Category Archives: Blog

Monday June 25th: Rodhamn is a cozy guest harbor located less than 10nm south east of Mariehamn. I had first heard about it, and the couple who run it, Christian and Annette Kull from Andy and Mia’s 59-North podcast a few years ago. Not only does the place offer sheltered slips in a gorgeous bay, but the Kulls also run a cozy little café serving terrific coffee and homemade pastries, and for a small fee they will deliver fresh-baked bread to your boat each morning. Arcturus was returning to one of her former haunts and we were thrilled to visit a place which had been so evocatively described on the podcast.

After two nights at Mariehamn the day dawned bright and clear with 8-10 knots of wind from the south east. This allowed us to untie our lines and run the engine for barely five minutes before turning to port and hoisting our 135% genoa for a pleasant reach all the way to Rodhamn. The route is all inside channels with no Baltic swell to negotiate. The only real challenges are dealing with frequent gusts and shallow water, but we safely dealt with both and within less than two hours we were snapping our rear lines onto a mooring ball and hopping off at the jetty.

The harbor is framed with the usual granite rocks onto which sturdy wooden jetties are attached, forming a walkway to the café and harbor control office. The place can handle about 50 boats but when we visited there were perhaps 15-20. The landscape is dotted with half a dozen traditional ‘falu’ red buildings, including the café and office, the sauna, the garbage hut and the vault toilets. We quickly said hello to Christine and enjoyed a pastry and coffee while meeting other sailors. I recommend the sauna in particular, which you reach by following the ‘red road’ (ask Christine) round the corner a traditional two-room hut right on the water, boasting a wood-fired stove with the most enormous pile of firewood next door. Suitably refreshed, we repaired to the cockpit of Arcturus for a vegetarian Thai curry and a chat about what a wonderful experience our sailing had been thus far – but not before J scored some nifty drone footage, which can be seen below.

But as always, the highlight of the visit was meeting other sailors, most notably Christian Juslin, a gregarious and charming Åland native and operatic tenor who sings around the world but loves sailing in his own back yard better than just about anything. And who can blame him? Christian came to visit us on Arcuturus and give us some tips for anchoring in the area. His suggestions were like gold to us.
You can find Rodhamn at their own website here or find them on Facebook.

Sat. June 23rd: I’d always looked on the prospect of crossing the Baltic as daunting. The images that came to mind were of spume-flecked rolling seas, driving rain and howling winds, with nothing but dark and frigid depths awaiting the unwary. To attempt this passage surely it was not enough to sport a salty beard and a woolly sweater, you also needed to be true water man, horny of hand and unshakeable of temperament, in a well-found ship and ideally, aided by an experienced and imperturbable crew.

But of course the reality is nothing like that. The sail from Marina del Rey to the Isthmus of Catalina, a run I’ve done dozens of time at home, is longer and more challenging, and within four hours of leaving Blidö’s cozy harbor and heading north east, the last outlying islands at the eastern end of the Swedish seaboard were receding in our wake, leaving us with nothing more formidable to contemplate than a glassy sea and countless two-story high channel markers demarking the busy shipping and passenger ferry lanes. Arcturus’s 16hp Beta Marine engine hummed along happily as we made an uneventful traverse of what Australians would call a strait but which locals usually call a sea. It was sunny and in the low 70s and was quite a dull passage, until we reached the first outcroppings of the Åland Islands, which are technically Finnish but mainly Swedish speaking. This archipelago is autonomous, demilitarized and was the subject of numerous disputes between the two countries until the matter was settled by the League of Nations in the 1920s. Åland consists of 6,5000 skerries and islands to the east which stretch almost to the Finnish mainland. For a sailor,  this place is paradise – provided you like nature harbors and quiet anchorages, have a tolerance for tight passages and shallow water, and have provisioned and watered carefully ahead of time.

