August 4^th: Depending on whether you are coming or going, Vänersborg marks the beginning or the end of the Trollhätte Canal, the ‘add on’ to the Gota Canal that allows you to complete your journey across the country. For about $100 you can traverse its 43nm miles, complete with just six locks. These are deeper than their Gota Canal counterparts, and they are slightly different in that lock walls have multiple indentations with small bollards protruding to allow you to slip your line around on the way up or down. This mean the crew needed two lines, rather than one, slipping the second one over the bollard as it reached about knee height, and once secured, pulling the first line off. This made going down very quick and I don’t believe we ever saw a lockkeeper, everything seemed to be done remotely. Only once did we need to call Channel 9, the recommended channel, to alert someone to our presence. The canal turns into the Gota River and has a couple of small turn offs in the event you needing a place to stop for the night. We made about 30nm that day, pulling in after dark to Skeppsholmen and took the last spot on a jetty bordering the grounds of a fancy hotel. Needless to say we were savoring the easy ride to Gothenburg the following day.

August 5^th: It’s only about 11nm and a couple of lifting bridges to get to our destination, and I had booked a berth via the Dockspot app at Lilla Bommens Hamn, a well equipped marina located right in the heart of town. The very impressive 19^th century four masted ship Viking dominates the entrance to the harbor, and visitors should beware the boat’s long bowsprit, which will dismast the unwary. From there we pulled in without drama, and I bid my family goodbye for now. In a couple of days I had new guests arriving. And a new adventure to begin.

Aug. 1^st: The journey from Toreboda to Sjötorp was busy. 10nm, 19 locks and a dozen remote controlled bridges. But by now we were going downhill, having passed the highest elevation of the trip (91.8m at Forsvik). And downhill was SO much easier. Slide into the locks at the top, no clambering up inclines required. Run the lines through the loop and keep tension on as the water drops. By now the end of the Gota Canal was in sight and we were all feeling a little giddy. Little did we know that the most testing part of the journey lay just around the corner.

     We entered the lock at Sjötorp late in the afternoon. It was a glorious sunny day with a dazzling blue sky as the lockkeeper congratulated us on reaching the end of the road and ceremoniously snipped off the tag from our forestay. Just around the corner we pulled into the harbor which had plenty of space and we tied up and found an excellent lakeside restaurant about ten minutes away, enjoying a good seafood dinner and terrific views of Lake Vänern, which we planned to cross the next day.

August 2^nd: It’s 64nm from Sjötorp at the eastern shore of the lake, to Vänersborg on the south west corner. We left bright and early on a windless day and by 1pm had reached the peninsula of Kallandsö, which, as you can see from the graphic below, boasts a maze of channels and harbors to escape bad weather, but more importantly allows you a shortcut to save time rather than going up and around. I had checked the weather forecast and saw a nasty localized weather system would be blowing 25kts directly onto our nose as we exited the peninsula but it was only 25nm and we had plenty of time and daylight.

     I was wrong. I’m not an experienced lake sailor and although I had read plenty of tales of how uncomfortable motoring into a chop can be, I hadn’t quite expected it to be so bad. I had reefed the main but my boat does not point well at the best of times, and with our repowered Beta Marine engine only giving us 16hp it was slow going. The waves were hitting us about every two seconds, throwing water over the bow and making it very hard to make any headway. Things got better when fell off a little and I was able to get some speed, but all that achieved was allowing me to make 5kts at a 90 degree angle to my destination. To my discredit, I hadn’t fully briefed my family about how lumpy the conditions would be, and they were NOT happy and also a little anxious. After about 90 minutes of persevering I turned the boat around and headed back to the complete shelter of Kallandsö, where we pulled over onto a little jetty two miles up a creek. I opened up a bottle of tempranillo and debriefed the crew about the days’ events. Then I made meatballs and marinara sauce. Suddenly the world seemed a lot better for everyone. I explained that the weather conditions were not going to change for another 3-4 days, and that tomorrow I would put in another reef in the main, swap the headsail out for something smaller and that they should expect uncomfortable conditions for 10-12 hours the following day.

August 2^nd:  My bad feelings about the previous day’s events were tempered somewhat when I filled up with diesel at a tiny marina just down the way from our overnight jetty. I fell into conversation with a local Swede on a Hallberg Rassy who had a similar experience to mine and was going to ‘try again today’. We headed out of the shelter of the peninsula about 9am but the wind had not eased, and to make things more uncomfortable we now had thunderstorms to contend with. The ladies stayed below, leaving just Angus and myself to trim and steer. It was a long, hard, wet beat, and to add to the fun the bunt in my reefed main collected a few buckets of rainwater which it would periodically dump on my head. After the third or fourth time I just had to laugh. This was fun! But the boat was in no danger, it was just uncomfortable. In the end my 25nm as the crow flies rounded out to about 54 nautical miles. Ten hours of hard tacking later the wind eased and the sun came peeking out just as we fetched the safe harbor of Vänersborg marina. My daughter had already scoped out the local restaurant scene, and we essentially just tied up and hopped off for a welcome meal and several bottles of wine. The boat was a mess down below, but that could wait till morning.

Sat. June 2^nd

It’s only about 20nm from Furusund to Norrtälje and the day dawned bright and breezy as we cast off for an easy downwind sail as we headed north.

Turning to port to enter the Norrtälje inlet gave us some nice beam reaching action for about ten miles which was a fun way to finish the trip for my guests. Norrtälje has been written about in these pages many times so I won’t go into detail other than it’s a cute little town with a large, centrally-located gasthamn. And it’s an excellent place for guests to embark or disembark since it is well served by bus lines.

It is also about a $40 Uber ride from Stockholm Arlanda airport. We arrived late in the afternoon and tied up to the usual signature stern buoys. The crew packed, then we popped open some prosecco make aperol spritzes before walking down to the end of the dock to grab a seat at the local restaurant, where we enjoyed an alfresco meal on the terrace while some local geriatric jazzmen serenaded us. My affection for Mike and Murielle multiplied during this crew leg. They were flexible, easy going and handled each early mishap with good humor and patience. I knew I was going to miss them….

Friday, July 1^st. We enjoyed a brisk downwind sail out of Sandhamn and north towards Furusund, all three of us happy to finally put our sails up and enjoy the weather. It’s close to a 30nm sail and we were in search of some good grub. Murielle had discovered an acclaimed local spot named the Furusund Värdshus, just across the water from Blidö, which made a convenient waypoint en route to Norrtälje.

Värdshus is a very interesting word. To my ear the Swedish pronunciation sounds something like ‘verd-shoes’ and it can mean inn, restaurant, B&B, or chop house. There is something evocative and antiquated about the notion of such an establishment. Think of an English costume drama set during the Restoration. An English coaching inn set athwart  a crossroads where protagonists in breeches meet over a roaring fire and enjoy foaming jugs of ale. My imagination may be sailing away from me but that is what I think of. Furusund itself means fairway, so-named because it is located on the main fairway out of Stockholm and into the Baltic, and as such sees a constant stream of passenger and car ferries heading out into the Baltic to Finland, Russia and all points east.  Furusund gasthamn is presided over by a very hardworking Swede who mans a busy gastropub in the harbor, bakes bread and, if you approach the harbor at dinner time, will run out of the kitchen, still wearing an apron and carrying a carving knife, and gesture where you should tie up.

And just five minutes down the road lies the Värdshus, a welcoming and thoughtfully laid out hostelry serving innovative and delicious food, complimented by a stimulating and well executed wine list. The setting of the main dining room is beautiful too…floor to ceiling windows give it the feel of a greenhouse, its borders awash in geraniums and hollyhocks, and while you dine, every now and then one window is filled the flank of a passing ferry heading east. Mike, Murielle and myself enjoyed our best meal here, and I liked it so much I came back just a few days later with my next crew.

Thursday, June 30^th: 11nm almost due south of Paradiset/Idholmen lies Sandhamn (Sand Island). This busy yachting center was always going to be on my itinerary, mainly because it is one of the busiest harbors in the archipelago, complete with fancy hotel and swanky bar, but also because the walk around the island is one of the best in the area. August Strindberg summered here for many years, and it was good enough for him… But also I needed reliable wifi for a work day and I was also in search of an able-bodied young fellow to climb my mast and retrieve my main halyard, which had skied due to a threadbare retrieval line in Blidö when Mike, Mirelle and I set the mizzen following our escape from Grepen Marin. I did not fancy climbing a mast with my foot still so painful, and I certainly was not going to ask my guests to do it. And I was confident I could find someone there to help, since the famed Gotland Runt race was barely a week away and fancy raceboats from across the Baltic’s shores were everywhere, doing some last minute practices and shakedown sails. I quickly found a young German fellow who went up and down in less than three minutes, returning with the halyard and asking no more than a six pack of beer, to which I gratefully added a bottle of rum.

   The mood on the docks that night was festive, to say the least, with dance music echoing through the slips until the wee small hours. But I had my eargplugs, my halyard and some wine inside me, so all was well with the world.

