Und Achtung: ‘Irgendwie’ ist dieser Eintrag richtig lang geworden ….
Montag, 20.6. – zurück in Karlskrona
Nach unserem Ausflug nach Deutschland wurde am Montag erstmal ausgeschlafen.
Danach nutzt Peter die Zeit, sich Karlskrona näher anzuschauen. Conny und ich bereiteten Augusta für die geplante Abfahrt am kommenden Tag vor und der Mietwagen wird wie geplant am Hotel abgegeben.
Dienstag, 21.6. – Sommeranfang …
Wir machen uns um 11 Uhr auf den Weg. Es hatte in der Nacht angefangen zu regen. Nun ist es immer noch grau in grau und ein frischer Wind weht aus SSE (Süd-Südost) mit 4 Windstärken. Immer wieder ziehen Schauer durch. Es baut sich eine ‘leicht unangenehme Welle’ auf. In der Folge bring Peter ‘einige Opfer’. Wir klären ihn auf, das Opfergaben zum Sommeranfang nicht erwartet werden 😉
Um 1830 Uhr erreichen wir nach 43sm unseren geschützen Ankerplatz für die Nacht, die unbewohnte ‘Insel’ Fimpan.
Peter bringt das Erlebte ebenfalls ‘zu Papier’, ich möchte es Euch nicht vorenthalten. Wissen muss man, das Peter sehr großen Spaß daran hat ‘lyrisch’ zu schreiben … Einige Vokabeln dürften selbst für Muttersprachler in Englisch ungewohnt oder gar unbekannt sein … 😉
Peter beginnt sein Tagebuch wie folgt:
Starship Augusta, Captain’s Log
21st. day of June, in the Year of Grace Two Thousand and Sixteen
Captain: Carsten Esch, Esq.
First Mate: Connie Engelke
Chronicler: Peter Anthony Gallett, Your Devoted Servant
As I pen these lines, Gentle Reader, we sit at anchor in a chilly cove off an abandonned corner of Sweden, where our vessel nods throughout the night, surrounded by a collection of small, desolate islands and a scattering of barren rocks.
Our only earthly companionship is a strident chorus of sea birds and a flotilla of a passing family of swans numbering some 12 individuals, of whom some four or five are cygnets.
How HMS Augusta and her valiant crew of three arrived at this chilly outpost is a tale which must wait for tomorrow, as the hand that types these lines is going to bed, the hour being 11:15 p.m.
Mittwoch, 22.6.
Wir gehen um 0920 Uhr Anker auf und segeln den Kalmarsund Richtung Norden. Um 1840 Uhr erreichen wir den Hafen von Sandvik auf Öland.
Und wieder aus Peter’s Feder:
The cove of yesterday’s refuge has a name, we learn — Bergkvara. With great delicacy we threaded a course through rocks and shallows until we could douse the engine and set sail along a channel of sufficient depth, heading north along Öland Island. Öland is a very long, skinny tongue of land fronting the mainland in rough parallel for some tens of kilometers.
The weather was splendid in every way except for the insistent chill. Skies were exceptionally clear, and a constant wind out of the south east and later the south west propelled us from aft with such favor that by days end, we had progressed nearly fifty nautical miles, or twice the expected.
A sparse scattering of structures could be descried along the mainland coast as well as the facing Öland coast from time to time. At length a fair-sized town appeared mainland-side. This bore the tantalizing name of Kalmar, but as no one was hungry, we passed it by. An abandoned castle appeared eventually along the Öland coast, rather large, with two or three ranks of towers wrought of beige coloured stone. An inspection by binoculars showed this to be derelict indeed, with windows and roof open to daylight.
By eventide, we made harbor. Sandvik harbor is deserted even in this season (late June), owing to the fresh temperatures at these latitudes, though due to pick up in a couple of weeks when the short summer is at zenith. Refreshed in the harbor from my first shower in a couple of days, I set out on foot to explore the town and acquaint myself with how the natives live. A bucolic casualness obtains in the settlement, with open fields invading lawns such that in certain places there was little to distinguish one from the other. The wildflowers of the meadows assimilate with those of the yard in happy congress and stand tall and united with the uncut grasses which reach knee level. The sole inhabitant observed on my expedition was an old lady leading a small dog from a deserted street corner into and across a field in fulfillment of the dog’s customary necessity.
If Denmark and Germany are a strictly clean, discreet and neatly coiffed young maiden with flowers in her hair, Sweden is a toussel-headed child, sleep-scented and endearingly familiar in casual disarray.
Donnerstag, 23.6.