We were greeted by something of a lunar landscape, otherworldly and stark with little vegetation on the grey granite outcroppings, and it made for quite a maze was we were led east then north through the main shipping channel – where we dodged perhaps a dozen large ferries in less than an hour, to the main town of Mariehamn. We had left Blidö about noon but it still came as a surprise that it wasn’t until shortly after midnight that we pulled in to Mariehamn West harbor, just past the main ferry terminal, and tied up in a bright twilight, in the shadow of the Pommern, the only four-masted merchant sailing ship in the world still in its original state. Built 1903 in Scotland and bought by the Åland shipowner Gustaf Erikson in 1923. Pommern has carried timber from Scandinavia, saltpeter from Chile and grain from Australia. Her last commercial voyage was done in 1939 and since 1952 she has been a museum ship, owned by the Town of Mariehamn, but managed by the Åland Maritime Museum Trust. She certainly makes for an impressive site as she stands sentinel over the buoys and pontoons of the ASS (Åland Sailing Society) Marina.

After securing the boat we grabbed a quick bite and then set off for a 1am walk around the town, which is quiet and residential on its western side, with 19th century architecture reminiscent of a provincial French town, but on its eastern side were surprised to be greeted by the sounds of a disco, a casino, and dozens of young locals looking to mingle, bingle and schmingle with the opposite sex.

Mariehamn has a long and proud tradition of Cape Horners (sailors traversing the southern tip of South America in the days before the Panama Canal) and the town boasts a fascinating maritime museum. The marina is very well equipped with a shop and harbor office, sauna and showers and several restaurants. They also keep the local kids engaged in sailing with a large sabot fleet and a working wooden sailboat from 1900 which they use for sail training. For crew planning to arrive in Stockholm, it’s an easy and picturesque five-hour ferry ride from the Swedish capital, (tickets cost $16-$20 at time of writing) with several daily departures. All this makes Mariehamn an ideal spot to stop for repairs, provisioning or picking up crew, and makes a great gateway for a deeper dive into the Åland archipelago. 

Which was just what we planned to do.

Friday June 22nd: NEVER start a voyage on Friday. There are few sailing superstitions more entrenched than that particular chestnut and when we devised our launching schedule we had planned to obey it rigorously.

But our failure to install either the composting head or the manual windlass meant that by Friday morning we had the boat completely ready to go and we were itching to leave,  not least because the boatyard had suddenly become  busy with happy Swedes coming down to their boats, laden with food and drink, voices positively giddy at the prospect of getting out into the archipelago to celebrate Midsommar.

But the weather is no respecter of dates and the big day dawned gusty and full of showers. My  plan was to  return the rental car to Norrtalje – about an hour’s drive away – and return by public transport. What I hadn’t planned on was given the importance of this day in the Swedish calendar, the habitually wonderful local bus system was operating on a quarter service – meaning that once I had changed buses for the branch line that went to the island I was faced with a two hour wait for a bus. Or I could walk. So walk I did, and before long I came across a backed-up line of cars waiting for the ferry.  

Swedes are far too polite to turn down a request for a ride so I brazenly marched to the front of the line and asked the first car with a single occupant I could find. By chance he was a naturalized Swede, originally from Poland, and a boat builder. We chatted about my boat’s design for the brief ferry ride and ensuring car journey to the boatyard. Such lovely people, these Swedes!

The boat was ready to roll and so were we….so we simply slipped our mooring lines and off we went. Given the gusts and the newness of the boat (to us) we opted for a reefed main and small jib, sacrificing speed for comfort and ease of handling. We made uneven progress for the first couple of hours under grey skies as we headed north east through a crowded channel with countless islands, skerries and rocks to keep us vigilant.  We turned eastwards from Ljustero into the channel just south of the islands of Ostersundet, Edöo and Applarö and I quickly slipped back into the routine from two years before – monitoring channel markers, checking for shallow water and (when I could) adjusting trim for the constantly shifting and fluky winds. Out here you get a serious wind shadow while you pass an island, then get hit by a vicious gust as you clear the lee and scurry to ease the mainsheet and dump the surplus. You will often lament your reefed main or small working jib, then be thankful just moments later as a venturi effect threatens to lay you on your side. But as our mood changed from caution and care  we became a little – how shall I put it – giddy at the prospect of longs days ahead of us in a well-found boat in one of the world’s great cruising grounds. But the winds soon gave way to lulls and we found ourselves becalmed for a couple of hours, so we abandoned our original destination of Granhamn and adjusted our sights to Blidö, a well-regarded and cozy gasthamn to the north east about 22nm from our departure point, which we read was pleasantly sheltered from the main east-west ferry traffic passing the island of Xylan to the north. To make things even better, by about 5pm as we approached the south side of the island the clouds cleared and a glorious late afternoon sun appeared to dry us out and warm us up. We pulled in about 7pm and side-tied to the dock, since all the bows-to buoys were taken. Leg one was in the books!

