There are quite a few people who dream about “Pushing off in the Boat” for a goodly period, especially when work and domestic circumstances permit. But most of them have acquired by my time of life a decent sized modern boat to do the job. Maryll is only a small cruiser, like many which lie at Manningtree, and further compromised by the fact she is nearly 70 years old, and is only a cruiser by virtue of an amateur conversion of her fishing boat hull. Low freeboard, gaff rigged, under-engined and made out of larch planking on oak frames, fine for a classic boat festival, but for serious cruising how would she cope? And we who were spend so much time in her cramped and often damp quarters, how would we cope?
Having come to terms with that bit of madness, where were we to go on this “ Dream Cruise”?? West Country, Round Britain, Channel Islands or where? The trouble with those types of options is that for much of the time you are seriously exposed to the vagaries of weather. And in a small boat, however designed or rigged, it is no fun punching a heavy sea day after day. On the much maligned East Coast though, we do have relatively easy access to the maze of inland lakes and waterways of the Netherlands, and the Fjords, lakes and inland seas of the Baltic somewhat further on. I had favourable reports from friends, some of them in Manningtree, about the Baltic, albeit in much bigger boats, so we settled on that as a target. We sailed Maryll across the North Sea to Ijmuiden and in the Autumn wintered her at Enkhuizen on the Ijsselmeer. Well actually she was in commission through out the winter and had quite a bit of fun icebreaking, visiting the Dutch Friesian Islands and attending a couple of gaffer type sailing events! We lifted her out for a week at Easter for a refit, returning to England to take part in various gaffer events on the East Coast in Deva. Not that we did not have a serious North Sea Crossing this year- we had to help a Dutchman get his boat, a Falmouth Working Boat called “Ragamuffin”, back to Amsterdam before we could get to Maryll. That was some trip, in 30 knots of wind on the beam, lee bow wave pouring into the staysail, main boom dragging in wake and heeled at 45 degrees, we averaged six and a half knots before surfing into Ijmuiden on the crest of a wave! Joachim, our Dutch skipper drove Shippers and myself to Enkhuizen where we joined up with our third member of crew Alison, who had come over on the “motorised” ferry, and had been victualling the ship. After another half ton of liquid refreshment had been put on board and a meal at the Dikke Mikke, we were all ready for Denmark. We set off from Enkhuizen under all plain sail in a moderate to fresh wind on the quarter , on passage to Harlingen as our first port. I think that was the last fair wind we had on the whole trip to the Baltic, and that was not for long. The wind got up, we put one reef in, the storm clouds gathered and we put another reef in and furled the jib as we fled for shelter! I made a quick study of the stand-mast route through Friesland and realised we could get there from Workum, so we shot into the entrance channel in a soaking rain squall. We did not know where the hell we were going, just a clog hanging down from the bridge keeper half full of water, into which we were meant to put euro ( Euronate?) Everything and everyone was absolutely soaked by the time we moored up on the outskirts of Workum. We lit the cabin heater to try and dry things out. By next day it had stopped raining and we made our way inland through canal and river, first of all to Heegemeer then on to the Princess Margriet Kanaal to Sneekemeer. The rivers and lakes of Friesland are like a huge scale unspoilt Broads- many of the lakes having been crated the same way as our Broads from peat digging. They are certainly worth a holiday in their own right. We had a go at sailing for much of the route, setting the bowsprit spinnaker affectionately called “The Bastard”, but eventually that got out of control as the wind built up again. By late afternoon we arrived at Leewarden to find the first bridge shut for two hours for the rush hour. We returned to a little branch off the canal we had seen earlier, and tied up for the night by some woods. The rain had revisited us, so we set up the cockpit tent and settled down to an excellent meal aboard Café Maryll. The next morning we attacked the several bridges that lead through Leewarden, which is a major centre in Friesland. On the outskirts they are for the major roads and railways- and there is some ship and barge traffic too which has to use them. As we entered Leewarden itself, there was a huge futuristic bridge which almost “twisted” itself into the air to let us through. The bridges through the city centre required euronating. The city buildings were very interesting, some very dynamic modern ones contrasting with beautiful town buildings of several hundred years. Then it was into the high density flat area before going though the last bridge into tree lined suburbia with lovely private waterfronts. The river turned this way and that as it flowed north and east through Friesian meadow land. There were big farm houses which combined living accommodation for both farmer and animals under one huge roof, which was often thatched. There were lots of wild life scuttling around in the reeds on the banks. It might be flat but it certainly was not boring. There were a number of manned bridges en route which required a certain technique for us to use efficiently which was at variance with that of modern high powered craft. If there was no one else on the river we cruise up fairly close to them, and when the red light turned to red/green light ( get ready) we would start moving forward. As the bridge started to open we would build up engine revs and as we entered the bridge opening we would be going at full speed as the light turned to green. Thus there would be minimal disruption to traffic. In contrast higher powered boats would stop completely much further back from the bridge, hovering on their bow thrusters. They would not start moving forward until the bridge was nearly open, then they would open up heavily, slewing anything astern with prop wash. Then as they approached the bridge opening they would suddenly slow right down, without realising they had a bowsprit up their transome which was on a boat which could not stop on a sixpence. So that was always a problem with fast boats ahead, relying on engine power rather than common sense. We were actually faster because our timing and steadiness of speed was a lot better, and the more powerful boats would hold us up. Eventually that day we tied up at Dokkum, another lovely town, but with several little bridges. We moored on the far side, re-provisioned and refuelled, ready for the next day. We set off reasonably early next day and breakfasted at one of the several “lig-plats” on the side of the canal. Soon we were locking out on to the Lauwersmeer, an estuarial lake which was to take us to the sea again. With great relief we set the sails, pleased to be quiet from engine noise. Then we smelt diesel, and an inspection of the engine revealed that a steel reinforced diesel pipe had split, and large quantities of fuel were now in the bilges. Oh, dear! Friesland is pretty remote, and I did not know of any major yachting centres nearby where we might find a Yanmar spares dealer. We looked carefully at the chart. The little port at the exit to the sea, Lauwersoog, was also a ferry port for the islands. Logically the Dutch would have provided a bus service to meet with it, which would at least give us access to the public transport system of the Netherlands. And the wind was blowing that way. It would have been a very pleasant sail in the sunshine, had I not been so worried about the engine. Could we get a spare, could we repair ourselves, or would we have to locate an engineer to do the job- could take us days to sort it all out. The sail went remarkably well. We lowered the main and jib, and cruised gently into the little harbour at Noordgat, finding a vacant mooring “box”. Incidentally we normally go astern into boxes. Not only does it save problems with the bowsprit, but, because we have such low freeboard, it is a bit of a climb on to the staging, which easier to do off the clear counter than the bow. And once done it easier for access generally to and from the cabin. Certainly a lot easier than climbing over pulpits and the like. We started talking with the locals- thank God we were still in Brit-friendly Netherlands! There was a chap we could use, but he could not be located until later. Shippers and I thought we might be able to do the job ourselves if we could get a new pipe and fittings. We were directed to a big chandlery, which in turn directed to another business, which fortunately was still open. There we found a chap who could help. If we wanted a Yanmar part it would take a day or two to get it as it was a weekend. But he reckoned he could cut us off a length of fuel pipe and take the unions off the old pipe and refit them to the new. It should suffice, as the pipe in question was not high pressure. So only 5 Euro lighter we returned to Maryll, dismantled part of the engine, fitted the pipe so it did not chafe, reassembled, bled the fuel system, and hey presto! It worked! That night we were treated to hellfire and damnation by the weather, which caused all sorts of damage to the country, and even in Amsterdam itself, according to one Dutch friend. Fortunately we only suffered dampness! Locking out of Lauwersoog into the Waddenzee was held up through bridge opening delays. There were a large number of yachts waiting to lock out through quite small lock, including a huge catamaran who was blowing all over the place. He tried to fit in, and was told to remove himself, much to the amusement of others. We went in alongside a barge, the skipper of which was very interested in the boat. Particularly the engine- he asked if it was some ancient type of engine like a Bolinder which I had never heard of, because of the tick over exhaust note. He was disappointed when I told him it was a rebuilt in Britain modern Japanese Yanmar! For some reason Maryll’s exhaust note is totally unlike any other Yanmar installation. It has even featured on BBC Radio 3 in the past, in a programme about sounds of a port. The delay had cost us the last of the ebb tide unfortunately, and we had a long plug against the flood and wind to reach the North Sea between the islands of Ammeland and Schiermonnikoog before we could turn East to Germany. We saw a couple of British gaff- rigged dayboats coming the other way, obviously having had a great time exploring the Waddenzee and the Dutch Islands. By the time we were in the North Sea again, the wind had dropped, and more motor was required, but at least the sun was shining. Then the ebb started to cut in, swirling out of the Eems, the estuary which divides Netherlands from Germany. We sighted the Isle of Borkum, but it was a long haul against the current before we entered the commercial harbour, where the pilot suggested there might be a few berths for visiting yachts. A few thousand more likely, because this harbour was clearly a disused naval base not quite the size of Portsmouth! There was a minor panic aboard to find the German courtesy flag, and a lot of swearing when the skipper found the cheap special offer one was actually Spanish when unpacked! It was quite eerie amongst all the abandoned or little used military buildings with a network of roads and parade grounds. In one building we found a little havenmeester who took our dues and sold me a huge German flag. It was my first time in this country, and my schoolboy German deserted me. This is largely due to corruption by too much bad Dutch company. Anyway I said “Alstublieft” instead of “Bitte” and realising my mistake apologised profusely in English. The havenmeester laughed and said he was actually Dutch. They gave a Dutchman the job because he could naturally speak several languages. I was soon to realise that Germans generally were very reluctant to speak even an international language like English, even if they could understand and speak it in reality. My Netherlands corrupted German got me absolutely nowhere either, because Germans refused to understand even German based Dutch words! Fortunately Alsion, having lived in Germany in the past, had a very good grasp of the language which was to prove very useful indeed. We wandered about the harbour and found a ferry terminal, where ferries from the mainland disgorged holiday makers at frequent intervals. The actual town of Borkum was about 5 miles to the north, so they had to take the train. This fascinated me because it was a doubled tracked narrow gauge system with old fashioned coaches with wooden seats. All this rubbish we read about how poor our railways are compared with the Continent! We decided to spend a day on the Island, and next day we bought train tickets from the Dutch havenmeester, who sold almost everything from his little office, including drinks! We boarded the train and presently the guard came to check our tickets. He immediately started shouting at us