Treasure Island — A Treasure of an Anchorage
Treasure Island isn’t for everyone. Hit it wrong and you’ll end up stuck in the mud, wondering why anybody ever recommended it in the first place. Misjudge the tide and you may find yourself sitting still a lot longer than you planned. But maybe that’s exactly why I love it.
There’s something honest about an anchorage that demands your attention before it gives you comfort. Treasure Island has become my favorite spot in the Bay — not because it’s easy, but because it rewards people who actually know how to use a boat. You hug close along the docks as you come in, stay alert, and ease your way into one of the best-protected anchorages in the Bay Area.
Once you’re set, the holding is fantastic. The current softens, the wind drops away, and suddenly the whole Bay changes character. The city lights begin to glow around you while the Bay Bridge towers overhead like something out of a movie.
My first date with Jac happened there. I took her sailing, dropped anchor, and we pushed our luck a little too far at low tide. We knew we were flirting with disaster. Then suddenly: mud. Hard aground. Instead of panicking, I shut everything down, tossed out more anchor, cracked a beer, and smoked a joint, and we laughed ourselves silly while we made out and waited for the tide to come back.
Well, we weren’t exactly just waiting.
Anchorages are where cruising actually happens. The older I get, the more I think anchoring is one of the deepest metaphors in boating. Anchors can be viewed as a burden, a ball and chain, but out on the water, the anchor becomes freedom. It becomes safety. Rest. Pleasure. It’s knowing you can stop moving long. enough to actually enjoy where you are.
The other day, I was sailing toward Treasure Island with a woman I’d been teaching to sail when the engine suddenly died. One of my dock lines had wrapped itself around the prop. We were drifting in the Bay with no engine, no wetsuit and freezing water below us.