I was feeling pretty euphoric at the first successful passage of the trip and so I was grateful to climb the hill and order an Islay whiskey and a beer from the Wardhus, which overlooks the dock and serves some terrific modern Swedish cuisine. The staff were busy celebrating Midsommar night themselves and although the service was fine, it was clear their priorities lay elsewhere. I collapsed into my bunk a little after 11pm, sure I would sleep through the night. Barely two hours later I awoke to  the sounds of celebrating locals. A family of middle aged Swedes were carousing at the sauna right across the harbor from my boat, alternating between roasting, swimming, and drinking. Time to make lemonade from lemons, I thought, trudging bleary-eyed to the harbor’s laundry room where, I was told, the wifi was strongest.  I fired up my laptop and caught up with emails. An hour later weariness overtook me. As I walked back to the boat, the sauna-ists was still at it, and there was more action on the dock, where a couple of very handsome Swedish teens  were making out to the sounds of a boombox playing Bruce Springsteen’s “I’m on Fire”.

It was quite a moment.

JUNE 18-21, 2018: HAVING A BOAT anywhere – even just tied up at the bottom of your garden, should you be lucky enough to have a waterside home – can be nerve-wracking. In the wee small hours you will often find yourself worrying if the mooring lines are chafing through, if you really tied that bowline correctly, or if through some other small oversight, you will wake in the morning to find your pride and joy, your magic carpet, your refuge and the repository of your dreams, gone with the morning tide.

Having a boat on the other side of the world merely adds to those worries (please add the sound of world’s smallest violin here). But since  my 1966 Allied Seabreeze Arcturus was on the hard, not in the water, at the Ramsmora Batvarv (boatyard) on the island of Ljusterö, about twenty miles north east of Stockholm, in the enviously stable and earthquake free Kingdom of Sweden, I wasn’t too worried about her drifting away on the tide, being stolen by bandits, or falling into a sinkhole.

Which allowed me to put her away under winter cover in August of 2016 and walk away with barely a care or a backward glance.

Fast forward to June 18th, 2018. My Norwegian flight from LAX touched down at Gatwick airport at 10am for a 90 minute layover before the quick and easy leg to Stockholm Arlanda. Having booked the flight back in November I not only got the whole thing pretty cheap (less than $600) but also ensured I was in the exit row for both legs of the flight so I got plenty of legroom. I picked up rental car (pro tip here: If you join the Hertz Gold Rewards program and buy the cheapest economy car available you will almost always get upgraded….I got a large new Volvo station wagon) and  drove to the hamlet of Dunderbö to pick up fore and aft pulpits from the previous owner’s barn and made the 75 minute drive to the island of Ljusterö, the highlight of which was the cool, drive-on, drive-off ferry at the tip of the island. From there it was a simple 15 minute drive to the boatyard. The anticipation as I approached was palpable….

Arcturus was right where I left her. Still wearing her winter cover and waiting patiently on the grey cinder floor of the yard. I could hardly wait to get to work.  First I disrobed her  winter cover and then dismantled the aluminum frame. Opening up the cabin I took a deep breath and ventured below. Two years on, there was a slightly musty odor but amazingly zero mold (thanks to Mia’s tip about wiping everything down with a 50/50 water/vinegar solution). Although I was jet lagged I was far too excited to sleep. So I worked from late afternoon until about 1am, organizing and cataloguing everything, from the clevis pins for the rigging to the silicon caulk for the toe rails until I feel asleep, dead on my feet, at 1am. And it still wasn’t dark.

I don’t know about you but when sleeping in a new space I get disturbed easily. This time it was the dawn chorus of the birds precisely 75 minutes later. 2.15am and bright daylight. Time to get up! I scrubbed the deck, cabin top and topsides manically and installed the stanchions and lifelines. Finally the clock crawled round to 8am and I headed off to Arlanda to pick up J., a sailing buddy from LA who was to help me launch the boat and sail her aross to the Åland Islands and back.

