The Architecture of Anchoring

The parallels between selecting an anchorage and anchoring vs siting a building.

Following our last anchoring fiasco, with Mahina dragging an alarming 2.5NM across a windy and perilous Flinders Island bay, and with the katabatic winds of the island exerting their effects so dramatically, it got me thinking about what has drawn me to sailing despite its many perils. It has often occurred to me that there are many parallels between the skills and sensitivities required to sail and anchor successfully and those skills required by an architect. Bear with me!

Sailors become exceptionally good at quickly assessing the many factors that go into a good anchorage, because the consequences of not getting it right can range from being merely annoying to being catastrophic. Some of these considerations include: Where is the wind blowing from, and where will it be blowing from, especially overnight; Will a wind shift put the vessel at risk from a dangerous ‘lee shore’, or in other words, will the wind be blowing towards the land; Will the wind increase, and if so, what will be its strength and direction; Is the anchorage subject to katabatic winds, or ‘wind bullets’ due to the topography of the adjacent land; What is the ‘fetch’, ie the distance that wind has to increase wave height; What features could reduce the effect of wind, eg: mangroves; What is the direction and magnitude of the swell, and will it make the anchorage uncomfortable; What is the depth of the anchorage, and how much chain should be payed out to allow for the depth; Is the vessel’s swing room clear of obstructions; Is the vessel’s anchor appropriate for the type of seabed, eg: sand, mud, weed, rock; What is the proximity of the vessel to its moored neighbours, and is there a chance of collision or fouling of anchors and chains; If the vessel drags, what are the perils and how can they be mitigated (eg: rocky shores, bridges, other vessels); What are the rules of the area, and is anchoring lawful (eg: some areas, especially marine parks, don’t allow anchoring to protect coral or sea grass); And what will happen when the tide turns, will I still have enough depth and how will the current affect the anchor and the boat?

Many architects happen also to be sailors, and I believe that the knack for getting an anchorage right goes hand in hand with many essential architectural skills. Being an architect myself that has also lived for some time on a boat may seem to be an anathema, however an awareness of natural influences is such an important starting point for architects. The great English born, New Zealand Arts and Crafts architect Chapman Taylor is reputed to have camped on sites prior to even starting to design, in order to establish the natural influences at play.

Being aware of, and sensitive to, the natural influences when sailing is something to be revelled in, as it sharpens the senses and brings the sailor closer to the natural realms and its great forces. Familiarity with these forces comes with healthy doses of respect, along with a corresponding intolerance for man-made things that fail to work with them, or show a blatant lack of respect for ‘place’ and the natural world. One of my favourite stories is that of the naturalist Joseph Banks increasing the height of his proposed cabin quarters aboard the Resolution by one foot, paid for at huge expense to himself. When Lieutenant Cook learned of this, he reluctantly delayed the expedition and successfully requested that the Navy reverse the work and reinstate the vessel’s former height, on the basis that the additional height would make the vessel dangerously unstable for the kind of voyage about to be undertaken. Being an exceptionally experienced sailor, Cook knew about natural forces, and was not about to sacrifice the expedition to improve the comfort of even its greatest patron. This story brings to mind many nautical departures from sanity to be seen in marinas and anchorages, in which it would seem that some boats have been fashionably constructed around a bed or saloon, rather than around the tenets of the sea-worthiness.

For me, the architectural equivalent is seeing a building that ‘caps’ a hill or a ridge, sitting directly on and dominating a natural feature purely for the view it affords. This ‘act’ can be architecturally fraught, because it often fails to respect the landscape and a building’s place within it. It usually defies the forces of the weather, and the way that wind increases significantly when passing over a hilltop or ridge. Any sailor that has experienced katabatic winds will be aware of this effect. Additionally, it imposes its built form on a landscape that offends the view of anyone wanting or needing to rest their eyes on an unimpeded ridgeline or the outline of a landscape, forever fragmenting the tranquillity that the view may have had.

Another architectural ‘offence’, and one that makes me wince, is seeing buildings that have clearly been constructed using materials or styles that are not at all suited to, or related to ‘place’. This is often, as with Joseph Banks and his increased cabin height, despite great expense being involved. One example of this is buildings that have been constructed from stone that is not locally available, and may have had to have been brought a great distance to the site, along with the resulting expense, burning of fossil fuels (ie truck diesel), and just plainly looking out of place in the landscape. This is one of the many reasons why ‘vernacular’ architecture often steals the heart, including my own. It is architecture that has grown out of the locally available materials, working with the forces of nature, and doing so as efficiently as possible: the old, gabled farm house or shearing shed with pitched roof and overhanging eaves; the spartan fibrolite seaside holiday home, or NZ ‘bach’; or thatched roofing in its many and varied forms, from the traditional roofs of indigenous Australia and Oceania, to those of Asia and Europe.

Thus go some of the musings of the architect and sailor, especially when underway with the time and space to think and gaze out over the sea. The subject of how the natural world nourishes and teaches us, enriching our lives both physically and spiritually with its wonders and immutable laws, is an endless one. I feel exceptionally privileged to be able to relate to the land and sea in the ancient way of the sailor.