Would my father cope with looking after their home? They were still refusing home-help. My father did not think they needed it! Should I be leaving my parents to circumnavigate the world, even though we would be returning for a few months over Christmas in 2007? I was ful of questions. I was leaving them on their own at a time when I was most needed. They had never needed me as much as they did now and for the years to come. And there I was, leaving them to sail around the world. During our voyage my parents were to be my greatest source of anxiety, worry and bad conscience.
Luxury Restaurants in Rotterdam, Arriving at La Coruña in the Fog and Capsizing with Our Dinghy off Lagos
The crossing to the Nord-Ostsee Canal, or the Kiel Canal as it is called nowadays, can often feel long and arduous. We had made this crossing many times over the past years, but this time it felt as if it went very quickly. We cruised on a beam reach towards Kiel at a steady pace of eight to 9 knots. We were both looking forward to putting the Swedish coast behind us. The great, bubbling feeling of freedom associated with heading out on a cruise does not usually arrive until we get to the Kiel Canal.
We had thought about, planned, discussed and not least dreamed about this voyage, and now we were finally on our way. There was a tingling sensation in my body. It was exhilarating just thinking about sailing all the way around the world.
The wind was steady all the way except towards the end when we entered a great high pressure front over southern Sweden, Denmark and northern Germany with sunny blue skies and a light breeze. As we approached the Bay of Kiel and Kiel itself, the water was full of sailing boats with cheerful people out sailing in the lovely, summer weather. Arriving at Holtenau, the lock on the Baltic end of the canal, we were in luck. The sluice gates were open and we could just motor through. Motoring is the only alternative since sailing is of course not permitted. As always, there was a lot of traffic; there is always a steady stream of ships, leisure boats and, above all, heavy freighters there.
The Kiel Canal was built at the end of the 19th century, but had to be dug out and widened after only a few years, to the benefit of all the ships that would be able to chug along the great vein of northern Europe instead of having to round The Skaw. Ships of a deep draft need to keep to the centre of the canal, which is approximately eleven metres deep. We others must hug the shore to keep out of their way. The canal was very calm indeed despite the heavy traffic. We floated past grazing cattle, playing children and men of all ages who were fishing along the shores. Families with picnic baskets, cyclists and pedestrians were flocking along the idyllic canal. Not only did we have to watch out for other boats, but also for ferries that ply back and forth between the banks. They always have the right of way, which affects their driving style – you need to be prepared to give way. Best of all are the swans that swim along the banks in pairs. I have never seen so many all in one place. They are so beautiful and lovely to look at; you just need to throw a blind eye to their, at times, aggressive behaviour. The swans greatly add to the peaceful and pastoral atmosphere.
We always stop at Rendsburg, a charming little town at the centre of Schleswig-Holstein. There is a yachting club right in the middle of town. Rendsburg is approximately half way between the Baltic and North Sea locks, that is to say between Holtenau and Brunsbüttel. Rendsburg was under Swedish rule for a few months in the 17th century. Tall, lush trees have been planted between the jetty and the street; they protect us from view and act as a noise barrier, so it does not feel as if you are right in the middle of town. Rendsburg is one of our favourite places; we went jogging, sun-bathed and generally enjoyed our stay there. The weather was beautiful and sunny. We thought it almost too hot for running, but it was perfect for having dinner at the yacht club restaurant. The food is heavy and rich here, as it can sometimes be in Germany. Fried potatoes and French fries, lettuce and vegetables are served without ceremony. But we still like the place, and we are likely to come here again the next time we sail past. We are creatures of habit and we like to go back to places we know and like.
We were pleasantly surprised when we arrived at Brunsbüttel – this fine outpost overlooking the Elbe and the North Sea – and found that there was plenty of room in the harbour. If there had not been any room we would have had to pass through the locks straight away and set off for Rotterdam, our next stop, directly. Now we were able to stay for a couple of days. We have found a nice jogging circuit that leads from the harbour, through town, round a pleasant suburban area with well-kept flowering gardens, along a cycle path that runs by the canal and then back to the harbour. We did not want to miss it since it is an agreeable and pleasant run.