The only slight fly in the ointment was that we were denied the sight of seeing Arcturus launched because we headed into the island’s only town to provision at just the wrong time. An hour later we returned and found Arcturus floating serenely at the launch dock. A simple miscommunication between myself and the boatyard which was disappointing from a social media aspect but great for our schedule. We reconnected the electrical systems and the solar panels, installed and dodger and tried the engine, more in hope than expectation.  The engine turned and fired first try. How that was possible after two years on the hard with no trickle charger? I had no idea but it was a huge relief.

By now it was mid-afternoon and we retrieved both masts from the storage sheds and ran the dyneema rigging and shrouds ready for hoisting. At this point the rising wind stymied our hopes of getting it down that very day, but the yard foreman (Ollie) agreed to do it first thing in the morning. Which was good, because I had hit a wall with jetlag and sleep deprivation. I could barely string a thought or coherent sentence together. I ate a salad, drank a liter of water and passed out at 4pm.

   By Wednesday lunchtime the mast was raised and the rig tuned. So far so good. But this was where our plans hit the rails. We had planned to install an Airhead composting head, which had been delivered to the boatyard a few weeks before. But with the boat already in the water we discovered the thru hull was frozen and rather than try to hammer it free and risk sinking the boat, we thought it best to delay until the boat was put up for the winter again, when the thru hull could  not only be opened without any danger, but also glassed over easily. Fortunately the existing head was functioning perfectly, so unless we did something stupid – like putting toilet paper down there – it would probably be fine for this sailing season.

Our second plan was to install the Lofrans Tiger 555 windlass which came with the boat. But here my organizational skills had proved deficient. After searching every locker and lazarette, we realized the windlass was not on the boat, but back at my friend’s country house just north of Rimbo to which I had access but to which our schedule did not allow another road trip. Also: in the archipelago you don’t really  need to use the anchor too much: you either go into a marina (gasthaman) or go bows-to on the rocks in the quietest naturhamn (nature habor) you can find, tying the boat at the front to a tree or boulder and securing the aft using the stern anchor. In other words, we could put this  job on the back burner and concentrate on sailing.

Which we did. Mainly prompted by the countless locals arriving at the boat yard  laden with food, drink and good cheer and casting off in their own vessels for nearby islands for the annual Swedish bacchanal of Midsommar (Summer Solstice), we felt we simply could wait no longer. The boat was ready and so were we (or so we thought).

Ignoring all sailing superstition,  we cast off on a rainy Friday morning…..heading for the anchorage of Granhamn, just outside Kapällskär, from where, if the forecast were fine, we would strike out for Finland the next day.

Bleary-eyed me imparting words of wisdom at the boatyard…

Winter storage. The Swedes have a word for it and that word is Vinterförvaring. In this part of the world boats have to be lifted out of the water, the engine and water systems must be winterized and the vessel should be covered or, depending on your concern about the effects of the long, cold Scandinavian winter, they can be moved into storage barns, some heated, some not.

The issue of where to store Arcturus for the winter had been on my mind ever since I took possession of her at the beginning of June. But with so many other challenges to distract me, I decided to delay giving the matter any attention until much closer to my departure date. In hindsight, this was a mistake.

There was one particularly helpful Swedish chap, Gunnar Sundqvist, who moored next to me at Wasahamnen during one of my repeated visits. He was very curious about the boat and when I told him I’d be headed up to Norrtalje for the winter he strongly recommend I use Rosättra Batvarv (boatyard) about 20km north of the town. He gave me their phone number and even told me I could use his name for a reference. Trouble was, by the time I had left the boat at Wasahamnen one final time on July 26th and driven to our friend’s country house near Rimbo for a few days R&R on terra firma, those folks had left for their summer vacation. No answer on the phone and no answer to emails. I even drove up there. The boatyard is about half an hour’s drive outside Norrtalje at the end of a windy and deserted road framed by a thick Swedish pine forest. The place was deserted. It had plenty of sheds with perhaps half a dozen boats already in situ for the winter. But it had a creepy, post apocalyptic feel to it. Peering through the office I saw papers on the floor and dust on the desk. It looked like it hadn’t been used for a while. I half expected to see Rick Grimes and a herd of walkers emerge from the trees….