Wir haben uns das nahegelegende Kiddeholmen als Tagesetappe ausgesucht. Eine malerische Bucht gut versteckt im Schärengarten. Wie sich herausstellt so versteckt, das ich einen Fehler bei der Ansteuerung mache und wir kurz ‘auf einen Stein’ auflaufen, weil ich die Einfahrt ‘verwechsel’. Dies geschieht bei langsamster Fahrt, ‘rummst’ aber doch schon gewaltig …. Wir kommen problemlos selbst frei … Eine Mahnung in den kommenden Wochen aufmerksamer zu navigieren. In Kiddeholmen machen wir an einer Boje des SXK fest.
Peter schreibt: We departed desolate Sandvik and made for open water. The winds were so calm that we progress no further than 18 nautical miles in the course of a few hours, and abandoning any notion of further progress, we put in to a cove in the area of Kidderholm. The secluded cove is so thoroughly protected on all sides by wooded islets and barren rocks that extraordinary skill is required to navigate the shallows and rocky surprises of the bottoms. Extraordinary skill doth possess our Courageous Captain Carsten, yet twice our keel met the sea bed in approach under motor, and twice our encapsulated world shuddered with bone shaking violence and alarm. It was decided to abandon the approach in favor of another. This was done, through great effort, consultation of charts and adjustment we squeezed into an opening and found ourselves in a beautiful lagoon surrounded by clumps od shaggy forest and rock. Here we staked claim and prepared to remain for the next two days, expecting lack of wind.
Excepting three or four launches tied up on the distant shore, we had no company other than an assortment of sea birds who made this secluded lagoon their home. Strident calls shot back and forth in different avian languages. A swan or two sailed by. A large cormorant was drying its wings on a distant rock, having emerged from a dive for fish. This was a treat for me, as I had met a cormorant only in literature and pictures. Under binoculars it revealed itself to be just as I thought a cormorant should be. Imagine if you will, Gentle Reader, a large bat about the size of a full-grown turkey, standing on its two legs, with two wing bones sticking straight out, one on either side, held high and parallel to the ground, with a drapery of plumage falling downwards in points. This black-shrouded apparition would be your cormorant drying its feathery laundry.
Nigh onto eventide, another visitor joined us in the cove. Thus we exchanged greetings with a German sloop which dropped anchor some fifty meters from our Augusta. There were on other neighbors at some distance across the cove.
Freitag, 24.6.
Es ist erstmal total Windstill. Der Wetterbericht verspricht ab 14 Uhr Wind. Wir lassen es also erstmal ruhig angehen. Um 1430 Uhr ist immer noch ziemlich Windstill, wir versuchen trotzdem unser Glück und machen uns auf den Weg. Ne knappe halbe Stunde später haben wir dann besten Segelwind und wieder einen Tag mit blauem Himmel. Aus dem ‘Ankerführer’ schauen wir uns Stomsö aus, eine weitere, malerische Bucht (von denen es hier in den Schären hunderte gibt …). Um 2010 Uhr fällt unser Anker in 6.4m tiefes Wasser …
Peter schreibt:
We managed to thread HMS Augusta out of Kiddeholm in the early afternoon. Our sails had been useless all morning. The morning calm kept us “in irons”, and admiring the smooth polish of the lagoon surface which lay like a piece of float glass pressed onto the water. A breath of wind picked up in late morning, and we watched with hopeful anticipation as the surface took on the texture of ising glass. Finally, small ripples gave way to tiny waves; these tiny treasures ripened as the wind picked up, and we made our escape northward. With a respectable south wind of fifteen knots or so, we finished the day with an advance of nearly 30 nautical miles and pulled into yet another lagoon lost amongst an arrangement of hilly islands and boulders. These islands all consist of live rock or enormous boulders, and showed little evidence of topsoil, yet all these rocky protrusions without exception are thickly packed with the shaggy low trees common throught this latitude which, for the record happens to be 57° 30′ lest I be mistaken. Our new pond is placid as a sleeping baby, and the only other vessel is a curious-looking antiquated sloop which looks as if it might have survived the Cold War. This place is called Storm-something-or-other. The Gentle Reader will excuse my imperfect command of Swedish.
Samstag, 25.6. – Es wird heute Mittsommer gefeiert …
… und das Wetter ist grandios. Unterwegs kommen uns bereits einige geschmückte Boote und Fähren entgegen.
Am Nachmittag entscheiden wir uns für den Hafen von Fyrudden. Auf den Weg dahin segeln wir durch enge Fahrwasser.
Um 1740 Uhr sind wir fest. Scheinbar gab es in Fyrudden direkt keine Feier aber auch noch Hinweise auf die Feier.
Peter lädt uns abends in das Hafenrestaurant zum Essen ein. Uns gefällt Fyrudden so gut, das wir auch am Sonntag hier bleiben.
