The Storm
Two days later, I met Rhian and Liz in a downpour as they disembarked from one of the enormous, luxurious Stockholm ferries late one evening. They had spent most of the trip across in the sauna they said; they quite liked this cruising lark. Sounded a bit hedonistic to me, I reckoned; a weeks dose of simplicity and austerity was prescribed, and what could be a better tonic to the self-indulgence of the ferry than a cruise on Teal?
It was unpleasant and windy in the morning however, so we stayed in Mariehamn until lunchtime. As it began to brighten up we set off south to find an anchorage nearer the outskirts of the Aland islands that we could set off for Sweden from in the morning. We had to beat through narrow channels for much of the route, so my latest crew soon got used to steering and handling the jib sheets. Late in the evening we dropped into a rocky bay and anchored for the night.
The forecast had suggested the winds would be fairer with an early start in the morning, so we set the alarm to wake up bright and early. Still groggy from sleep, for some reason I decided to leave under jib and mizzen, although I should have known that this was not a well-balanced combination. It wasn’t – as the wind filled the sails Teals head blew round a lot more than I wanted, and we sailed straight onto the steep rocky shore of the island to leeward. No damage done, as we were barely moving at the time, and we managed to push off with the trusty Swedish tree and row offshore again, and leave under a more sensible combination of sails. Luckily the other boats in the anchorage were still fast asleep, and didn’t observe our embarrassment.
We were soon beyond the shelter of the islands, and bouncing across a lumpy sea towards Stockholm. As the Aland islands faded away behind us, the lonely uninhabited skerries of Lagskar with their lighthouse appeared on our port bow. Gradually we overhauled them, and they too passed astern, and it was not much later that we spotted a tower ahead on the Swedish coast. There were a couple of lighthouses we were aiming for, and we weren’t sure which it was. As we got closer we discovered it was neither, it was an enormously high look-out tower. Whether it was a military or coast guard installation I do not know, but the views over the archipelago must have been stupendous. The wind died soon after the first island appeared out of the haze, and for a short time we were becalmed. But it soon began to blow very gently offshore, and we tacked into the shipping channel and found a beautiful anchorage in the midst of rocks, just a few hundred yards from the lookout tower we had spotted so far offshore.
After a welcome cup of tea, there was time to assemble the canoe and explore the nearest island. It was a particularly beautiful one, with a perfect natural harbour where several yachts had tied up straight to the rocks. Thickly forested, with deciduous trees predominating, and lovely rounded worn rocks. We found wild strawberries to eat and managed to lose ourselves in the thick undergrowth as we tried to make our way back to the canoe.
The following day was another windy one. We threaded our way through the islands heading roughly in the direction of Stockholm. In places they were thickly spread and we had plenty of shelter; in other places they thinned out and the sea became rough. At first we followed a well charted route, but much of our route lay to windward and progress became rather slow. Looking at the chart I reckoned we could cut a large chunk off our route by leaving the marked channel and taking a long tack due west. It was slightly daunting knowing there were rocks about that were not marked by buoys, but they were fairly infrequent and it was easy enough to plan a route that should keep us well clear. With the sheets eased a fraction we had a grand sail, the spray flying and the sun shining on the blue sea. What’s more, we had it to ourselves – the endless parade of white plastic following the marked channel was soon lost behind the islands.
We anchored for the night next to a tiny island. Wooded, with a little rocky hill and a tiny shingle beach for a bonfire. The guitar came out as we baked courgettes with pesto for supper over the open fire.
It was such a perfect island that Rhian decided that she wanted it to herself, so borrowed my tent to stay ashore. The paradise was an illusion - it rained and the tent leaked. Nice of her to test it for me. Liz and I canoed back to the boat intending to come back and pick her up in the morning – but before we were up Rhian had already swum out, untied the canoe and swum back to the island with the painter in her teeth, and she paddled back out to us as we put the kettle on for our early morning cuppa.
