The Art of Chaotic Sailing

When you hoist the sails on schedule – you’ll be becalmed, you bet!

One might wonder what exactly makes up the fundamental difference between sailing and running around in a powerboat. Maybe everybody understands intuitively, but nevertheless, it is a theme worth some reflections (i.e. making a mess out of what was at first clear). My first thought is that both steering a sailboat and a powerboat is related to thermodynamics in some way or the other. The powerboat is dependent on burning it's fuel, whereas the sailboat is driven forward by the energy in the wind.

In case of the powerboat, the internal-combustion engine makes it possible to depart and arrive on schedule; the boat is capable of running from one place to another relatively independent of weather conditions. And this was exactly why the great sailing vessels were outmaneuvered by steam at the end of the 19th century. In the new industrialised world, with expanding need for transportation and communication, the sail couldn’t meet the demand. I won’t expand on this. It suffices to say that the transition from sail to engine was connected to a new economic and social structure, deep down to a new philosophy and way of life in what has been called the epoch of thermodynamics.

What came with modernity was a more instrumental attitude, more focused on exploitation and control of the environment trough science and technology. Although much has changed since the 19th century, this is still the world we live in to the greatest extent. We are in the same old rut, and only our well-deserved spare time might provide some relief, dependent on how we use it. This is where the difference between sailing and motor boating becomes relevant. In the motorboat you are still steering and thinking within a sphere of modern technology aimed primarily at environment-control. If you choose to sail, but nevertheless maintain this attitude, you’ll son experience some calamities. You’ll end up trying to work against the laws of nature instead of making the most of it. Headwind will be on you – at least it seems so – wherever you are heading. When you hoist the sails on schedule – you’ll be becalmed, you bet! The elemental forces seems to work against you – letting your Penelope wait in vain though you promised her to be home from Troy before supper.

In a sailboat you’ll be better off adopting a more flexible attitude, more in accordance with the complexity of the chaotic meteorological system that you are so dependent on. Of course you’ll often need some sort of itinerary, but it could be a rather loose one. As a consequence, you’ll have to take your time, leaving the strict schedule behind; otherwise – in spite of modern weather forecast – you’ll get a daily ear-splitting massage from your engine.

Chaotic sailing. The crew waiting for the butterfly to flap its wings.

How then, should a philosophy of flexible sailing be executed? At least my personal recommendation is to sail on a broad reach or a beam reach, and to seize the opportunity when the wind is fair. Tomorrow evening you’ll probably end up anchoring, but in another bay than the one you imagined yesterday. So what? Just this anchorage might turn out to be your bay of bliss. If not, there is always another chance – that is if you still have another week off. The secret is not to work against Aeolus – the ruler of the winds. So when you open the hatch at 5 o’clock in the morning, please listen to the land-wind whispering: Sailor girl, sailor boy, hoist your sails – your breakfast (or whatever lust you might have this morning) can always wait. If your plan is to follow the fairway and do an impressive distance run, this obvious won’t work very well. On the other hand, if your port of destination is not that important, you’ll soon be confident in criss-crossing the archipelago in ways that make even a well-known anchorage into a brand new experience. Few waters fit this way of sailing better than the Norwegian skerries with its complicated web of islands, sounds and open-ended fjords.

This concept of sailing might sound like a premodern attitude, but is – I think – not far from the opposite. It reminds me of what is called, in probability theory, a stochastic or random process. More then when steering a powerboat, your open-ended sailing will be in accordance with the mysterious forces of nature surrounding you, the wind and currents, pulling your boat trough the water but also causing it’s drift. Inevitably these elemental forces – being chaotic in the scientific meaning of the word –, will soon enough give your sailing holiday a taint of chaos, but does it really matter that much? At least in some respect you might let chaos rule without damaging effect to speak of, although you may get some difficulties telling your old auntie what your position will be the day to come. Often chaos rules whether you like it or not, and whether you understand it or not. My own “scientific” understanding is like this: If a butterfly flaps on my wife’s bum early in the morning, we’ll end up sailing west towards the island Kvitsøy. If I am too sleepy to flap like the butterfly, we’ll end up in Jelsa or some distant fjord. Now, at least my wife will surely recognise the complicated laws, governing nature – and maybe, what do I know – most of our butterfly-flapping life. Is there at least a pattern or a structure, something to hang onto, at least on a larger scale? To be honest I don’t know. And I haven’t even bothered to scrutinize the pencil-lines drawn, for some long forgotten reasons, in my sea charts.
We had a great time though, flapping around.

The Art of Gardening and Sailing

In the garden with friends. Why not hire them as your crew?

Although yachters are often god at telling stories, their fibs are seldom about gardening, about growing asparagus or Indian corn. And to be honest, I’ve never heard sailors talk within other sailors’ earshot about their “green fingers”. Probably gardening is not considered to be within their department; it is women’s work and most yachtsmen still are men. The list of members in your sailing club is in most cases proof enough, although the secretary is often a yachters’ wife. This is downright shame and need to be changed. And to be honest, I thing women not only makes up the best crew, they also are the best captains, if only these low-browed men stop yelling.