Wednesday, June 29^th: To many local sailors, the large and beautifully sheltered bay of Djupfladen is known simply as Paradiset. I’m sure you can guess the Swedish translation of this word. This bay is about 450 meters wide and long and served by narrow entrances to both the north and south. It boasts superb bows-to locations throughout the eastern and northeastern shore, and an island in the middle with an integral wooden jetty. The water is clean and warm, heated up by the long Swedish summer days. There is also a seasonal ice cream hut where locals can enjoy the delicacy the seem to prize above all others (apart from pizza, perhaps). Latecomers can also find plenty of anchorage spots in the bay, where depths range from 15-30 feet, although very shallow water can surprise the unwary.

As a result this place is usually jammed, and when we visited it was no exception. However, just to the north almost serving as an anteroom for Paradiset proper, is Idholmen, a smaller bay, almost equally as sheltered, where Mike and Murielle were introduced to the delights of bows-to mooring. I put Murielle on the helm while I manned the bow, while we puttered around looking for a choice spot. We had one anxious moment when we ran aground on soft sand doing less than half a knot, but that’s all part of the adventure. Murielle had some misgivings about piloting someone else’s boat directly at a unforgiving piece of granite, but after I assured her of my experience we dropped the stern anchor, guided her in and safely tied up to a couple of trees. Moments later we were drinking chilled white wine amind astounding natural beauty, congratulating ourselves on our good luck. No matter which spot you find yourself in here, you won’t regret it.

The passage from Blidö to Norrtälje is so routine it’s not worth mentioning. Suffice it to say Richard, Mark and I spent a bittersweet few hours in glorious sunshine heading down into the Norrtälje inlet after a week together none of us will soon forget. Mark left the following morning and Richard the following day. That almost brought the summer full circle for me. Now I just had to get the boat up to Öregrund and leave her in the capable hands of the folks at Grepen Marin.

But instead of heading out into the Baltic again I thought it might be fun to take the inland waterway instead. Those clever Swedes have built plenty of these canal-like routes over the years, which bisect fields, meadows, wetlands and sometimes small towns, with reliably-timed rotating or lifting bridges where needed to enable both road and waterborne traffic. Plus the weather was gorgeous and the countryside was heaving with midsummer fecundity. It’s an easy 50nm, nicely broken up by Grisslehamn at the 30nm mark, so an easy two-day jaunt. How could I say no?

For a more interactive version of this map, click the link below.

Although I am now an ardent sailor, my boyhood years were spent on the inland waterways of England, specifically the Thames, and I still have a very soft spot for inland routes. They have a peace and beauty all their own, and the subculture of river life – the towns, hostelries and commerce that have sprung up to support it – are just as resonant and fascinating to me as the wilder shores of the sea. They are just a little more…..domesticated.

https://www.google.com/maps/d/edit?mid=1QnnZzZi_Wn8tbYDHtq_1X5V89yZkGr8A&usp=sharing

For those who haven’t had the pleasure of visiting this amazing country, the beauty of the place in the summer can be a surprise. For those of us lucky enough to be regulars, it really never does get old…

After a very easy two days, I was back in Oregrund. And not a moment too soon. Once I had tied into my slip and enjoyed a chilled beer, I noticed the a cold front coming in. The following morning dawned cold and blustery, which seemed a symbolic transition from another idyllic summer in Scandinavian waters. The crew at Grepen Marin are busy this time of year, and have no interest in lifting the boat out and letting you winterize it yourself. Instead, Lennart, the head honcho, told me somewhat gruffly to just leave her in the slip and he would ‘get round to it’ in a week or so. And although I make it sound suboptimal, it’s a very easy solution for me. I simply gather my things up, empty and scrub the head, fridge, food lockers, etc, wipe down the surfaces with a vinegar/water mix and pack up my dunnage.

There’s many things to look back on at this time, mostly memories of another summer I’ll never forget. But I also look somewhat vainly at myself in the mirror (forgive me my narcissistic moment). I’m always happy at what two months living like a viking does to my body, both in shape and hue. But I always need a good shave too, since you can have too much of a good thing.

As I put the boat away and began the voyage back to Los Angeles in August of 2019 I had no idea of the changes about to sweep the world in the coming months. The global pandemic meant there was no return to Sweden for me in 2020, or 2021 come to that. At time of writing my ticket is booked and my passages planned for summer 2022.

Friends are scheduled to join me and I’m hoping for a year of renewal, not just for me, but for the world at large. The plan is to revisit the Aland Islands, and the Stockholm Archipelago, before heading down to Gotland and from there traversing the Gota canal to Sweden’s famed west coast before putting the boat away in Henan for another year. After that, who knows?

Wherever life on Arcturus takes me, I hope you’ll come along for the ride.

Thanks for your time…and fair winds to you all.

https://www.google.com/maps/d/embed?mid=1rXVjOk2Ez_LwaU6reyLECegk1u92bnWO&ehbc=2E312F

Full disclosure: I am not a map-maker. I know there are plenty of clever folks out there using Google Earth, KMZ files and AIS updates to make stunning, hi-res images with step-by-step passage details. Well, I am not one of them. But the above Google Map will give a broad outline of my summer travels. Starting at Oregrund in the upper left of the map, we traveled down to Grisslehamn, across the Mariehamn, then eastwards to Talinn and Helsinki. The Finnish capital was our ‘weather mark’, before we headed back whence we’d come, taking a more northerly route to allow a stop in Turku before heading back to Mariehamn, then across the Baltic to Blido, Nortallje and home to Oregrund. The noforeignland site is useful for sailors but unless you insert a series of detailed waypoints, it’s map function does give the impression of sailing across dry land. Obviously that’s not the case.

Sun. 07/21/19

Dep. 9.33am Arr. 4.44pm. 42.3nm 7 hr. 11mins

For a pdf of this route, click HERE

Blido is a compact and charming small gasthamn which I have mentioned in these pages before, but the real tale of this passage was the passage itself.

Crossing the Baltic can, in theory be quite daunting given the unpredictability of the conditions, but Sunday July 21 dawned bright and clear and the wind was forecast for 12 knots on the beam. It promised to be a gorgeous day’s sail and so it proved. We hoisted sail barely a quarter of a mile outside Rodhman harbor in Finland and didn’t put them away again until we were 400m from our destination in Sweden. Under cornflower blue skies, with temperatures in the high 60s and a moderate swell, we enjoyed a dream of a passage, averaging just over six knots all day long. The 42 mile passage was eaten up in just over seven hours with Mark mainly at the helm, grinning like a demented fellow at how good the conditions were.

                  There was not much other traffic out there, just a few cargo ships and the odd ferry on the horizon. It was not until we were well within Swedish waters that we saw any other leisure vessels, and we came into Blido without fuss, tying up on the stern buoy and securing our lines, ravenous for a good meal at the excellent restaurant, Blidohamnkrog https://blidohamnkrog.se/

 just up the hill which doubles as a harbor control. After the more Spartan options in Finland it was clear we were back in a more luxurious part of the world from the exotic cocktails on offer. I don’t remember exactly what we started with but we soon moved on to some ice-cold rosé and pizza while Richard opted for his usual choice of minute steak with béarnaise sauce and fries. Finland is great. But so is Sweden!

Sat. July 20, 2019: When I visited these waters in 2018 I was lucky enough to strike up a conversation with Christian Juslin, a leading Finnish operatic tenor, through a chance meeting at the harbormaster’s office in Rodhamn, a charming little island just a few hours sail from Mariehamn.

Christian was a very friendly fellow and fascinated at the notion of an Englishman sailing an American boat in Finnish waters, and had come aboard Arcturus and shared some invaluable locations for off-the-grid bows-to anchorages nearby.

         We had stayed in contact on social media and he invited me to meet for a drink when I had visited two weeks previously. I couldn’t make it work then, which worked out gloriously to my favor this time around. Turns out Christian was celebrating his 50th birthday on Saturday out on Rodhamn with friends and family and would I like to attend?

Is the Pope a Catholic?

On Friday we decamped to Björkör which was as wonderful as usual, but given its many mentions in these pages I will move on. Suffice it to say Mark and Richard were blown away by its charms. On Saturday we cast off around 10am for the easy 5nm journey to Rodhamn and tied up in its capacious but well sheltered harbor. The harbor master took our payment and directed us to walk ‘just up and over the hill’ where we’d find the party, which started at 2pm.

         Donning our best summer party clothes the three of us headed up there and were charmed by what we found. A marquee in jaunty red with two long tables, covered in white linen with fine silverware and china. Plenty of wine and Brannvin, the local aquavit, and some excellent food to follow. But most impressive were the people; warm, welcoming Finns of all ages who spoke perfect English and made us feel most at home. Christian even seated me at the head of the table next to his mother and a leading Finnish soprano. What followed was one of the most amazing days of my life. Imagine a perfect summer day with blue skies and a sky dotted with fluffy clouds. The most gorgeous alfresco setting among the granite outcroppings, covered with lichen and heather, with wildflowers dancing in the gentle summer breeze. First came some toasts and drinking songs. Now I’ve heard those songs before, sung at the summer home of a very dear Swedish friend, but when they are sung, at length, with alternating choruses and harmonies from a chorus of full-throated Finnish opera singers, it is a very different beast.

