So many boats, so many people, such fantastic weather, so many smiling faces. Must have been a success. To describe the event and scene would be impossible, but a few pictures might help.
The flotilla arrives:
Just a few of these marvels of traditional craftmanship:
A number, of highly variable size, took part in a regatta, which was a bit of a flop because the wind would not cooperate:
Maybe what it should have been like. How to use a square-rigged sail to sail close-hauled. Amazing!
And then there were the craftsmen, wood in the limelight. How to make a plank out of a treetrunk, split in half first, just with an axe and persistent patience:
Then built into a shed, no nails or screws, just ingenuity, craftily placed notches, and muscle: (And a few wooden pegs, mostly hidden).
And a product of someone’s, (probably a father’s), imagination and devotion. Ever seen a rockingboat before? Not sure about the rocking”horse” though, difficult to ride astride.
There was music, of varying quality and sort, played with energy and enthusiasm, mostly on the loud side, (thank goodness for hearing aids which can be dampening), some of it very foot-tapping.
And talks. One boat-enthusiat professor had tested four trad boats in the very advanced and sophisticated test tank here at the university, with scientifically analysed results. Significant differences were found: A best one for sailing, and a best one for rowing. I’m sure the builders would have nodded agreement, had they known.
Weather now hot, with sailing winds, what could be better!
Summer! I’ve found it at last! Or perhaps it has found me. Today is wednesday, 17 july, and will be noted in the logbook as the first, whole, really warm day, a proper shorts day, since we left Åsgårdstrand nearly two months ago. Sitting in the sunshine in cockpit to write this, squinting a bit at the screen. Sorry to rattle on, boring for all you sun-tanned folks.
Met up with John Magnus and Mariell for a succulent Italian dinner the first evening here. Good to hear how they are getting on after setting up living together a couple of months ago. A very happy couple and a joy to be with. Mariell on tenter-hooks waiting to hear if she has got a university place.
Got to Trondheim last sunday, after quite a decent genakker-sail for some of the way, otherwise little wind and motoring, from Storfosna, a large lagoon in an island, and a well-protected harbour at the north end. Met and chatted at length with a couple on an English sailboat, who are equally enamoured of the coast up in these parts. Keep their boat in Stjørdal, in the Trondheimfjord, in the recent winters, having got fed up with the long haul from and to Cowes, on England’s south coast. Something to think about, eh?
Trondheim is “summer-busy”. Lots of tourists, including the hoards from a gigantic cruise ship. No less than 12 decks with cabins with a balcony. Really a floating, horizontal block of flats. It has just blown its shattering horn, to urge the folks back before leaving.
Had to take a long-zoom picture of a crew member busy at the bottom of the funnel. He was feverishly painting it, or at least the bits that he could reach with a long-handled roller. (Note non-energetic passengers soaking up the sun)
Painting the funnel
Trondheim has very effective public transport, one tram-line and many bus routes. Getting about is easy when you know how. All info, comprehensive, about routes, timetables and stops, via mobile phone. But is still possible to miss a bus, or go the wrong way. Done that. Trondheim has also tried hard to provide cycle-tracks and pedestrian walkways, well used, but also by these new-fangled electric scooters. Woe betide those who walk and wander!
Tomorrow is the start of the Coastal Society’s gathering, and quite a few traditional boats have already arrived. (I am one of the few in a “tuppeware” boat). Trondheim is a popular place for such an event, being sort of half way between north and south. Local motor-boaties react in various ways when told that they have to move in the morning. Notices everywhere announcing the event, but a notice can be studiously ignored, yes? Feverish activity down along the main quayside with tents and booths going up. One being built of a kit of tree trunks, (with numbered and interlocking ends, no nails, screws or pegs!). The weather promises to be just fine, so it ought to be a memorable event.
Started a bit late in the hopes that the weather would clear. It did, when we were half way to Straumen, on the island of Smøla. The wind changed and was now from a direction which would sail us to Grip, a small island community just a few miles offshore. Marvellous view of the “six sisters” on the way. About turn. Hoist sails and enjoy.
The Six Sisters
Grip, like many other similar places, was a fishing community which gradually turned into a holiday-homes community, with still a fishing boat or two. Very small harbour, with the guest pontoon occupied by a cabin cruiser which, judging by the green slime on its ropes, had been there a while. So we rafted up on Steve Cooling, who had to give up his place to a fishing boat later.
Grip harbour
Just time for a quick wander round and a visit to the museum, the yellow building. Walls covered in old photos of fishy activities, and explanations of a way of life of yesteryear.
Grips oldest building, and the yellow museum.
Then the “bus” arrived, with sunday tourists, amid a cloud of loudly complaining kittiwakes, disturbed from their nests in the truck-tyre fenders hanging from the quayside.