Unfortunately the ship is still Adam’s world, while the garden - in spite of her lust for apples and flesh - is Eve’s place. And nowadays it is easier for a gay man to come out of the closet, than for a yachter to enter his garden – if not in secret. There are reasons for this. Sailing is associated with freedom, adventures and deeds, and even the wimpiest managing director likes to bask in the glory of this myth. He’ll sink the company’s brand new yacht while accomplishing his entertainment duties, rather than assisting his wife in her small allotment. Gardening on the other hand is associated with peace and quiescence, with immanence and seclusion. Of course sensual connotations are also attached to the garden – for instance the romantic garden, located in some archaic past or in the Orient. But in our yachtsman’s imagination, these are precisely the types of garden – in some distant waters – where his coming conquests are to take place, finding there some indigenous princess of his dreams. In mysterious ways, dreams of erotic bliss are affiliated to his imaginary explorations, and not to his beautiful wife’s communal garden patch (though maybe he should worry who else might find pleasure in visiting her? As you understand, there are good reasons for yachtsmen to take more interest in gardening, at least when not sailing. Besides, the ship and the garden are in some way connected. The philosopher Michel Foucault has called attention to certain places, marked by certain multifarious time/space-configuration, and imbued with many of the most important ideas and notions in culture. Maybe both the ship and the garden are vessels of meaning in this way, expressing important aspects of our understanding of ourselves, and the always-changing culture surrounding us. At least both are an insulated world, a world in miniature, and at the same time a stage where passion and violence are performed. Both the ship and the garden is a kind of theatrum mundi – constantly staging life’s many tragic and comic plays. There are important differences, though, between ship and garden, and most important: Although a separate space, the ship – with it's crew – is under way from ocean to ocean, from port to port, a tiny dot on the huge surface of the sea. The garden is also a separate place, it is secluded but is not under way. It is changing though, but in another sense, following the seasons. It turns green, grows and withers away – as life always does. In this way, both the ship and the garden is connected to some fundamental conditions regarding existence itself. So where should we go, to the harbour, signing on, or should we turn to the garden, making meaning by cultivating the soil and ourselves?

In Voltaire’s book Candide (1759), the parodical philosopher Pangloss lists all the adventures befalling Candide until he calmes down at his farm at last. “All that is very well, answered Candide, but let us cultivate our garden.” Only late in life Candide learns that cultivating the soil preserves us from three great evils; weariness, vice, and want. But is Candide’s voyages a precondition for his wisdom? It's always necessary to circumnavigate existence, but it might be possible to do this both by cultivating ones garden, and by sailing the seven seas. Some chosen sailors are capable of strolling to and fro, from the garden to the harbour, somtimes even hiring the gardener as the ship’s first mate.

The Art of Anchoring

At anchor. Tromlingane off Arendal, south coast.

Concerning seamanship, I should be the last person to write about the secrets of safe and proper anchoring. Therefore, if you wish to know for sure how to let go your anchor, please look elsewhere (e.g. over here or here). Normally I just throw the whole bundle of old mooring gear over board in a hurry – hoping for the best. Most often this works just fine, at least to start with. In the end it results in a naked man – running around on deck in the middle of the night, trying to tow the boat in one direction or the other. Why I always have to do this and not my wife, I don’t really know, but even in Scandinavia, women’s lib still has its limits, I guess.

Rossøysund at dusk. Ryfylke.

But there is fare more to say about anchoring than right and wrong practise in the more technical sense. First, like a whole lot of nautical operations, objects and phenomenon, the anchor has gained a strong metaphoric significance even on dry land, and is used figuratively in many situations and spheres of life. Of course this is widely known, and since I do not wish to place myself in an academic doghouse, I won’t expand on it here. Instead I wish to take a strictly personal stand. Opposed to running in a fast-moving motorboat, the joys of being under way is emphasised by many as the core of pleasure sailing. I don’t disagree in this, but all the same. After a long and maybe rough sailing leg, after hours and hours at the helm, nothing is more satisfying than coming to anchor in a safe and calm bay. In chapter IV of “The Mirror of the Sea”, the world known writer and sea captain Joseph Conrad, stresses let go the anchor to be the proper term. In spite this old master of words, I cast my old bundle over board like always. Happy I am. Here we are at last!

No hurry, no worries. The Brekkestø skerries, south coast. 

A respectable distance run has it’s own ways, values and delights, but is also a precondition for the satisfaction felt when arriving. First of course, you have to put this and that straight again on the boat. Then it’s time to calm down, to get the cooker going and, if the day isn’t over yet, mend some gear, read a book, take a stroll ashore, light a fire at the water's edge or just settle down in the cockpit, chatting little or less with your crew while the darkness slowly comes creeping under a still blushing, northern sky. No hurry, no worries or anxiety seems to be left in this part of the world, in this blessed archipelago of sounds and fjords. At last it’s time to turn in – hoping for the best.

The Art of Making Love in Small Boats (l)

What on earth goes on in that cabin? Hattavågen/Bogsfjorden.

To do it or not to do it, under these circumstances, that is one of the first questions lovers are confronted with during twosome weekend or holiday sailing. A so-called pocket-cruiser doesn’t have much space to offer, and often the cabin is especially constricted. If their answer is not to do it – well, it’s a free world. But if sailing doesn’t take away all romantic inclination and dreams about erotic delights, the next question popping up is: How on earth? The liberating answer is: Exactly – in every impossible way! Actually this is a great opportunity to refresh your tepid relationship. In a big and roomy boat (I imagine), the amorous life might go on as usual – dull or frisky, what do I know. The children – or occasional the guests – have of course their own cabin, and when it’s time to go to bed, soft “conjugal beds” are capable of coping with every possible exercises. But most often these possibilities are not fully appreciated. My bet is: The bigger the boat – the lazier the lovers, it's my hypothesis of social-economic-emotional sailing. Try a smaller boat instead. After a holiday or two, your old, secret-silly dreams of partner part exchange, might already have faded away, replaced by new, wet dreams of real sailing adventures. At last you have learnt how to do the impossible – in every impossible way!