         Then came the speeches. Heartfelt, deeply personal reflections from Christian’s friends and family before the birthday boy himself rose, speaking of the love and support from his family and his early mentors and teachers. All of these words were interspersed with music, arias from operas both classic and obscure, while an electric organ, harnessed to a small gas-powered generator, played along. It was simply sublime. Every now and then Richard and Mark would catch my eye with their jaws agape as if to say: can you believe what we are experiencing?

Yes, it was that kind of day.

         I’m an emotional fellow at the best of times and I’m also an opera lover. A couple of the arias I heard that day brought tears to my eyes. And as this glorious afternoon reached its conclusion, one of Christian’s boyhood music teachers, a huge bear of a man probably in his mid-70s but with a glint in his eye of a man half his age, gave an unforgettable rendition (in English) of “What A Wonderful World”.

         At that moment, it most certainly it was.

         As the party broke up around 9pm Mark, Richard and I wandered back to the boat, processing and retelling what we had just experienced. We had an 11pm sauna date so after a couple of drinks Mark and I changed and wandered back to the waterfront hut that is probably my favorite sauna in this part of the world. For perhaps half an hour we roasted in there, neither of us saying much, just absorbing how wonderful life can be if you open yourself up to new experiences. Once we went outside to dive into the chilly water and savor the sun setting over the fir trees on the far shore, we got a little more voluble. We were both ready to hit our bunks by then, secure in the knowledge that this was a day neither of us would ever forget.

Wed. 07/17/19

Dep. 9.10am Arr: 2.29pm. 22nm. 5 hours, 19mins

For a pdf of this route, click HERE

The sun was shining as we left Degerby en route to Mariehamn, where we were scheduled to rendezvous with my friend Mark W from Los Angeles. He’s a fine sailor and an even better companion, and I knew he and Richard would hit it off just fine. We hoisted sail soon after leaving port and I was eager to run under jib and jigger in about 14kts of wind, mainly because it requires less maintenance, allowing me to experiment with the Cap Horn windvane. We actually got her working pretty well for about three hours, but then a series of windshifts plus  the wind dropping suddenly to about 4 knots meant we abandoned our efforts and fired up the genny to meet Mark shortly after his ferry arrived from Stockholm at 2.30pm.

         Mark is well known in my sailing circle for his fondness for florescent green sailing gear. Whether this is because he likes the color or just wants to be seen if he goes overboard I don’t know, but I remarked to Richard that I’d bet him $20 that we’d see on the dock easily because of his garb. And I was right. Mariehamn was hosting a power boat convention and in keeping with their busy schedule, they now had a RIB come out to greet us and guide us to our berth. As we approached there was Mark, – or dear old Wilson as I love to call him after the volleyball that keeps Tom Hanks company in Castaway.

After an embrace  we immediately cracked open a few beers and I told him of my adventures so far while he did the same about his recent trip to France, from where he had joined us. We later decamped to the sauna to introduce him to the finer things in life in this part of the world, before Richard made us a stupendous dinner of smoked salmon, potato salad and fresh greens. With beer, wine and good company, it felt like another wonderful beginning.

                  I was also surprised to see another American flagged boat in residence, a large Hanse named Maverick from Rhode Island. I skulked around the dock until the owners came back and was intrigued to learn that the Newport YC had partnered with the Royal Swedish Sailing Association and brought about a dozen boats over from the States the previous winter for a serious season of sailing on both the east and west coasts of Sweden, including a jaunt over to the Aland islands. I guess word of this magical place is spreading….

Tues. 07/16/19.

Dep. 12.31pm. Arr: 7.03pm. 36nm 6 h 32 min

For a higher resolution image of this route, click HERE

If the previous day’s passage had given us intermittent bad weather, the following day was more of the same. It was cold, wet and miserable, with the wind on The nose for the first three hours, followed by late afternoon sunshine with a fresh breeze which made for a glorious final two hours of sailing, the wind dying just as we approached the harbor.

     Richard was feeling under the weather, which left me helming alone in my waterproofs while he hunkered down below in the forepeak. But at least the scenery was beautiful and there was no swell to deal with. The waters here have so many islands that it’s almost like sailing in an inland delta where a thousand rivers converge. En route we didn’t see much traffic – I think most folks stayed in harbor – but there were a couple of local passenger ferries, plus we did get to see the sweet anchorage at Banö On where we spent an idyllic night last year.

     By late afternoon the weather finally lifted and as we approached Lotsudden gasthamn on Degerby’s west end the sun had appeared and cast the landscape in that glorious golden glow that can last for hours in these parts. We tied up without incident on an end tie and settled down for dinner. I did walk a little way around the island to capture the scene on the drone, but I quickly abandoned the effort, realizing I had been more than virtuous for the day. Sometimes sailing is like that. The only way out, is through. And when you get there, it’s easier than you feared.

Monday 7/15/19

Dep. 11.44 Arr. 7.34pm 36nm. 7 hours 49 mins

For a higher-resolution map of this route, click HERE:

Richard arrived from Spain on Sunday afternoon and after a pleasant few hours of catching up and dinner on the terrace of the nearby Nood restaurant, I was more than ready to cast off for Näsby, about 40nm to the west. Richard (who often goes by the nickname ‘Tricky’), came bearing gifts, including a very cool matching set of Henri Lloyd foulies, which will stand me in good stead on future passages.

The good weather of the previous two days had disappeared and we faced grey skies, occasional rain and some shifty winds for much of our passage. Richard adapted to helming pretty quickly while I navigated – he was always decent on the tiller when he first joined me back in 2016 and he seemed to have remembered almost everything. The passage was the usual mixture of wind shadows, sudden puffs, dodging rocks and skerries and trying to decide if we had too much sail up, or not enough. In the end we opted for a full main and 140% genoa and I stayed on main trim dumping the wind when necessary. We sailed for perhaps three hours before the finally died and the rain started in earnest.

  Näsby is the island but the harbor is actually called Houtskär, and is beautifully sheltered in a deep inlet, which perhaps explains its popularity. At first blush it looked full, and there were at least a couple of latecomers dropping the hook nearby, but our shallow draft allowed us to find a spot close to the marina office and we squeezed in.

  It was apparent that this island is quite a destination for nature-minded Finns, and not all them on sailboats. I was soaking wet and ready for the sauna which was very crowded, with lots of children and adults roasting together in a box-like room. It was a little unnerving walking in but I broke the ice by toasting the crowd with the ice cold beer I had brought with me, and when they heard the English accent they were all eager to chat.

  There is a pretty good café here serving breakfast lunch and dinner and as an added bonus it also has fast wi-fi – although that’s a given in most places with those hi-tech Finns. The service could not have been more friendly and the price was 26 euro for the night’s berth. With Richard replacing me in the galley we enjoyed an excellent meal of chorizo and potatoes, washing it down with a cheeky Spanish tempranillo. So good to have an old friend on board!

Fri. 7/11/19

Dep 11.03am arr. 8.07pm. 39.5nm. 9 hours 4 mins.

For a higher-resolution map of this route, click HERE:

Fri. 12th: This was Grace and Knut’s last full day on the boat and we had a long passage to make. Since I wanted to arrive in good time and enjoy a good dinner with them both before their departure the following day I decided to follow the path of least resistance and motor all the way unless conditions made it impossible.

We left  around 11am and the wind kicked up a couple of hours later as the channel leading to Turku began to gradually close in on us. We were passed by dozens of large ferries en route, Turku being one of the most important maritime hubs in the country. As you approach Turku the bay divides to the west and north east, the latter of which is the mouth to a river which runs through the town. Soon we were passing ferry terminals and landing bays for commercial ships before heading right into the center of  town at tying up in Turku’s main marina, which has room for perhaps 40 vessels bows-to with berths separated by pilings, for about $40 for the night. Fortunately I had booked my spot in advance, which was just as well since it was the last open space remaining. Coming in around 8pm my instructions to the crew were rather drowned out by a thrash metal band performing at moored barge on the other side of the river, but fortunately they quit within an hour.

   The Turku waterfront is really the heartbeat  of the city in summertime. It is lined with restaurants and bars, all of which were overflowing the locals and visitors. Knut did some research and booked a table for three  at the nearby Bassin restaurant and it proved an excellent choice. We enjoyed some delicious oysters and tostskagen for an appetizer, before they moved on to grilled local whitefish, while I opted for  trout, which was excellent. We shared a Gooseberry posset for dessert and washed it all down with a bottle of white burgundy and another of sauvignon blanc from the Loire. To our delight the restaurant had a nightclub upstsairs where we repaired for gin and tonics and dancing. It was a very special night bidding adieu to a very special crew.

Wed. 7/10/19

Dep 12.18pm, arrive 5.57pm. 24.7nm. 5 hrs. 39 mins.