like a Gestapo guard, but we could not understand him and the pitch of his voice went higher! Any moment we were going to be taken away and shot if we were lucky. None of this nice “ For you Tommy the war is over!” Eventually Alsion recognised the word for bike in his invective, and also wagon, and it was deduced that we had been accused of putting our bikes in the van at the back of the train, where wheel chairs and infirm people were put. But we had not got bikes! Welcome to Germany, I have never been spoken to like that in England, except on the rare occasion I have sat in a first class seat. The little train pulled off clattering over weed covered rusty tracks- I began to think very highly of our much maligned Network Rail. Looking out of the window we saw the big mudflats of the German Waddensee, and Shippers noticed groups of people standing on them. What on earth were they doing? They looked a bit like birdwatchers or some sort of other environmentalists. The train jolted and lurched through woodland and gorse laden dune, and eventually pulled into the middle of Borkum town. After the neatness of Netherlands, the place seemed quite scruffy in many places, obviously seen better days, as had most of the population. It was like some of our declining sea side resorts, although that is possibly unfair. It was the sort of atmosphere I would have expected in a poor East European country, not in Germany, the power house of Western Europe. We walked to sea front where there was a nice big beach, marvellous sands and lots of little sentry boxes for changing. We had a beer at a beach café, where I successfully stifled my Dutch and managed to get served. We had a little walk round the town, which had some quite interesting 19th Century buildings, but nothing older than that, before retiring for lunch at an Italian restaurant. We had barely sat down outside when the heavens opened! The rain prevented any further exploration and we returned fairly pickled on the train to the harbour. Later we went for a drink at the Marina yacht club, and were very surprised to see the number of empty berths- I doubt it was much more than a third full, and yet it was high season. Something is not right with the German economy. We did not need a big meal after lunch, but felt like a light snack. On the walk back we noticed one of the military buildings had been converted into a restaurant and bar. There was a big plastic cow outside it. We thought to investigate further. It was very quiet, just a few very strange looking customers. But the staff were friendly. It was getting a bit late for any food, they could do something very quick like a pancake. Well, I have been spoilt on pancakes. Especially the nice Dutch ones, and the very light ones I have at home. Then they arrived. I am surprised they did not break the plates they were on. They were over an inch thick and seemed about two feet in diameter. We looked in horror, and when we tried to cut them we realised we needed an industrial scale angle grinder. Shippers and Alsion gave up bloated halfway through. I struggled on a bit further, worried that the large staff might take offence. It was like eating lead, it weighed so heavily. I have mis-behaved many times on culinary and consumption matters, but never felt as bad as that The trouble with going east from Borkum is that it has a huge bank projecting from its northwest corner, which would add at least 15 miles to our passage via the North Sea. The pilot book suggested an alternative of going quite a way south to find a channel through the mudflats on the inside of an island. But again it would mean a long diversion and missing of a tide to Noordeney, our next port of call. The chart showed a little tidal channel close to the south of the island, which would be a good short cut. However this was rather dismissed by the pilot book, which said it was only of use to very shoal draft craft at high water. We studied the charts, looking at the soundings and heights of banks. If we took either of the recommended routes we would be too late for the tide at our destination. But if we could scrape through the short cut early enough, we might just make it. After all, Maryll was probably very much on the small side compared with the sort of big modern deep keel yachts the pilot book was written for. So we set off just after low water and began feeling our way along the channel which lead to the short cut. There were withies on the north side to guide us, but nothing to the south to show the width of channel. We grounded about 20 minutes later. We were not worried too much at this stage. There was no one about and the tide was flooding quickly. Time to read a chapter of “ Riddle of the Sands” then off again. Then we looked astern and saw this huge mussel dredger approaching. Surely to hell she would hit the putty before we did. But no, she kept approaching until she was upon us. Her skipper must have seen we were stuck, for he went hard astern and put himself aground on the bank by us, just a few feet away. He was not cross with us fortunately. Then I looked behind again. Oh hell! Now we had a ferry boat approaching at a rate of knots. I gunned Maryll’s engine to push her further up the bank. The ferry boat came sweeping through between the Mussel Dredger and ourselves, with what appeared to be an inch either side. I gathered later that a lot of the ferries draw as little as two feet. We eventually floated, and crept up the gut way to the “summit”. By now, shoal draft pleasure craft were joining us. I asked one his draft and he replied “1.1 metres” and promptly ran aground! We actually crossed the summit going astern, as the swirling tide had turned us, and we could not turn round ourselves. This caused some amusement or confusion to boats coming the other way. Eventually the channel began to deepen, and with some relief we entered the East Eems before entering the next “back channel” which would take us to Noordeney. However, our suspect tactics were to prove successful in hindsight. The wind was blowing quite strongly from the East, which would have made an outside passage very uncomfortable and far too long. And we still had enough left in the flood to take us over the next bank to Noordeney. Visibility was poor in the rain, making it difficult to spot marks, but as we neared the really shallow part, the withies were frequent and closely spaced. There were also a number of quite big yachts following our course to give us confidence. With the current giving us a helping hand- we needed a lot of help with our tiny engine-we were soon entering the harbour at Noordeney, having passed inside two islands. If wealth had deserted Borkum, it was still present at Noordeney. The harbour was packed with the German Plastic Navy, plus a sprinkling of other nationalities. We wandered about looking for a berth, and came to a dead end in the moorings where we would have to turn about and go back. This was not easy with our bowsprit and poor engine. However, just as we were giving up an old boy on a steel motor boat gave us a shout, pointing alongside his ship. I just could not see how we could fit, but what the hell, I would have trouble in turning back anyway. How we ever managed to berth I will never know. Our ensign pole at the stern was literally a metric inch crossing swords with the ensign stick of a German who was getting very excited. Our bowsprit was overhanging the foredeck of a delicate racing dayboat, whose owner was also looking on in horror. Shippers said we had just touched a jibsheet but nothing else. I had been looking astern at the time. People were looking out from boats all around, having been expecting an almighty snarl up from this funny green gaffer with bits of iron and wood sticking out. But the old boy on the motor boat was just calmly lowering a fender as we stopped alongside, all in one move. Rule Britannia and the Old Gaffers, but I just said “ How the F--- did we manage to do that,” under my breath. Maryll’s bowsprit was drawn in and the racing day boat was moved by its owner, not knowing just how lucky he had been. Maryll’s crew walked ashore, with the appearance of nonchalance. On paying our mooring dues we discovered that extra euro were required for special cards to open the door to the ablutions and a further door to the showers inside. Some of the money was refunded when we left, but the principal of over charging yachtsmen on the basis that they might forget to reclaim their card deposits appeared to be a growing, irritating and morally questionable practice in yacht harbours. The “clubhouse” at Nordeney was actually closed as far as the restaurant was concerned, despite being high season, despite the fading local economy clearly needing a boost. And it was the same when we walked into town in the pouring rain. As well as being no railway to take us there, virtually all the pubs were shut- it was Tuesday. As we looked at the monument of stones, commemorating the formation of Germany as a nation state, I thought I could have done a better job had I been about then- certainly no Tuesday closings of bars. We did eventually find a bar in this rather Frintonesque resort before returning to the Yacht Harbour. Whereupon the bar had opened in our absence, although still not the restaurant. We dined sumptuously on Café Maryll. Next day, a better day in terms of sunshine, we set off outside the islands, taking the tide up to Wangerooge. Like all the islands you have to cut through a gap into the Waddensee, entering them on their south western flanks. Unfortunately in most cases there is an off lying shoal and bar on the entrance channels, making them quite dangerous to approach from seawards in strong onshore winds. We saw the entrance was particularly shallow, so we recorded depths by every buoy as we went in. we wanted to be sure when we left the next time that we came out while there was still enough water. Sometimes I wonder if the authors of pilot books actually sail into all the places they talk of so authoritatively. The pilot book mentioned the actual harbour entrance was very narrow and shallow, and the withies must be passed close to starboard. I am a surprised this particular author found any water at all when entering if he did that. He must have looked a right fool. If he had left the withies to port or on the south side of them, like every other branch-ey withie on the Waddensee, he would have found plenty of water and the channel quite wide! Thank you Shippers for pointing out the obvious! I liked the look of Wangerooge. It was how I imagined a Friesian Isle. To me it was much more “Riddle of the Sands” than Nordeney. It was very quiet, no traffic on the roads. There was a little railway which went in land to a village. We had a little walk ashore, along the west side, to have a look at the channel at low water, stopping off at a café. We noticed more signs of the German economy in decline, a big restaurant and hotel had shut. There were quite a few converted military buildings amongst the sand-dunes, and a strange high tower. We were told this was where the Islanders went to in the event of storm surges. We went back to the harbour and visited the little sailing club, which was the nearest thing we had seen to a British Sailing Club where members run everything on a voluntary basis. We watched the little trains come in to meet the ferry- yes trains, the tiny island railway system has a branch line as well! All the goods and supplies are taken into the hinterland by train. They load little containers on to flat wagons which are attached to the passenger trains. There are no motor vehicles on the island. A German was explaining all this and how idyllic it was to live here. He actually commuted by plane to the mainland. He was a sociable sort of chap, but spoilt it all by complaining that they had had to totally rebuild the village because the RAF flattened it with bombs. He said it was disgusting as they only had one anti aircraft gun, no threat at all. I wasn’t there at the time, but if Tony Blair had been, he would have most certainly suspected WMD, what with all the military installations, underground bunkers and extensive connecting railway system. Especially when V2’s were falling on London. You have to blame Hitler a bit. I think it was totally unnecessary to mention the War- unlike John Clees I had kept my lip buttoned. Horrible things happened nearly 60 years ago and we must move on. We left early in the morning, about 2 hours after high water. If we had been much later, we might have grounded on the bar. As it was there was only 8 feet showing on the fishfinder, and that bar was over a mile offshore. I would not like to do the same trip in a strong onshore wind. However, the weather was benign, even if the wind was unfavourable, forcing us to motor sail. At this stage we decided to use the spare or back up GPS. The normal one had so many way points in it that it was becoming tedious to scroll through. So for the rest of the trip on the Baltic, until we returned past Wangerooge, we operated on the spare. Electronics can let you down so easily on a small boat, and being able to know where you are with accuracy is very much a safety feature. £50.00 for