Category: Uncategorized

Monday 23 April

Like all competent sailors, my crew follow weather forecasts diligently. This was one reason we decided to come North now, as gales are forecast for Tuesday and Wednesday, followed by another period of no wind at all – is there ever a happy medium in this part of the world? During Sunday, Mate had, as always, been watching the sky for changes, and noted a light dusting of high cirrus cloud when the mist lifted. This indicates a weather front is approaching, and is followed by much denser fluffy cumulus, heralding rain and wind. However, the cirrus also burned off as the afternoon wore on, leaving a clear sky in the evening.

Nonetheless, with one eye on the forecasts, and keen to complete this voyage before the weather deteriorated, we were ready to slip the lines at 0900 for the remaining 40 or so Miles. The electronics were switched on…and that’s when we discovered the effect of last night’s huge thunderstorm and deluge of rain. The wind indicator at the top of the mast had taken a lightning hit, and fried its circuitry. As this is part of my network, it is causing other instruments to spout rubbish.

Fortunately our multi-talented Skipper was able to identify the problem and isolate it pending full repairs (when it’s safe to go up the mast again), leaving the rest of the instrumentation to function normally to help us with a safe passage. However, by now it was late morning, the wind was already rising, and it was decided to retie all the ropes and undo all the sailing preparations in favour of staying snug in harbour until the storm has blown through – probably by Wednesday morning.

In the time-honoured tradition of stormbound sailors, Mate baked: two fresh loaves of bread and an apple cake. Supper was the old favourite, a warming Rendang curry, conjured from nearly all store cupboard ingredients.

Sunday 22 April

If you have a good memory, you may recall that my good friend, Jeanny the autopilot, became unwell in typical Autumn conditions at the beginning of a crossing of the English Channel in October 2015, and the passage was aborted in favour of a very pleasant few days in Bembridge on the Isle of Wight. The problem was discovered to be water in his workings, and an expensive repair was carried out by the manufacturer.

When Mate suggested he should be tested earlier this year, he exhibited the same symptoms and is once again unable to perform. He came originally from Jefa, who built my steering wheels too, and are based just South of Copenhagen. As we were relatively close, and will need him for some of our planned longer passages in the Baltic this season, my crew decided to amend our original cruise itinerary, in favour of (hopefully) solving the problem permanently.

Thus, an all-too-brief night was eased by a beautiful sunrise, as another day began at 0530 for an 0600 departure to begin a 66M passage North for Klintholm, a passage harbour just over halfway to Copenhagen. Skipper calculated that for maximum economy of our dwindling diesel supply, Trevver’s optimum speed was 1800rpm, giving us a comfortable, if noisy cruising speed of six knots through yet another silky sea. The crew fell straight into a two-hourly watch rotation, which suits them both well when even our passage wind makes for a cold helm, and visibility is sometimes minimal.

By 1300 the wind had filled in enough to hoist the mainsail to give us a little lift, and soon both genoa and staysail joined her for an afternoon’s beating into a light Easterly. At times the wind backed a little to the North, so our course wasn’t entirely consistent, and when the wind strengthened late in the day, the genoa was furled to ease the heel, but we ended up a little underpowered.

My final approach was straight into the wind, which saved time while Skipper dropped the mainsail back into its lazybag, and lines and fenders were prepared as we closed the sea wall framing the harbour entrance. Skipper tucked me neatly into a space alongside a sturdy pontoon, for now being blown on but when the wind changes overnight I’ll be blown off. Once again willing hands took ropes and helped us in, and by 1945 we were snug and settled.

The harbourmaster soon came by to welcome us, and surprised Mate with his excellent English. Klintholm has long been a fishing port, and houses a rescue vessel and pilot launch. In the 1980s a marina village was created on the edge of the tiny village, and soon a support base will be established for an offshore wind farm. It is all spotlessly clean and tidy.

Saturday 21 April

Today we swapped the busy fishing and commercial port for an idyllic peaceful anchorage on the edge of Western Pomerania in the Mecklenburg Lake District.