For a higher-resolution map of this route, click HERE:

Wednesday dawned bright and sunny with good wind that promised a brisk passage to Kasnäs. By now my initial conservative sail plan had given way to a more confident outlook and with about 10 knots on the beam we hoisted full main, 140% genoa and mizzen for a brisk sail with the wind alternating from a beach reach to close hauled.

Grace and Knut swapped on and off at the helm while I concentrated on navigating. But while the day stayed sunny as the afternoon wore on the wind eased and by 3.30 were were barely moving under a full press of sail, although our tans were certainly progressing nicely. Soon the wind kicked back in however and we enjoyed a brisk sail right to the entrance of of the Kasnä harbor, before we dropped sail and fired up the genny.

The harbor is divided into outside and inside berths and I tried to find an inside option before discovering all the choice spots were private. No surprise there, I suppose. As the wind continued to rise I was forced to turn the boat around in tight quarter that left my crew – and a couple of the local boatowners – a little nervous, but we made it out without incident and came in on an outside berth with stern buoy. Once we tied up snugly and our heart rates returned to normal we had a look around, noting clean and modern facilities, a nice terraced bar overlooking the marina, laundry, sauna showers and quite a large restaurant – or raventola, as the Finns call it. There were holiday chalets lining the marina area suggesting this was a not just a destination for yachties. We had dinner on the boat and one bottle of wine turned into two. I was eager to turn in because I had a deadline the following day, but Knut and Grace felt differently, and I believe they woke me up around 2am to watch a huge, lustrous Finnish moon rise in the distance. It was quite a moment.

Thurs. 11th: For me the day was consumed with a newspaper deadline but Grace and Knut took the chance to explore. I did take a break at tea time and I was very glad I did. On the advice of the harbor master we took a ten minute walk up the road to the most adorable tea house, nestled in the forest down a quiet lane. The grounds were awash in granite outcroppigs and local wildflowers, and three of us ordered tea. Hibiscus for the crew, green tea for me. The tea came with a tray of freshly-baked focaccia with three toppings, including a spicy aoli and a yummy onion marmalade. Since they had fast wi-fi I stayed to work while the crew headed back to Arcturus. Twenty minutes later the heavens opened and I spent a very enjoyable hour inside the tea shop, sitting in a comfortable chair and listening to the pulsating percussion of a Finnish rainstorm on the corrugated iron roof. It was quite a special moment.

Tues 7/9/19:

Dep. 11am. Arrive: 2.37pm 20.5nm. 3 hrs 37 mins.

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The day dawned cloudy but rain free as the last of the previous night’s storm drifted away. Knut and Grace marveled out our rustic mooring, taking plenty of pictures of our bows-to setup before departure. And Grace, an avid yogi and  meditator, made sure to do a couple of inversions in front of the boat to get her blood flowing.

   Hanko was our destination about 20 miles distant. We cast off about 10am and had good wind but I was initially quite conservative in my sail plan, since I wasn’t sure how broad the preferred channel would be and the wind can be very shifty and unpredictable. We started with a reefed main and jib until we were overtaken by a smaller boat carrying a husband and wife and two toddlers. Both Grace and Knut looked at me quizzically as we were overtaken, so I quickly swapped out the jib for the genoa, shook out the main and we were soon moving along at a brisk 6kts with a good breeze on the beam.

Grace proved very adept on the helm, keeping the telltales flying while Knut trimmed like a champ. Gradually we were joined by about a dozen other boats also heading towards Hanko and as we turned to weather for the last five miles we enjoyed some brisk upwind work not unlike a Wednesday night race back in California.

   Hanko is quite a large marine center, with three harbors adjacent to each other, but the main one, the largest of the three, was clearly the best in terms of available berths and facilities. In addition to easy stern buoy and pontoon berths, the place had excellent modern facilities, a superb restaurant and top-notch sauna. It also seemed like it hosted big regatta events, because there were numerous pennants and advertising collateral posted around, featuring an upcoming regatta sponsored by Mercedes Benz. After the rustic night we had just spent in Jussarö, this was another world. The berth for the night cost 42 euros, which was a little more than I was used to spending but still good value.

As afternoon gave way to evening the weather brightened and we took the water taxi across to the town for a decent dinner and bottle of wine at an Italian restaurant. After the wine we were not quite ready to head back to the boat – plus it was still bright daylight at 9.45pm, so we went to a Karaoke bar where, apart from a Ukrainian couple, we were the only patrons. After a couple of vodka tonics my karaoke monster was unleashed, and I performed Mac The Knife, Back in the USSR and Bust a Move while Grace did an adorable rendition of These Boots Were Made For Walking. All in all it was a good day’s sailing with some fun bonding for the three of us, but we were all stifling yawns by 11pm and ready to turn in.

Monday 7/08/19

Dep. 11.39. Arrive 9.50pm. 47.7nm. 10hr 11 mins

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Because we had pulled in late and tired to the Old Town Marina the night before and because they were still battling jet lag, Knut and Grace were happy to forgo a visit to Old Town Talinn until Monday morning, so we spent a couple of hours sightseeing, enjoying the street performers and visiting the city’s oldest coffee house for some caffeine and pastries.

The cobbled stones and authentic Baltic feel of the Old Town is really a special experience, but we didn’t linger, heading back to the boat to cast off our lines shortly after 11.30. Within a few minutes of leaving the harbor we had plenty of wind and so raised sail, enjoying a lively beam reach in 10-12 knots heading NNW for about 5 hours.

But somewhere in the  middle of the Gulf of Finland the capricious wind decided to ease. We tried hoisting the mizzen, which mitigated the easing wind a little but we were still forced to fire up the engine around 4.30pm. As evening approached so did the first islands of Finland, and the last two hours saw us motoring in a glassy calm between rocks, skerries and forested islands as Knut and Grace marveled at the beauty. Turning up towards towards Jussaro shortly after 9pm we saw a worrying sign: two boats at anchor outside the compact harbor – which could only mean it was full.

But the silver lining was that the shore on the far side – barely 400m from the harbor, looked very promising as a bows-to anchorage. With the skies darkening with imminent rain I outlined the sequence of actions the crew needed to take and took a quick recce to finalize our spot. I then circled back out, put Grace on the helm and made our approach, dropping the stern anchor four boats lengths out in 30 feet of water. I then gave clear instructions from the bow to the helm for the approach, and we tied off to three separate points without incident. Just in time, as the heavens opened and we quickly scurried below for a glass of wine and some music while I made a butternut squash curry with jasmine rice. The only slight fly in the ointment was that in my haste to get out of the rain I had not quite secured the bowlines tightly enough, causing a couple of bumps on the keel. After dinner I bit the bullet  and went topside in the rain to tighten the lines properly, ensuring we all had a peaceful sleep while the rain pitter-pattered on our cabin roof.

Dep. 9.08am Arr. 5.40pm 46.1nm. 8 hours 32 minutes

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Friday July 5th: Kevin packed his belongings quickly and stepped off the boat a little before 9am. He had been an excellent crew mate and he seemed eager to repeat the experience in 2020. I would certainly be happy to have him on Arcturus again.

But time and tide wait for no man so I quickly prepped for departure and headed out into the Gulf of Finland shortly after 9am. The wind was very light so I motored under mainsail alone all day. There was a bit more wind in the middle of the Gulf of Finland but not enough to tempt me. I tied up in Helsinki Marina, which is ideally located in the heart of town, around 5.40pm. The boat was quite a mess after ten days with Kevin and myself so job one was cleaning her up so she could receive visitors. I was scheduled to meet with Knut M and Grace F, another two sailors from my home port, the following day.

Sat. 6th. I was up early scout the neighborhood and spent an interesting hour walking through the waterfront, which was hosting an American classic car convention. There were plenty of classic Buicks, Dodges and more on display and the sense of dislocation was heightened by the fact that the attendees were dressed appropriately in denim, black boots and even a few baseball caps sporting Confederate flags. I was also happy to see a busy farmer’s market selling fresh local produce and a few food stands dotted around. I arranged to meet Grace back at the boat at 11.30am and together we walked into town hunting for supplies, groceries, ceramic knives, dish towels, etc. We found everything we needed (and something we didn’t) at the Stockman department store. It was raining off and on and I opted to buy a ‘cheap’ umbrella. Either through fatigue or not paying attention I shelled out $75 for a garish Marimekko umbrella but by the time I got back to the boat and realized my error I couldn’t be bothered to take it back.

Knut had taken up residence in a waterfront bar right by my boat, sheltering from the driving rain outside. Grace and I met up with him for a quick beer and thence to the boat. We enjoyed an Italian meal at a local restaurant and a bottle of wine before turning in. Grace had the forepeak and Knut and I shared the main cabin.

Sun. 7th: Departed for Talinn about 9am after brief knot tying and fender briefing. Motored the whole way in very light air. Dinner on the boat (meatballs and new potatoes). Followed by drinks and conversation. I didn’t know either of these folks very well but it was soon obvious that we would all get on like a house on fire. The passage to Talinn was uneventful so I won’t dwell on it, as much more interesting passages awaited us.

Wed. 7/3/19

Dep. 8.40am arrive 6.18pm. 52.3nm. 9 hrs 38 minutes.