a hand held GPS seemed a wise investment. Our plan was to cut across the Weser rivers, and get to the entrance of the Elbe as the tide turned to flood. I was starting to worry about more German officialdom, as there seemed to be numerous vessels representing various types of German authority. There were pilots, harbour patrols, SAR, navy and a few others, but all in all a formidable fleet. At least we were now flying the German courtesy flag, but I was worried that I might have made a faut- pas or two crossing shipping lanes, and somebody had picked us up on radar. The radar reflector was not hoisted, so perhaps they could not detect us. Shippers called all these official types of vessels “Jobsworths”. The general navigation situation was also confused with fishing boats doing all sorts of unspeakable manoeuvres, which for us at such slow speed were difficult to avoid. Eventually we reached the entrance to the Elbe and started creeping up the channel, just outside the shipping navigation marks. Quite a few other yachts had joined us by now. Regulations require that we small craft keep out of the main channel, but I wish they applied vice versa to the big chaps. We spotted this large car transporter ship hove to mid channel, and saw a pilot boat speed out to it. Then horror of horrors this ship started heading to the wrong side of the main shipping channel. Then it changed course again, heading towards us. Well our options were limited. We were stuck between the sandbanks to starboard and the no sail zone to port. There was another yacht nearer the channel than us, and I said, “ Well it will hit him first.” But actually the ship steered through the gap between us at a vast rate of knots. It was a very dangerous manoeuvre, there was no way either yacht could take avoiding action. And if either of us had panicked, there could have been disaster. It was quite disgraceful behaviour, apparently with full jobsworth approval. The flood tide started to pick up, and soon we were sailing at over 7 knots over the ground. We could start to see land now, and the new panic was which bit was the yacht harbour? Because with that tide running, our pathetic little Yanmar would not help us much if we sailed past the entrance. We plotted from the chart a way point for the entrance and just headed for that as fast as we could go, crabbing across the tide. We weren’t sure we had the right gap, just prayed we had, because we would need room to turn if we hadn’t! We had to keep good speed to avoid being swept up against the piles at the entrance. The marina had plenty of berths for a little boat like ours, as we headed for the “under 9 metres” staging. Most visiting yachts were considerably longer, and they had problems in finding berths. It was high season after all. There was a nice yacht club with a bar, restaurant and terrace at first floor level. We sat on the terrace in the sun and waited to be served. Instead of being served we were shouted at. The waitress pointed at a stone on the table. There were stones on lots of tables, but apparently this was a different stone and we should have realised that was the commodore’s table. The tables were all the same plastic ones you find in any bar terrace. Fortunately we had someone with us who could understand German, otherwise I would not have known what the hell this person was on about. I made some comment that we would not treat foreign visitors to my club like that. But this was Germany, and manners appear to be different. We had used some fuel getting here, and as there was no diesel at Wangerooge, we needed to refuel for the trip through the Kiel Canal. Despite the marina having about 500 boats, there was no fuelling pontoon. The nearest place was a garage about a mile away. There was no camping gas either, that was a mile in the other direction. I might have expected this situation in a tiny Friesian island, but not in a big place like Cuxhaven. However this appears to be quite a common problem in Germany. So Shippers was despatched with trolley, while we went with the other trolley to do the other kind of refuelling at the local supermarket, about a kilometre in land. The town had some quite nice buildings, more attractive than the average ferry port. And we did find one redeeming feature in the German retail trade. We located London gin at 4.95 Euro a bottle (£3.00 approx), and beer at 28 Euro cents (20p!) a pint. We said good bye to Cuxhaven and took the young flood up the Elbe about fifteen miles to Brunsbuttel. We had one huge down pour on the way, which really knocked down the visibility for a while. This was not a good thing as we had to cross the channel to the north side to enter the Kiel canal. However, we managed without getting arrested, and called up the lock on VHF 13. We were told there would be a delay of 20 minutes. I could see there was a great deal of commercial traffic coming out, which had been held up by a huge cruise ship. The pilot refers to some posts for yachts to tie up to, but I took one look and thought that would be very dangerous. There is quite a swell on the Elbe with the fast currents and shipping wash. It was interesting that nobody else did either, we all stayed stemming the tide. We actually had to wait 40 minutes before we had the signal to enter, by which time a large number of yachts had gathered. It was quite a sardine time in the yacht basin, but it was still nice and calm after the rigours of the Elbe. We locked out, and with half the rest of the fleet shot into the little marina nearby. One of the advantages of being small is that we could fit in lots of places other boats could not. And another advantage is that other boats do not mind us rafting on them, as no other boat will come alongside us, because of our small size. So the boat we are rafting against does not get hemmed in. We rafted against a British boat, which was on its way to the Solent. It was a new boat, built and kitted out to very standards, and the owner said he had had a very good deal buying it in Sweden, saving about a third of the price. ( It cost him about £120K, so it was some saving!) But the funniest thing to happen was when one of his children said “Hello Mrs Donnovan!” to Alsion. Apparently she went to the school where Alsion had worked. I am quite used to being spotted in strange places because of the OGA, but Alison could not believe the coincidence. We adjourned to a café overlooking the canal and watched a big yacht trying to find a space in the yacht harbour. But however he tried he could not fit. One of the problems on the Kiel Canal is that there are very few yacht havens or mooring places of any description, despite the popularity of the route. And to add to the yachtsman’s dilemma there is no sailing after dark. So the poor skipper of the big yacht was doomed. He headed north along the canal, in the full knowledge that in the night-fall a jobsworth patrol would be firing shots across his bows. The pilot book did not have many kind words about the harbour, moaning about the disturbance from shipping. But we found the sight of ships going by so closely into the lock interesting, and they did not make excessive wash. What the pilot book should have complained about is the toilets. I have never been in such smelly toilets. This was not an occasional problem, it was the same when we returned a month later. We set off next morning, under power. The jobsworths don’t allow sailing unless the engine is on. However, we had a head wind in any case, and could not have sailed. The Nordostsee Kanal is an incredible feat of engineering. For quite a long time before, there was a route through to the Baltic via the River Eider, but it was only suitable for small ships. The Kaiser of the day had a problem of moving his navy from one side of the Jutland peninsular to the other, so he just went ahead and built this massive ship canal in 1898, which is about 100km long. It just has a lock at each end, so there are no great hold ups, and it is big enough for two ocean going ships to pass each other. Looking at the chart I thought the canal would be rather boring, straight and industrialised. But actually trees have taken over the mounds of excavated spoil either side, and the canal is more like a fjord than anything else. There are also several wonderful road and railway bridges passing over it, many of them still functioning after a hundred years. The only problem from a yachtsman’s point of view is that you are not allowed to dither along it, and there are very few suitable inlets or canal side hamlets with pubs to tie up to. From a navigation point of view it is a bit like driving down a scenic motorway, but being confined to the slow lane on each side, while the freighters steam up and down the middle. With our 4 knots speed we were the slowest boat on the canal, but we managed. Occasionally when going through bridges or other pinch points when a large cruise liner came through, we had to be careful not to get sucked into the propellers by the turbulence. Another little problem for the yachtsman are the numerous ferries crossing the canal. They can just pull out as a yacht approaches and give the crew a scare. With our slow speed we could not even attempt to navigate the whole canal in one hit. We would have needed a cruising speed of at least 6 knots, only possible on Maryll with a force five wind on the quarter. So our plan was to call in at a place called Rendsburg about 60 km towards Kiel. There is a branch off the canal, past a shipyard, which was part of the Eider River. There were a couple of yacht harbours there, and we moored up at the Yacht Club at the west end. After we at finished making fast our lines and switched the engine off for a bit of piece and quiet, Alison commented that she had not heard the little beep. I put the ignition on. No beep. I pressed the starter button. No engine start either. All was dead. We took everything apart and tried to check all the electrical connections. We found a loose terminal on the battery, tightened that, but still no start. I then found two broken wires on the engine harness. But even when these were repaired there was still nothing from the engine. I checked all the connections at the back of the switchboard. Everything seemed fine. Then I checked the terminals across the starter switch with the meter, they seemed perfect. Then for some reason the engine started, and gave no further problems. I had done nothing which could have caused it to work. It could only have been the effect of a small current from the meter on some hidden circuitry in the alternator or starter solenoid. I then worried that the alternator, new that Spring, had been damaged because of the break in circuit. But that checked out fine as well. I was absolutely mystified about what I had obviously done to repair the engine. All I could do was curse the Japanese builders for designing an engine with such puny wiring. The whole electrical system is reliant on a piece of wire less than a millimetre thick. We went into the town centre for a drink, and found a place where we could have a cool beer in the square. It was a beautiful old town, many old timber buildings going back to the seventeenth century. Then I looked a little more closely at some of the craftsmanship. It looked too new, it looked in some cases that certain tools, which were not around in the seventeenth century, had been used. And all the buildings were like that. The RAF had been there earlier. They had probably dropped a few bombs on the way to Hamburg, or on the way back. Not a place to mention the War, or Alison’s serious military connections! We gave Rendsburg ten out of ten for facilities. There were very good showers, bar and restaurant, and a harbourmaster who sold useful bits and pieces for boats. And there was also diesel pump, for which we were very grateful. Maryll may only use one gallon every four to six hours, but we only have a small tank. We can carry enough fuel, seven gallons in cans and tank, to cross the North Sea. However, with all the foul winds and canal work, we were using as much as two gallons a day on occasions. The generally poor provision of waterside diesel in Germany meant we had to fill the cans when ever we could. On the way along the canal we had noticed lots of flags flying from buildings, which at first glance looked like Dutch national flags. We asked the harbour master about this and he nearly exploded. This was the national flag of Schleswig Holstein! Germany might be united, but really it is still a group of small nation states, and it was a bit like asking a Welshman if he came from England! The next day we set off on the last stretch of the canal. There was a magnificent “Transporter Bridge” near Rendsburg, and I had not seen one working since I was on the Widnes – Runcorn bridge in the late 1950’s. Basically it consists of a carriage suspended from a high gantry on cables. This was another hazard for the slow yacht, we had to keep an eye on car barriers and vehicle loading movements, just in case it decided to swing across while we were passing! By mid afternoon we had reached Holtenau locks, but again there was a fairly long delay in entering. Once in we realised why. Every boat