white sails

I have always had a dream of sailing. A few years back I did some serious research, and was pretty close to go either across the Atlantic or across from Africa to India. I had a look at a few shorter, less dramatic alternatives too, but things go the way they go, and I ended up doing that bachelor thing instead. In addition, I am not entirely certain of my own seaworthiness either. I have been on large boats and ferries, where everyone had green faces and fed the fishes. I was bored. It was not entirely comfortable, but most of all I was bored; that there was no-one to hang around in the bar with, telling tall tales. I wove my limbs and sleepingbag through some bolted chairs, locked myself in and slept. Then a variety of ferries in Asia, with chickens, wired-in piglets, and locals throwing up.

I have fiddled with small motorboats with outboards and sailboats now and then, but with a few slightly dramatic exceptions it has been “sunday sailing”. The big thing has been in the back of my head for years, but a little apprehensive about my own seaworthiness, a little doubt about my own competence, finding a boat, finding a boat with good people… It sounds scary. You don’t want to be mid-atlantic, and then discover that the skipper is a suicidal maniac, and you incapacitated by seasickness with no will to live.

So when a friend of mine asked if I wanted to come along for a few days, from Germany to Denmark, there is of course only one answer; when?

When I arrived on the scene, the boat was moored on one of the million canals in Holland. “Think winter”, the capt’n said, I brought woolly beanie, gloves, raingear and a fleece. But that was the end of my pessimism. Wellies was not an option, I go barefoot longer than most. Long johns, no way. Sleepingbag for summer, a few CD’s, camera, iPad and phone fully charged.

To make a long, rather slow story short: stinking hot, glorious sunshine, deliciously sunburned, my geeky pasty skin-colour altered dramatic with outdoor days, water, wine, laughs and stories. Quaint dutch countryside (where ARE the dutch!? they say they live on top of each other, that the country is too small for six million people. I saw only quaint canal life).

The crew had a discussion about the all-important anchor dram. My argument is that it is a shot of something interesting when you leave the harbour; like a stirrup dram, before setting out. A toast for safe travels, good weather and see-you-around & godbless. Other opinions was that it is for safe arrivals. We compromised, and tried both solutions. It is important to listen to others on a small vessel, and find solutions everyone can be happy with :-)

It seems, that with time, limited access to internet, discussions take on a different hue. Small things, little wonders are discussed and ideas spun around without any real need for an answer, and the slow thought process uses different parts of the brain than when you can instantly check it out. Imagination. Flight.

Where we went is, in a way not important or ultimately interesting as such. There was very little wind, so a good deal of motoring, a good deal of canals, including the Kiel canal, that is one bizarre but ultimately boring stretch. When the locks opened in Kiel, we landed in the middle of the Kieler Woche. It was mad. Wind, sea, boats, ships everywhere: possibly the largest collection of strange vessels. Things with sails I have no name for, sails in colours, levels, floors, tiers. Vikings, phoenicians, medieval, warships, tall ships, small ships, one, two, three, four masts. Cannon ports, rowing ports, hanseatic. The smell of salt and sea wonderful, after the canal, and to see a horizon. Blue above and below.

Then there was wind, then there was sailing at last. I was a five year old in a toy shop. Happily ignorant, with a stupid grin on my face. We made our way north to Marstal. It was, admittedly, good to get out of Germany. I have had good times in Germany before, but that overhanging harbourmaster-system-ridden-small-kings-of-small-kingdoms.. well. I will not bore you with details. Besides, my German is rotten. We swapped the courtesy flag for the danish one, and toasted with aquavit when we crossed into danish waters.

It was bliss. It was fun. I got that bachelor thing out of my system and reset. Balm. It was peace, a good book, good people, laughs, stories, good food and a with a sound intake of alcohol. A little anecdote: in the lock of the Kieler canal, a dutch boat was moored to ours. We had a beer each. The dutch guy looks at us, and with slight disgust says “first beer today, yes?” or somesuch. An affirmative but untrue reply. Oh, those Norwegians! The sheer irresponsibility!

On the last leg, from Samsø to Ebeltoft, we had a little more wind. A 5-6 on Beaufords scale or thereabouts. I was happy as the proverbial pig in shit, perched in the cockpit.

Next time, I will bring a couple of good books, trival pursuit, a harmonica and sunscreen. Trust me on the sunscreen.

So now I am in Denmark, in my brothers house, reading books and blogs, dreaming. An old longing reawakened. Och. I guess I will have to try. Should you know of good people crossing to the Caribbean, please call…

To the capt’n and first fender: I am grateful to you for bringing me along.

About my seaworthiness, I still have no real idea.

(pictures here)