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Given that this was longest passage of our trip and that I needed to be reasonably alert for my newspaper deadline the following day, I made the decision that speed was more important than sailing. The wind started off light as we motored out and turned south east towards the Estonian capital of Talinn. It built during the day, as did the swell, but sailing dead downwind is not my favorite option. If the passage were only 25nm rather than 50, and were I not going into a new harbor in a new country where I had no idea of the bureaucracy which awaited me, I would have opted for some deep jibing angles and taken a little longer. But that was not the case. So we motored with a growing swell behind us and made very good time in increasingly sporty conditions.

As usual Kevin was an absolute champ at the helm, and we were surprised at the number of ferry ships that passed us en route. The Talinn-Helsinki run is clearly a very well traveled route. Shortly after 6pm we pulled in to the big harbor where the cruise ships dock, before turning into the narrow channel to the Old Town Marina where I had booked a berth for two  nights. Facilities were excellent and security seemed at a premium compared to what we had just experienced. Upon arrival you are essentially trapped in the marina behind a tall fence until you call the marina office on the intercom and are given a passcode. You then pay for your berth in the excellently equipped club house, where service was efficient but, by Scandi standards a little stone-faced. We found this to be the case in Talinn, where the long occupation by the Russians seems to have hardened some of the locals.

    Other good features of the marina were an excellent nearby supermarket and a superb liquor store, where I spent $200 on wine, beer and liquor for the hard-drinking company I was expecting later in the trip. We had a quick dinner on the boat before taking a brief look at Old Town and then turning in.

   Thursday brought deadline for me while Kevin explored. Since it was his last night on the boat before heading to Riga for a mini European tour, he kindly bought me dinner in old town at a meat -eaters paradise. We feasted on a huge platter of dead animals, where a glistening pig knuckle took pride of place, topping a supporting cast of meatballs, sausages chicken thighs and sauerkraut. Cue food coma. At least for me.

Tuesday 7/2/19

Dep. 11.31am arr 7.41pm. 40nm. 8 hours, 10 minutes.

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You Can’t Always Get What You Want….

Thanks to Messrs Jagger and Richards for that sentiment, which was foremost in my mind after our adventures in Modermagan Bay. I had promised Kevin he would have at least one bows-to experience during his trip on Arcturus and I had scoped out Modermagan Bay as the perfect place to do it. It was a longer stretch (40nm) than usual but it would leave us well placed to fetch Talinn the following day. By now Kevin was used to the boat and I could trust him to helm calmly and efficiently for hours on end. We again had steady winds on our starboard quarter in the 12-14kt range which was perfectly in the Arcturus wheelhouse and made for an enjoyable and drama free sail to our destination. When we arrived it was picturesque enough but we were disappointed to find there were no good granite rocks to tie up to. The only decent area on the north end of the bay was dotted with green buoys, and a passing yachtsman dropping the hook told me this indicated it was a private club. But on the way in I had seen some promising looking rocks that would have provided good shelter from the wind, which had now moved to the north west.

It was also starting to rain a little and the clouds were darkening the skies more by the minute. It was also closing in on dinner time so I determined to attempt a bows-to mooring here and see if we were sufficiently sheltered. And so we were. Working in concert we dropped anchor and secured the line to three points off the bow. Kevin was impressed with my skill and frankly so was I. We hunkered down for dinner and enjoyed our sheltered little spot in a wide bay with nothing but granite rocks, pine forests and gun metal grey water to keep us company. As Mick Jagger so aptly put it, you can’t always get what you want, but sometimes you get what you need.  

Monday: 7/1/19

Dep. 11.06am arr: 5.20pm. 31.7nm 6 hours 14 minutes

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With the wind howling we both had only a fitful sleep in Jurmo. I rose at 4am to fix a particularly clanging halyard and didn’t really sleep much thereafter, thanks mainly to Kevin creeping up silently behind me while I was working and giving me a manic grin as I turned around. There’s a reason his nickname on our race team is cowbell…

The Finns we were docked with showed no inclination to leave early given the conditions, so we followed suit and waited until around 11am, when conditions finally eased and we were able to clear the harbor and hoist sail for Rosala. We thus enjoyed probably the best sailing of Kevin’s stay, with winds blowing 14-16 on the quarter and us enjoying a lively  passage under jib and jigger alone. I left most of the helming to Kevin, preferring to navigate and make braggy videos for fellow sailors at home.

   The only slight fly in the ointment was that as we approached the Rosala gasthamn (guest harbor) we were feeling a little too confident and decided to tack up the narrow channel. As usual we were quickly put in our place as Arcturus got backwinded by a sudden windshift, meaning I had to fire up the engine in a hurry, jibe around to the wider bay behind us and drop sails before motoring the short distance into the harbor. Lesson learned again, I hope.

   Rosala itself is a picture-perfect spot with berths for perhaps 30 boats, but it was mostly deserted. There was a small but well-provisioned harbor master’s office, decent showers and the hottest sauna I have ever enjoyed. The berth was cheap at 15 euros but the sauna was 20. But 35 euros for that experience was cheap at twice the price. The harbor is nicely sheltered and with the wind dying almost completely, we enjoyed a very full and deep night’s sleep.

Sun 6/30

Dep. 11.47. Arr. 6.0225. 3 nm. 6h 15mins.
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The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

I often use that old chestnut to provide solace when the day’s sailing was not great or the destination is suboptimal, and that was certainly the case today. When we rose a little after 6.30am the water was like glass. With a 24nm passage ahead of us there was no need to start early, so Kevin and I walked to the Seafarer’s Chapel a couple of miles away to enjoy the peace and reflection of a house of worship and marvel at the well-tended graveyard, with almost every headstone brightened by a posy of local wildflowers. This being Sunday I stuck my head inside the chapel to see if there was a service, but we may have been too late – or too early. But I stayed there in quiet contemplation for a moment or two and was rewarded by the organist playing a couple of lovely ecclesiastical works that I remembered from my childhood but could not name. I sought him out a little later than thanked him for making my day.

 We departed Kökar a little before noon and motored for just over six hours across a glassy sea to reach Jurmo. The wind was right on the nose so we averaged less than 4kts, and when it did arrive, we discovered the island is  just a speck of land of no great appeal unless you are a birder, because it is an avian sanctuary. The compact harbor can fit perhaps 30 boats and there were perhaps 15 there, mostly Finnish flagged.  The only event that livened up the boring landscape was encountering a herd of alpaca which supply wool for the island’s cottage industry of making soft but warm scarves, mufflers etc. One in particular took a liking to me and tried to hump me. I guess it was my lucky day.

   With the wind rising we hunkered down on Arcturus for the evening. I made lemon risotto for dinner and caught up with some work with the wind beginning to howl through the rigging.

Sat. 6/29. 

Dept  10.19am arrive 4.53pm. 25.4nm. 4 hours 34mins

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The day dawned clear and sunny in Björkör and thus far we had seen no sign of Kaj, the diminutive park warden who lives in nearby Degerby and who makes the journey by boat to Björkör most days, weather permitting, to keep an eye on the livestock, mend the fences, trim the grasses and show visitors around the remarkable museum house which captures 19th century Äland life in amazing detail. But just as we were prepping to cast off there he was, with a twinkle in his eye and a lilt in his voice, like Tom Bombadil in The Hobbit. He wished us well and urged us to visit later in the summer, but didn’t seem eager to engage in protracted conversation.

So we cast off at 10.19am in clear and sunny skies with a not a breath of wind for perhaps an hour. But approaching noon it built to 8-10 but it was forecast to rise further, so we hoisted a reefed main and genoa. By 2pm it was clear the winds were going to stay light so we shook out the reef and averaged an easy 5.5kts until we reached Kökar. I’ve mentioned this island in previous posts so I don’t need to go into too much detail other than to say Kevin and I enjoyed an  absolutely sublime sauna right on the water before a dinner of meatballs with boiled new potatoes and a arugola salad and for me, a bottle of white wine.

   The only slight fly in the ointment was that I earned the ire of one of my neighbors by flying my drone over the harbor in the gathering twilight. I’m still learning how to operate this clever little gizmo but I guess having what sounds like an electronic wasp buzzing through the anchorage for 5 minutes is just too much for some folk. What can I say? Live and let live!

Fri. 6/28/19

Dep 11.16am, arr: 3.18pm. 15.5nm. 4 hours 2 minutes

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With my newspaper deadline safely out of the way Kevin and I rose early and grabbed a shower and sauna.

Given the long hours of daylight I’m not a stickler for early rising and departure, but the jet lag was still lingering, making it impossible to stay abed much after 6am. The front that arrived the previous day was still blowing hard down onto our starboard quarter, so we lingered for an hour or two in the hope that conditions would ease a little, but by midmorning it became clear they would not. To our port was an expensive gin palace which I was eager not to allow myself to be blown down onto. So instead of releasing the windward line I had Kevin use it as a warp, keeping it taut and easing the line out through the loop as we backed out. Because of the windage I needed to gun the engine more than I would normally do, which was nerve wracking but probably the right course given that we immediately gained headway.