had to send some one ashore to pay canal dues, which meant climbing some awkward ladders out of the lock, locating the office, which itself had a flight of stairs! By a majority vote we send our on board linguist, as she was more nimble than Shippers and I! Locking out we saw lovely square riggers moored up. It was lovely to be in the Baltic at last, and we celebrated in the normal way. I was getting worried at the rate our cheap drink from Cuxhaven was going down. It was meant to be for consumption in Danish waters, where I understood there to be a serious drink problem. Soon we were searching for the British Kiel Yacht Club. Unfortunately we did not have any detail charts of the Baltic, just the rather dodgy pilot book, which had nearly caused us disaster already! My plan had been to buy local charts on arrival, as the British chart agent in Woodbridge did not have any. I had bought some large scale Admiralty charts, but they were only really useful for planning rather than navigation. Eventually we worked out where it was, at the end of an inlet by an airport. It was not quite as big an establishment as I had thought. There were moorings for about forty yachts, and where the visitors’ moorings where, there did not seem to be anywhere suitable. We then poked round the side of the pontoons and found a couple of vacant boxes right by the club. We could see why they were vacant. The posts were barely wide enough for Maryll to squeeze through. We went astern through the posts, and started paying out line from forward. We had a couple of long lines for over long boxes, but this box was over –length plus. It seemed about a hundred feet long. More and more lengths of rope were sent up forward for Shippers to bend on, and we had just about run out when the counter was stepping off distance from the main pontoon walkway. We could tell this was a military establishment. The rows of Services yachts, all good quality modern cruiser racers, were absolutely in line, as if it was a parade ground. There was none of this sloppy bows- on mooring either. They were properly moored stern on- a bit like Maryll really! Preliminary enquiries revealed that it was fine for us to moor there, but we would need to report to the Duty Officer. Unfortunately my military record would not with stand close inspection. And Shippers, who apparently broke out of a naval jail at HMS Ganges, was not a lot better. However, although Maryll is only a tiny boat, she is actually very well staffed. Engineering, Logistics, Linguistics and Catering divisions (can’t remember which one does the sailing) are obviously present, but not many craft of 20ft waterline length carry a military attaché. She was duly despatched, but reported back later that we would need to show our passports. The club was a little bit of England in a far away country. But it was also a reminder of the huge presence the British Military used to have in the early post war years, and more recently in the days of the Cold War stand off with the Soviet Bloc. The club had been built up originally in the days of occupied Germany, when our chaps helped themselves to a fleet of German yachts as war reparations. The sailing kept them something to do in their spare time then. Nowadays the club is a training centre. We had an inspection of the facilities, and the military attaché was very pleased to note that the “Ladies” had a bath as well as showers. No silly euro or tokens were required either. Looking round the club we noticed on the roll of honour that our attaché’s brother (who used to run the British Army) was Admiral of the Club in 1997. I had visions of a platoon of squaddies being despatched on the double to give Maryll an over night refit, including a decent engine. I also thought her brother’s bar tab would be available for our use. But she kept very quiet about it. Probably the sister of the Admiral would be expected to turn up in nothing smaller than a frigate. However any worries about paying over the odds for drink were quickly dispelled when the bar opened. At one euro a pint (70p), we were not going to complain! It was a good night in the club, and in conversation we were advised to go back to Holtenau, and buy the German “Sportschifahrtskarten” with way point books. After a very leisurely breakfast, we made our way back to Holtenau. We needed to stock up on food and drink as well as charts. We found a convenient staging to tie alongside, then went to look for the chart agents. We had been told they were by the lock, and even our pilot book said so. We started to walk through what we thought was public open space, when a jobsworth started shouting at us. We would have to pay 4 euro to go through. Apparently this public open space was the garden to this special building, not quite a stately home, but a big house anyway. We just wanted to get to the other side we said. Nein, verboden, the jobsworth said. We would gave to walk up the canal to where the ferry was, and cross there. We started off and had been walking for about 10 minutes when we realised this was going to be a waste of time. We had passed a chandlery on the way, it would be better to check that out first. Fortunately the chandler did have the right set of charts, and about 60 euro lighter we returned to the boat. We then had another long hike with the trolleys to the supermarket. Unfortunately they did not do those nice trays of 24 tinnies like we get in Holland. Nor did they have the trays of the plastic pint bottles we had located in Cuxhaven. We can stack 4 Dutch trays per trolley, but we had a devil of a job to stack the 6 packs of German beer. Shipper’s load kept collapsing. The ship’s cook, linguist and military attaché walked ahead laden with bags of food in disgust. We were pretty worn out after the expedition, so decided to return to the British Kiel Yacht Club for the night. Another pleasant evening was had with a Dutchman who related his Danish experiences and appeared even prejudiced about German Jobsworthism than we were! He also reported in negative terms about Danish catering, so the ship’s cook was put on an increased state of readiness. At last we were sailing on the Baltic next morning. We were slightly troubled by a German warship going round in circles as we were leaving Keiler fjord, then came to the conclusion he was swinging his compass or perhaps de-gaussing. The wind was very light, and unfortunately it became so light that we had to start the engine to maintain some progress. Shippers was not happy with the course I had set, because it appeared to take us through a naval exercise area, possibly minesweeping, but we were not sure. But it did not actually say verboten, but I gave in. I later found out Shippers was right. Now we were in the Baltic our plan was not to do anything too stressful, just do short cruises of a few hours and pull in at a suitable port. We just wanted to enjoy the area. So our first port of call was to be Massholm, which the port guide (which came with the German Charts) said was an old fishing village. This was situated at the mouth of the River Schlei, and would be a handy starting point for the next push northwards. The sun was shining, the odd beer was gurgling down, as we sailed past the mouth of the Eckenfjord to the east of the naval practice area. I was glad I had taken Shipper’s advice as we could see a warship on manoeuvres. However, despite being out of the area, we were still not safe from harassment. The warship kept coming out of the area circling round us and going back in, sometimes closer than we wished. Eventually we rounded the top corner of the area and headed North West towards the Schlei. Not satisfied with naval harassment, some genius had planted numerous nets across our track which required several changes of course. And as we approached the rather narrow entrance, there was general pandemonium of yacht, motor boat and ferry traffic, generally oblivious to the International Collision regulations. It was very busy on the river, and the channel through the shallows was quite narrow. However, about mile or so from the entrance, there was a branch off the river to Massholm. It must have been quite a quaint little harbour originally, but a huge new yacht harbour had been built alongside. Round the old harbour many of the old buildings associated with the fishing industry had been restored, and there were a number of decommissioned traditional fishing vessels moored in the harbour. We found a convenient mooring box, which had a little bit of staging at low level, which made access from our low boat more feasible. We went ashore and celebrated our arrival at a café nearby- there were no bars by the harbour itself. It was not a very pleasant bar, rather sullen service, so we left to have a walk around the village and top up provisions. At a chandlery I bought for several euro the way point book which I had thought was with the charts, but was found to be missing. It was quite a pleasant little village with interesting old buildings, but we decided to eat on board, where the menu was more interesting than could be found ashore. Next morning, after topping up with gas, we set off for Flensburger Fjiord. Unfortunately the wind was against us as we came to the mouth of the fjord and rather than put up with a long beat or a lot of motor, we decided to head across to Danish waters, and make for Sondenburg. The visibility had closed down a lot, but at least we were sailing well, and soon we could make out the hills and valleys of another country! The pilot book was rather unclear about the suitability of moorings and depths of water for yachts. However, we gave the big marina at the entrance a miss and headed for the town quay. We rafted against another gaffer. She was a traditional sailing fishing boat, but was not fitted with sails. We found out we would have to leave early next day because the Queen was expected! We had a spin ashore looking round the town, looking at prices in shops. People were more inclined to understand English, but often replied in German! We found a very nice “student” bar in the town centre, and bought some drinks. Three drinks cost the equivalent of £8.00, which was a bit of a change from German prices, but not that much worse than a lot English pub prices have become. Walking round the town, it did seem to have pubs and bars more like you would have in an English market town, although obviously Denmark itself is much more influenced by Germany in its culture than anywhere else. We had a look round the old castle grounds, gleaning some useful information from Alsion’s guide book. We resumed our passage to Flensburg next morning. It was flat calm, but with a heavy sea mist keeping visibility down to less than a cable. We had primed the GPS with all the way points, so we were not entirely helpless, and were also able to avoid a collision with the Royal Yacht coming the other way! Apparently the Queen likes to sail Dragons, and they were having a regatta next day. Our course was to take us south by east through Sonderburg Bay, to leave Helt’s Bank to port before heading West up Flensburg Fjord. The mist began to burn away, letting us see the rolling countryside and woods of Denmark. By the time we rounded Kragesand, a very gentle sea breeze began to develop, and we set full sail, topsail included. Sadly, in spite of Denmark’s rich maritime heritage, there was not one gaff sail to be seen on the waters. We rounded the point at Brunsnaes (Brown Nose?) and fell into a flat calm. But there was a little bit of current going our way (No tides on the Baltic?