Peter schreibt:
Fyrudden – a rather civilized marina reached at the end of a 30-km trek through patchs of sail-slackening calm. At trick’s end we sat on a restaurant terrace overlooking the harborand indulged our palates, each to his own desire. Captain Carsten enjoyed at last a large Angus-cheeseburger served with a pile of fries, while First Mate Connie tucked into a sensible fried flounder with salad and potatoes. Yours Truly took his pleasure in a slab of cold smoked lox with three boiled potatoes served on a skewer, and dill sauce. A rum ball and slice of chocolate cake were shared around, and we walked off this cornucopia of comfort by taking a stroll through the gravel lanes that serve as streets. Wild flowers and grasses predominate in the gardening scheme here. The gardening aesthetic here is “wilderness natural”, and the use of the lawn mower is sparse. Given the short growing season and the cool growing conditions, it seems sensible to let grow what will, knowing that the result will not get out of hand. The edge of the scattered settlement dissolved into ancient boulders, heath, lichens and mosses.The sun dropped lower as we were promenading, and a chill set in immediately. We betook ourselves eftsoons to our beloved Augusta.
Sonntag, 26.6.
Peter schreibt:
It being decided to tarry yet a day in this charming and populated harbor with its much coming and going of holidaymakers, Carsten and I profited onshore from the luxury of abundant warm water for personal maintenance while Connie laid out a board of salami, cheese, hot rolls, butter, honey and an assortment of jams.
While Capitan Carsten and First Mate Connie after breakfast set about various nautical and galley chores, Your Servant made himself most useful by jumping ship and disappearing into the hills above the harbor. Wandering amongst the dwellings randomly set down and discreetly tucked into wood and hillside, I established and confirmed an appreciation of two aspects of Swedish ambience hereabouts: 1. Domestic architecture, and 2. Flowering fauna.
The iconic Swedish dwelling of this coast would be a squarish bungalow of vertical planking in batting formation, such that there is a distinct impression of vertical striping where the planks do not meet, and thus expose the underlying decking. The structure is painted a dark, rusty red, with trimmings all done up in white. Balconies, verandas and (on larger structures) terrasses are common amenities. These are ballustraded with wooden uprights, commonly painted white or else left au naturel.
Windows present a curious departure from North American taste owing to their more squarish proportions than those commonly seen in our land. When windows of more rectangular aspect are found, these usually repose on the long side rather than stand on the short. Window trim is either plain or nonexistent with the window set directly into the wall without further ceremony or decoration.
This iconic Swedish dwelling will be roofed in orangish tiles which are sharper in profile than the rounded tiles found in Mediterranean lands or parts of the U.S. This presents a pleasing ribbed effect, especially when enhanced by shadow.
This is the basic, local dwelling as Your Servant sees and understands it. There are variations, of course to this essential architecture which the Gentle Reader well can understand. No effort will be made here to examine these intricacies, as this exercise would be beyond the purpose of the present moment.
As reported, these cottages or bungalows are set down almost casually in glades of wild flowers and grasses, with ancient boulders and anguished evergreens showing character bought by hardship. Threading house to house to house are culebrine gravel roads embellished by wild flowers.
This particular brings us to consider the second element of today’s discussion: Local fauna. We make no attempt to identify the unfamiliar specimens that are found in these precincts, as the interested reader can be better served by consulting botanical resources. A superficial description should suffice to give an impression of the primitive beauty of these hardy strivers at Fyrudden, latitude 58°11′ and longitude 16°51′ East of Greenwich.
Hobs of mosses and nobs of lichens crop out from live rock, wooden fences, and tree trunks in great profusion, mottling these items liberally and bedaubing them in shades of greys, greens and yellows. Indeed, any living thing standing still long enough and not painted over is a candidate for embellishment by lichen or moss. Heather we now add to the scaping. These coarse, deep green survivors grow shin to knee height, and produce in proper season a pleasant haze of purple flower. It’s yet too early for this floral display. Blueberry and blackberry brambles can be recognized as well. The blueberries can be found in fruit; their offerings are small and not sweet nor pleasant. Of the blackberries, there are a few flowers in evidence, but no further development of fruit, as their time is not yet.
Wild flowers tend to take one of two tendencies; either they bloom close to the ground or shoot up in stalks and stems. The ground-lovers include the many small white and yellow blossoms that spangle the many yards undisturbed by mowing. There are also white and pruple blossoms that appear to be clovers, but which on closer inspection prove to be other.
The flowering stalks can reach the knee, and offer a pleasing variety of purple, yellow and white flowers all along the shaft. There are purple little bells that droop daintily earthward in series, there is the brilliant “nachtkertzen” or night candle which shoots up a bright yellow spear upholstered in myriad tiny blossoms.
Shoots of a white daisy-like flower and shoots of another frothy white specimen appear in abundance. This latter specimen suggests Queen Ann’s lace by its general impression, but yields upon closer inspection to another interpretation. These shooting plants practice an economy of effort, it seems, in dispensing with unnecessary nether growth in favor of promoting their beauty to the exiguous sun and stinting sky.