Friday 20 April

Yet another beautiful sunny day saw my crew off on a trip inland to visit Lűbeck, the ancient capital of the Hanseatic League. [Wikipedia has a fascinating explanation of this mediaeval empire of trade and politics, that extended from the Eastern Baltic through Northern Europe to the East of England.] They got chatting to a lovely lady who was obviously proud of her city, and saved them a trip to the Tourist Information Shop by explaining the ‘must see’ attractions of this pretty town on the river.

After a picnic lunch they followed her advice and visited the cool painted interior of the Marienkirche, a huge brick-built Gothic church. It was completely destroyed during the night before Palm Sunday in 1942, in retaliation for the bombing of Coventry Cathedral, and, like much of the city, has been painstakingly reconstructed. Two huge bells lie twisted and crumpled where they fell at the foot of the South Spire, a poignant reminder of the pain and futility of war. A large organ clings to the wall beside the West window, almost the only stained glass in the building, and the furniture is a curious juxtaposition of traditional and very modern, especially in the mix of choir stalls in a side chapel and the chancel.  There is also an intriguing astronomical clock.

Glad to return to the warm sunshine, my crew wandered an area of streets laid to a grid pattern, among which narrow alleyways lead to courtyards containing tiny mews houses. Their ‘guide’ had explained that migrant workers flooded into Lűbeck during its heyday, and accommodation soon became scarce, so these dwellings were erected anywhere space could be squeezed. It was a privilege to discover these charming hidden cottages.

Thursday 19 April

A beautiful dawn at 0530, followed by early morning mist that soon burned off to leave another glassy calm sea. Off we motored once again, until the wind filled in enough for a lovely run under my beautiful red gennaker, straight through a German warship’s manoeuvres area, slowly drawing ever closer to the huge tower block at the head of Traveműnde harbour. The pilot says it’s easy to spot the entrance, because the tower can be seen from miles out to sea, and in the event of poor visibility, follow one of the many ferries or freight vessels. Our experience was that most of the big ships’ movements occur through the night…

With welcome help from a very patient neighbouring German sailor, we found a comfortable berth in a large enough box in the Fischereihaven, which proved a pleasant and interesting compromise between an anchorage and a characterless, expensive marina. Another lady harbourmaster welcomed us with all the necessary information, before we found the German equivalent of a Friday fish’n’chips supper on the warm, sunny quayside. Our last errand of the day was a brief and unfulfilling visit to the very local REWE supermarket.

Wednesday 18 April

It seems the weather gods must have trainees on the job – after the first hour’s glorious sailing yesterday morning, the rest of the day was a long slog with Trevver maintaining his record of diesel consumption, and then there was enough wind overnight to keep the windgen whining and disturb Mate’s beauty sleep.

Today’s big question is: to bridge, or not to bridge? The bridge in question spans Fehmarnsund, and has a recorded air draught of 22-23 metres, depending on which source you’re referring to. All include caveats about strong currents of up to four knots, direction dependent on which way strong winds have been blowing recently (if at all), and varying height of water according to any number of factors. All very complicated, and as my mast soars to somewhere around 21 metres, and Skipper tends to pass under bridges of 40 metres’ clearance with his eyes shut, Mate took the prudent decision to go around Fehmarn Island instead. During the resultant 35 miles’ passage, Skipper then explained several reasons why he’d thought we’d be fine to take the shortcut…ah well, peace, harmony and concord…?

So we completed another circumnavigation, clockwise around Fehmarn Island. The first two legs were pretty perfect on comfortable reaches, then the wind dropped and backed as we eased right for the third time, punctuated briefly by an amazing 7.5 knots under full main and gennaker, until the wind disappeared suddenly and completely. Once again, we completed the passage under the iron sail, and found our way into a lovely anchorage from an entrance channel reminiscent of Bembridge on the Isle of Wight. The day ended on a beautiful sunset, and we were about three miles from where we’d begun the morning.

Tuesday 17 April

It’s almost as if the weather gods have waited for us finally to reach the Baltic Sea before flicking the switch to ‘Summer’: suddenly the skies are blue, the sun is shining and the temperature is rising, along with the barometer.

We slipped out of Dűsternbrook with a lot less drama than we arrived, and enjoyed a lovely sail North up the Förde. This is a little like the Solent: a main shipping channel, and shores lined with nautical industry and fringed with woodland behind beautiful sandy beaches.

