There’s a moment, just before sunrise, when the world is still deciding whether to wake up. The water is like glass, the sky a soft bruised pink, and the only sound is the gentle clink of a halyard somewhere far off, echoing like a slow metronome across the bay. This is my favourite time on board -the quiet joy of waking up at anchor alone.
Ask any solo sailor what they love most about it, and chances are they’ll mention freedom, or self-reliance, or the challenge of handling a yacht on their own. All of those are true for me too. But there’s something about the mornings -the stillness, the space to think, the simple rituals -that makes them quietly magical.
This post isn’t about big crossings or heavy-weather tactics. It’s about that peaceful, precious slice of solo sailing life: the first hour of the day, when the anchor’s holding firm, the kettle’s just boiled, and the sea hasn’t quite remembered how to be busy yet.
Waking with the Light
There’s no alarm clock on my boat unless I’ve got a tide to catch. Most mornings at anchor, I wake with the light. It creeps in through the hatch above the bunk, dappling the cabin ceiling in that familiar ripple pattern -like reflections dancing on the inside of a seashell.
It’s a gentle awakening. No beeping, no deadlines. Just the soft rock of the hull and the occasional sigh of fenders nudging against the guardrail. Sometimes I stay under the covers for a few more minutes, just listening. Birdsong from the shoreline. The splash of a curious fish. The faint, rhythmic creak of the anchor rode tightening as the boat swings on the tide.
That First Coffee in the Cockpit
The first thing I do -always -is get the kettle on. There’s something oddly ceremonial about making tea at anchor. The clink of the gas knob. The familiar hiss and whoosh of ignition. The waiting. And then, the reward: steam rising from the mug, hands wrapped around it, blanket thrown over the shoulders if it’s cool, and a front-row seat to the morning.
Sitting in the cockpit with that first cuppa, I feel more present than I ever do ashore. There’s no Wi-Fi, no notifications, no rush. Just me, the boat, and the view -which is never the same twice. I’ve watched the sun rise over the sandy shallows of Studland Bay, turning the glint of the anchor chain into a thing of beauty. I’ve seen early mist curl like smoke around the rocks in the Helford, herons stalking the shoreline like slow-motion dancers. In Sark, I watched the tide drain the beach dry, revealing crab scuttles and seaweed secrets. Each time, I felt like the only person awake in the world -and it felt like a privilege.
Creating the Perfect Morning Afloat
If you’re new to anchoring overnight, mornings might still feel a little tense -did the anchor drag? Is the boat still in the same spot? Is that squall going to hold off?
Trust me, it gets easier. And with a few habits, you can turn your mornings into something you genuinely look forward to.
Here’s how I set the scene:
- Anchor with confidence the night before. I give it a good set in reverse, check swing room, and double-check forecasted shifts. Peace of mind equals better sleep.
- Tidy up before bed. If you’ve ever tripped over a winch handle on your way to boil water, you’ll know why this matters.
- Lay out what you’ll need -matches, your mug, the cafetière or tea bags, blanket, even your favourite cockpit cushion. Mornings are meant to be slow, not scrambled.
- Keep a mini log. I jot a few notes most mornings -wind direction, what I see, how I feel. Not every entry is profound, but looking back, they chart a quieter, deeper story than the passage logs.
Mornings That Stay With You
One of my favourite anchorages is the Yealm, tucked just east of Plymouth. I’d arrived late after a blustery sail across Bigbury Bay -the kind where every tack feels like a negotiation. I crept upriver as the light faded, dropped the hook behind the sandbar, and cooked something quick and hot before falling into bed.
The next morning was a gift. Flat calm, the river like a mirror, reflecting the little red-roofed cottages of Noss Mayo. I watched a paddleboarder drift by, her dog sitting upright like a figurehead. No one spoke. We just nodded, sharing the kind of peace that doesn’t need words.
Another time, anchored in Newton Creek on the Isle of Wight, I woke to fog so thick it felt like the world had gone missing. I made coffee anyway and sat up top, watching it slowly lift, revealing boats one by one like a curtain rising on a play. That morning, I didn’t move for two hours. Didn’t need to.
The Solo Part -And Why It Matters
These moments are special because I’m alone. When you’re solo, you’re not talking, not entertaining, not even checking your phone to let someone know you’re up. You’re just… being. And that presence, that undistracted awareness, is a kind of quiet joy that’s hard to find elsewhere.
It doesn’t mean it’s always perfect. I’ve woken up to drizzly grey skies and condensation-soaked everything. I’ve cursed the cormorant that lands on the guardrail and leaves its opinion all over my deck. But even those days feel like mine -unfiltered and true.
Why It’s Worth Trying
If you’ve never stayed at anchor solo, I get that it might feel daunting. But it doesn’t have to be a big adventure. Start with a calm summer evening in a well-known bay, set your anchor early, and give yourself time to settle in. Take a book, make an easy supper, and go to bed with the hatch cracked open to the stars. When morning comes, let yourself wake naturally. No pressure, no plans. Just coffee, the cockpit, and the world unfolding quietly around you.
Final Thoughts
There’s no badge or accolade for mornings like these. No logbook entries marked “glorious sunrise, heart full.” But they’re what I remember long after the passage plans are recycled and the charts are folded away. Solo sailing is full of high points -landfalls, tricky berths, successful passages. But sometimes, the real magic lies in stillness. In the way a quiet morning at anchor can make you feel completely at home -in your boat, in your choices, in yourself.
And if you ask me, that’s the best kind of start to any day.
Sue