The Art of Circumnavigation

Books on Voyages around the world

This tempting island far ahead. Lindøy, Stavanger.

I had some dreams, I admit. Already as a teenager I peeped at my brother’s travelling books, reading tales from Polynesia and other distant waters, or stories written by adventurers navigating the globe in tiny vessels. Great storytellers some of them were – like the Norwegian Carl Emil Petersen (No.), writing among others the “Rundø” - Jorden rundt på tomannshånd (1960). Later I came to read Joshua Slocum famous book Sailing Alone Around the World (1899). Not only was he the first man to circumnavigate the globe alone, he also made – like Petersen – literature out of his voyage, writing in a fine-polished but straightforward way, with a mixture of sobriety, nostalgia and humour, thus making his book the ultimate story of circumnavigation.

But all this is long past, as my green dreams are too. Nowadays, circumnavigating the globe is converted into a leisure time activity mostly for well-off men in there forties or fifties, wife and children included (more or less by their own free will, I suppose?). The whole family takes some years off – realising at least 50 years too late this somewhat faded romantic dream, onboard their brand new and comfortable yacht. Friends and family of course follow the voyage in “real time” – so to speak – reading the yacht’s own blog, and during holidays they are shuttled in, airborne, as guest on shorter sailing legs. At Christmas and otherwise from time to time, the “explorers” take the plane home, relaxing a while until boredom is upon them again and the great oceans calls. I admit my writing unveils a taint of envy – but regardless of this; circumnavigating the globe is fare from what it was when a departure meant being away for years and years.

But luckily for every disillusioned sailor, sailing around the globe is not the only and sanctified kind of circumnavigation. As my friend, the sailing junk-rig engineer, puts it –; why not circumnavigate the fjords instead? - That is the open-ended fjords criss-crossing the archipelago where he – like myself – usually knock around instead of sailing the seven seas. One great advantage is this: You don’t have to buy this huge and far to expensive sailing yacht. Actually, during several years, my fascination for sailing around something was satisfied as the proud captain of a wooden, 15 feet long rowing boat – rigged of course by my self – supervised I admit by the sailing engineer. With the boat’s moderate keel, even circumnavigating the nearest island often was a real challenge. Days with steady wind, but still only rippels on the fjord, gave the novice captain-sailor some self-confidence, but of a unsustainable kind in prospects of days to come. In light air or with bigger waves, the boat ran like a dream - when sail large. When sailing upwind on the other hand, every tack would only give an illusion of the boat gaining height. After a while the position still would be familiar. Turning this into an advantage, one might say that this tiny "ship" turned short voyages into long lasting events. For sure, a successful circumnavigation couldn’t be taken for granted.

Later I bought my If-Folkboat Maritornes – and beating towards the wind is now easier and more of an amusement. Thus, the reach of my day sailing trips is extended, but this hasn’t faded away my “sailing-around-the fjord-fascination”. Maybe the explanation is as simple as this: By circumnavigating you may return to your home harbour after both upwind and wind abeam, before (most often on your way home), your run before the wind. You have to cope with it all, and you don’t have to sail to and fro, feeling like an idiot returning from a somewhat purposeless voyage.

Most often the circumnavigation just happens. I sail away, most often I am beating towards the wind to gain some height, but sooner or later I have to mark out a course. Maybe I’ll study the chart or at least wonder where to steer. This is when the thought of circumnavigation breaks the surface. And luckily – as always – my eyes catch a glimpse of some tempting island far ahead. Circumnavigating it I must.

You have to cope with it all, and you don’t have to sail to and fro.

Romsa islands

Natural harbour/visitor pier, Sea chart, The Outdoor Counsel (No.), Visit Sunnhordland

59°40,110’N 05°44,630’E. Romsa consist of several islands in Bjoafjorden, north of Ølen, not far from Skånevik. Romsa has a beautiful countryside and is a recreation area with several well kept guest harbours. Budget accommodation is available trough the so-called “Kystleden” (No.) – a system of self-service fjord cabins. Vinjehuset, 8 beds or Øreviknaustet, 6-8 beds. Taraldsøya northeast of Romsa, towards Skånevik, is also recommended.

Norwegian summery/Norsk sammendrag:
Romsa består av flere øyer i Bjoafjorden, nord av Ølen, ikke langt fra Skånevik. Romsa har et vakkert lanskap og er et populært friområde med flere velholdte gjestebrygger. Her er til og med mulig å leie seg billig overnatting som en del av den såkalte "Kystleden", et system av selvbetjente fjordhytter, se lenker over. Taraldsøya norøst av Romsa, mot Skånevik, kan også anbefales.

Sailing logger Nortun AE 87 of Stavanger, privately owned yacht, passing the Romsa sound. View from Litla Romsa (Nautøy) towards Stora Romsa.