   I had mentioned to Kevin that given the protected nature of many of the waterways and the limited swell it was common practice for Swedish and Finnish sailors to go downwind under jib alone. We tried it for about an hour with my jib and Kevin at the helm to gain experience, moving at a modest 4kts before a much better sailed and trimmed boat  with mainsail up went past us and our racer instincts got the better of us. I swapped out the jib for the 145% genoa and tried to raise the main before realizing the reefing lines were led wrongly. There is always a learning curve when you get back on a boat after almost a year away! But we were sailing on a beautiful boat on a gorgeous day, so there was no point in reproaching ourselves too harshly. The main finally went up correctly, and we enjoyed a good downwind sail, until we approached my favorite island of Björkör, then sailing under genoa alone, jibing our way through a couple of tight passages till we reached that magnificent little spot with its harbor deserted. We tied up at 3.13pm. The sun was shining and our mood was buoyant.

Wed. 6/26/19 – Grisslehamn to Mariehamn (Västerhamn).

Dep. 11.06am. Arr. 10.15pm. 48.6nm. 11 hours 9mins.

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The day dawned much like the last one. Grey and drizzly with not a hint of wind. After breakfast and a little stroll into town where we grabbed the first fika (coffee break) of the trip we cast off our lines about 11am, heading north for a couple of hours to the first opening into the Baltic before turning to starboard and heading towards open water. I had calculated a six hour crossing but that was not factoring in the three hours it took us to reach the channel leading to the sea. We crossed under grey skies and calm seas motoring the whole way. About 6pm the skies cleared and as we entered the Mariehman fairway it was gloriously sunny and clear.

We tied up in the shadow of the Pommern about 8pm for a total passage of 9 hours. So lovely to be here again. I was still battling jet lag and kept hitting walls of tiredness but at 10pm we walked around the town and oriented ourselves. Kevin was knocked out by the place. Not just the facilities at the ASS Marina (Åland Sailing Society), but being docked in the shadow of the beautiful Pommern, a very impressive, Glasgow-built four-masted tall ship that plied the Cape Horn trade route to Australia in the 19th century before being retired as a museum. Mariehamn has a rich maritime history as a supplier of Cape Horners and that history is on display everywhere you go in this wonderful little town.

Thurs 6/27: I was woken about 4am by a rising wind. The front forecasted was arriving and I was glad this was our lay day. By 9am it was blowing 20+ knots down the channel and so I headed into town to the library to get some work done, stopping off en route at the En Marine store for some shackles and clips and mooring compensators to make docking at harbor easier for my crew. I jammed through some work before heading home.

Tuesday 6/25/19.

Dep: 4pm. Arr: 7.30pm. 19.5nm. 3h 30 mins

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The long summer days at this latitude allow sailors to really pack in a full day. It’s quite routine to put in a 14-hour day from 5am-7pm getting the boat ready for departure – or perhaps to knock off a 70nm passage and still depart and arrive in bright daylight. Our first passage was an easy inside passage from Oregrund to Grisslehamn, but first I had to return the car to Stockholm airport. After yogurt and muesli for breakfast I drove to the airport and dropped off the car before getting a train from the SkyCentral station below the aiport to Uppsala. Five minutes later I was on the express bus to Oregrund for a 3pm arrival at the boatyard. Public transport here is a dream!

An hour later under grey and intermittently drizzly skies, we cast off for Grisslehamn, about 20 miles south, as the base for the following day’s crossing. We motored gently in still water with barely another boat to be seen for an uneventful four hour passage, tying up around 8pm at Grisslehamn Marina och Camping, where the guest dock was less than half full. After an evening meal of meatballs in tomato sauce I did a little work and turned in.

Sun 6/23/19

I ALWAYS TRY to fly Norwegian Airlines if I can because they are essentially a budget airline with a very modern fleet of Dreamliners. Plus I usually book far enough in advance to secure an exit row seat with plenty of legroom for the 10hour + journey. My rock bottom fare was less than $600 but I had so much excess baggage – a deflated dinghy, dinghy boards, assorted spares, tools, a boarding ladder and about ten pounds of coco coir for the new composting head – that I wound up with three extra bags plus a ‘windsurfer’ extra gear charge. The windsurfer was in fact my dinghy boards but there was no option for that on the Norwegian website! The coco coir was a bit of an adventure too. It had arrived in a ten pound block, but on the advice of Caroline Shearlock of the Boat Galley and a few other wise folks, I decided to cut it up ahead of time into 2.75lb chunks for individual use in the head. Which meant that I had these plastic bags full of what looked like compressed marijuana in my luggage. I made sure to put them right at the top and label them clearly, just in case.

   My flight left Los Angeles on Saturday night and I arrived at Arlanda 1.35pm on Sunday. I had only a fitful sleep on the plane but I was raring to go (as usual) am because it was so exciting to set foot on Swedish soil again. It was a real chore heaving all my luggage on and off the car rental shuttle but as usual the Hertz experience itself was outstanding, with a top-of-the-line Volvo diesel waiting for me which shuttled me off to Stockholm in calm, unfussy luxury. Just a tip for anyone using Arlanda airport: sign up for Hertz Gold membership (no charge) and book the cheapest economy car you can find. They have to give you the cheaper option even though they don’t seem to have any economy car inventory, meaning you will always get upgraded.

   I drove down to Stockholm to meet up with Kevin C, a regular sailor on my Marina del Rey crew, who is a quiet, diligent fellow. Pretty unflappable but very hard working. In short an almost perfect crew mate. We met near the Handelsbanken building on the waterfront and headed off to Grepen Marin in Öregrund, which is about 100 miles north of the Swedish capital.

   When we arrived about 8.30pm  it was cloudy but still bright daylight, but my good mood vanished when I saw my boat. She was in the water with her mainmast raised, but there was no mizzen, no windlass and no new bow pulpit, despite my clear instructions to the yard’s owner, Lennart, over the winter and spring. They had at least installed a new 14 gallon plastic water tank under the port berth. Their other job was also only half done. They had removed the existing head and sealed up the two thru-hulls, but they had not installed the new one, merely seated and fastened the brackets into which it fitted.

   I was depressed. My timetable called for us to rig the boat for a Tuesday departure and I couldn’t see any way they could fashion the new bow pulpit and install a windlass within that timetable. Plus the boat was FULL of stuff which made her look like a squalid old liveaboard. Kevin stayed stoic but I was very upset. I’ve always found that good food and some wine is a good antidote to downcast spirits, so we made the five minute drive into town for dinner. We sat outside at a local pizzeria and had a decent meal while enjoying a spectacular sunset offset by spotty grey rain clouds over what is always a gorgeous harbor. We then headed back to the boat. The first order of business was to get everything out of the boat onto the dock and arrange a sleeping space for us both. With that done, I assembled the head, which was actually very simple. They had also installed a proper switch for the fan. I spent about an hour breaking up and moistening the coco coir for the head and then put it in the head’s main chamber, then went to bed a little after midnight. At least I felt I had accomplished something!

Mon. 6/24 – Work will lift your spirits

I think I got about four hours sleep, which was actually much better than my first night aboard in 2018, when I think I got 45 minutes! First order of business was to have some tea for breakfast then head to the Co-Op when it opened at 8am for provisioning. That done, we had some breakfast – muesli and yogurt – and go to work. First we reattached and tightened the lifelines. Then we put on the boom and bent on the mainsail, attached the vang, etc. By 9am the yard crew were drifting in to work and we had them raise the mizzen, attach the stays and tune the rig. On went the mizzen boom and mizzen sail.

The previous owner Andy had bequeathed me a huge pile of useful equipment – electrical wire, heat shrink, assorted hardware, washers, fasteners, etc. etc. which will be very useful should I ever begin extended cruising but which take up a lot of space in the port berth – part of which was now a water tank. It also meant that when I opened the storage areas I had no idea where to find what I needed. But prioritizing the things I really might need regularly I was able to rationalize and organize my space, which helped me slowly regain a sense of control. Lennart showed up and was quite sheepish about not getting all the work done – he said he couldn’t find a windlass, (hard to believe), couldn’t find the bow pulpit – (in my storage locker and in plain sight – or so I thought). It also looked as though he didn’t cover the boat during the winter. And yet I liked him. He seemed honest and amiable and at this stage I was still considering bringing the the boat back there at the end of the summer. He also seemed so apologetic I felt he might do his best to make it up to me next time. I didn’t expect a discount, but I expected him to be extra diligent to carry out the work order. I guess I like to see the best in people!

   By Monday evening the boat was rigged and ready to go. We still had no windlass, and no bow pulpit – which mysteriously seemed to have developed legs and walked away over the winter, so perhaps Lennart wasn’t to blame for that, after all. However, all other systems were go. I made Kevin and myself chicken curry with jasmine rice for dinner and we were on course for our scheduled departure to Grisslehamn. The world seemed a lot brighter!

