The nonprofit Audubon California believes the presence of this
community is an unequivocal environmental disaster, especially
with regard to eelgrass, a not-so-glamorous but nonetheless elemental puzzle piece in the bay’s complex ecology. Additionally, a
number of shoreline residents have expressed frustration with
anchor-outs, claiming the community’s wayward boats damage
property and that their trash and sewage pollute the bay. The
anchor-out community and its supporters, including on-shore
residents who see the existence of this community as emblematic
of the creative and diverse character that has made Marin County
unique, say that contrary to popular perception, anchor-outs are
generally responsible citizens whose environmental impact —
including wildlife displacement, toxic runoff and carbon footprint
— is minuscule relative to that of the average land dweller.
The story of the anchor-outs of Richardson Bay dates back to
World War II, when a flotilla of retired barges, ferries, schooners
and fireboats was repurposed by folks who hoped to live inexpensively just offshore. “In Sausalito people live on anything that floats,”
reads a caption for an August 1951 photo essay in the San Francisco
Chronicle. “Some live there because it’s cheap, others because it’s
‘arty’ and some because they like the water and the way it rocks
them to sleep.” By 1959, the first big push to control the vessel and
houseboat dwellers came from Sausalito City Attorney John Ehlen,
but the offshore community resisted and only grew, establishing
itself in the ’60s as a colorful part of the Sausalito shoreline. In June
1971, a well-documented battle — what would become known as
“The Houseboat Wars” — erupted when the Coast Guard and the
Marin County sheriff attempted to clear out several houseboats.
They were met with an armada of waterborne resistance.
“I think there were always some issues between the ‘hill peo-
ple’ on land and the ‘anchor-outs’ on the bay,” says Memo Gidley, a
professional race car driver who grew up as an anchor-out on his
parents’ 54-foot cutter. Gidley’s father, Cass, was a seaman who
came to Sausalito in the 1920s, owned a sailing school and a com-
mercial fishery, and was known to many as the “godfather of the
anchor-outs.” Memo and his mother, Mary Gidley, remember life on
the bay in the 1970s as challenging and beautiful. In Mary’s words,
“It was a lifestyle for hardy people, but also a romantic lifestyle,
quiet and peaceful on the water, the sky full of stars.”
The Gidleys describe their neighbors as individuals who loved
the water and the sense of freedom found offshore. “The commu-
nity was full of diversity,” Memo says. “Mostly low-income, and
not only hardworking but also a community full of role models.”
Audubon S. F. Bay Program Director Rebecca Schwartz Lesberg
strongly disputes Carvey’s arguments. Audubon monitors the health
of the eelgrass through aerial geographic information system (GIS)
photography, and it estimates that eelgrass damage is on average
one-half acre per boat.
“I think there were always
some issues between the
‘hill people’ on land and the
‘anchor-outs’ on the bay.”