- they lie!) and eventually we picked up the breeze again to round Holnis to head South West for a glorious sail up to Flensburg, straddling the Danish – German Border. Shippers had devised a system of furling courtesy flags to cover the situation! We sailed into the big harbour at Flensburg, passing the maritime museum to starboard. We had been told that as an old boat we might be able to moor free of charge. We sailed past slowly, but on first inspection we could not see any place where we could tie up and get ashore. Our free board was too low, and the mooring boxes were too big. There was plenty of room, there were only about eight ships thre, but not so much for little boats like us. We sailed past again, wondering whether we could tie alongside one of the larger ships, but we could see anyone to hail, so turned about to head for the visitors yacht harbour right at the end of the creek. But as we were sailing away we noticed this chap running down the quayside shouting at us in English! We luffed up to talk to him, and he insisted we moor at the museum, and would find a place for us. We eventually berthed alongside a big ketch-rigged converted trawler. She had only just been painted , so we had to be our usual careful self in mooring. The skipper on this boat also spoke good English. He said he had learnt it in an English gaol! Apparently he had been imprisoned as a result of Green Peace activities. We talked about gaffers, and I asked if they had remembered Katrine attending the Felensburg regatta last year. Indeed they had, indeed she had been there this year, and indeed one them crewed on her! ( funnily enough we met him again later in the year at Maldon.) We had a look round the museum set up. If only we had something like that on the East Coast. They had all the facilities ashore for repair and building- indeed they had a vessel in frame while they were there. And all the buildings had been tastefully designed to be “In-Period, to recreate a small shipyard of a century ago. With the old ships moored alongside, it really was most interesting preservation and conservation exercise. Many years ago I tried to do something similar to that at Walton as part of a larger scheme on the old boating lake there, and indeed got local approval for it. Unfortunately the planning application was called in by the government, and after a long public enquiry, my appeal was turned down. I have never recovered from the expense and the damage to my career, and that’s why I can only sail small boats! The Museum kindly let us use their facilities, which was most useful, and trusted us with a key to the club house. We also found that the supermarkets were at our end of town, and went to do a massive shop for drink. Having located a source of very cheap gin, wine and beer, same as at Cuxhaven, I believe I made three visits with the trolley. It must have been a strange sight for visitors, with this huge pile of drink on the quayside and the human chain lifting it into this impossibly small boat. It took me over an hour to fill every nook and cranny with bottles, but the new stock was to last us right through the Baltic Cruise! We had been living on the boat for two weeks by now, so we needed to find somewhere to wash our clothes. We had noticed a big new marina by Ergnsund, and our German guide told us there were full facilities at Marina Minde, about 10 miles down the fjord. That would be long enough for a gentle beat to windward! Actually the wind started lifting shortly after we set off, and we were able to lay our destination in one tack. Soon were moored up in one of the many vacant berths, kindly assisted by resident yachtsmen. Although the marina was in Denmark it was German owned and managed, so a lot of work was required by our linguist. Unfortunately it had a dreadful system of programmable cards. You had to pay a large deposit for the card in the first place, then work out how many showers, days’ mooring, use of the washing machine etc you might need. With a couple of cards to go round the crew, we had already handed over the best part of forty quid in Kroner for one night Our experience at the marina was not completely happy. One of the cards was clearly faulty when returned, it showed up on the computer as such. But the marina staff would not give us any benefit of the doubt. They also refused to fill my diesel cans, because of some regulation. Fortunately a kind German (he was actually a priest!) decanted a couple of gallons from his own supply for me. A first he refused to take any money, just saying a beer would do. I eventually gave him five euro, and said come over for a drink. When he came, he arrived with a fair supply of his own beer plus some special hooch. We had a long chat with him. He had been a padre in Navy in the days of the Cold War, and now was a Lutheran priest. He also gave us three guide books for Danish Harbours, which contained very useful information for us. The clouds were gathering ominously as we left. Our plan was to go back to Sonderburg, through Als Sound into the middle of the “Little Belt”. We were treated to a torrential downpour and a thunderstorm of inferno proportions. We had several strikes close by, and one was so close it blew my mobile phone. We were very wet both above and below. Fortunately by the time we reached Sonderburg it was just raining! There is an open bridge at Sonderburg, through which we had go to get into the Als Sound. Fortunately is was just about to open as we arrived, and we sailed into the sound which divides the Island of Als from the mainland. The narrow sound, which has a significant tidal current running through it, is about five miles long and provides a short cut to Als Fjord and thence to the open sea. By the time we reached the fjord the rain had stopped, a nice breeze picked up to take us northward. Needing to dry out a little we decided to call in at the little harbour at Dyvig, at the mouth of the fjord. This was a delightful little harbour reached through a very narrow channel, which opened out into a lake surrounded by rolling hills. On one corner of the lake there was the harbour quay, opposite was a marina. Although there were quite a few visiting vessels, there were a lot of vacant berths, surprising as it was height of season. It seemed to be the same story everywhere since had come in to German waters. The local economy was obviously suffering, as the big restaurant and bar attached to the harbour master’s office was closed down. However the showers were still working, and the harbourmaster turned up in the evening to collect his dues! We ate ashore for once in a little restaurant attached to the village stores. A lot of what the Dutchman had told us about Danish cooking appeared to be true, but at least our cook could have a night off! On the table next to us was an English party, who were from the East Coast. I had not noticed any red ensigns at the harbour on vessels so presumed he was berthed at the marina. The weather had the makings of a nice day, as we sailed out of the fjord. Unfortunately the wind dropped considerably and headed us. There was quite a lot of traffic out on the water, but it was hardly crowded as the area of open sea was so great. This did not stop some fool in a motor boat nearly running us down. We had to take avoidance action even though we were under sail. What wind there was, was coming from the Nor’ nor’ west, and as we headed west on the starboard tack, the cook asked whether it was essential we headed for the one part of the sea by the isle of Barso where there was a cloud? This required a full meeting of the Navigation and Passage Planning Committee. After refreshments were served a vote was taken, and a resolution was carried by a large majority, which included the boat, to change tack and head South East, the intention being to make the little island of Lyo for the night. We managed to weather Als Island and headed across the open sea towards the Isle of Fyn, off which Lyo lay. It was a lovely gentle sail, although by evening the wind had dropped to very little, requiring some assistance on the last couple of miles from the iron topsail as we passed Heaneas point. The harbour for Lyo was situated behind a long spit on the north east side, where several yachts were at anchor. The German Plastic Navy was in port and in great number! The actual harbour was very tiny, and appeared very full, with yachts being turned away. But when the harbour master saw our little green wooden boat, he took pity on us and directed us to moor alongside one of the fishing kotters at the entrance. Presumably this was to maintain a traditional look to the harbour! Indeed it was delightful little island we found ashore. We walked into the village up a little lane, and it was beautiful. In some ways it was like an idyllic English village of 50 years ago, but immaculately maintained. It had all the usual facilities ( apart from a decent pub) such church, school and police station. It was also a working agricultural community, with associated businesses and buildings. We made arrangements to collect breakfast rolls from the village shop, and the people on the kotter next to us offered the use of their bike in the morning. The wind was still from the north next morning, so we decided to carry on with our push to the south east. The trip was very gentle and within a few hours we had moored up in Areoskobing, the principal port on the island of Areo. The harbour here was quite busy with ferry traffic, but unlike Lyo, had plenty of free space for us. We went ashore and explored the old town, and again it was well preserved, lots of little buildings and cobbled streets. The architecture was a mixture of Danish, Dutch and English. We had a drink in a pub, which was actually a bit smelly, and I bought a phone card after some searching. On the way back to the boat I spotted this isolated railway wagon, and found out there used to be a little railway on the island, and indeed the wagons were ferried to the mainland on train ferries. Quite clearly the way we were being driven by the northerly winds, we were going to have to go round the south of Fyn. So our next port of call was Rudkobing on the Island of Langeland. This required a tortuous passage amongst the shallows, squeezing between the isles of Birkholm and Egholm and along a crowded narrow channel leading south east, before tracking east of Stryno Island and north east to Rudkobing. The last ten miles or so were against the wind, which had changed again. However it was good sailing breeze, and it was time the crew had some tacking practice! Furthermore there was a solitary gaffer in the distance actually beating to windward, the first we had seen for a long time, so the race was on! We did not quite catch him before our destination, but it was an exciting sail. As the channel narrowed right down, we put the engine on and lowered sail. Then I noticed we had picked up a strong head current! All this rubbish about no tides on the Baltic! The water went up and down according to the moon, the currents went one way then another, just like they did at home. If we wanted to go further, we would need to work the tides! It was quite difficult getting into a suitable free box, and the harbour was quite full for once. I did not have room to manoeuvre, so had to go in bow first with the bowsprit run in. However we made a lot better job of it than the chap who came in next to us. He clipped a rather rough old boat on the way in, and suddenly this aged couple who had been sitting quietly on a bench arose. They came over wagging their walking sticks at him, and gave him a long and loud ear-wigging. He kept turning to us and saying in English “ These people are impossible!” We also met an Englishman who had settled in Denmark and kept his boat here. 
The town ashore was quite a large place, and I found somewhere to take my mobile phone. Although the mechanism and battery were completely ruined, the sim card was still fine, so I had to lash out a thousand kroner for a new phone, just like the one I had for free in the U.K. We also looked inside a couple of supermarkets to see if they had any long life milk. Fresh was going off in a day in those conditions, but the Danes did not appear to have heard of it. It was interesting to look round and see what was available. The Dutch appear to be about the same as the UK, moer on some commodities, less on others. Germans had less choice than the Dutch, but the Danes appeared to have very limited choice.
Shippers was now starting to worry about how to get home. He had already stayed longer than he had intended to, and had been ashore to make enquiries. The railway was long gone from Rudkobing, just the station building was left. We must have let Dr Beeching go over there as a consultant to Danish Railways! Shippers could get a bus to Svendborg, and then a train to Esjberg to catch the ferry.We looked at the charts. Fyn seemed to have quite a lot of railway stations. We could go north and catch a main line train at Nyborg. But the East side of Fyn looked a bit boring. Svendborg looked a bit industrial on the guide, but Faarborg had a railway line and looked a nice place! We checked on the tide tables (yes they do have them in the Baltic!), and worked out when there would be a north going stream through the bridge between Langeland and Fyn. It was another very hot day, and for once the German Navy appeared to be having a day in port. Unfortunately, what had started out as gentle fair breeze had died to nothing. Our speed dropped to about a knot. But did it matter, we were not going far today. We were going to have a look at another little island, Thuro. It used to be where the sailing ship captains lived, and might be interesting, although the German guide did not rate it highly. It was only about an hour out of Rudkobing while we were sunning ourselves with a beer or two on a flat Baltic sea, that the German Navy realised we had slipped out of port unseen. They had no alternative other than to scramble the Luftwaffe. Billions of angry hover flies, which looked like wasps descended on Maryll. All her sails and rigging were covered in the beasts. It was even getting difficult to clear them away from the bottles we were drinking out of, despite my pipe being on maximum burn rate. In the end we had to cut and run. The unfaithful Axis built diesel was started to take us out of the attack zone. Soon we were nearing the entrance to the channel between Gratsen and Tasinge, both looking very beautiful in the sunlight. Off Troense we headed up Thuro channel past a couple of boat yards, then we came to a delightful little yacht harbour, where we moored in one of many vacant spaces. On shore there were wonderful thatched fisherman’s sheds, with little fishing boats drawn up outside. There was a nice big club house with all the usual