Huddled in the cabin on our sleeping bags, drinking hot chocolate while a thunderstorm raged outside, we heard a call on the VHF radio. One of our students reported they were dragging their anchor and wanted our help.

I stopped laughing from the joke Dave had been telling, stashed my cup, and grabbed my hat and my foul weather gear jacket. Everyone else did the same thing.

I loved this summer job as a sailing instructor. At night, after we anchored our students on their boats, we bunked together on the lead powerboat.

That night, with a storm forecast, we had anchored farther up the river than usual in a more protected spot and told all our students to monitor the VHF. Each of us had taken extra care when anchoring, setting our anchors hard in reverse and putting out extra line. If any one of our boats drifted, it could run aground or hit another boat – putting our whole fleet at risk. We took pride in our seamanship and teased each other mercilessly when someone made a mistake.

Dave ran to the bow to pull our anchor, and Julie went to the VHF. Outside the cabin, the wind drove rain against the boats and water, making it hard to hear each other. I was on lookout with a long line coiled in both hands, ready to throw. It was cold. Rain battered my hat and hood, soaking my hands and my bare legs. The wet coil was heavy, and it was hard to see out over the dark water through the slanted downpour.

Teddy was on the flybridge driving. He yelled, “It’s not ours,” and pointed. Another boat was dragging toward our students.

The dragging boat did not have anyone on deck. Were they listening to their VHF? How could we get their attention? Our students were on deck on their boat, thinking they had caused the problem. Julie tried to hail the dragging boat on the VHF while Teddy maneuvered close to them. I moved to the starboard side with my line.

The boats were getting closer. I clenched my teeth. If they collided in these waves, at least one boat was going to be damaged and someone might be hurt. Our students got out fenders to put between their boat and the dragging boat. I was itching to jump on that boat with my towline, but it wasn’t time for that yet.

The sailors finally came on deck. As a man scrambled to the bow, I tossed him the tow line and yelled, “Tie it around your mast.” I used my instructor voice.

If they just secured it to their bow cleat, it might pull out the cleat. It took him a minute to understand. I wondered if he knew how to tie a bowline. Could he hurry up?

Finally it was done. “Stand behind the mast. We’ll tow you.” A woman was on the wheel in the cockpit, ready to steer behind us.

I looked at Teddy and gave him a nod and pointed forward. Teddy slowly pulled us forward, and their boat swung. I held my breath, hoping it would clear our students’ boat. When we had them well clear of our students, I held up my fist and Teddy slowed, keeping tension on the tow line.

Teddy nodded toward their bow. “Pull up your anchor,” I yelled to the man.

How was he going to re-anchor? I didn’t want to let him loose to anchor among our students.

Teddy and I looked at each other. I wrapped my hand over the cleated towline on our stern. Teddy nodded.

We’d never done this together before, but it felt like we’d done it many times.

After he had the anchor on deck, I pointed forward and yelled, “Let’s anchor you over there.” He nodded and stepped behind the mast.

When we’d gotten far enough away, Teddy slowed and then stopped. I rolled my arm at the man, indicating it was time to lower his anchor. Once he had enough anchor rode out, I eased the tow line, testing to see if he would stay in place.

“Put yourself in reverse,” I yelled. “Dig it in.” The woman in the cockpit put the engine in reverse. Their anchor held.

“Go ahead and untie the towline.” After he loosened the knot, I pulled the line aboard, heavy and wet. The man thanked us. I shivered as I exhaled.

Teddy motored us back to a good spot, and Dave dropped the anchor. Down below, we shed our gear. There was no teasing to be done. We’d all done our jobs – beautifully. So we celebrated subtly, helping each other with tasks we usually did alone, taking extra care of our boat and gear before getting ready for bed. As we got into our sleeping bags, we talked about our dates and families. We kept the VHF on all night.