We also needed to analyze and think about the weather forecast so we could decide whether we were going to sail straight to Rotterdam or go via Hörnum on Sylt. Cycling around this fantastic island, which is very similar to Anholt, for a few days was a tempting prospect. Anholt lies south of Läsö in the Kattegat. It is also an island that mostly consists of sand. On Sylt there are sand dunes and heather and lovely cycle paths that go all the way round the island. It is situated only some fifty nautical miles from Brunsbüttel, which would only be a small detour for us, but a detour that requires fine weather. Otherwise it is not worth the effort. A few years earlier we were moored at Hörnum when a storm coming from the wrong direction built up during the night. The harbour is very charming and nice, but there is virtually no shelter when the wind is coming from certain directions. It was a Catch 22 situation for us. It was impossible to stay and almost impossible to leave. In the end, we managed to get away, fortunately without any damage done, and we pledged “never to go to Hörnum in foul weather”.
The weather was no longer on our side, and we had to head straight for Rotterdam. Cycling on Sylt would have to be postponed. The rain was pouring down, and after negotiating the locks without incident, we entered the Elbe, which tends to be choppy, and headed straight for Rotterdam. A strong adverse current of a couple of knots slowed us down more than usual. It was a slow start to, as it turned out, a hard and tedious crossing of 270 nautical miles.
We had never before sailed to Rotterdam, we always used to go straight to Cowes on the Isle of Wight, but we had read that the Volvo Ocean Race had chosen Rotterdam as the final stop before Gothenburg, which meant that it might suit us too to spend a few pleasant days there. We expected to arrive on the same day as the race left Veerhafen. Veerhafen, where we were planning to moor, is a small harbour at the centre of Rotterdam where the Volvo Ocean Race crews always stay for a few days. We hoped to arrive in time to see the start at Hook van Holland, which is at the mouth of the River Maas. Rotterdam, one of the largest ports in the world, is on the Maas.
The crossing from Brunsbüttel to Rotterdam was horrendously difficult and tedious. The wind was right against us, the rain was pouring down, and it was cold and foggy. We had opted to sail fairly close to the shore and not in the main fairway, which we usually do. Now we had to keep a lookout for fishing boats both night and day. They are hard to spot, they keep altering speed and direction, and sometimes you cannot see them at all. There are times when you suspect that they do all they can to make life particularly difficult for sailors. We have seen fishing boats that extinguish every single light, and fish in the dark. It was both dark and foggy when the fishing boats were at their most numerous, and sometimes I found it hard to determine whether what I saw was a fishing boat, a buoy or a light. In the end I had to wake up Arne during one of my night watches. It was a hard thing for me to do, but it was even worse for poor Arne who had to leave his warm berth in the middle of the night, get into his foul weather gear and join me in the cockpit when all he really wanted was to sleep down in the warm cabin. The foggy weather continued throughout the night and well into the following day. Just before we arrived at the Hook van Holland starting line, the fog dispersed and the sun came out. Warmed by the sun we began to emerge from our foul mood.
It was magnificent to see the Volvo Ocean Race speed monsters as the
y entered the final leg of the race, heading for Gothenburg. There were many escorting boats, and it was a small wonder that there were no incidents.
The small and picturesque Veerhafen harbour was breathtaking when we moored there in the afternoon of June 15. The white harbour office and the old sailing ships were crowded together right next to the quay. We found an excellent mooring beside an old, blue Skaw fishing boat that was no longer used for fishing in the Skagerrak. It had been turned into the home of a Dutch family. Her name was Lise, and the night before we arrived, a little boy had been born on board, far away from the hospital's safe maternity ward. It was special to be moored next to this lovely family. The children played quietly on deck, the mother was resting in a small hammock and the new baby was sleeping in a basket. You could hardly find a more idyllic scene in the city of Rotterdam. It felt as if we had been moved far back in time.