I drove back to Rimbo to research my options and ask my Swedish host for his advice. The Grepen Marine Batvarv in Oregrund recommended by Mia would have been my first choice, but it was a long 2-3 day sail from Stockholm and my son had come down with a nasty case of strep throat, delaying my departure and forcing me to find somewhere a little closer. Which is how I found Ramsmora Boat Yard on the southern side of the island of Ljusterö, about half a day’s sail from Stockholm. They were more expensive than Grepen Marine (almost twice as much, in the end), but they were efficient, they had room for me, and best of all, they weren’t away on vacation…

Which is why Tuesday, August 4th found me bidding a final farewell to the wonderful gasthamn at Wasahamnen and motoring east then north east down the busy main channel that links Stockholm with the archipelago and the Baltic. At Granholmen, (about 8nm away) I turned north and passed the historic fortress of Vaxholm, then threaded the needle between several small islands until I cleared Scarpo. This is the route of the large ferries heading to both Riga and St. Petersburg so it requires plenty of attention and given some of the narrow passes involved, I kept the engine on and the sails down.

Approaching Grinda about 5nm later, I carefully negotiated a tight pass between two menacing-looking rocks with perhaps ten feet of clearance either side. That done, I found myself at the southern end of the island of Ljusterö, looking for an inlet which heads north towards the town of Storström. Three miles up this inlet on the port side, nestled between the requisite Swedish forest and a smattering of country houses is Ramsmora Batvarv, a very well equipped facility with five piers, a manual crane, a boat lift, and a well-equipped club house, for want of a better word, with kitchen, showers and even a small crèche for the kids.

Ramsmora Boat Yard. Power Washing Arcturus from Neil Fletcher on Vimeo.

Wednesday was spent meticulously photographing, disconnecting and cataloguing everything. The boat yard manager Daniel was incredibly professional in helping me de-mast the mizzen and main, which were then de-rigged and put away for the winter. Her diesel tank was filled to the brim with fuel and a little fuel stabilizer, and her bilges were pumped dry.

Thursday saw Arcturus lifted out of the water and carried to her winter spot near the edge of the parking/storage lot. I then changed the oil, ran a 50/50 water/antifreeze mix through her cooling system and similarly winterized the water tanks and the head. My last job was completed Friday morning, and her aluminum frame was then reconstructed and her cover installed.

Ramsmora Boatyard. Moving Arcturus to her winter spot in the lot from Neil Fletcher on Vimeo.

But this flurry of activity was punctuated with plenty of time for reflection. Seeing my boat lifted from the water and given a power washing before she was taken to her storage place was incredibly bittersweet for me. I felt pangs of longing I remembered from my lovelorn teenage years when separated from some girlfriend or other. I felt gratitude for the way Arcturus had taken care of me and my friends during this quite wonderful summer, and concern that I prepare her thoroughly for the bitter winter ahead. The boatyard crew were always gone by 6pm, so I had plenty of time each evening to ponder all that had gone before during the previous sixty days. I was melancholy, contemplative, philosophical. But also very satisfied with the way the summer had gone. And more than a little proud of myself….

And that corner of the Ramsmora boat yard is where Arcturus now sits in repose. Her head tucked under her wing for the winter. Seemingly in the middle of nowhere but, in true Swedish fashion, she is also just 25 paces from a bus stop from where I took a bus back to the mainland and all the way to Norrtalje on the afternoon of Friday, August 5th. And it’s there I’ll see her again, in June of 2017. I’ll miss her. In the meantime I’ll just have to console myself with stealthy visits to Google Earth to see the boatyard. And to check my iphone for the temperature on Ljusterö come the dark days of winter. And plan for next year’s adventure.

Honestly, I can hardly wait…..