Now the winds became light, and from here the islands became more clustered so we were often becalmed as we continued onwards into the archipelago. For a while I sailed single-handed while the girls canoed ashore to climb a promontory and take some pictures of Teal under sail. We needed to get some food, and stopped on another largish island with a ferry stop, a few houses, a school and a corner shop. Wild cherries grew along the track that crossed the island from the little harbour on the north where we stopped to the shop (and another little harbour) on the south coast. We did our bit to aid their propagation by spitting the stones into the forest, and when we got bored of that we spat them at each other.
The next crew due to join me, Seb (another crew from a tall ships race) and his fiancee Tasha, were only coming for a few days. So that they shouldn’t have to spend too much of their time travelling, I wanted to be somewhere not too far from Stockholm by the time they flew in. Despite the maze of islands, there are in fact very few routes in towards Stockholm, and the most direct route from the northern archipelago is past the citadel at Vaxholm. After another night at a beautiful island anchorage we reached Vaxholm on a rainy day which blew strongly at times but left us wallowing in flat calms behind many of the high bluffs at others. Most of the traffic in and out of Stockholm passes the narrow constriction at Vaxholm, so it was thick with yachts and the bustling little white archipelago ferries that serve the islands. We noticed one British ensign, on a vast gleaming gin palace with diesels grumbling at the low speeds that were being asked of them. It was the antithesis of Teal. I much preferred the idiosyncratic, grubby French yacht that passed us a few moments later, looking vaguely disreputable with a big crew (including several children) conversing volubly, and an enormous bright yellow jib dragging her along.
We parked ourselves in the big marina in Vaxholm, and enjoyed a beer in a cafe. The cheery seafront was thronged with people, and the water was ever busier. Vaxholm is the base from which the archipelago ferries operate, and they weave to their jetties through the never-ending stream of traffic that passes either side of the imposing stone citadel.
The forecast was for south-westerly winds in the morning, which would have meant lots of tacking to get any closer to Stockholm. I decided it wasn’t worth getting any closer – the ferries were fast and frequent to the city centre from Vaxholm, so Rhian and Liz would have no trouble getting in, and it would be easy for Seb and Tasha to travel to reach me. Besides, the last few miles to Stockholm were dull, and it would be much more pleasant for them to sail straight into the more beautiful surroundings round here.
So for Rhian and Liz’s last morning we took the canoe out to the island of the citadel to look round. It was deserted when we arrived and tied the canoe up – the first ferry across (for it is a popular tourist attraction) didn’t arrive until a couple of hours later. The big museum it houses was still closed, but we could wander round the ramparts, built of huge blocks of solid close-fitting stones, and inspect the astonishing selection of big guns that were on display and that had fortified this island through the ages.
After lunch it was time for them to go – and they left for their ferry to Stockholm as Seb and Tasha arrived on another, hungry and ready for lunch. I wasn't complaining, and ate my second lunch with as much gusto as I had quaffed the first. We only had just over 24 hours before Toria also arrived to join us, and as the only easy place for her to make was Vaxholm, we thought we’d just head out, find a pleasant anchorage to stop at, and come back by a different route. The winds were so light that we didn’t get very far at all that evening – not that that mattered. After a couple of hours of drifting we found ourselves off a little perfectly rounded island and thought we might as well stick the anchor down and have a quick walk ashore. As we got the anchor ready a small motorboat zoomed up, driven by a single middle-aged man. He parked on the beach, tore all his clothes off, jumped in the water, back out, hopped back into the boat (still nude) and puttered off again. All in the space of 3 minutes. They’re an odd folk sometimes, the Swedes.
We collected bilberries on the island, which had an overgrown track and the ruinous foundations of some building, but seemed not to have been inhabited for many years. It wasn’t a very sheltered anchorage though, so we continued to the island I had anchored at with Kat on the way out of Stockholm the previous year.
We explored it in the morning. Its attractions included black sheep, and a pretty cove where a number of yachts were tied up to a steep rockface. There were a couple of Wayfarers drawn up too, large open dinghys crewed by a cheerful girl guides doing their hair after a night camping ashore.
We took a more tortuous, route back towards Vaxholm, thinking a few extra miles wouldn’t matter as it really wasn’t far away. But the fickle wind died away completely after lunch, and it took 4 hours to crawl the last 2 ½ miles. We did row bits of it, but there was no hurry so mostly we sat in the sun and read.