We stayed for seven whole days. Not because Rotterdam is particularly charming, but because there was an abundance of excellent restaurants around the little harbour. We always enjoy eating out when we are cruising. The French-Irish couple who are now sailing our former boat, Lill-Yaghan, recommended that we consult the Guide Michelin, and our restaurant experiences are now better, in terms of food as well as atmosphere, but not more expensive. We used to pick restaurants with nice tablecloths and plenty of people. Now we look up the town we are visiting in our guide to see which restaurants are listed. They have been tested and rated many times over the years by the Michelin representatives, which means that the rating system can be trusted. It is a system that has served us well so far.
While in Rotterdam we ate and drank well in a new restaurant every night. To balance our calorie intake we both cycled and went jogging every day along the River Maas. This is how we explored this multicultural city, which was completely destroyed in the Second World War, and has been completely rebuilt. The end result is an entirely modern city without any old houses at all, and which seems to lack a proper city centre. At least that is how I experienced it after cycling around for several days looking for it. Instead I found modern, cubic box houses, straight roads and bridges, among them the spectacular Erasmus Bridge. We liked Rotterdam, despite its lack of centre. The river and all the bridges do offer a certain charm.
For our final evening we had booked a table at the three star Parkheuvel restaurant, which we had read about in the Guide Michelin. It was beautifully situated on a hill in a green park near the Maas. We arrived early, and we were more dressed up than we normally are. Neither Arne nor I had ever eaten at a three star restaurant before, and we were looking forward to it. We were well received and were given a table with a lovely view of the river. The head waiter told us that they had changed owners only two weeks ago, which meant that they had lost all their stars. It was a disappointment to us who had been looking forward to a star-spangled dinner. The stars are linked to the owners, which is logical, and new owners must start from scratch. The head waiter suggested that we return there on our way back from our circumnavigation. He believed that the restaurant would have a three star rating by then. Our plan was to be back in Europe in three years’ time.
It was an excellent dinner made from first-rate ingredients cooked to absolute perfection in fun and interesting combinations. The wine was selected by the restaurant to suit each course. We resisted the eight-course degustation menu and settled for the four-course option, which turned out to be a wise choice. The bill did not seem to have been affected by the restaurant losing its stars; it was the most expensive meal we had ever had.
We regretfully left Veerhafen and Rotterdam after a very pleasant stay, convinced that we were not likely to eat this well again during our cruise. We hoped that we would be able to return the next time we came past, either on our way back to Sweden or at some future date when we are again heading south on new adventures in Yaghan.
On Friday June 23 – Midsummer Night's Eve in Sweden – we were back on the Maas. We had a couple of hours of motoring in front of us before we could set sail and head towards Cowes on the Isle of White some 250 nautical miles away.
Cowes, the Mecca of sailing, welcomed us with bright sunshine, blue skies and lots of boats. The harbour looked full up. I had phoned from Rotterdam to book a place in the marina, but the harbour master seemed to have forgotten all about it when we called him on our VHF, so we had to hang around for a while. It was great to be back. We were planning to stay for about a week.
We had time for a few runs along the coastal path and to visit a couple of pubs before we found a gap in the weather that we estimated would win us favourable winds across the Bay of Biscay to La Coruña in Galicia, northern Spain.
In the summer of 2001 we sailed across the infamous Bay of Biscay, a stretch of some 560 nautical miles, for the very first time. I must have read far too many books and articles about difficult crossings that involved tattered sails, broken masts and lost rudders. I felt nervous and anxious during the entire crossing. All I managed to eat was fatty, Greek yoghurt with lots of honey, and I was unable to sleep when I was off watch. I lay reading or just thinking. When it was my turn to sail I felt strangely energetic and refreshed despite the lack of sleep. It could probably be explained by high adrenaline production. That, in combination with stress and anxiety, kept me going almost without sleep for more than three days. I was waiting for the storm to hit. Instead, we had a great crossing with 35 knot freewinds so we sailed fast without effort. My worries were completely unnecessary; I should have got more out of our lovely crossing than I did. You tend to stop thinking about the present when you start to worry about things that may happen in the future.