After enjoying the spectacle, we left, and sailed back to our original destination, Straumen. Very quiet on a sunday evening. Next day was not good, so we stayed, slept a lot, before an early start on tuesday, 06:00, in the hope of getting somewhere before the wind became contrary and strong. Much careful navigating through the islands and rocks to Hopen, a larger community on Smøla.
And then a surprise: A strange sculpture in two bits. An explanatary notice. The father of the Norwegian Sea Rescue Society, (Redningsselskapet), Tybring, who after tireless efforts over many years, managed to club together enough sponsors to establish the society, and then build the first vessel, “Colin Archer”, whose achievements are legion. “Colin”, (colloquial), is still very much alive and active today, and in good hands.
Tybring monument
Hopen wasn’t exactly buzzing, but there were notices about Veiholmen, which apparently was, a few nm further north. So, more embroidery-navigation, for motor, and we were there. Houses all higgeldy-piggeldy with some asphalt and mostly grass in between. Much larger harbour with many boats, including active fishing boats. Also here were most of the houses holiday homes, well cared for. Lots of children, including an energetic few kicking a football around, and in the end, into the harbour. The rescue operation was enthralling. No one fell in though. Pity.
Vedholmen harbour
One of the larger buildings, the newly-restored Veiholmen Brygge, with very new restaurant, serving only pizza until friday, when the chef arrives. Good pizza.
Vedholmen Brygge
Again an early start, 06:00, to beat the forecast increasing wind later, but the opposite happened. A circular route out around the north collection of rocks and islands led to open water, to be met by more than enough wind to scoot us along under full sail, and more than enough very choppy seas, to make breakfast uncomfortable. Then, after an hour or so of bash and splash, the wind gradually subsided until practically nothing, leaving just the choppy seas. Motor again, into the main Trondheims Leia, a long, broad sound, with the gradually increasing wind on the nose, to Laksåvika, on the south side of Hitra. A small anchorage, well protected from the chilly northeasterly. And, praise be, the sun burned away the low stratus clouds and the temperature shot up to 18. I could at last lounge in the cockpit and expose the skin to the sun’s healing rays, and generate some vitamin D. First this summer, HA! Water temperature is sill only 13. No bathing, not even a shattering in-and-out dip.
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:
The dumping of the wet-weather gear.
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!
Evening sun in Tornes.
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.
Sightseeing, by Hop-on-Hop-off bus tour. Aksla and a breezy view and coffee. Dinner on three sorts bacalao in restaurant XL Diner here in the harbour, Portugese, Spanish and Italian, very good indeed.
Atlanterhavsparken and the Aquarium, extended since my last visit with a large lagoon for seals and a large pond for otters. But the exhibits and tanks and explanations! All comprehensive, fascinating and absorbing. A genuine all-day-time.
Feeding time in the main tank, with multi-lingual commentary. Even all the children present went quiet!
And the penguins, bless ’em, good entertainment. Swimming feverishly to and fro awaiting feeding time:
Then they heard the keeper, about time too, and waddling-rushed to met him:
and then they flock-rushed back in front of him to the feeding spot:
The seals knew their time too, appeared from the depths as the warden appeared, and arranged themselves expectantly: Cheeky seagull-thieves too.
The pups were fed on the beach, ever hungry
even for the final drops:
Today is wet, again, but no wind or waves to rock us. Sunday-quiet in the town, probably no cruise ship today. An inside day. Tidying and packing. Margaret leaves tomorrow morning, on the bus to Bergen. It has been an interesting month, from Åsgårdstrand to here, in spite of the un-summery, blustery or calm, wet or dry weather and rather more motoring than sailing, but that is boat life.
North a couple of miles from Fosnavåg is the bird colony cliff on Runde island, apparently impossibly vertical seen from a distance, but not to the birds, who perch on every available ledge.
No ledge left uninhabited. And the noise! A cocktail party in its late stages has nothing on gannet-speak in concert. You can see the ones in the picture with their necks stretched up, emitting a raucous squawking sound. Not melodious. I suppose they can hear the differences in squawk.
Looking up from under the cliff, were googles of gannets soaring and wheeling in the up-draught, an entrancing sight.
And in the water, just resting or fluttering their feathers, were a plethora of puffins, rafts of razorbills and gaggles of guilimots, who, even with our engine switched off and the boat drifting, wouldn’t let us get too close.
The light was very flat from a low, grey sky, so it was difficult to differentiate them. We’d hoped to see them diving and coming up with fish in their beaks, but it must have been a resting time between feeding sessions. No gannets diving either, though we did see one later.
Then onward, sometimes under sail, to Ålesund and the guest harbour in the middle of the town.
The outer harbour, (the inner one was full), is exposed to waves and rollers from outside, plus the wash from the fast ferries next door, so it is never calm. To add to the motion, a German sailboat rafted up on Josin later and our first night was disturbed. He was encouraged to leave next morning, and having told him of nice places further north on his intended way, he left before evening. We slept better that night.