Seb stepped heavily on one of the cockpit lockers, splintering the wood where the hinges were attached, and falling through into the locker below. So we had to mend that – and also Seb, who got three deep scores in his leg from the screws as he descended. “Tell everyone you got attacked by a bear” we suggested to him.
Toria sauntered along the quay just before 10pm, much to our relief as I had heard nothing from her for a while and I wasn’t sure she had got my email telling her where to find us! So now we were four again – but only for a couple of days.
It was time to leave the comfort of the archipelago, though I was reluctant to go, for from here there would be far more open sea, and plenty of contrary winds as we fought back to the south-west.The later we left the harsher the weather would become. We began threading south along the route that Kat and Holly and I had approached Stockholm from. Initially we got along well, but in the high rocky sides of the narrow channel that runs south from the Stockholm fairway the wind was – just like the previous year – fluky and unpredictable, and rarely in our favour. Worse was to come at the little man-made cut we had to wind through. I knew we would have to row along this, so we dropped all sail as we approached and got the oars ready. But as we entered the cut we stopped dead. There was a strong current – several knots – against us, and even with Seb and I both straining at the oars we could make no progress. At least we provided entertainment to the elderly man who sat on a bench on the northern shore with a rug over his knees, and the family in their garden on the southern shore, who were within chatting distance, only a few yards away.
After a bit of thought we decided to put Seb ashore and toss him a rope so he could trudge along the bank and tow us. This worked a treat, although was slow progress as he clambered along the bouldery shore and negotiated the odd fence or fallen tree. We hadn’t gone far when the two kids of the family we had just passed zipped up in a little aluminium dory with an outboard, and offered to tow us through. That was a far easier way of progressing, and within ten minutes we were through the canal and passing into a wide sound, where we were able to cast off the tow and continue under our own steam again. It was only a few miles further to the island where Kat and Holly and I had stopped the previous year, and picked bilberries and had a sauna. It had been a lovely place to stop, so we thought we might as well use it again.
There were several boats already on the staging so we put a stern anchor out and tied our bows to a tree that clung to a tiny islet out in the bay. It was as friendly as last year. As we canoed ashore a kid on a nearby boat shouted ‘Welcome to the island’ (at least that’s what Toria, who spoke a little Swedish, translated it as) and later the daughter of an old man who lives there semi-permanently on an wooden motor cruiser also came to welcome us, for she had been there the previous year, and recalled Kat and Holly struggling along the bowsprit to get ashore.
We brought food, beers and the stove ashore and cooked our dinner there, enjoying the space and the smell of earth and wood. The stunningly hot summer we had had was beginning to turn now, though it was only the last day of July. It was chilly as we set off again the following day, and later a damp mist settled about us. We anchored off the island of Uto where we canoed ashore and found a coffee shop and walked along a forest track. After returning to the boat we continued for another few hours, but the winds were so light we ended the day at an anchorage only a mile further down the coast.
The mist gave way to heavy rain to mark the start of August, and we arrived at Nynashamn rather bedraggled. Another hello, to Jojo who had flown that morning to Stockholm and caught the train down here, and after lunch another goodbye, for Seb and Tasha were returning by the same route. Lunch was all that we saw of the little port, for I got the forecast while I was here and it predicted favourable winds the offshore island of Gotland, but only for the next 12 hours. Remembering the strong southwesterlies we had had on this coast last year I was anxious to make the most of any favourable wind that did spring up, so threw Jojo in at the deep end and set off at once on an overnight sail.
The downpour made for a soggy sail, but after a few hours it gradually eased as we sailed through the last of the islands. Soon the lighthouse marking the last island in the Stockholm archipelago was behind us and we were bobbing along alone on the open sea. Sailing would become very different now.
We made good time on this leg, for the wind stayed in the north west and gave us good speed. It was a very enjoyable sail, and made a pleasant change to be out of sight of land. Dinner was interesting, for our Estonian wasn’t up to identifying a jar of pasta sauce correctly – it turned out to be stir fry sauce, which was however perfectly palatable with spaghetti.
The red roofs of Visby appeared as the sun rose, and by mid-morning we were tied up in the busy marina.