Through the Kiel Canal
Holtenau, at the eastern end of the canal, is a pleasant but subdued suburb. After looking round and eating lunch we caught a bus into Kiel. A delicious chilled bock of beer to celebrate our arrival in Germany – and the end of our wanderings in the Baltic – nearly sent me to sleep after the long overnight sail, and we returned for an early night on Teal.
Toria left in the morning to fly home, and I had a day before Martin was due to arrive. I took it very easy, although did go into Kiel again to buy some new rowlocks. I lost rowlocks with monotonous regularity during the trip – tug too hard on the oars and out they would pop – and I lost count of the number of sets I bought. The pair I bought in Kiel I tied to the oars permanently with bits of string, which quite apart from meaning they couldn’t drop in the drink as easily, meant they were easily found. No more desperate rummaging through the cockpit locker as we approached port and needed the oars for manouevering.
Sailing is not permitted in the Kiel canal unless you have your engine on standby. Although with my new purchase I could rig the oars in a matter of moments, I’m not sure whether the canal authorities would have accepted that that was as good as having an internal combustion engine at the ready. My plan for getting through was to beg a tow, and I imagined there would be plenty of yachts returning through the canal from a summer cruise so I was fairly confident I would find someone prepared to take me.
There was bad news in the morning though, for Martin rang to say he had missed his flight. He would get the next one, but wouldn’t arrive until the evening. I decided to have a go at begging anyway, for I imagined he’d be able to find his way out by train or bus to wherever I managed to get to.
A gaggle of boats began to congregate outside the lock gates shortly before the canal opened, and I selected the scruffiest of the Hatfield Peverel charts, improvised a sign begging for a lift, and hung it in the rigging. Then I cast off, and rowed out to a position between the boats and the lock. Finally the moment arrived: the lock gates slowly swung open and all the craft began heading into the lock. The first yacht powered by a hundred yards away, too far away to read my writing.
The second, a pretty German double-ender, came closer, and the skipper peered at my sign. ‘Ah, you vant a tow, ja?’. He put his engine in reverse, and I threw the rope I had coiled ready on the foredeck. Within moments we were underway again into the lock.
I hadn’t hoped to get a tow quite so quickly, so I was rather pleased. However, the well-meaning German wasn’t the saviour I was looking for. He would like to tow me through the canal, he said, but his engine was rather dodgy – they’d managed to fill the cylinders with seawater on a lumpy passage not long previously, and it was running very rough so he wasn’t convinced it would even get them through the canal, let alone me too. Perhaps another of the 30 or so boats that had come into the lock behind us would be prepared to take me.
We walked up to the lockkeepers office together to pay our dues, and pay compliments to each others boats, for it turned out both had just celebrated their 90th birthdays. In the queue of skippers waiting to hand over their cash (the fee is laughably small - 7 euros for Teal) he chatted in German to the other skippers, and found one who was happy to tow me.
When we returned to our boats however, we found that his crewmember had been chatting to a girl on a big steel Dutch ketch moored just ahead, and they had also offered to take me. Now I had a choice, and as the Dutch boat was closer I moved up beside them and lashed Teal alongside.
Mallimok was the home of Hans and Suzy, their young daughter Emma, and dogs Daisy and Trouble. Originally a tug, later an icebreaker, in retirement she had masts and sails installed and was converted to a family home like so many Dutch vessels. Hans confessed that she didn’t have great performance to windward, but on the other hand with her 80’ length there was lots of space for a family to live aboard. They had a permanent mooring at Enkhuizen, on the shores of the Isjeelmeer, and this summer holiday to the Danish islands was the first long voyage they had undertaken.
With Teal lashed alongside there was no need for me to stay on board her, and I was invited on board Mallimok and entertained in style. I drank their coffee, ate their biscuits, then joined in their delicious lunch while the steady thump of the diesel beneath us ate up the miles. I took the odd trick at the helm of Mallimok - the least I could do to help - and when we stopped at Rendsburg to get diesel helped with the warps and fenders. It was interesting to watch Hans and Suzy work together, for Suzy was partially deaf and they had developed a sign language to communicate. Hans took the helm while Suzy handled the ropes – she did the majority of the deck work, she said. Impressive, for the sails on an 80’ ketch are not small, and with Hans at the helm she would be hoisting the heavy canvas and gaff entirely on her own.
The Kiel canal is long and, frankly, dull. It was Knights description of the Eider river that really persuaded me that I should try following it down to the sea, and leave the dull canal to the shipping for which it was designed. The river is reached by a short cut, the Gieselau canal, that branches off to the north halfway along the main channel. The quiet backwater is a popular stopping point for yachts traversing the canal, and Suzy and Hans decided they would spend the night there too, before continuing to Brunsbuttel in the morning. The moorings were already busy, but luckily there was just one spot big enough for Mallimok, and some stagings where I could also lie alongside.
Having stuffed me all day with their food, they insisted I stay for dinner too, and the evening passed very pleasantly sitting in the fading light on their aft deck, eating lentil curry and drinking beer.