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.