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.

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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.

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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!

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