Saturday 14 April
Visibility was still poor, but Skipper checked with the canal authorities, who confirmed that yachts were safe to enter the canal, so we slipped out of our berth, under his skilful hands, into a tricky crosswind now coming from the Northwest. Once out into the Elbe channel, wind and tide were with us, and we flew down to Brunsbűttel Locks, through eddies and whirlpools here and there, occasionally exceeding nine knots. Mate had readied lines and fenders, and the lovely lockkeeper didn’t keep us waiting: the white light was flashing to call us straight in to an enormous sea lock, all on our own.
Once inside it was quite sheltered, but Skipper still had to jump off onto a bouncy, slippery pontoon right on the water surface, to ensure my fenders stayed between me and the curved edge of the pontoon. These are a challenge for leisure boaters, as they are designed to fit underneath the edges of the huge commercial vessels that are the primary users of this waterway, which was originally built to enable German warships to gain access to the North Sea without having to round Denmark from the Baltic Sea coast, where their primary base was at Kiel.
At least 100 metres wide for its entire length of almost 100 kilometres, the Nordostsee Kanal is by far the largest, and busiest, I have yet travelled (did somebody mention a European Panama?) It is crossed by eight bridges, each rising to 40 metres, several sets of high voltage electricity cables strung between towering pylons, and dozens of small vehicle ferries, whose masters seem to love to play chicken with unwary yachties, waiting until one is almost crossing their path before suddenly leaving to charge across to the opposite bank – with a cheery wave to the sweating helmsman.
Most of the first day’s 50 miles was tree-lined on both sides, rendering no view even without the persistent murky drizzle. It was also cold, so my crew alternated half-hour watches, frequently retreating to the saloon to warm up and dry off.
Late in the afternoon we were finally caught up by an unusual yacht, familiar from my time at the Southampton Boat Show, where the boat next to me was a trimaran called a Dragonfly. They are aptly named, even under power, as this one was skimming along with only a 15hp outboard engine on the transom.
We spent the night in the Obereidersee, a lake off the main thoroughfare that boasts several boatyards. In torrential rain, we found probably the scruffiest, displaying a bold sign stating “Gäste Wilkommen”, tied up to a high but seriously dilapidated pontoon, with wobbly wooden cleats and sections of planking held together only by splinters, for which we were charged €15. This worked out at €1 per hour per metre (boat length), for no facilities, no power and no water – apart from that falling freely from above.