I hadn't had a chance to write anything since our first day out of Inverness. I’d either been too sleepy, or busy hand-steering while we motored through a few calms. We left Inverness on the 7th in the midst of a developing high pressure, and by the 9th, it had developed. Right on top of us. The barometer had climbed steadily since we left, and just then was hovering around 1028 millibars, up from 1022 in Inverness (comparatively, on the crossing last summer, it plunged to 990, the lowest we saw all summer, and the wind blew hard). Every time I glanced at it, the needle seemed to have moved slightly upwards.
We were moseying along at 2-3 knots, with barely enough
breeze coming from the west to allow Sune the windvane to steer us steadily
east. We had the genoa sheeted to the end of the mainsail boom, which was
mostly full. Thankfully the sea had quieted down a bit, save for the occasional
rhythmic rolling every few minutes, and it was actually quite comfortable
onboard.
We had spent the previous 24 hours dodging oilrigs. At one
stage the night before, I counted at least ten in my immediate surroundings –
there were rigs north and south of us, and we aimed to sail through a
twelve-mile gap just north of 58º to try and avoid them. They lit up the
evening sea like Christmas trees. Off in the distance I thought I saw the sun
rising in the northeast – it was actually an enormous rig burning fumes off the
top of it. Every few seconds the low clouds above it would light up a bright
orange and the sky flickered ominously. It was too far distant to see what was
really going on. It looked like Mordor. We sailed to the south of it.
The morning of the 9th we entered the Eastern
Hemisphere. As we sailed toward Sweden, the numbers on the chart started increasing
again. On the Atlantic crossing last summer, we counted down the longitude to
measure our progress – crossing 20º west was a big milestone for the crew last
year. We’d started somewhere in the 70’s I think, so by the time we reach the
Swedish coast (at about 12º E), we will have sailed nearly a quarter of the way
around the world, at least in longitude (which reminds me of that joke about
jogging around the world at the south pole – a circumnavigation takes only a
few steps).
It had not at all sunken in that we were actually sailing
towards Sweden. Mia would soon be speaking her language, and for the first time
since we owned the boat we’d be able to fly the Swedish flag from the starboard
spreaders, as a courtesy flag from a visiting boat in a foreign country (up to
then, it had flown from the port spreaders, to indicate the presence of a
Swedish guest or crew onboard). However, at the rate we were moving in that
light air, it was going to be a while, so I didn’t want to get ahead of myself.
We’d be sailing down the coast of Norway first (after the oil fields), so that
would be out first glimpse of Scandinavia. I enjoyed my oatmeal and tried not
to think about it.
-
A few hours later we passed the last of the oil fields,
according to the chart. There were still four in view then, two to the north,
two to the south, and we were about in the middle. The ones that side of the
sea past the halfway point were aflame, belching fire and smoke out of the top
of large scaffold structures, higher than the main platforms themselves. The
yellow flames were thick with black smoke that hung on the wind, a good
telltale of the weather.
Speaking of which, it had been extraordinary that day.
Around 2 or 3 that afternoon the wind abruptly shifted from WSW to NNW on Mia’s
watch, the big drifter aback on the mainsail boom and the boat bobbing on the
waves. I was asleep, and had only just woken a few minutes earlier because I
had to pee. We did nothing for ten minutes or so, but the wind seemed to want
to settle in, so we jibed onto port, set the mainsail and started gaining
steam. The sea had flattened right out.
It was warmer than I expected, both the air and the water. I
was up and about in shorts and tee shirt, barefoot on deck and ticking off a
few boat projects on my 9-1 morning watch. I finally served the portside
lifelines where the mainsheet rubs, spliced up a new jib halyard and replaced
the spin halyard with what had previously been the jib halyard. Which solved
two problems – the spin halyard was so thick and stiff at the splice that it
barely turned on the masthead block. It was impossible to get enough tension on
the drifter for the furler to work correctly. And, the new jib halyard is now
the correct length, and a bit thicker and easier on the hands. I’d forgotten
how to do a double-braid splice, so consulted Brion Toss’ book and managed to
bring it all back to myself. It’s not the prettiest one I have done, but it
will work. I should have smoothed out the bury a bit more before pulling the
whole thing tight.
Mia was asleep, and I was on deck enjoying a private dolphin
show. This was the third time that day that a group of these guys had been
hanging around the boat. They were absolutely enormous! And easily the most
beautiful sea creature I have ever seen. Their snouts were stunted and they had
very high, thin dorsal fins, almost like a killer whale, and their bodies were
a striking dark grey streaked with white that was easy to spot in the water. I
might have broken the GoPro camera already trying to get some photos of them
under the boat. It’s such a privilege to be out here in the wilderness,
enjoying the life in the sea. I sat on the bow for 30 minutes just smiling at
the sight and giving thanks to the world for it’s wonderful nature.
Strangely, the North Sea with its oilrigs scattered about
offered a dramatic opposition to the beauty of the ocean. In the same field of view I could see the cold
dark blue of the sea, the white streaks of dolphins beneath it and the
gargantuan, filthy, geometric structure looming not far away, darkening the sky
with smoke and fire.
I love being out on the ocean. The days were already
starting to blur together and it was easier to stay awake at night. The freedom
is addictive. Just the thought that our little boat, our home, was so far from
where we began, and heading for such a vastly different new land, all on its
own, a new continent, was incredible! New language, new culture, the cold
northern air and that unmistakable northern sky! This was it, this was why we
came out there, all this hard work for the freedom to travel independently on
the ocean, it was all worth it. This is such a fabulous, beautiful, astounding
world in which we live, and seeing it from the little perspective, traveling on
the sea at a walking pace really reminds one how big our planet actually is.
You could fly from Scotland to Sweden in under two hours, and it would take us
five days.
-
I had a scary run-in with a ship that night. We were
motoring on my 1-5am watch. The sky was black except for a faint glimmer on the
horizon where the sun was making it’s way slowly up, and the boat was in a
channel of sorts, between several oilrigs. There were 4-5 north of us and 4-5
south of us, and we steered down the middle, with about four miles to spare on
each side. All the rigs have AIS, which was reassuring. But I was stuck at the
helm, and unable to read it (the display is on the VHF down below) and being it
was such a clear night, I might not have looked at it anyway. I had a rig
picked out off to port, all lit up like they are, and getting closer as we
steamed east. Oddly though, it felt like it was getting closer faster than I
was going towards it. I kept turning the boat south to go around it and it kept
getting closer, quickly now at an alarming pace. I woke Mia for an extra set of
eyes and she scurried on deck to inform me that this rig was in fact a ship,
and that I had been altering course precisely into its path. We got close
enough that I actually turned right around and headed off to the northwest to
let him pass. I’m sure whoever was on the bridge of that ship that night told a
nice few funny jokes at my expense. The incident really did shake me up though,
because I had no idea what I was looking at. My brain was playing tricks on me
in my sleepy haze, and we ended up way too close for comfort. Had I simply held
course, he would have easily passed safely in front of us.
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