August 5th, 2018 The use of the stern webbing reel is ubiquitous in Sweden and Finland, either shackled to a kedge anchor while going bows-to on a remote island, or with a clip attachment to hold your stern steady while going bows-in at a marina (gasthamn). But since it’s always better to show than tell, here’s an example par excellence I witnessed at Grisslehamn on August 5th with a two-man German crew on a gorgeous 1972 Camper & Nicholsons. Enjoy the calm, orderly docking manuever….and the boat.

Monday July 2nd: After the dubious delights of yesterday’s crossing it was such a pleasure to wake up to the fragrant air of a picture perfect summer’s day in Sweden.

The coffee and muesli tasted especially good to us both after the exertions of the day before, and we slipped our linesd around 8am for an easy motor to Vaxholm, the historic fortress which is considered either the gateway to Stockholm or to the archipelago, depending on which way you are headed. First 90 minutes was gorgeous – good air and flat water meant we could have sailed but we were still fried from our crossing so we kept the motor on and the sails furled, even after we entered the main passenger ferry channel with the wind on our quarter at about 8 kts. Broad reaching under jib alone would have been perfect for the conditions but the channel was quite tight in places and there was a lot of traffic coming from the other direction, including ferries, and neither of us wanted to be jibing continually to avoid them. So after an uneventful 20nm we pulled into the main harbor at Vaxholm around noon. Tied up in gusty winds with help from a couple of harbor assistants and quickly got chatting to a pleasant Irish couple (William and Karen) on Melodrama, a Dehler 38 who recognized Arcturus and knew Andy and Mia from the Arc 1500. J and I were happy to go our separate ways for a few hours, for me that meant hitting the systembolaget for wine and the Co-Op supermarket for provisions. J spent his time over at the fortress scoring some more drone footage. After a quick meal I ambled across the harbor to a local bar to watch Belgium play Japan. I must say it felt SO good to be back in civilization….

Sunday: July 1st: Sitting in the quiet boatyard at Alsvik on the Swedish side of the Baltic at 10pm as the sun makes its leisurely way to the horizon, the world looks a peaceful and unthreatening place.  What a difference a few hours make!

     This was toughest day’s sailing by far. Leaving Björkör we knew there was a new front forecast to start building around noon so we slipped our lines at 6am and laid a course WSW to our destination of Fejan about 32 miles away. We figured we could average 5 knots, even with a few deviations for shoals, and so we’d be only an hour away by the time the wind came up. As always the best laid plans of mice and men….

 We made good early progress under genoa and full main and the conditions stayed calm – mostly in the 6-8kt range. We both wanted to explore the capabilities of the boat’s Cap Horn windvane and felt this was really the first time we had enough open water to use it. We tinkered with Sune (as Andy and Mia had dubbed her) for a few hours and got her to work intermittently but sadly we dallied a little too long. Still, the Swedish coastline looked barely 10nm away when the wind started to build but as can always be the case in sailing, things deteriorated quickly. As we started to get overpowered with gusts to the mid-20s and a growing swell from the north east I pondered my options: send myself up to the bucking foredeck (with no bow pulpit) to swap out the genoa for the 100% jib, or simply drop the main and go jib and jigger. I had wanted to try the fore-and-aft configuration for a while and this seemed like the ideal time. Although the boat immediately got back on her feet beating to weather was a lot of work and I knew there were plenty of inviting harbors further south west, so I decided to run before the wind on jib alone. Unfortunately the wind had other ideas, it both continued to build and move steadily westwards and then to the south, forcing me more and more to the south west while flying along at speeds of 6.5-7kts with the wind on our quarter. With plenty of shallow water approaching this was turning into a very nervous ride for us both. We tried to seek shelter at a place J found on Navionics named Rodlöga, but this turned out to be more trouble than it was worth. It featured a tiny channel facing north east, the direction the wind was now coming from, and led down to a small hamlet with a concrete pier and three feet of water. The idea leaving Arcturus to the tender mercies of a relentless swell and a concrete pier was a non-starter, so we motored back up against the chop and decided to cross west towards Blidö. J was fairly beat and went below at this time, leaving me to either handle the tacking single-handed and beat up to the north end of Blidö, or instead put the boat on a reach to the south end, where we could at least rely on a sheltered channel for the north. Another tiring three hours went by before I looked for an east-west alternative to the prevailing wind and found the sheltered Alsvik Marina, where we pulled into a pontoon berth. Cue beer, bread and cheese and a quick look around. It was now 7pm and our 32 mile, six hour jaunt had turned into an exhausting, 52nm, 13 hour passage in very challenging conditions. But we madeit home safely. We both slept very well that night.

     However the difficulty of what should have been a simple passage taught me a few lessons I was determined to take on board. For all the ease of boarding, I really wanted a bow pulpit to make it safer switching out headsails. I determined that I would have one fabricated, open at the front in the Swedish fashion, from my existing pulpit, over the winter. I also decided that the old saw about reefing as soon as you start to think about it, would be incorporated into my sailing habits immediately. And when it comes to testing out new gear – like the windvane – I vowed never to do it ahead of a big front coming in. All just common sense really, but sometimes you need a kick in the ass to do the obvious thing. I know I did.

Gothic horror – almost – on Björkör

With the boat sitting serenely at the dock I spent a couple of hours catnapping before cleaning and tidying the boat and grabbing some breakfast (my usual staple of yogurt and granola with honey). James had gone exploring and returned to tell me about a little ‘leprechaun’ he had met named Kaj (pronounced “Kai”). Turned out Kaj was the custodian of the island and lived here alone, five days a week from February to November. Kaj invited us to tour the small museum/house he maintained  which I had spied earlier, just five minutes from the harbor. Turns out it is a perfectly preserved Åland island house from the late 19th century.

     Let me immediately say that this turned out to be a fascinating and macabre experience. Kaj was a small man in his mid-50s clad in thick waterproof work pants and a tank top. He sported the requisite fisherman’s cap and a hearing aid and his personal hygiene left much to be desired. But given the few visitors to his island perhaps he had no need of smelling good. Kaj spoke broken English in a sing-song Scandinavian accent which was almost a parody of itself. His own cabin consisted of a cozy kitchen with wood fire stove, a kitchen table with a logbook on which he recorded every boat which visited the island and pair of amazing sealskin clogs he used in wintertime. He took us over to the perfectly preserved island house just a few steps away and that is where the horror movie vibes began to come thick and fast. The place was faded and spotlessly clean, but looked as though it had just been vacated by a Victorian era Finnish family. The ground floor was dominated by a large living room/kitchen with a woodfire stove complete with pots, pans, grinders and supplies from the era. In the corner were two small bunk beds, clearly for children, while from the ceiling hung a dozen polished antique rifles, ostensibly for shooting seals. But Kaj got a gleam in his eye as he explained that the former patriarch of the house, whose stern portrait hunger over the fireplace, was an angry and irrational man who had been known to hunt ‘strangers and friends’, and who would often take his spyglass (also displayed on a sidetable) to the top of the nearby lookout to see any approaching boats. Unwary visitors were often shot at. This news caused the beginning of some anxiety in me. But there was much more to come.

     In the parlour next to the main living space was a curiosity room containing some stuffed ducks, preserved eggs and a spinning wheel. In another corner was an antique phonograph and a stack of 78s. Kaj got an odd look in his eye as he began to turn the turntable by hand – and a strange disembodied sound of a 1930s Swedish singer, intoning mournfully at half speed, began to issue from the speaker. I looked at James nervously….this was straight out of modern horror movie. Kaj invited us upstairs where more macabre artifacts awaited. One room had a collection of old jackets and dresses, plus shoes and more sealskin boots from the 19th century. He pointed out a faded dress and encouraged me, (only half jokingly?), to put it on. My eyes flashed to the shoes and wondered if a visitor in years to come might find the LLBean hiking boots I was currently wearing among them, the only remaining artifact of an American sailor who was long forgotten after disappearing on a sailing trip in 2018. Next door to this was a claustrophic room for a small child, containing just an old crib and some strangely stained wallpaper. Was the stain blood? This was getting creepier by the second.

     Finally Kaj, with more than hint of mischief in his eyes, encouraged us to take a peek at ‘the secret room’, which opened via a hidden door onto a tiny, narrow passage full of dusty and rusty farm implements. Before I crossed the threshold I made sure there was a window in the room, just so we could escape in the event of the hidden door being slammed behind us. I eyeballed James. He was clearly thinking the same thing. We left hurriedly but we sure to be polite. As I hurried down the mowed grass path back to my boat I already had half a horror movie written in my head. This was not an experience I will soon forget. But I will bring back future guests, so they can experience this Finnish gothic moment and give me their take. For me, the warmth of the sun and my boat’s cozy cabin have rarely been as welcome.

Saturday June 30th: The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Nowhere are those words of scripture more keenly felt than on a sailboat. After an idyllic first few days we had been confronted by a very nasty front and decided to cast off our mooring lines shortly after midnight to ensure we didn’t leave on a Friday. We put a single reef in the main and opted for 100% jib to be conservative. Given the sudden Venturi effect that can cause vicious gusts between islands, we figured it was the sensible choice. Sailing in these parts can be quite anxiety-inducing, so I wasn’t crazy about a passage in the dark, but of course we didn’t have one, since at this time of year the sun goes down about 11pm, lingers just below the horizon for about three hours then rises again – giving us a perpetual twilight in which it is quite easy to see obstacles and adjust accordingly.