Our stay at Romsa was sort of accidental. We are in the Fitjar arcipelago, but scared by the weather forecast predicting strong headwind the next day, we leave our sunny spot far to early, heading south in the direction of Skånevik – the pearl of Sunnhordland –, where we have planed to visit friends during the famous Skånevik blues festival. Unfortunately, although the weather is nice, there is little sign of the customary sunwise breeze. First we try to sail, but it only results in a miserable lurching due to passing boats. The outboard is lowered, and we say goodbye to this boating paradise in a comfortable speed of five knots. Soon we enter Stokksundet, and from here the rest is simply child’s play – we think at first. The problem is that Stokksundet is rather outstretched, and after two hours with the engine “in my ears” – the new bridges connecting Bømlo to the island Stord, is still seen far ahead. Unfortunately, the skipper has miscalculated the distance. The evening is about to set in and the skipper’s wife is already bored. I could have put down in the journal, like old captain Arntzen from Stavanger did while crossing the oceans: During all this time, nothing happened worth mentioning. After yet another hour, the second mate turns in. There is no possibility of reaching Skånevik, so I start figuring out a good anchorage. It is already dusk when the boat cuts it way through the wide, glassy Bjoafjorden. I go for the narrow Bjøllebøvågen, south on Borgundøya. At idle speed we glide into the opening, and immediately hit an underwater rock, misinterpreted in the chart as a insignificant stain. But luckily, no damage done. A cabin cruiser is already moored at the head of the cove, but we find the place a bit to closed in. Instead we find a pontoon near the opening, an Outdoor Counsel-pontoon, it’ll turn out to be, when a tugboat wake us the next morning. The Outdoor Counsel have put some repairs on their working plan this day, and we have to leave in haste. But this is a blessing in disguise, since the nearest place to eat our breakfast is Romsa only one nautical mile to the south.

Haukelandstunet, Stora Romsa.

Vinjehuset, Stora Romsa.

As we approach Roma from the north, the forecasted gale has already started to build up from the south. A whole lot of boats have already assembled along the guest piers at Grindanes, situated in the largest cove on the northern shore. We skip this crowd, and try the next cove, Gamlehamn (The old port) – but the stone jetty there isn’t the most attractive although we are alone here and the surrounding landscape is inviting. We decide to round the islands – Stora Romsa – and get under cover in the northern cove of Litla Roma, Here we go alongside and decide to stay until the next day. A family from Etne with 17 children (at least they seems to be that many), have stayed here several days already and have even put up small tents on the pier, alongside theyr odd, discarded tug of a boat. From here we have a nice view to the wide Romsa sound surrounded by the Romsa islands. Near the pier there is a grillroom, built with voluntary work, and a stone’s throw away, a toilet. After some hours, a huge motorboat from Bergen arrives with a smart couple and their bored, only child. After a while he is saved by one of the seventeen, swarming around with no interests of differences regarding positions and social classes, if he can only catch a fish or get time to another swim.

Matretunet, Litla Romsa (Nautøy).

The guest harbour at Grindanes, Stora Romsa.

Romsa is in every possible way a boating paradise. On the two main islands, Stora Romsa in the north and Litla Romsa (Nautøy) in the south, it is always possible to find a sheltered cove, no matter in what direction the wind blows. The islands have no less than eight jetties; two grill huts and one boathouse – all public and free of charge. If you like to move your body, the landscape is beautiful and with old footpaths and trails leading to several old and charming houses. Some of these you may rent at a fair price. On the eastern part of Store Romsa, you’ll also find Kristornskogen – the holly forest – Norway’s biggest holly nature reserve.

In the 1900th century Romsa had no less than nine farms, and 67 islanders were living her. The island had a school, a post office and a regular ferry connection. After the war, all this changed and the islands were turned into a spruce seed growing area. The spruce came to dominate the landscape, but the project was a failure. In 1990 the islands achieved status as a recreation area drifted by The Outdoor Department, in collaboration with several other organisations. In 1996-97 much of the spruce forest were cut down. The intention was to restore the former cultivated land, and sheep are now gracing to keep the scrub down.

Our own stay at Romsa is a rather lacy one. The wind is realy strong, and we are glad to be in a safe berth. We relax in the boat, contemplate this huge family from Etne, and stroll around the island a couple of times. Some days later, leaving Skånevik after the annual blues festival, we ones again take a pause at Romsa, but this time at Store Romsa and the guest pontoons at Grindaneset. Here several boats are gathered as usual. So, the guest harbours at Romsa is not the place to make fast if solitude is your priority. And when the evening sets in, if not already invited, for sure you are welcome in the grill hut – made for everyone as they are.

Litla Romsa, Romsasundet.

Naustvikjo - The boathous bay, Stora Romsa, south.

View from Litla Romsa towards the mainland.

Sailboat leaving Klungervik, LitlaRomsa, after a gale.

The Art of Winter Sailing

Single-handed winter sailing in IF-folkboat Maritornes (Foto: A. Kverneland)


In my home waters, the sailing season starts in April and lasts until October when many boats are pulled up for the winter. Easter is often used to get the boat shipshape, but if Easter falls late the fitting out should be done earlier. And in fact, if your boat is not pulled up, there is no reason not to try some winter sailing, as long as the weather allows it. Winter sailing is another experience. Other vessels on the fjord are scarce. Often you are completely on your own. The wind is cold of course, and more powerful than in summer, but not necessarily due to wind force. The cold air is far heavier then a summer breeze. Therefore, in heavy weather, the gusts will hit you like a club. When the gale is blowing, staying home is, I guess, recommended, but other days will come with moderate breeze and a pale sun, still giving out some radiation. Short days and changing weather will make this a rare – but exceptional event. The temperature, though, should not drop below freezing. I am sure sailors in the old days had their way of coping with the ice, but they didn’t – like you and I – sail for pure pleasure. In my first days of sailing, I sat a lower limit at three degrees Celsius. Today I’ll rather say five. Even at my latitudes, 59 N, a considerable part of the winter months is milder than this, due to the Gulf Stream following the Norwegian coast, making life here worth living even as far to the north as Finnmark and Spitsbergen. In any case, you'll have to be dressed. Some extra gear is mandatory; you’ll need the double of what you think is necessary. Use woolen clothes, especially the underwear. The outer garments should be wind- and waterproof. Every opening should be tightened in case you should fall overboard in the cold seawater. The trip is safer if you bring your friend or partner (but learn them to quit jabbing if they do). Don’t forget the packed lunch, coffee and some chocolate. If you are rich (and a little bit naive?), you can buy a personal emergency beacon, but don’t trust too much on it. In case of emergency, don’t hesitate with your Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. If you don't have a VHF, try a emergency phone number (to the Norwegian rescue coordination centre). Make note of your position.

