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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