     Björkör lies almost directly due west of Kökar but as is always the case here, you can’t follow the rhumbline. Avoiding a large patch of skerries and shoals meant tacking back and forth a couple of times under motor with the main up the entire way to ensure arriving before the winds kicked up. We arrived shortly after 5.30am in a dead calm at what was possibly the best landfall of the summer. The island’s south-facing harbor didn’t look promising at first but as it hove more clearly into view we knew we had a real find on our hands. The harbor is perhaps 300m wide with low water from the center across to starboard. But to port is an old wooden jetty, covered in lichen, with nary another boat to spoil the solitude. Just a falu red boat house and an aluminum motorboat for the island’s caretaker (of whom more later). The island is a nature reserve and as we tied we were greeted by the unmistakable sound of bleating goats. Walking to the end of the jetty I found the island to be a mix of marsh and meadow with lichen-covered shore rocks, and as an added bonus for mariners, a clean and capacious vault toilet 90 seconds from the boat. Just down the footpath there is a large observation tower to climb up and view the island. While I explored J got some more terrific drone footage in the still air. In short order I found a large group sauna that looked like it had been there since Victorian times, and just beyond, on the island’s north side, two imposing and well-preserved Victorian houses. It looked like a very promising spot, and one from which we felt we had at least a day’s respite from the winds. Our spirits were great greatly restored. This is sailing, down one day, up the next! Time for a four-hour nap!

Thursday June 28: I had used the layday of Thursday to catch up on work and get out the latest edition of my newspaper. Engrossed in work for ten hours in the harbor’s kitchen I hadn’t really taken must notice of what the other boats were doing. Which was clearing out en masse. I also hadn’t read the weather forecast…..call it a rookie mistake if you must but I would have stayed in situ even if I’d known a big cold weather system was coming. I had to get my paper to the printers and if it meant kicking our heels in the harbor for a few days then so be it.

    The wind started to rise about 10pm and six hours later I was awoken by a clanging halyard that I went topsides to fix in just my skivvies. There was a swell from the north driving straight into the harbor. Mooring lines were straining and it felt 15 degrees colder than when I had turned in. There followed a few more hours of restless kip before waking at 7am to a full-on hooley, as the Irish so poetically put it. The skies were grey and full of mischief and the air was frigid. After coffee and bread and jam I checked the mooring lines and then headed for the kitchen where I worked morning and afternoon while keeping a weather eye out for the boat, which was now just one of two remaining in the harbor. The wind continued to build to around 30 knots which had Arcturus ducking and diving at her mooring lines, one of which finally gave up the ghost and snapped. We replaced it with the heaviest line we had and ran two extra spring lines. The boat continued to buck and rock but at least she stayed off the dock. The forecast suggested the winds would ease by midnight, then we would get hit by another another northerly front barely 12 hours later. We had planned to head to the north side of the archipelago for some anchoring out in Lansmansgrund, which Andy and Mia had recommended, but that was out of the question. After some debate and checking Navionics we found a small island due east with a south facing harbor that looked completely sheltered from notherlies. We decided to chance our arm with an overnight sail leaving at 12.01am The ferocity of the winds here made me doubt I will return this summer. The Finnish side of the water – at least the Aland area – is really WILD with much less shelter and seems tremendously exposed to northern winds howling down from the northern Baltic. The anxiety that is always in the back of my mind while sailing was very much front and center on this day, and I began to think longingly of the calm and shelter of the Stockholm archipelago. A front like this really tests your resolution and I at least was out of my comfort zone by a long, long way…..

Wed. June 27th:  When I told friends I was planning on taking a ten week sailing vacation this year the response was predictable: you’re doing what? For how long? How can possibly leave work for so long? Full disclosure, it’s not completely a vacation. I’ve been publishing my newspaper every week while I’ve been gone, leaving the admin and phones to my trusty assistant in Los Angeles. What this means is that I need to be near good wifi every Thursday, which has constrained my choice of harbors and anchorages a little, but not much. Both Finland and Sweden are blessed with world-class connectivity and it seems every harbor, coffee shop and bar have good free internet. I also bought a cheap surfing package at Arlanda airport with my sim card – about 25GB for $30, so provided I have a couple of bars of signal I can also hotspot off my mobile – not great but okay in a pinch.

     Which brings me to Kokar Sandvik. I read in the Åland crusing guide I had picked up in Mariehamn that this harbor had good wi, hot saunas, and even a café where I could watch the World Cup. Result! The harbor is located a 22nm sail south east of Banö Ön through a series of tight channels which the low-res map above does not really do justice. As soon as we left the sheltered harbor we had all the wind we could handle using our big jib and full main.  With 12kts gusting to about 18 we had to keep dumping the mainsail, which given its old fashioned configuration – no traveler – was quite a chore. But it was a lively day’s sailing under dazzling blue skies where we were frequently just on the edge of being overpowered – and not for the last time I pondered the dilemma of no bow pulpits and erring on the side of a bigger sail plan because of all the lulls. It was however a lively and challenging sail in near-perfect conditions. We almost went the wrong way here and there but we sailed almost the whole way, finally deciding to drop the canvas and motor as we made our final approach to a passage which looked barely 100m wide. As we approached what I thought was the fairway J spied a very large, barely submerged rock jut ahead of us, prompting me to quickly turn around and double check our Navionics. Not a moment too soon! The real entrance was one rock over (so to speak), and the harbor certainly didn’t look promising – just a working wharf abutting an small and ugly port. As so often local knowledge came to our aid, with two Finnish sailboats motoring confidently past us at 5kts, so of course we followed them. The real port was just around the corner to port and turned out to be just the ticket. Big enough for 30 boats and dominated by a large, sloping granite rock that would make a perfect launching ramp for a boat. We clipped onto a stern buoy and J hopped off at the jetty.

     The harbor control hut was located at the end of the dock and featured not just good local produce but also handmade artisanal woolen socks made by the asistant’s mother over the winter. Priced at only 15 euros – we had gone into the euro zone – I grabbed three. The nearby café served unremarkable food – the cheapest dish was fish and chips at 8 euros which were clearly frozen before being dunked in hot oil. But the beer was cheap at 6e and they had the football on. Even better, Germany were getting knocked out of the tournament by South Korea…as an Englishman that brought a warm glow to the cockles of my heart.

But enough of old rivalries, Kokar Sandvik also has a campsite and excellent facilities, including three saunas and a well-equipped kitchen where you can prepare your own food and large tables to interact with fellow travelers and perhaps do some work. We met some interesting folks – including one from Poland who had come by bicycle with his teenage son. The place also has good showers, a clean WC and a free washer/dryer. And if you fancy a little hike down the road, the island boasts a wonderful sailors’ chapel where you can ponder the almighty and speak your celestial therapist. But back to the harbor: the excellent sauna costs 20 euros (more than the 15e dock fee) but it was one of the best I’ve ever experienced, very hot, wood fired and steps from the dock. The calm of twilight was enjoyed with a glass or two of white wine and it was idyllic…although things were to change very shortly.

Tues. June 26th: Christian Juslin at Rodhamn had recommended a deserted bows-to anchorage just north of the island of  Banö Ön about 20nm to the north east of Rodhamn and we were eager to cast off and check it out.

The day dawned overcast with not much wind, but we persevered with the sails up  for perhaps an hour during the six hour passage, finally giving up due to too much shallow water and too many tight channels. It’s one thing to move slowly, it’s quite another to get backwinded just as you’re tacking out of 8ft of water in a bottleneck. But our disappointment at having to motor evaporated when we arrived at this heavenly anchorage. Banö Ön is a large bay, perhaps one mile deep and three quarters of a mile wide. There was just one other boat in residence, lying at anchor on the other side of the bay. We headed to the north west corner and spied a promising spot. We did a couple of slow drive-bys, decided on our preferred spot and talked through the plan. J had never done a bows-to mooring before so it was important he was clear on the procedure. I also put him on helm since the bowman has the most important job. It went astonishingly smoothly as we motored in at minimum revs, dropped the stern anchor three boat lengths out, put her in neutral two boat lengths out and whispered forward, adding a little reverse perhaps six feet out so the boat came to a stop right in front of a large granite rock, allowing me to step off easily and run the line to an imposing pine tree to windward and a large rock to leeward.

  J can be a brooding fellow at times but his mood was positively giddy as we trimmed the lines. He had clearly been nervous about pointing the boat towards a granite rock, but the ease with which we moored released a mood in him which was half relief and half amazement at the location. While I went for a swim in the cool but still-comfortable water, J scored some more great drone footage, which you can see below. The evening was calm and idyllic and we enjoyed a peaceful dinner in the cockpit before turning in around 11pm. By now we were almost over our jet lag, mooring in a gorgeous spot in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, what’s not to like?