Take reasonable security measures and keep your life jacket on if you wish to gain some minutes to pray, before entering another dimension. Don’t fumble around on the foredeck. Don’t pee over the railing; it might turn out as your last pee ever. Call. Don’t let them worry back home. I bought my first sailboat from a departed man. He was alone, and it was in the wintry month of Mars. He was still unaccustomed with sailing. He drowned just outside the harbour. When his boat finally was observed drifting, it was to late. His mother loved him, but not his boat, so I got a real barging.

Don’t fall overboard. Enjoy life instead, and these unique days of winter sailing. In these few but joyful days, you'll feel a special contact with the elemental forces surrounding you. To the east the mountains of Ryfylke are probably dressed up in a garment of snow. The days are growing short, but still offers some hours of daylight before dusk. When you turn around, heading towards home at last – it will probable already be wise to turn your lanterns on. But sailing as the evening sets in and darkness grows dense, is another memorable experience. Soon you’ll enter your home port, maybe freezing now, but delighted. And maybe someone is waiting at the pier.

Some wintry days, though, skiing or staying home is recommended.



Fitjar skerries

Natural harbours, Fitjar info, Outdoor Counsel (No.), Visit Sunnhordland, Sea chart

Another harbour that we have never known.

Teløysundet, Fitar. 59.56,180'' N 05.15,686 E. At last, this morning, moored in Agahamn on Bømlo’s eastern shore, we put our heads up trough the hatch with great satisfaction. Already the sun has risen over the hillside at the eastern shore and now lights up the whole cove. A warm and sunny day is on its way, and frankly – the last couple of weeks there hasn’t been too many of them. Changing weather gives the west coast much of it freshness, the landscape constantly being purified by rain and windy weather, but of course, if the bikini line marks no change of skin colour even in July, at least the feminine part of the crew starts to mope a bit. It is decided, therefore, that no long-lasting macho expedition is allowed today. Nothing shall “spoil” this promising day, reserved – I understand – for doing little more than lying somewhere on a rock slope, sunbathing, reading, sipping at a cooled off beer. All the same, a day is long-lasting after all, and we decide to sail towards Fijar as planed. With the help of a harbour-guide and the chart, we already have spotted a tiny promising cove in Teløysundet. It’s not more than approximately six nautical miles to the north, but the route still seems to offer some challenges with its narrow passages trough a complicated web of islets.

Fitjar islands: Inlets and narrow passages everywhere.

Landscape and maritime culture.

After breakfast and the compulsory radio listening, we weigh anchor and immediately enjoy a gentle breeze from northwest. With a little luck, the outboard will be asleep the whole day. After rounding the southern point of Ålforo, the margins soon get narrow, though. Now our bearing is north, and we sail as close to the wind as old Maritornes accepts without turning sour. Constantly occupied by trimming her sail, we slowly enters Engesundsleia, east of Ålforo and soon we are devoured by a sound, leading us into these incredible skerries. Every second cable length, we catch sight of beautiful anchorage, islets where you can spend the whole day all on your one, or small sheltered coves with inviting rock slopes. Again and again we are tempted to anchor, but partly due to the challenge of sailing trough these sounds, our tiny expedition goes on. In the narrow Smedasundet, a contercurrent cries for the outbord, but the skipper doesn’t want to break the quietude, and instead asks the second mate to hunt high and low for the paddles. A passing cabin cruiser gazes at us with astonishment as we paddle our way, but after a thrilling minute in the current, the sound opens up and the wide Fonnosen offers a steadier breeze. Overconfident for a while, we now tackle trough the crooked Teløysundet (overhead cable 19 m.), steer clear of a underwater rock like a piece of cake, turn towards port, and there we are, again we slip into a wondrous natural harbour that we have never known.

This day we did "nothing".

A Swedish sailboat is already swinging at anchor in the cove. Now the husband and wife on board put their pants decently on, and don’t seem to appreciate our arrival too much, although our intention is not to disturb at all. A quarter of an hour later, we are the ones enjoying the solitude, quietude, the sun and the light breeze from the sea embracing our still pale, but heat-seeking skin.

(Please update or give your comment on this posting, including errors and idiomatic blunders.)

Bømlo / Brandasund

Visitor berths:Brandasund, Skeret,
Skjeret-info., Bømlo-inf, Visit Sunnhordland, Outdoor Councel, Sea chart
            

Ringholmen lighthouse, Bømlo east.

59.53,50''N 05.05,65'' E. Our pilot’s hint at someone called “Nillo” (Nillo på Skjeret) fills the air with expectations as the sailboat rounds the point of Goddo, and turns to the northeast. We now run smoothly before the wind, leaving the open sea behind and soon glimps a bridge far ahead. From here Brandasund extends to the north. This sound has been a center of trade for more than 300 years, serving both Hanseatic traders and the fishing boats along the coast, with a boom during the great herring fisheries during the 18th and 19th century. The sound also had a cannery, now converted into a guesthouse – Fabrikkloftet – on the west side, on the island Gisøya. Today leisure boats and tourists are the most common visitors in the sound.