ablutions, but no operating bar. There was no harbour master either. Just an envelope to put the kroner in, and an honesty box. Shippers checked up the steep hill to see what was available in the village. Perhaps there was a place for long life milk. He also wanted to find a public telephone. He had no luck with either. It was time to adjourn to the Café Maryll and take in a few sundowners. Then enjoy yet another magnificent feast aboard. Next day we had to set out against the ebb to take us through Svendborg sound. We had a fair wind though and motor sailed through the narrows. Svendborg looked quite a big place ( albeit without long life milk) and had some luxurious suburbs to the west. There were quite a few yachts on swing moorings, the first we had seen in any number since leaving the UK. Once through the bridge to Tasinge, the current eased and we could dispense with the engine. It was a lovely sailing breeze, although I was a bit annoyed when a Folkboat took our wind whilst he was under engine. My spirits soon picked up however, when some plastic show off ploughed straight on to a bank which was clearly marked. We did see one big gaff ketch under power, whom we jided for not setting sails. But he then turned to windward to set his gaffs and looked a lovely sight. There were so few nice looking vessels about, where had maritime tradition gone to? Never mind it was a wonderful sail, good breeze and sunshine, plus wonderful scenery. Soon we were passing inside the island of Avernako, then we gybed to take the back route into Faarborg, leaving Bjorno to the west. Bjorno together with the bay inset into the large Island of Fynn create a sheltered sound for the approach to Faarborg. We sailed into the harbour, where there was room to round up, then found a berth in a convenient position for the land. Shippers went ashore to seek out the tourist office about public transport. He returned to say there were no trains. He would have to get a bus. Bloody German Charts I thought, they lie! We walked in the general direction of the bus station to check on times. We found the bus station had been the railway station, but the tracks had been cut back. Just beyond the bus station we could see railway buildings and wagons. There was an earth platform with lots of vintage wagons and coaches about. The railway had been closed, but now was being run as a preserved railway! Having satisfied ourselves that there would be a bus connection with the main line, we returned to base via the town centre. It was a nice town with interesting buildings and cobbled streets. Much of it was pedestrianised too. We had a beer at one of the bars in the town square. A couple of the locals started talking to me. They asked me what nationality I was, I did not look or sound typical English to them. Was I Australian or something? Having bought me a beer and filled my pipe, I was then treated to xenophobia Danish style. They did not want anything to do with the EEC, a Noordic alliance was all they wanted. They did not want anything to do with Germany etc., they sympathised with Britain’s stance on Europe. The drink was clearly in and brain was out, so I politely eased my way out of the bar and joined the others and went back to the boat. I saw Shippers off on the bus in the morning, then we set sail for Assens. The wind was firm from the South East, and I wanted to head north while we had a chance. There was a little dog leg in the course, cutting between the banks of Lillegrund and Knastegrund, then we headed north west inside the Island of Lyo, west to weather Horneas Point and into the open sea. It was a lovely run up the coast of Fynn, past Helnaes point, Akrog Bucht, then past Toro peninsular to round up into Assens. One of the problems with the German charts was the scale. Once the speed got above five knots the charts had to be changed at short intervals. You could be easily be taken unawares, and wonder where you were, having sailed of the edge of the map! There was not a usable “Overzichtkart” like you would have with Dutch or English chart packs. The yacht harbour at Assens is a little way from town, so we did not go in there to explore. From the outside it seemed a bit industrial. The yacht harbour itself was pleasant enough, with very good facilities. We had a bit of fun berthing though. I had spotted a convenient box where some folkboats were berthed. I am always getting told off for using to big a box for the boat, but here was a set of boxes which were pretty well Maryll length. Maryll generally attracts a lot of attention when coming into berth. Apart from being wooden, green, gaff rigged and British, she also has a very big poker. Because we tend to berth stern first, when we make the turn people think we are going to the other side of the marina to the one really are. So there is sometimes panic when a bowsprit is seen heading for where there is no berth. The other issue is going astern. Maryll does not do backwards very easily. It is difficult to steer going astern. So often I stop, put the helm over and give the engine a burst ahead to swing the stern. People forget with a small engine on a heavy boat that you do not have the same type of control as on a modern boat. However we generally make a better job of it- few modern boats dare risk going astern into a berth. However we were slightly embarrassed at Assens. The manoeuvre was going perfectly in front of a crowd. The turn was absolutely spot on, the counter had gone straight between the mooring posts. I was getting the stern lines ready to go ashore. But people were not looking to catch my lines, they were looking past me. I heard a yelp from Alison and looked round. We were perfectly in the middle of the posts, only that they were now splayed out at 10 degrees because we were well and truly wedged. It took quite a lot of throttle ahead and wiggling with the helm to release ourselves. Bloody narrow gutted Folkboats I thought! The chaps on the other side of the dock pointed out a wider berth for us, and after the usual confusion caused by coming in astern, we were well berthed at last! A friendly Dane on the boat next door asked about our plans. We produced the charts and he gave us some useful tips and information on the various places, including details of the short cut to Endelave! There were good facilities ashore, including a chandlery and restaurant. We were able to replace the camping gaz, and Alsion bought this special pot which would barbecue food. We dined ashore in the restaurant, which over looked the sea. It was Saturday, beautiful weather, high season and yet again not a third full. It was a gentle morning that saw us leave Assens, heading north. The waters were quite busy as we closed the pinch point in the system towards Middlefart. We watched in awe two porpoises doing some synchronised swimming, so beautiful, so dignified and yet so friendly. We decided to cut through Faeno sound instead of the main channel. It was very beautiful with high wooded banks either side, but clearly very popular. Alsion christened it “Tart Corridor”, because of the number of gin palaces passing by! The tide had us in its grip as we swept under the first Middlefart bridge. In some ways it reminded me of going through the Swellies on the Menai Straits in Wales, with the high banks either side and the swirling current. The second bridge was almost the end of us. The wind had been fitful, the heat had been building up, and now the sea breeze came in with a huge gust, accelerating as it was squeezed under the bridge. I saw these yachts coming our way completely out of control, and we could hear the roar of the wind over the traffic noise. I could not luff up, because of the other yachts (although we were on starboard tack) and Maryll leant over until her mast was almost in the water. The sea poured into the cockpit then down the open hatch right over one of the berths. Fortunately the jib sheet blew out (good job it was not locked with a hitch) and the boat rounded into wind and righted herself. We were absolutely shattered by this event. It had seemed so close to disaster. And yet it was otherwise a perfect day. I thought about putting into a little harbour at Strib to recover. But probably we had not regained sufficient composure to berth in a strange harbour, so we decided to carry on out through the straits into the sea. It was a bit lumpy at the entrance with wind over tide conditions, but more manageable as we turned east across Baring Vig to approach Borgense. Like a lot of these old fishing ports, there has been a huge marina constructed at the side. We normally head for the old port, and did so on this occasion. The first berths were crowded, but as we headed in closer to the town and its facilities, there were plenty of berths. We tied alongside and went ashore to explore. There was a lovely church we looked around, then we headed into the town itself. It was quite a pleasant little place, not a preservation site like some tourist villages, but still with old and interesting buildings. Like a number of other Danish towns, they had quite English looking pubs. We went in one and had a meal outside. The price was not too bad but the meal was only adequate in quality. In the morning we visited the chandlery in the marina, and also obtained these wretched cards for mooring and showers. I bought a new electric pump for the bilges, the old one having given up the ghost after the knock down. All the rubbish on the side of the boat had been swept off by the water and caused the pump to block and break. I also bought a Danish chart for the next stage north, as we were falling off the edge of the German one! We set off for Endelave. It was another pleasant day, and we made a landfall at the “Seal Island” just to the north of Endelave. The seal island is really just a sand bank which is awash at high water, and various mammals and birds haul out there for a picnic or sunbathing. Between that and Endelave there is a shallow channel, about 6 or 7 feet deep at low water. With the water being so clear, I found it quite un-nerving to be sailing there, just hoping to hell our Danish friend was right about this short cut. He was, just, and it had saved us at least five miles to windward. The harbour was tiny, requiring instant retraction of the bowsprit, as we tied up alongside a Danish yacht. There was a tiny hamlet ashore, not as well preserved as Lyo, but worth a visit. In Borgense we had seen a big concrete tower, which had been built during the war, and strangely enough there was another one here. What the military purpose was I could not guess. The wind was blowing the wrong way for the passage to Samso, our last island of the trip. I had plotted a series of way points for tacking, and we set the small staysail in case it blew up for the long thrash to windward. We had to make our way out of Endelave by the same route we came by. The tide was in so it was not quite as worrying! It was a nice sunny day, but the wind never materialised in terms of a strong sea breeze. As the time was beginning to slip by we started the engine just south of Samso. We found quite a current running off the end of Samso, between the Island and an offshore wind farm. By mid afternoon we entered Ballen, a pretty little harbour on the east side of the island. The protocol for visitor berthing was not quite clear. There was a new set of pontoons on the south side, where there were quite a few spaces, but no indication whether they were available for visitors. There did not seem many spare boxes amongst the resident berths. However we spotted one straight ahead with a green tab, meaning vacant, so we headed straight into that. About an hour later a big motor boat turned up and said it was his berth, actually. However he had returned a day earlier than anticipated, and he would go and moor somewhere else for the night, which was very kind of him. It was another interesting town for us to explore. The shop was very conveniently located for us to take on supplies, and there was a diesel pump with a slot machine which I made use of. We dined in a big restaurant, which had an old fishing kotter sunk into the floor as a design feature! The wind was very light next day for our passage to Langor, our final port of call going north. Langor is at the north end of the island, and many years ago was an important naval base, with a history going back to Viking times. In the times of the Napoleonic War, the British laid it to waste and it never recovered. However, the Vikings, when they first set up a base there, cut an extra channel out to sea, to avoid being blockaded, and this is still in use today. We located the safe water mark for the channel easily enough but there was some confusion between the pilot book and the chart. The next mark was green and the pilot book said emphatically it must be left to starboard. But the chart, which was brand new indicated the opposite. But wary of what had happened at Wangerooge, I believed the chart rather than the pilot. The buoys are laid in terms of direction of tide. Although this was the entrance channel to Langor, it went on to connect with the open sea again to the north. Bearing in mind where the tide comes from, the