Be the Captain,” is the second of two parts. The first, appearing earlier this week, was a Q&A with author James Evenson entitled “New Manual Like ‘Chapman’ But With Attitude.

There’s a moment no sailor wants to face: the moment when you’re not just battling a storm, you’re crippled. No engine. No rudder. No way to steer. You’ve exhausted every tactic, and now it’s survival time.

That’s when the sea anchor comes out.

A sea anchor isn’t about comfort; it’s about survival. It holds the bow into the waves when nothing else can. It buys you time. It prevents your boat from being rolled by breaking seas. And if you think you’ll never need one, let me tell you the story that taught me otherwise.

The Day My Boat Split in Half

I thought I knew storms. I thought I knew what my boat could take. Then one night off Hawaii, I learned what it means to lose everything.

We were pushing hard, trying to stay ahead of a weather system on a passage from Fanning Island, Kiribati, to Kona, Hawaii. The forecast gave us a window. The Pacific Ocean had other plans.

The seas built to around 30 feet, and sometime after midnight, I felt it: that sickening moment when the boat lifts clear into the air and then drops. When we hit the water, there wasn’t just a crack. There was a loud, awful ripping sound. Instantly, I knew something was seriously wrong.

I grabbed a light, crawled into the hull, and saw the moon reflecting off the water inside the boat. My catamaran was splitting apart beneath me.

I looked at my girlfriend, Kim, and said, “Babe, this is bad. I’m not sure how to fix this.”

She inspected it herself. “Can’t we just tie it together with ropes?”

My first reaction was to say, “No way, that’ll never…” Then I said, “Wait a minute… that might actually work.”

For the next three hours, I went into the water four times, lashing lines around the hulls in every possible way. We rigged blocks, Dyneema, anchor rode, and anything we had. It looked like a spiderweb from hell, but somehow it held together until morning.

The one thing that saved our asses, and nearly killed me in the process, was the sea anchor.

The first time I deployed the sea anchor, it swung the bow into the seas, stopping the breaking waves from hitting us broadside. The relief we felt in that moment. I can still feel it today. It turned the worst imaginable situation into something survivable. Waves stopped crashing over us. Water stopped pouring into the hull.

Then, the damned thing collapsed.

The anchor was undersized for the boat, and I paid the price for that mistake. I had to haul in 400 feet of soaking-wet, half-inch, 8-plait line, untangle it, and redeploy. I did that four times before my body gave out. I couldn’t lift it anymore. But still, that anchor held when nothing else could.

You’ll probably never need a sea anchor. But if you ever do, it will become the most essential piece of equipment on your boat.

I now keep one in my aft lazarette, appropriately sized. It’s one of those items you hope collects dust forever. And if that day comes, it’s the only thing that matters.

How To Deploy a Sea Anchor Correctly

A sea anchor isn’t just something you throw over the side and hope for the best. It must be set up deliberately, with serious attention to load, angle, scope, and chafe.

Start by attaching it to your strongest forward cleats, ideally through a dedicated bridle. This distributes the force evenly and keeps the bow locked onto the waves. A heavy-duty swivel is essential. Without one, the rope will twist under load and collapse the chute. If that happens, you’re not pulling in a 100-pound sail; you’re dragging thousands of pounds of seawater over hundreds of feet of line. It’s brutal, exhausting, and dangerous.

Scope is everything. You want the parachute to settle fully submerged in the second wave ahead of your bow, creating a complete wave trough between the boat and the anchor. When set correctly, you’ll see the dynamic clearly: The rode taut over the trough, completely out of the water, disappearing cleanly into the face of the next wave. Even at night, you can usually see it. That’s how you know it’s stable, loaded, and holding.

You’ll need a significant line length, around 400–600 feet. The best setup is a single length of 8-plait anchor line, pre-rigged for this purpose. But realistically, most cruisers don’t carry that. If you need to join multiple lines to achieve adequate scope, use a Zeppelin bend (see 3E). Avoid using bowlines, as they can chafe and cause loss of the anchor. If a chain is used, ensure the rope-to-chain connection is extremely secure. The loads here are not theoretical; they’re survival-level.

Use the longest, strongest lines you have and protect them from chafe. Stretch is beneficial but not mandatory. Survival is the priority.

Depending on your boat and the sea state, you may experiment with angled deployment. Instead of running the bridle directly forward, split it between forward and midship cleats. This cants the bow slightly off the wind and widens the slick behind the anchor. Some sailors believe this helps flatten breaking waves and calm the sea between the chute and the boat. While I haven’t personally tested this, it makes sense to me.

Chafe is your biggest enemy. Add protection at contact points. Monitor constantly. Storm after storm, lost sea anchors result from chafe. If the bridle parts, you’re suddenly a cork in a washing machine, and the next wave might not wait for you to recover.

Sea Anchor Vs. Drogue: Know the Difference

• Sea Anchor: Stops the boat almost entirely, keeping the bow pointed into the seas. Used when disabled, needing to ride out a storm. Some sailors have ridden out hurricanes safely lying to a sea anchor. It deploys off the bow.
• Drogue: Slows the boat while keeping it moving stern-to-waves. Used when running off to prevent surfing, loss of control, and broaching. Deploys off the stern.

Back When Creating an Oil Slick Was a Righteous Small-Craft Storm Tactic July 26, 2023 Read full story

© 2025
411 Walnut St. No. 1944, Green Cove Springs, FL 32043
Unsubscribe