This time I was calm and I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the sailing and all the dolphins that accompanied us all the way. The Biscay dolphins were the most tireless creatures we encountered during our entire voyage. There was little wind during the first forty-eight hours, but towards the end of the final day it grew stronger, and we had to tuck in two reefs in the main and change from genoa to staysail. Because of the high seas, rain and cold weather, Spain felt a long way away, even though we only had another night's sailing before we reached La Coruña.
Something that was rather worrying, however, was that the radar was not working. We had to keep rebooting it. It worked for a while and then it crashed again. We had tried to double as many functions as possible on the boat. We have both learned that sooner or later everything breaks down. Still, we only had one radar unit. Sometimes you just do not have enough imagination. Arne started to reprogram it, but it kept shutting down. The situation was aggravated by a thick fog that came rolling in. When the weather was at its worst, visibility was so poor we saw no further than the bow and maybe another metre at the most. The radar was not completely dead, though, it worked on and off. We just had to keep rebooting it. This takes a few minutes, and during those minutes we saw nothing on the radar or around us. We had to try and hear if there were any boats around. It was all very unpleasant.
It got worse as we approached the Spanish mainland and La Coruña. We could hear several boats through the fog, and they sounded rather close. The strange thing about fog is that not only is visibility bad, you hear less well.
Suddenly, only a few metres away, we noticed a small boat through the fog. It was a couple of sports fishermen in a tiny boat with an outboard motor. They were completely unaffected by the fact that they were impossible to detect, both by us, with our faulty radar, and by boats with working radars. They were bobbing up and down in the middle of the fairway, cheerfully waving to us. And they were not alone. On this foggy Saturday morning in June every sports fishing enthusiast in La Coruña seemed to have decided to go fishing. The fact that you could not see the hand in front of you made them no less enthusiastic. With death-defying determination they braved the weather and positioned themselves in the middle of the fairway. This is the largest port in the whole region, so it is normally a very busy fairway.
Suddenly the fog lifted, the sun came out and
we could see again. It was a wonderful feeling to be able to see our surroundings. The harbour entrance was closer than we thought, and we discovered a large ship at anchor not far from us. Luckily we had time to avoid it.
The marina was dead ahead, at the centre of town and in front of a long row of traditional buildings with glazed-in balconies. We had been concerned about whether the marina would be full up; we remembered it as small and cramped. It is not always easy to find suitable mooring for Yaghan, which is almost twenty metres long. It is a little too big for most marinas. There had been problems here with Lill-Yaghan, but we discovered that the marina had been altered. It was now a large, modern marina, and there were several yachts that were considerably larger than Yaghan. And there seemed to be plenty of room.
We were greeted by two boys in a dinghy who guided us to our place and helped us moor. We had been given a nice mooring from where we could see straight inside the yacht club restaurant and enormous terrace from our cockpit. We would later be having lunch there, just as we did on our previous visit. During the past year, I had tried to learn Spanish, but now I realised that learning Spanish is one thing, hearing the language spoken, or rather projected at high speed, is quite another. Despite the language problems we managed to get this excellent mooring with electricity and a neatly coiled water hose right next to our boat. Everything was fine now. The Bay of Biscay was behind us, the sun was shining and we were in a fine marina at La Coruña, which was a place we liked very much. It cannot get better than this when you are out sailing.
La Coruña, the capital of Galicia, is a fine old city with a rich history. It was from here that the Spanish Armada sailed in 1588 to destroy the English fleet, a mission that failed, as everyone knows.
There are many things for the visitor to do there, including a perfect and very scenic running circuit. We normally run from our boat in the marina along a wide coastal road, past several lovely bathing coves and over to the oldest lighthouse in the world, Torres de Hercules, which is still in use. We continue running up to the lighthouse, which is situated at the top of a rock with a spectacular view towards Cabo Finisterre. We then continue another few kilometres along the coastal walk, cross a busy thoroughfare, continue through town and head back home again. About seven or eight kilometres is a comfortable distance.
Back at the helm - sailing the Yaghan to Antarctica, Patagonia and the South Pacific Page 8