chart must be right. However our pilot author had kept saying there are no tides on the Baltic, so he would not have suspected that. The narrow channel took us close to a shingle spit and some off lying islands before emptying us into this large shallow lagoon. We crossed that to join up with the other entrance channel from the north, then sailed past dunes, past a lovely little bay, and finally into a small harbour. There were plenty of boxes for visitors, but the starting size was 14 metres long! The harbour authorities did not expect anything of a lesser size to reach Langor, so Maryll had to berth amongst the modern plastic leviathans, looking very tiny and out of place. There were no remains of the 18th Century Buildings, the British had seen to that. There were some cottages and houses which had been constructed about a hundred years ago when the place became an isolation hospital for infectious Danes. There were a few fisherman’s buildings, a tiny but very well stocked shop and little else. But setting was absolutely beautiful. We had a long walk. There were sandy bays and inlets, crystal clear waters, dunes and greensward leading into hills. We returned to Maryll and played with Alsions new barbecue pot, grilling some steaks on the counter. The harbour master jumped aboard. He could not believe we were from Britain in such a tiny boat, and he could not believe she was made out of wood. He said “Tomorrow wooden ships lie here for free!” But I think that was a joke! It was time to start our return trip. I wish we could have stayed longer and seen more. But we had been away for nearly six weeks now, so needed to make tracks. We followed a reciprocal course using the GPS map page to take us out of the channel from Langor. We sailed down the east side of the Island and then set course for Borgense. The wind had started very light, but towards the end of the day we had a very spirited reach back with topsail to the harbour. We tied up near where we had before, and ate where we had before! It rained heavily in the night, but had cleared again for the next day’s sail. We caught the tide right for going through the narrows at Middlefart, there was no repetition of the disaster coming the other way. We swept right through on the strong current, and were soon out in the relatively broad waters of Bredningen. We kept to the Jutland shore rather than Fyn for some different scenery, holding a good wind until two miles off our destination, the tiny island of Aro. The tide turned and the wind dropped, so we motored the last bit. We swept into the little harbour and moored up in a nice box for the night. The weather then broke. I was just setting the sails after leaving Aro when we spotted a big cloud ahead and visibility closing right down. The wind went from astern to on the nose, and it poured down in stair rods. There was nothing to do other than to don wet weather gear, set the autohelm and motor into it. And we did that all the way to Dyvig. I was absolutely soaked and getting cold. We found our way into the little harbour and were in the process of backing into an accessible vacant berth, when this woman started shouting at us. “You are only a small boat!” she said. “We know that!” Alsion said, “We just want to moor up where the rain won’t blow in to our cabin” This strange woman then dived into a big cabin cruiser and came out wearing a jobsworth hat. “I am the harbourmaster, you must moor in a small box as you are a small boat!” We killed ourselves thinking about what Shippers would have made of all this. She pointed to a berth, very near to where we had been before, and I started backing in. “Hey” I said , “It has the red sign it is not vacant!” Ms Jobsworth leaned over and turned it to green. You see they can break the rules when it suits them! Fortunately the rain stopped over night and it was a nice day again. The wind was very light and in the wrong direction, but it was so pleasant we wanted to enjoy it sailing, even if tacking! It took ages to reach Als Sund, and then we drifted even more slowly with the wind astern. This was going to be one of the slowest passages ever mad under sail! Never mind we had the tide with us, and other than the occasional dodge out of the way of some collision regs challenged native, life was fine! A beautiful classic yacht of large proportions swept past us flying the red ensign, and recognising some of the people on board we realised this must be one of the British Kiel YC reparation yachts from the last war. We missed the bridge at Sonderborg, but eventually it opened and we had a nice little sail to Horup Haven. This is situated to the east of Sonderborg, up a wide creek north of Kegnaes. It is described as a small yacht harbour, but you could get most of the East Coast English Marinas in one corner! As we were preparing to enter, this big German ketch motored by indicating to come alongside and then saying give us five minutes. We eventually worked out what he meant. Basically the larger yachts have to lie alongside other large yachts, as there are not many visitor berths here. Actually we would have been fine, as there were plenty of berths for small yachts on the east side of the marina. We followed our new German friend into the yacht harbour, and tied alongside after he had moored. He explained that this was his regular berth, but visiting yachts had to tie alongside. We shared a couple of beers with them, and then went ashore to settle harbour dues and to check facilities. We also had a look round the village. Although it was only a small place it had a huge supermarket, worth remembering for future ventures to the Baltic. When we returned, we had a lovely surprise. There was a big bucket of fresh codling in our cockpit. Our German friends had hailed a fishing boat and bought some fish off him. There was to much, so they thought we might like it. Having washed it out we grilled it. It was absolutely delicious. After the calms of the day before, we awoke to a fair wind from the west north west, and reasonably steady too. This would take us all the way to Kiel. We set the main tows’l and jib, weathered Keagnes Ende, and headed south east. There were actually a couple of gaffers sailing but they eventually turned off to go up the Flensburger Fjord. Maryll was really surging along, well over six knots, which is fast for her! Off the entrance to the Schlei she was becoming a bit over powered, so I tucked in a couple of reefs and furled the jib. We weren’t racing, we did not need a white knuckle ride for the sake of half a knot or so! It was all a bit grey and stormy, but we kept our speed up, and moored up at Kiel Yacht club. We had travelled 37 miles in 6 hours, a complete contrast in average speed to the day before. I logged it as an entertaining sail. At the yacht club we found one of the narrow gutted moorings free and backed in. Alsion started chatting to one of the services yachts which had been on charter. They were flying home and were going to chuck all their spare provisions in the skip. Alsion put a stop to that, and our stores were supplemented considerably, even with some Tesco long life milk! It was a miserable old day going down the canal to Rendsburg. But the lock had been much quicker than before, and it wasn’t long before we were moored up. The rain had kept going all day. We refuelled the next day, for the passage down to the Elbe for the passage to Brunsbuttel. That was another day with rain and headwinds, which knocked our speed down. With the basis of hindsight I should have turned off the canal to go down the Eider. But at the time I thought it would have added another day or two to the passage, but that would not have mattered as it turned out. Anyway we carried on down the canal, mooring up in the little yacht harbour by the lock. Another German boat invited us to lie alongside, and beers were shared! Her skipper spoke very good English. He had been on the boat for six months! It turned out he had worked for Nato and been to America. Maryll’s military attaché was able to share many memories. He was going to Cuxhaven to unload his gear before taking his boat back to her home port, which was a tidal harbour off the Elbe elsewhere. He said we could have problems mooring at Cuxhaven, as there was a tall ships race on going. Tall Ships or not, we set off early next morning through the locks to catch the tide in the Elbe. No hold ups this time, just the weather. It was dreary with poor visibility. We passed a large square rigger with green sails on the way down river. We also crossed the bows of a U-boat coming out of the commercial harbour, there was a lot going on! There was no problem finding a mooring in the under 9’s! We went ashore and found out that the tall ships were having their Parade of Sail next day, so we decide to have a day in port. We booked a space on the balcony of the Yacht Club, which was very busy. However it was worth it all, it was a fantastic sight to see all the square riggers in action. The sheer scale of them could be appreciated as the sailed close inshore. Whether we should have had that day in port was debatable. The weather took a big turn for the worse, with strong to gale force south west winds. We were held up at Cuxhaven for three more days, as was everyone else. We took the train one day to see Hamburg, and take a trip on the maze of that city’s canals. Another day we took the train to Bremerhaven, and spent a day looking over the maritime museum. Eventually we had a break in the wind, as it went east. It was almost like sailing in a regatta, there were so many yachts sailing down the side of the Elbe Channel. The wind was forecast 5-7 so we kept a reef in as we scuttled across the Weser estuary. Our original intention had been to retrace our steps to Wangerooge, but with a the wind still fair we decided to press on, and pass to seaward of another island before cutting into between the islands to Langegooge. Although we now had the flood stream against us we were still making 4-5 knots. Unfortunately the tide turned early and we had a bit of a struggle beating to the harbour entrance. We left the ferry to port and found the small yacht harbour. Everything was a bit bleak. There was no harbour master around, the pub was closed. It felt like we were making a winter visit! With all the rules in such places, I could not even get the code for the rubbish bins and had to trek to the railway station to find a litter bin. The last train had long gone, bit I was amazed at the size and specification of the railway station. It must have cost millions, yet it only served a narrow gauge line 4 miles long. Must be some EU grant there! Feeling fairly tired and cold we had an early night. I go up in the middle of the night to find the water blown out of the harbour! Apparently the level of the water between the islands and the mainland can change by as much as two metres, according to the pilot ( but he is a bit suspect on tides anyway!) Thus it was a early departure from this little “Riddle of the Sands” type of island. All sorts of dreadful weather had been promised, but actually the sun came out and we had a pleasant sail down the coast. The wind was south rather than south east now, and the tide was flooding against us now. We saw a Medieval Cog sailing the other way, a rather bizarre sight with its fighting castles and single square sail. Since they dug one up on the Weser, there are quite a few replicas in Germany and Holland. We passed Nordeney to seaward, then the next island ,Juist, and then found the short cut channel across the Juister Reef. Fortunately I had plotted the courses and bearings on the chart, as well as way points. For the heavens opened and the thunderclaps roared. Visibility dropped to just few yards. This was not needed when navigating a shallow channel with bar in exposed conditions off shore. With much relief the visibility improved momentarily and we saw we were in the right place as we crossed the shallow bar. The trick now was to cross the Osterems estuary and find the little tidal back channel into Borkum. The plan was always a bit of a gamble, but with our slow speed, especially under engine, we had to make Borkum before we got into difficulties with the tide. The safer alternative would have either been to have stopped short at Nordeney, or carried on outside Borkum and its reef, another 25 miles on the passage, against the tide for the most part! I had the way point for the tiny mark for the entrance to the back channel, but I was damned if I could see it. We arrived spot on the way point and I still could not see it. I got the chart out and checked I fed in the right co-ordinates, and I had. Bloody German charts!!! Then I looked out and it was about 10 yards away. We just had no seen it in the poor light and conditions. It was then a matter of finding the withies and keeping them reasonably close to starboard. The channel twists and turns, and quite a few were missing from last time, no doubt due to the bad weather. We showed about 7 feet on the fish finder as we crossed the summit, and then the depth improved again. With some relief we entered Borkum Harbour. We had done well to make that kind of progress in those conditions. We