Ålesund is a fine town, lots to see and do, rather if it isn’t raining. While we were there, it rained, at sometime every day, and blew, mostly from the directions which caused waves into the guest harbour. Josin pitched. Strange to be rocked to sleep. We visited the places to be visited, and read of the history of the town and its thrifty inhabitants. It was also interesting to read the Norwegian side of the stories of the Shetland Bus, of all the “bus stops”, and the people and equipment brought in. And of the losses. Many, in the service of their country.
Sunday was a tidying and packing day for Margaret, who left the day after. We had discussed and decided that Bergen was a better place inn the rain to visit than more/same of Ålesund, so she spent her last two days in Bergen or thereabouts.
As we agreed that this would almost certainly be the last time she would be on Josin, a ceremonial discarding of her old wet-weather gear was in order:
Pity you can’t hear the plaintive wail of sadness, (or good riddance in another guise), as the garments were stuffed through the hole, never to be seen again.
Of course, the weather changed gradually for the better after Margaret left, (that sounds a bit equivocal), and on thursday, 4th July, I woke to bright sunshine and a plausible sailing wind, in the right direction! So I left, and yes, we sailed all the way to Tornes. 45 nm. It rained in squalls, short and sharp, with windgusts to match, (had to pay attention), the rain being so intense that it flattened the sea. Unusual. Strange and large amount of water on the floor, and in a nearly-full bilge. But it was fresh, not salt, thanks be…. Eventually traced to the cockpit shower handle fouling the housing and leaking into who-knows-where and into the cabin. A whole tankful. The surprises of boating!
Tried for an early start next morning, but missed. Away before 9 nevertheless, to a dying northwesterly wind which didn’t quite manage to blow us over the nasty stretch of Hustavik. Several wave systems causing uncomfortable, coffee-spilling seas, and moving Josin around so that the sails would not stabilise. Motor. Towards the western end, there is an opening between the islands to go into the fjords, under a bridge in the Atlantic Coastal Roadway, and wanting to drink the rest of my coffee, turned sharp to starboard. Amazing contrast, flat water and a fine sailing breeze. P & Q, and coffee. Magnificent scenery. Huge steep mountains with small green farms at their feet. One mountainside deeply scarred by an enormous quarry, and piles of stone and rubble. Tiny, toy-sized, bright yellow machines crawling about. A beautiful bridge, (well, in the eyes of this engineer), spanning a large gap between two mountains:
Then into the last stretch to Kristiansund, to be “blocked” by this oil drilling rigg, resting I suppose, and its attendant supply boats. The red one with the teeth politely shooed us away when we inquisitively approached.
Kristainsund and proud of its fish industry, managed to produce some mediochre fish-and-chips to end another long day.
Today, saturday, sunshine and a blustery 20 kt northeastly wind, too much on the nose to try and sail it. Boat maintenance. Some shopping. A long visit in the sunshine to the culture centre, “Mellomværftet”, for traditional boats. All fascinating. Listened to boating yarns told by grey-haired salts around the coffee table in the lee of the workshop.
Reading Steven Hawkins’ latest. Mind-boggling. Difficult. Expanding.
Alls well.
Josin's 2025 cruise 