Josin’s cruise 2021 / 10

From Harstad to Gratangen

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The weather changed from chilly, to not so chilly to suddenly summer, and stayed like that for several days. Most enjoyable! The locals knew how to take advantage of the sunshine and the sidewalk cafés and ice cream sellers were doing a goodly trade.

We headed to Gratangen, in blue sky, clear sunshine, flat calm sea, and motored all the five hours. The goal there was the North Norway Traditional Boat Museum, right at the bottom end of the fjord, local name Gratangsbotn. (All the deep fjords worthy of the name have a “botn”. Logical, isn’t it?). (68 40.2 / 017 40.0). Visitors to the museum are presumably expected to arrive by road, not boat, as there wasn’t really anywhere to tie up.

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Luckily there was Lars, owner of one of the runabouts at the pontoon there, who agreed that as long as the weather stayed stable and fine, it was OK for Josin to perch on the end, so we stayed. After some late lunch and a snooze, I was awakened by a family of Mum and four children, arriving to take a dip. 15 year girl showed the way and plunged, (water temp 14,2 C), but the rest needed encouragement by shouts and squeals, but they all went in, one or two just-in-and-out. Mum sat on a bench and paid attention.

A gentle walk past a garden with a large sailboat hiding in the tall nettles, over a field, bombed by angry gulls protecting their nests, a rickety bridge over the stream and then round the end of the local football pitch brought me to the museum, where a sit on the terrasse in the sun with a cup of coffee was well-deserved.

A very well-organised museum. Lots of boats, some more than 100 years old, of middling to small sizes, all with a history given in three languages, and some other interesting articles. Spent several hours there, awed.

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I still marvel at the lines of these boats, developed over the millennium, formed by basic tools and cunning use of the characteristics of newly-hewn trees, and a craftman’s tradition passed down over the generations. They slide through the water so easily and are remarkably stable.

In a coppice beside the museum was a memorial to those who fell in the battle here at the beginning of the occupation of Norway in WW 2. It was here that they held out longest apparently.

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Next morning, a knock on the bow and a loud “Hello” brought me out to meet Tore Meyer, an elderly gentleman with walking stick who turned out to be the owner of the sailboat in the nettles, who invited me to coffee and a chat. Unfortunate fellow. Had had two heart attacks earlier and had lost the ability and drive to finish his boat. He told me all about it and also his other boating adventures, over several cups of coffee. Very generous these people up here in the north. He offered me the use of his car “because you really need to look around a bit”. Yes please! An Audi with six gears and very many horsepower, needed taming. So I drove into the hinterland, with feather-light right toe and realised why this area had been so strategic for the occupiers. The old road was the only connection north-south over the mountain. Now replaced by a modern road with sweeping bends, stunning views and no lay-bys. No stopping. I drove quite a way before I found a turnoff to turn around.

Next morning, back to Harstad, motoring. A stop in Foldvik to see the boatyard and workshops where they restore old boats, but unfortunately little activity, cos it was monday and holiday times had started. During the day I received a message saying the gennaker had arrived, so next morning puttered round down into the end of the harbour where the agent was, to collect it. On the way back, stopped to fill up with diesel. Back in the town and intending to go and buy some fresh bread before setting off south…… No bank card! (used to buy fuel). Back to the pump. No. Telephone to my bank and a helpful lady did the necessary and organised a new card to be collected in Trondheim. Fortunately a credit card will tide me over. Moral. Have a spare!

A hoped-for ride in a sailplane at nearby Salangen couldn’t occur, as the towplane wasn’t in order. Next opportunity, late July. Bother. Too late. Onward, back southbound.

All is otherwise well!