were held up for four days in Borkum. We amused ourselves taking the odd trip into town on the train and sitting in the bar over looking the square. We talked to many of the other yachts. They were all much bigger with powerful engines, and some of them were confident that they could make the sea passage. One or two set off, and we would find them lurking sheepishly in a canal later. Far from saving time they lost it through being so shattered with the sea passage. On the fifth day the wind moderated in the afternoon. It was too late to head for Lauweersog, and the wind was forecast to rise again the next day. We then decided to cut and run up the Ems for Delfzijl, and enter the canal system. It was quite rough to begin with, north west force five over an ebbing tide, but the sea subsided as the flood began, and by 1930 we entered the channel which led to Delfzijl and the canal. I don’t think we were the only ones to take the coward route, because the marina was pretty packed with visitors. The club house had wonderful showers, all in with the mooring price of seven Euros! Welkom! We were back in the Netherlands. Looking round it was amazing to see the difference in apparent wealth between one side of the Ems and the other. Friesland is the poor part of the Netherlands, but it seemed vastly more prosperous than the country opposite. We set off early through the canal. The sun came out, although it was still quite windy. The first part of the canal to Groenigen was quite straight, and with some commercial traffic. But the waterway was in good order, with pleasant tree lined banks. Bridges were generally amenable, opening as we approached, and we were soon at the outskirts of Groenigen. It was a Sunday, and the normal practice in the summer is for boats to be taken through the many bridges in convoy. When we arrived there were a lot of boats waiting for the convoy to start. It was half an hour late getting going, which was very convenient for us and enabled Maryll to tag along without any delay. Groenigen was a lovely city to sail through. There were beautiful buildings, both old and new, together with parkland contrasting with typical high Dutch gabled terraces close to each bank. Sometimes the pounds between bridges were very crowded, requiring careful manoeuvring and use of the throttle. There seemed to be just one bridge keeper running the show, closing one bridge then cycling ahead to open another. It took a couple of hours to pass through Groenigen, before we were out in the country. We locked down to cross the commercial waterway, the Princess Margriet Kanal. The bridges at this stage were activated by the first boat in the convoy pressing a button on staging by the bridge. The barriers would come down, the cars would come to a halt, the bridge would lift and twenty or so boats would scuttle through. There were no longer any bridge keepers. As the weather was not improving and as we felt we could do with a break, we decided to look for somewhere to moor. At the pretty village of Garnwerd we found several vacant mooring boxes and tied up. Ashore there was a very good restaurant where we booked a meal, before having a wander round the village. We popped into a little pub and as soon as I opened my mouth, a chap claiming to be the harbour master asked for his 5 euro mooring fee! He was actually the harbour master, not a well man physically. We had a chat with him and his wife. But I was amazed how quickly the village grapevine had worked in terms of the pub knowing an English boat had moored up, for it was some distance from the canal! It was a friendly little village, but I was surprised that there were no shops. They all had to drive to the next town. After rather a damp night and cold morning ablutions we set off, pressing the bridge button to open the way. The waterway was canalised river and wound this way and that through the many farms and pastures. This river was the main access to Groenigen, and was amazing to think how they must have pulled the sea going sailing ships back and to from the port. Perhaps the river was wider then. We locked out of Lammersburen into the Reitdiep, and the river became more estuarial and wider. There were lots of big reed banks either side. We came upon the town of Zoutkamp, where there was a big dyke running across, defence lock and a road bridge. It looked quite an attractive place for future reference. A number of yachts were hovering, waiting for the bridge to open, which it kindly did on our arrival. Some of these yachts had been in our convoy at Groenigen, and we were getting to know each other quite well. We were too slow to keep up with them, but time and time again we would find them held up somewhere. It was very much “Tortoise and the Hare”cruising! The river kept widening out until we joined the Shlenk and Lauwersmeer. Hard a port we turned to sail up the tidal Dorkumer to the big lock at Dokkumer Nieuwe Zjilen. We thought we were in for a long wait as we had just missed a lock, but as soon as we approached the waiting staging, the bells went, the barriers came down and we were in the lock. For the passage up to Dokkum we discovered that the canal or river had been lowered by at least a foot, and the drainage authorities were letting out all the rainwater. There was at least a knot of current running, even flat out we could only make three knots. However it was a seamless passage otherwise and we soon reached Dokkum. We refuelled there, bought some more grease for the stern gland, and moored near where we had before for the night. We let the morning rush hour traffic finish, and then set off through the bridges at Dokkum, and soon we were out in countryside again. It was a bit of a haul against the strong headwinds and rain, but we kept up good progress and by the afternoon we had reached Leewarden. The bridges there were a seamless operation, we rarely needed to stop moving forward and soon we were outside the town. Mindful of the strong headwind, we decided not to go for Harlinge, choosing to double back round the outskirts of the town and re-join the Princess Margriet Kanal heading south-west. We moored up for the night up a branch off the main line. I met a Dutchman moored nearby who had seen us setting off from Horup Haven in Denmark! For our last day on the canal system the sun started to shine, and we did not need to wear our offshore gear for once! We started to see more pleasure craft on the canal, and also some beautiful Skutje barges under sail. Although it was a busy commercial waterway, there seemed to be no problem with everyone sharing. We passed across the Sneekemeer and then branched off the commercial waterway to Heeg. We were very lucky with all the bridges. Through the Heegemeer we went and soon we were moored up at Stavoren, having a beer at a bar by the lock. We were nearly at the end of our passage, which was rather sad. Especially as the weather was picking up. We locked out on to a calm Ijsselmeer, and set full sail, including the “Bastard” in the lightest of breezes from the south, and ghosted across towards Enkhuizen. There was a lot of heat haze about, and much sunbathing on boats, most of whom lay still in the water while Maryll ghosted past. On approaching Enkhuizen I called up the harbour master, and asked if there was still a berth for me in the Oostenhaven. We were about ten days behind schedule. There was no problem, they remembered me, the bridge would be opened for Maryll on arrival. We spent a day in Enkhuizen tidying up the boat. We also touched up the topside paint and the varnish, as the weather was so nice. Very sadly, we then had to go back to England. The venture had been a wonderful experience. Obviously there were times when I was worried or annoyed about some issue, especially jobsworth matters! If I were to venture to the Baltic again, it would be much easier and less stressful, because I know a lot more. I know more about the protocol of moorings. I know more about using the tides and back channels behind the islands. I know more about what to expect. Although I was unlucky with the weather, I was more than lucky having people to sail with whose company I enjoy and can get on with. Three people living cramped conditions can often give rise to social problems. We all have our personal faults and failings, which must irritate or annoy. If three ordinary people were made to go and live in a leaking wooden shed for several weeks, you would normally expect some tensions. But whatever anger might have run through each of our minds at times, we never fell out or had a cross word. On more technical matters, I wish I had had the time to prepare the boat more. Unfortunately commitments to the OGA prevented this. The boat herself did quite well, bearing in mind her age. She managed the trip without any major failings in equipment or structure. I am not sure a modern cruiser of 20 feet LWL would have done a lot better. A more powerful engine would have helped, but by how much is debatable. We managed the motoring sections of the voyage in reasonable time as it turned out. I had to work the tides more than a more powerful boat would have. But on the other hand, knowing the limitations of the boat meant that I did not try anything too foolish. Many a big modern boat with powerful engine set out to punch tide and waves only to regret the decision later. A larger boat would have made things much easier. There is so much gear which has to be moved around on a little boat because there is no space. We have to take it in turns to get dressed, or sit out in the cockpit because there is not enough room below to comfortably prepare a meal. But on the other hand a larger boat costs more to run and is more difficult to moor. We could always find a place to tie up, when many larger boats had to be turned away. The relatively heavy weight of Maryll’s gaff rig was some times a problem. If only I had the money to spend on lighter materials for the spars and mast. Hollow spruce or alloy would make it all so much more manageable. Running in the bowsprit was always possible, but again required a lot of effort. With the cabin in the way, it needed quite a lot of effort to lift it over the coach roof. For cruising it would also have been better to have a shorter spar, the slight sacrifice in light wind performance would be more than made up in convenience. Perhaps I might do this for another big cruise, but I would need new headsails. However I made fundamental errors in designing the gaff rig in the first place, albeit on the advice of experts. The rig is too high, the gaff is too high peaked and generally not suitable for cruising. If only I had used Deva’s rig, which is much more akin to the original working sail plan of the nobby. It is one thing to race round a regatta course in light winds, it is another issue to have a good rig for cruising. Although having said that, a rig, which will be reasonably efficient for windward work, is important. The engine installation did give cause for concern on occasions. Some of the problems, such as the puny wiring harness are down to Yanmar. The designers of these engines just don’t think of the conditions that are likely to be met. One my side, clearly the old lorry gas tank on Maryll is not fit for purpose as a fuel tank. It needs replacing as soon as possible with a stainless one of larger capacity. What does for occasional auxiliary use for weekend sailing is not adequate for proper cruising. Noise insulation is something I must deal with. Long periods of running the engine can be quite daunting, although it does mean we sail when we possibly can! The advent of cheap GPS has been a marvellous asset for cruising, and it is now so cheap back up systems can be carried. But navigation with such equipment still needs to be done in conjunction with traditional methods and a touch of common sense. Input error can easily happen, and on one occasion I nearly went the wrong side of an island. It was only because I knew what the heading should be from plotting it on a chart that I avoided doing something very stupid! Charts on a major cruise on a small boat, especially one which leaks, are a problem. It is safer to pick up charts on the way. Even so, just stowing the volume of charts can be problem in a tiny cabin. The cost of charts is a significant for the cruising budget. I did some research at the Cruising Association, albeit not enough, and information gleaned from papers for the CA Millennium Rally to the Baltic was very useful. I am also very grateful to Brian Hammett off Avola for his advice and loan of charts for some of the waters, as well as my Dutch friend Joachim Van Houwenige, who had undertaken a similar cruise in an even smaller boat than Maryll. There is a lot I still have to do and learn, but for anyone considering a cruise over a long period, the Baltic has a lot to offer. You do not have to spend days out at sea. The sailing is good, the scenery is beautiful. There are so many alternatives that it is rare to be bottled up in port. The weather is a bit unpredictable, but perhaps that makes for interesting sailing. The only drawback is that the season is short, because it so far north. I will be going there again! Jon Wainwright |