Montag, 27.6.
Langsam wird es Zeit einen Absprunghafen für Peter zu finden. Eigentlich wollten wir ihn in Stockholm ‘abliefern’ und hatten auch unterwegs schon einen günstigen Flug für den 30.6. morgens nach Hamburg gebucht. Stockholm werden wir nur mit Mühe in der Kürze der Zeit erreichen. Wir verlassen Fyrudden um 0935 Uhr und entscheiden uns nach Arkösund zu gehen wo wir gegen 1710 Uhr ankommen.
Peter schreibt:
By 9:35 we had cleared the harbor and gazed in fond farewell at the receding sight of rust red building blocks of Fyrudden, spiked with sailing masts from our ertswhile neighbors in the harbour. It would take another hour and a quarter sailing eastward and picking our way between islets and rocks before we would turn northward and set sail toward Stockholm, a good three days away if the winds hold up.
The winds did not hold up. Though the evening forecast had promised a good fifteen knots throughout the day, we languished at great stretches with no more than a baby’s breath to feed the flaccid sails. We resorted at intervals to engine power, and finally surrendered altogether to motor the remaining kilometers, and thus put into Arkōsund harbor in the early evening. Something about the buzz of the harbor provokes the sensation that Stockholm cannot be that far away . . .
Civilization! Lively and congenial, Arkōsund offers an assortment of ice cream parlours, beer pubs, smoked fish take-outs, restaurant-bars, guest houses and whatever other accommodation might be in order for the enjoyment and comfort of holiday makers. Situated on the mainland rather than an island, the harbor attracts abundantly from the countryside pleasure seekers who arrive by motorcar and add their presence to the sea transients. There are miniature golf, kayakking and pleasant wooded walks within a five or ten minute walk of dockside. A friendly civility obtains among the passing populations, as it does is all along the Swedish coast, with Swedes, Germans, Dutch and Norwegians all united under the tacit protocols of helpfulness, good manners and good will.
Our crew of three; Captain Carsten, First Mate Connie, and Your Servant availed ourselves of a luxurious repast of pizza, beer (rosé for Connie), and warm, soft garlic bread slathered with fresh home-made aïoli sauce. This sybaritic indulgence was partaken at an outdoor verandah made quaint with hanging pots drooping swags of purple blossoms. We ate with a passion that suggested we hadn’t been fed in days, and between mouthfuls of mozzarella lava extolled the virtues of the blessings before us. Indeed, the warm bread with fresh aïoli was fare fit for Seraphim.
The quality of the pizza had been enhanced only by hunger and imagination, I realized the next day when I reassessed the matter while well fed and reflecting. In fact, it was awful. The crust had a consistency and leavening not far from matzoh. A few faded red splotches here and there suggested tomato sauce. The cheese ran down and pooled in the center of the pie, carrying within the landslide an assortment of embedded mushrooms and whatnots. The service, on the other hand, was unsurpassable. We were waited upon pleasantly by the charming wife of the pizza cook himself, with great solicitude for our convenience. All told, the pizza served its purpose well in its own time and proper moment, and any further expectation of it in retrospect would be academic.
Dienstag, 28.6.
Unsere letzte Etappe mit Peter, wir entscheiden nach Nyköping zu segeln. Von Nyköping erreicht man in gut einer Stunde mit den Zug Stockholm. Für die Nacht Mittwoch auf Donnerstag bucht Peter ein Hotel im Zentrum der Stadt. Wir machen im Stadthafen fest. Nyköping entpuppt sich als sehr charmantes, idyllisches Städtchen. Wir finden ein tolles Fischrestaurant direkt am Fluss und bekommen einen Platz auf der Terrasse. Das Essen ist super lecker, leider muss etwas mit Conny’s Essen gewesen sein. Nur kurze Zeit vom Essen zurück rollt sie sich mit ‘Magengrummeln’ in ihre Koje, ihr ist extrem schlecht … Das sollte leider noch bis zum nächsten Morgen anhalten …
Mittwoch, 29.6.
Peter’s Abreise. Der Wecker wird früher als sonst gestellt und wir frühstücken ein letztes Mal mit Peter im Cockpit. Um 9 Uhr kommt das bestellte Taxi. Eilig verabschieden wir uns – wir hatten eine tolle Zeit zusammen. Conny und ich gehen danach in die Stadt wo wir auf dem Wochenmarkt Gemüse und Obst einkaufen. Obwohl Nyköping echt nett ist entschließen wir uns, die kommende Nacht wieder vor Anker zu verbringen und laufen um 1150 Uhr aus. Schon um 1320 Uhr erreichen wir Idklubbarna.
