Residents of 'anchor-out' community moored permanently on San Francisco Bay say they will be left with nowhere to go as they're evicted from 'floating homes' to help preserve environment

A community of mariners permanently anchored on the San Francisco Bay face eviction from the waters they call home under a program aiming to protect the delicate marine ecosystem.

Some three dozen 'anchor-outs' - artists, free spirits and the like - live rent-free and without the burden of permit fees on Richardson Bay, across from the affluent seaside community of Sausalito.

And while the waters were once teeming with an estimated 200 boats, that number has dropped sixfold amid a campaign by local authorities and the Army Corps of Engineers to remove all vessels from the bay.

Chad Wycliffe, 41, is one of the few mariners left. He has taken up residence on his 33-foot fishing boat, the Iron Maiden, with two mixed-breed dogs.

'The city and the people have changed,' Wycliffe told the San Francisco Standard. 'Nobody owns this water, as much as they want to enforce rules upon it.'

The San Francisco Bay contains roughly 3,000 acres of eelgrass, the second-largest habitat in all of California, and local officials are aiming to preserve it through the establishment of an 'Eelgrass Protection Zone.'

Biologists argue that the bay's marine health depends on the seagrass to provide a spawning habitat for the herring that form the bedrock of the food chain. 

Around 400 acres of eelgrass are found in Richardson Bay, approximately 75 of which have been lost to chains and anchors dragging across the seafloor.

But anchor-outs insist the real culprits are fertilizer runoff from agriculture and illegal dumping from yachts.

Nevertheless, local agencies are working to relocate the mariners in phases as part of a $3 million program launched in 2021.

Under the terms, anchor-outs are eligible for a housing voucher for an apartment - typically valued at $2,500 - as well as a $150-per-foot buyback for the vessel being taken out of the water. 

Speaking to the San Francisco Chronicle, Marin County Supervisor Stephanie Moulton-Peters lauded the initiative.

'We are not just telling people to leave the water - we are offering them housing,' explained Moulton-Peters, who represents Sausalito.

'It is one of the most compassionate approaches to those living on the water and our need to move them.'

The endeavor is the latest in a series of attempts by local officials to rid the waters of anchor-outs.

The Richardson Bay Regional Agency laid down laws limiting vessels anchored in the bay to 72 hours, unless a 30-day permit is approved, but these have largely gone ignored.

While the campaign to remove the ships intensified during the pandemic, progress was markedly slow.

The agency established a program where anchor-outs could apply to move their boats into five of Sausalito’s marinas, but only two mariners seized the offer.

Now, all vessels are expected to be off the water by October 2024, with a small number of vessels permitted until 2026.

Anchorage will be available only to boaters staying 72 hours or less, under a permit issued by the harbor master.

And it isn't just to protect the eelgrass. Speaking to the San Francisco Chronicle, Richardson Bay Regional Agency Executive Director Brad Gross voiced concern for the surrounding community.

'I don’t think having a flotilla of illegally anchored vessels with people living on them and storing their belongings with dinghies and skiffs floating behind makes for a safe feeling for a kid doing a sailboat race,' Gross said.

It is this characterization that some mariners take issue with. Philip Crabtree claims he is not staying illegally, as he still has 50 days left in his permit, and is not hurting anyone by anchoring on Richardson Bay.

'I’m not (an) illegal anchor-out,' Crabtree wrote on Facebook. 'Get your facts straight, jack.'

As for Wycliffe, he has barely half a year left until he has to move elsewhere.

He and his fiancée had been among those who had agreed to trade their floating home for a life on land.

Following her sudden death last year, the 41-year-old security guard is unsure how he will afford a spot in a marina, plus housing for himself and his pets.

'As much as I can fathom leaving, as I have in the past, I always come back,' Wycliffe said. 'Maybe my destiny is to die on this water as well.'