TRIVIA CORNER

Kiel Week in June is Germany’s answer to Cowes week, a huge sailing festival of which racing is only a part. Kiel is known as Germany’s Sailing City, as the sailing events for the Olympics of both 1936 and 1972 were competed here.

The 1936 Olympics, held in Berlin, were nicknamed the Nazi Olympics, and were opened by Adolf Hitler. They were the first to be televised, and apart from an undercurrent of anti-Semitism and the threat of boycott, are probably most ‘famous’ for the until then unprecedented success of black American Jesse Owens, who won four gold medals on the athletics field. Great Britain were tenth in the medals table, winning a total of 14: four Gold, seven Silver and three Bronze. Of these, one Gold and one Bronze were in sailing events, for which we were second only to the host nation.

The 1972 Munich Olympics were overshadowed by the massacre by Black September Palestinian terrorists. In the sailing events, GB came equal second with France, winning one Gold and one Silver.

Trevver was able to maintain his record of diesel consumption, as we motored the 41M to the recommended ‘Ankerplatz’ off Fehmarn Island across a sea mostly resembling liquid glass. To relieve the monotony, there were several sightings of small numbers of harbour porpoise, and an interesting channel to follow around the end of the sandspit into the anchorage, beneath the watchful eye of the red brick lighthouse. A flock of swans was settling for the night in the bay around us.

Monday 16 April

After a misty start, the promised forecast of warm sunshine finally broke through this morning, and Skipper got busy washing my decks and filling my water tanks. Mate enjoyed a luxury shower (ie she washed her hair), before removing the evidence by giving the heads (bathroom) a thorough clean.

After a late lunch, the crew prepared for a shopping trip into town, but the heavens opened for a real April shower, so they postponed the foray in favour of a long chat with Second Mate’s brother. Inevitably, by the time they had strolled along the quay and found the supermarket, it was closing time, so they enjoyed the sunset as they made their way home emptyhanded. Oh well, my galley stores are always full for such emergencies.

Sunday 15 April

It was at least a peaceful night, and we made a prompt departure into a soft, misty morning, to find the canal once again busy with freight. In the open sea, yachts have to keep well clear of these beasts, which is fine for us, as close up they are enormous and quite intimidating. My crew were glad to be here before the season, when the canal is probably much busier with leisure craft – who don’t always have the desired experience, or skills in boat handling. At least the big ships maintain a steady speed, much slower than they can achieve at sea, and actually create very little wash. We saw fuel tankers, container ships, tugs and dredging vessels, one warship, river cruise ships and cargo barges, as well as one or two yachts and motorboats.

As we reached the end of the canal, we had to tie up to the ‘payment pontoon’ that has been installed since one poor yachtsman died, having fallen off the ladder he was expected to scale up the lock wall to reach the lockkeeper’s office to pay his dues. Having clarified the confusing translation on the screen, our plastic was hit with another €35 and after lunch we called the lockkeeper and waited a few minutes for the signal, while a tug manoeuvred a huge container ship into one side of the lock we were to share. We slipped in behind a small motorboat, and once again Skipper heroically saved Mate from further damage to the ankle by jumping a long way down onto a slightly less slippery but this time lumpy yacht pontoon, to fend off until we were released. Curiously, the locks at both ends seem mainly about keeping the water in the canal, as there is no discernable rise or fall of water level once inside.

Having completed our transit safely, we couldn’t help a feeling of relief that that should be the end of canalling for a while, and we may even hoist a sail again soon. For today, we simply turned South, out into the Kieler Förde (Kiel Fjord), and soon entered Harbour #4 at Dűsternbrook, just North of Kiel city centre. This marina is specifically organised for large yachts, and the box we chose proved to be much longer than we’d anticipated, so a fraught few moments ensued while Skipper added a further length of rope to the line he’d secured onto the port stern post…as we drifted past it and some ten metres further in to the quay wall, where Mate stepped off my dolphin to tie my bow onto the strong metal cleats provided. My near neighbour was a huge racing yacht called Calypso, and she was joined by a second, brand new racing yacht with a bright green hull, on which there was much activity by the commissioning crew.

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.