Woke early, on purpose, before six. Away before seven, thats what the forecast said would be best. Calm. Overcast. Drizzle. (When summer? Please….!) Head north west. Wind gradually increasing, on the nose of course. Round the headland with the steepest small farm I’ve seen. Northward. Wind and waves increasing, North Sea rollers joining the fray.
Uncomfortable, as always.
Round the NW headland, turned right to scuttle to the islands and better shelter. Sailed a while! Then north, to Fosnavåg for a slightly late lunch. Message from Gilbert that we are seen here on a webcam, proof that we’ve arrived. Tomorrow to the bird colony at Runde, just a few miles north of here.
Right at the end of Frøysjøen, almost under Hornilen, in a deep small bay guarded by high cliffs, lies Vingen, a place with many rock carvings dating from 6000 years ago. Saw in the tourist guide in Florø that there were guided tours on fridays. This was monday. So on the way to Måløy we diverted a little. But alas, the small jetty was guarded by large notices in several languages saying No tying up, No Admittance, Penalty of Prosecution, etc. Daunting. Frustrating. Saw people a little further along, so puttered towards them in the hope of going ashore there. No, sorry. Very friendly family. Mum’s great grandfather had cleared a small farm there and built a house and barn. Now the family use it as a summer place, but not for much longer. Authorities want the whole area, “to protect the place”, and after legal wrangling, have allowed the family ten more years there. Seems very unfair to me. After a very pleasant chat we were shown where, from the boat, we could see the most visible carvings.
Difficult. Very flat light. Imagined that this was one:
See that squiggle in the middle of the picture? No? Perhaps, perhaps not. Then, on the end of the rock was this:
M suggested a horse. Not quite sure which end is which. But it was no carving, just lichen. Pretty anyway!
Onward to Måløy. Just for diesel. Further a few miles to Silda, being the best starting point for rounding Stat, for the night.
We waited until the forecast wind abated and the rain ceased. The sky was still overcast low and the wind chilly, 10 degrees, but with most of available warm layers on…… However, after about half an hour, the chasing black clouds overtook us and dumped their contents. Happily my new HellyHansen suit kept me completely dry, M sensibly down below. Gradually things got better, but the wind died away to motoring, all the rest of the way.
Florø was sunday-quiet and still so we could wander the town undisturbed from end to end in the sunshine. On the way in the fjord we saw, on the opposite bank, an enormous pile of planks and pallets, with a crane busy hoisting ever more on top. Yes, a potential bonfire. Later in the evening we followed the trail of people making their way out along the quayside, at the end over wobbly stones and waving arms for balance, we joined the throng just in time, 21:00, to see the first flames:
Lots of disciplined boats, of all sizes, watching the flames gradually devouring the pile. A pagan ritual surely, but of unknown origin. Did I hear someone mention witches and warlocks?
Florø bonfire
The warmth from the flames didn’t reach across the fjord, and the sun had lost its earlier heat, so we went back to the boat to enjoy the sunset at 22:20, behind the trees on the island with the bonfire.
Maybe Måløy tomorrow, with a stop on the way to see the ancient rock paintings at Vingen.
After a morning of organising, washing clothes, re-packing and wondering what we’d forgotten, tanked up with fuel, (not water, as there was an E-coli scare), we set off at teatime, under a low sky, up the Fedjefjord, under sail and motor and occasional rain, to the well-protected lagoon at Uttoska, were there is a mooring buoy, and there was nobody on it, so I hooked it while M manoeuvred expertly up to it in a flukey wind. Late dinner. Study weather forecast. Promising. Sleep.
Woke up early, and last night’s forecast was right. Lovely southwest wind, up to 20 knots, some cloud, some sun. Perfect for sailing northward. We did. Just genoa. Max speed almost all the way, except in the narrower passages in amongst the islands when we reduced sail somewhat for better manoeuvreability. The ride across the entrance to Sognefjord, with the waves rolling in from the North Sea, was a bit bumpy, and coincided with M trying to make sandwiches for lunch, forgotten earlier. Success luckily.
After a glorious sail, we uttered in to Hardbakke, protected by a very impressive wall of knobbly mountain:
just in time for tea, to find an empty pontoon. M noticed that the buoyancy boxes under the pontoon were adorned with large mussels in the clear water, and recommended that the captain dived for some. Having consulted the thermometer in the water, a doubtful 12 degrees, he declined. Wandered up to the shop later just not in time (18:00) to buy fresh bread. Went next morning instead.
Forecast was for stronger SW winds, 25 to 30 knots, and as there are some parts of the way north in fairly open water, we decided to stay the day and potter. Up the hill to the plateau behind the houses to find the Skafferiet restaurant. Closed. Excellent view. Wind around our ears.
Clouds rushing past, so there would be much more wind at sea. Correct decision to stay.
Josin's 2025 cruise 