Had an educational experience over the weekend that reminded me of the value of a tide book and knowledge of where you are moored. We spent the weekend at an island we visit a lot, and although it was apparently fabulous weather in Seattle, up where we were, the fog was extremely thick, particularly on Sunday. We moored in cove we hadn't used for a couple of years, and while we remembered the shoreline had a very shallow slope, we hadn't remembered it as being all that much of a problem at low tide. We'd been invited to dinner by the resident ranger, so at 5:30 we dinghied over to the beach and tied the Livingston to a log. The tide was pretty much at its normal maximum height on the shoreline. We could barely see our anchor light through the fog, so I took a bearing with a hand compass just to make sure if we couldn't see the light when we got back we'd know which way to go to get back to the boat. What we had managed to forget was that the low tide that night was going to be about a minus 2.0. When we got back to the dinghy a little after 10:00 PM, the tide was definitely out. But what was really disconcerting was the reflection of our anchor light on the glass-smooth water only seemed to be coming about halfway to the beach. A muddy reconnoiter showed why. The water was a LONG ways away. So for the next half hour or so, my wife and I dragged the Livingston in spurts backwards through the soft, clingy mud by light of a flashlight and the little stern light on the dinghy. Thank God we only have a little Yamaha 4-hp 4-stroke on the back. Anything bigger, and we probably couldn't have gotten the boat to the water. The mud was so soft it sucked our boots down to the point where we found it was easier to pull the dinghy in our bare feet. The tide was out so far we were actually passing commercial crab traps and their lines and buoys that were totally exposed on the mud. Our dog, needless to say, was very confused by the whole thing as the specter of his owners dragging the dinghy instead of getting in and going somewhere must have been very puzzling. Of course, when we finally reached the water, we still had a long way to go until it was deep enough to float the dinghy. This is when things got really interesting. My wife in shining the flashlight around suddenly said, "Look at the crab!" Sure enough, a huge Dungeness crab was scuttling away. Playing the light around revealed that the whole bottom seemed to be moving, as there were dozens of big Dungeness scuttling all around us. Believe me, having a big crab run over your bare foot in the dark is one scary sensation. Had we not been primarily concerned with getting off the beach, and had recreational crabbing not closed the day before, we could have limited on big Dungeness with our bare hands in about two minutes. Of course we eventually reached a water depth to float the dinghy and we headed back to the boat. The next morning, I estimated the distance we'd dragged the Livingston by the position of the crab trap buoys we'd passed on the mud, which were now floating. We hauled that thing about 125 yards. Doesn't seem like much, perhaps, but think about dragging a dinghy and motor through soft-oozy mud for the length of a football field plus another quarter of a football field. Needless to say, the next time we plan an extended time ashore, we'll pay more attention to the tide book and the nature of our anchorage.... ______________________________ C. Marin Faure 36' Grand Banks "La Perouse" Bellingham, Washington