Brandasund

I go alongside the quay at the eastern shore, eager to find out more about this mysterious Nillo and her famous shop. But Nillo, it turns out, is not in her shop anymore. She has not been there for a while, but we meet her son, though, the friendly Bjarne Waage, now running the “new” shop just opposite of the old one. The new shop still sticks to the habit of selling all kind of goods, and therefore maintains some of the formers original air. I buy some batteries, some outdated date stamped foodstuffs and å chilly beer for our dear pilot. Then we enter the old shop. It’s like stepping into a time machine. Everything seems to be exactly the way it was when Pernille Waage (Nillo) served her customers, apart from more modern layers of dust. Nillo and her husband Anton arrived in Brandasund in 1922 and bought the shop. Nillo worked in the shop at all times, and was known by everyone. In 1983 she attained the Norwegian Kings decoration for meritorious service. Nillo died in 1992, 93 years old.

The "new" shop, Brandasund.

The old shop.

Brandasund clearly is a nice place to stay for a while, but unfortunately, our pilot is a restless soul. His beer is finished and he is soon ready to cast off. After all – he isn’t on a summer holiday, like the ordinary crew. I suggest that we can sail to the south, making our way through a maze of islands, but our pilot prefer a course more to the north-east, making free sailing possible through sound after sound, until rounding Torsdagsøy, south-east of Siglo. Aye, aye, Sir! It’s an excellent plan, and we soon slide peacefully through this deserted archipelago, miles after miles, with only occasional help from the outboard. We then turn to the south in Nyleia and aim for Rubbestadneset on Bømlos eastern shore. This is where our friend is going to leave us.

The evening sets in when we are alone again. Our original plan wasn’t to circumnavigate the whole island of Bømlo in one single day, far from it, but no harm done. We turn to the north again, first seeking shelter in a deep cove behind Austneset, not far from Rubbestadneset. Here we make a fire and eat our supper in all simplicity while the northern sky is purpled by a sunset that doesn’t seem to have an end. Tomorrow our plan is to sail towards Fitjar and new summer adventures.

Agahamn/Austneset.

Agahamn/Austneset.

(Please update or give your comment on this posting, including errors and idiomatic blunders.)

Bømlo / Melingsvågen

Natural harbour/(Hiskjo), Sea chart, Meling, Outdoor Counsel, Sunnhordland info., Bømlo info.

Passing Bømlo's western shore.

59.47,079 N 05.07,043 E. Melingsvågen. Seduced by a gentle southeastern breeze, old Maritornes casts off and runs merrily out of Espevær harbour trough the northern sound, then turning north under mainsail and genoa. The light rain from the morning has faded away, and although the sky is far from clear, we see forward to a relaxing leg, passing to third of Bømlo’s western shore, from Espevær up to Melingsvåg where we have friends, they might possibly offer us a bed with more comfort than our ordinary sailor berths. Meanwhile, we quietly contemplate this rough and deserted coastline. From our position, we see almost no sign of human life, not a sailboat, not a cottage, only a single boat with German fishing tourist is to be seen. Seagulls and shags, though, seem to feel themselves at home. What Bømlo has to show in terms of outdoor life, is going on in small rural communities, at the head of the many narrow fjords and inlets that split up it’s rough shoreline. For those who prefer solitude in an outport, the  recreation area Hiskjo is recommended.

On our port side, towards the open sea, the water is scattered with islets, rocks and reefs that would have caused me fear and trembling in a gale. But, today we can run through the open lane nearer the Bømlo mainland, without worrying. Unfortunately, our jolly ride doesn’t last for long. The bank of clouds far out in the sea grows darker, the rain returns and the wind drops. Soon we are lying still, rolling heavily due to an old, almost invisible swell. It's time to wake up the outboard, this indispensable assistant in our modern time. It breaks the silence, but al the same. Just now in the pouring rain, I don’t value much the Danish sailing doctor and writer Tage Voss, celebrating in his book Glæden ved at Sejle, the joy of sailing without an engine.

Melingsvågen, seen from the shore. Follow the leading lines/lights when entering the bay. Visitor can make fast to the fish-processing quay, to the left in the picture (the south shore).

The head of Melingsvågen. In front, a traditional boat from Hardanger; an Oselvar.

At last the instruments tell me it is time to turn to the east, and we enter the web of sounds and islands, following the marks that will finally lead us to the head of Melingsvågen – Meling bay. This is a beautiful, rustic, but not much of a touristy place, far from it, and I really don’t know if the bay conceals any great attractions at all, other than being typical and quiet, with its many old and scruffy boathouses and more or less homemade piers and jetties. I guess a visitor will be best served by going alongside the fish-processing quay, currently not running. Otherwise – in this part of Norway at least – you might also lie alongside suitable privat jettys as long as you ask permission and show consideration. (Times are changing, though. We hear, even on the west coast, the sad new story of quarrelsome holders and not holders of the increasing valuable waterline. They are disputing on old more or less forgotten or obscure rights of use regarding waterline, jetties or boathouses. Our Meling friend, luckily, place his own jetty at our free disposal.)

Meling is green with undulating farmland and small groves. The place is sparsely populated, but it is not fart to Bremnes – or Svortland, as the locals insists – the biggest town on Bømlo with a wide range of shops, even a liquor store (Vinmonopolet) in spite of a traditionally strong temperance movement. If you need to bunker, you might take a bus or better – I am sure – hope that some local chap or chick will offer you a lift. Then you may also experience the way people here have evolved a special art for conversation, expressing most of the secrets of human live while uttering almost nothing. This kind of chatter is called “å bolsa”, and is a phenomenon seen only in “conversation” among old friends, mostly men. When meeting strangers the locals might gab a lot or nothing at all, witch in both cases probably should be taken as an honest expression of hospitality and friendliness.

The skipper and his pilot.

We stay in Melingsvågen for one day. The next day our host says he would like to sign in as a pilot and escort us safely through the rest of the Bømlo archipelago. To us, inexperienced and unfamiliar with these waters, nothing is more convenient than this free, local guide, and soon we cast off and stand out from the bay with confidence and no need for satellite navigation. Our original plan was to twist and turn trough the many narrow sounds and cannels south west of the island Goddo, but our pilot says heading west of Goddo towards the open sea, is better and easier, at least if our intension is to set sail. No sooner said then done. The main sail is set and we take bearing on the outermost island, Måksteinen (The seagull rock), beating against the northwestern wind with some support from the outboard. It is a weather-beaten seascape where the heath gradually dwindles into nothing as the boat approaches the big blue. Not a cabin is to be seen. We are to far off, and have left the sheltered waters. Near Måksteinen, we turn north. The jib is set and at last we manage to sail large in a light wind. It's a rather cold day. We use our warmest sailing suits, but our pilot friend is still more then happy with his t-shirt and his fag. He seems to be adapted to this coast and its climate. Let's head for Brandasund and Nillo på skjeret, he says as we pass (on a safe distance) some magnificent cliffs polished trough the millenniums by waves and breakers. I have something to show you there, he mutters without explaining. Aye, aye, Sir!

(Please update or give your comment on this posting, including errors and idiomatic blunders.)

Bømlo / Espevær

Visitor berths, natural harbour, sea chart, Espevær info, Island hopping, Sunnhordland info., Outdoor Counsel

Sletta south of Espevær, Ryvarden lighthouse (No).

The lighthouse is now a cultural centre with art gallery and cafe, and offers overnight accommodation, see Sveio tourist information.

North of Haugesund – you’ll immediately meet an open stretch – “Sletta”. This water is infamous among ferry passengers for it's heavy seas. As late as 1999 a tragic accident happened when the catamaran ferry “Sleipner” went on the reef  "Bloksen" and went down. 16 passengers drowned. As we pass by this reef, the accident gives us food for reflection, but happily, today “Sletta” causes no trouble. It is a summer day. We are beating to windward in a gentle breeze from the northwest. Bømlo and Espevær are still scarcely made out in the horizon. While running north, we proudly outsail a bigger and far more modern boat. While approaching the archipelago of Espevær, this other boat chooses the main lead, we instead, steer towards the light at Marholmen a bit more to the south, fascinated by the complicated web of cannels that seems to wait for us behind the nearest island.

Espevær, a small world of islands and chanels.

If you are lucky, you have a vessel that doesn’t always ask you to choose the safest and most obvious fairway, that doesn’t quiver when you ask your second mate to run close in with the land, towards something perhaps unpredictable. Maritones doesn’t bother; she is small but capable although both her skipper and her second mate still are novices in sailing and often are worried too. This time, luckily, our adventure is exiting, but no big deal. The entrance reminds me of a poem, The Dream We Carry, by the famous Hardanger poet Olav. H. Hauge. Robert Bly and Robert Hedin have translated the text, and you deserve a complete quote:

This is the dream we carry through the world

that something fantastic will happen

that it has to happen

that time will open by itself

that doors shall open by themselves

that the heart will find itself open

that mountain springs will jump up

that the dream will open by itself

that we one early morning

will slip into a harbor

that we have never known.

We enter the bay in full sail, observing with delight this harbour that we have never known. I cross two third of the water surface, and then turn sharply into the wind while my wife douse the sails. After hours in the open sea, the calm, protected pool really feels like another world, and more of it is ahead. The outboard is started, and Maritornes runs slowly trough the fascinating channel dividing Saugøy in the south from the village island. The small, well kept houses are evidence of prosperity, but today some of them are summerhouses only. In former days things were different and far busier when up to 20.000 fishermen came here in the herring season. The island's three bakeries, I read later, couldn’t cope with the situation, and thousand of bread had to be imported from the mainland every day. People could walk with dry shoes from island to island, climbing from boat to boat, and the fishermen lived and slept in every obtainable chamber, causing – I imagine – terrible sanitary conditions, but also excitement, joy and a lot of hurly-burly. The Norwegian writers Jonas Lie and Alexander L. Kielland are among those who have portrayed this kind of event. Lie depicts in an excellent way the teeming crowds in a Norwegian outport, especially in his sea novel “Gaa Paa!” (1882). Unfortunately the text is not translated. A similar happening, but in an urban setting, is described by Kielland, using Stavanger in the 1840s as his model. In his novel Skipper Worse (1882) a great hullabaloo starts with the news, saying the herring is on the coast

(from page 45).

Prosperity, but unfortunately there is another side of the shield, hidden beneath the surface of the sea. It is the almost untold story of profit maximisation in a global seafood capitalism, a story of pollution, fish diseases and the uncertain fate of the wild salmon and sea trout, and the whole ecological system in the Norwegian fjords.

In former days up to 20.000 fishermen came her in the herring season.

In Espevær it would be easy to find a nice natural harbour among the many small islands. This day, though, we are in a more sociable mood and head for the guest harbour where we make fast alongside a big cabin cruiser. No problem. The "cabin family" has been her for several days already, and intend to stay for many days more. So it is with the motor boating people. More and more they congregate at the guest piers at least if it has electricity, shower and a shop. It is cosy and it is cheaper than running around with a 400-horese-engine, slurping diesel like a summer holiday monster. After all, there is also a boat loan to be paid off, and too much moving around leads to financial breakdown. Furthermore, explains this non-sailing family as they try to gather their sweet, yelling kids for dinner and children's TV: “we enjoy ourselves here in Espevær. No place on earth is better”.

59°35,19’N 05°09,53’E Espevær's visitor berths.

On the port side of us lays a completely different type of boat – it represents both another time and another culture – and another generation. The world is immediately different when there is no father and mother around in a all too expensive craft; only a grandmother and a grandfather on their annual cruise with their grandchildren.

We try to adopt some of their attitude. At least our own ambition is not at all to explore the hole of Espevær, but simply to relax for a day or two, enjoying the seascape and the characteristic ambience of this archipelago, forming the southern point of the much bigger Island, Bømlo, where our next stopover is meant to be.

Something is special about islands, particularly islands such as this, sort of left out in the big blue, and simultaneously closed on itself with it's many islands and reefs. It must be this environment - and the island feeling of life – that makes the islanders slightly different from others. They may be more self-absorbed, but towards those who take the trouble visiting their little empire, they are pure friendliness. Simply staying in this mood is enough. We are content to wander around the island's narrow roads and trails, more or less without any plan. Suddenly we come to the lobster park (No.), the largest in Norway.

Unfortunately, it is late, and the park is closed, but it doesn't matter. We look trough the window, it is free of charge, and besides, we can read the history of the lobster fisheries and the farm on a poster. We then decide to try the islands peculiar self-service cable ferry, connecting two of the islands. But totally bewildered as we are, we can't find it and ends up strolling home to the guest pier, tempted by the prospect of enjoying a bottle of Chilean wine in the light of our gas light, and later – maybe other pleasures as well in the dark corner of our “forecastle”. Not until the day after when gliding out trough the northern sound, we see the modest ferry and regret everything - but now the ticket is thrown.

In villages of the Espevær kind, the grocery is an obvious centre – if it still holds on. Therefore, if you have done all your shopping before departing a city harbour, shame on you. Next time you arrive the island, the local grocery may have throw in the sponge. The grocery is – besides – a nice place to chat with human beings, both natives and “explorers” – that is others than your own crew. The local pub is another obvious option, and according to the tourist information there really should be one somewhere on the island - at least in the weekends (but today it is not). All in all the Espevær community doesn’t seems to go all out for tourism. The guest marina is nice and the island has some rental properties and some attractions, but no heavy promotion seems to be needed. The islanders seem to be content enough, and don’t ruminate on all sorts of tourist industry. By the way, they are helped by supernatural powers. The most famous of all attraction on the island is the so-called UFO-ring, an inexplicable impression in the field – probably made by a circular sailing vessel from another galaxy. I’ll order my masthead man to keep his eyes peeled.

Next day comes with dazzling rain. The morning is spent by chatting with sailors arrived the night before. An experienced, stout, old and ugly (but nice) man sails with his young, sexy (new) girlfriend. She is inexperienced, that is, I guess, with regard to sailing. Of cours the boat (i.e. his boat) is extremely large and I postulate a "law" regarding second marriage sailors: The tubbier the groom, the bigger the boat, the younger the bride. I ask my wife to cast off; we are heading for Meling bay at Bømlo’s western shore.

Nådesundet, Finnøy

Visitor berths in Nådesundet: Langøy, Reilstad (Eng.), Sea chart

Langøy belongs to Stavanger Sailing Club, but visiting yachts are welcome.

59.08,926 N 05.51,387 E. Nådesundet is situated on the island Finnøy’s southeastern shore. It is a beautiful sound with two nice guest harbours. One of them is at Langøy, south in the sound. This is where members of Stavanger sailing club have their summer cottage, but visiting yachts are welcome, albeit your stay will cost you a pretty penny per day. The Langøy quay offers water and electricity, toilet, shower and a barbecue place. Guest must register in the club's guest book and deposit the fee in an envelope. Small talk with other sailors, though, is free of charge.

59.08,886 N 05.50,710 E. Reilstad is just west of Langøy, on the Finnøy mainland. Again, it is a private guest pier, but reasonable. Also this spot offers water, electricity, toilet, shower  - and a playgrond not far away. The grosery, including a filling station, is close to the harbour. You are somewhat prone to eastern winds. If you like solitude and anchorage free of charge, you can also find sheltered bays along Nådesundet, especially towards Nådøy. Fogn, to the east, is another option. Otherwise, there is a guest marina north of Nådesundet, in Judaberg, the largest settlement in Finnøy.

Steinnesvågen / Vignesvågen

Steinnesvågen guest harbours (Eng.) (Eng.), Natural harbour, Sea chart

59.09,971' N 05.48,486'E. The wide Hesbyvågen lies northwest of Finnøy. At the head of this bay, you'll find a guest pier and some guest berths in the smaller Steinnesvågen. You can make fast vis-à-vis the grocery along the quay on the east side and also just nort of the quay. You are sheltered by the breakwater, but the bay is not among the most beautiful, due to somewhat untidy and industrial surroundings. Moreover, it will be unpleasant here in case of strong winds from the north.

Steinnesvågen, the quay/guest harbour.

59.10,050'N 05.47,490' E. A nicer alternative might be to cast anchor in one of the bays just to the west, just off Vignesvågen. Here you’ll find several small and beautiful bays where you will be safe, at least if it does not blow from the northeast. One of the bays also has a pier where you can make fast, at least if your draft is moderate. The pier is private, though, and you must ask permission at the nearest farm.

You'll find several nice coves to the west of Steinnesvågen. Ask permission if you make fast to a private pier.

View from Vignesvågen, early morning.