It’s early evening on Monday, August 1st and I’m sitting in the cockpit looking out at the Vasamuseet which dominates the skyline looking north from Wasahamnen. I’m back on the boat after six days R&R – if that is the appropriate term – at our friend’s house north of Rimbo, about twenty minutes from Norrtalje. Their graceful and peaceful country home sits on over an acre amid the rolling fields, forests of pine and birch and pristine lakes which typify the Swedish countryside. It was lovely to enjoy a fully equipped kitchen, a bed that didn’t roll in the middle of the night, and reliable internet. Not to mention their long rolling lawn which unwinds to a glorious lake, complete with fishing dock and portable sauna. And their wine cellar is not bad either.

And yet I’m happy to be back on Arcturus for the last few nights before her decommissioning for the winter. Tomorrow I’m headed off to the Ramsmora batvarv (boat yard) on Ljusterö where the boat will be derigged, dismasted and lifted out of the water. Her engine oil and transmission fluid will be changed, her cooling system winterized and then she will be surrounded with an aluminum frame and covered for the winter, not to see the light of the day until June of next year.

Sitting here my mood is rather bittersweet contemplating the last two months I’ve spent on the boat. But I can’t also help but feel astonished that I’m still here after all this time. I first sailed into this harbor on June 5th and between now and then I’ve had three separate crews join me, in addition to numerous lay days in between spent exploring this fabulous city. Part of me feels very much that the party has now moved on and this is just the fag end (meaning cigarette butt, no gay slur meant or implied!) of a wonderful experience wherein all I have to look forward to is work and admin. And that the fun times are already gone. But another part of me is delighted to have these precious few hours to take stock of what I’ve done, where I’ve gone, and how I’ve turned what was just a dream barely ten months ago into reality.

In point of fact I’m still a little anxious about single-handing the boat to the shipyard – not the sailing, just the departing and arriving – an extra pair of hands for lines and fenders is always useful – but mainly I’m concerned that I get the details of decommissioning done right. If I make a mistake in winterizing the engine, for instance, I might have an expensive bill before I can go sailing next summer. But more to the point, I want to cover the boat up and walk away without a second thought. When I get back to life in California, I do not want to worry about the boat. I want simply to reflect on how I spent this summer, process my emotions and convictions and get on with my life. Perhaps in January I’ll start planning next year’s sail.

I’ve got perhaps one or two blog posts left in me before suspending this blog for the year. So please stay tuned.

After Moja we headed west to begin the bittersweet last leg of our journey. There are plenty of quiet little spots to enjoy before reaching the important island of Vaxholm, which marks the final entrance to the Stockholm area. Given our experiences on the east coast of Moja the night before, I was determined to find a deep, quiet, peaceful spot with no small harbor entrances, no swells and no ferries. I quickly decided on Loknasviken on the north east coast of Varmdo because on the map it looked like a deep, sheltered fjord cutting far into the island. No crosswinds or hairy 360 turns here, I thought.

Our pilot guide describes Loknasviken as a ‘deep bay sheltered from all but north-easterly winds’ but added that anchoring choices were either bows-to on the rocks or swinging from the hook. However, when we poked our nose into the bay we were happy to see another option. At the bay’s far end were a dozen masts and what looked like a jetty with stern mooring buoys. Clearly this was a new development since the Arholma-Landsort guide was published and very welcome it was too. After effortlessly docking we cracked open a bottle of wine and toasted a trouble-fee mooring for the night. The dock has no facilities and the gate to the neighboring property is locked and razor-wired, so don’t expect to do your business anywhere but on board. A large SKK flag flew proudly at the end of the dock (Svenska Kryssarklubben, or Swedish Cruising Association), which meant it was one of their properties, which was also good news for us, since I had taken a membership for both the boat and myself before I left California.

The dock has a handy swim ladder at one end – an invitation for a swim that did not need repeating. I dove in, cooled off, and surveyed a peaceful, bucolic scene around me. Time for a gin and tonic….

This bay seems something of a secret – nobody else pulled in after us – and it’s a great stop either on the way in or on the way out of the archipelago.

One of the bigger islands in the central archipelago is Moja. A place rich in history, but like most of the islands now almost completely dependent on sailing traffic for its commerce. It marked the northernmost point of my journey with Franz and based on the forecast winds from the north west, we opted for two small harbors on the east coast, either Kyrviken or Loka. I’d been forced to turn Arcturus around in tight quarters in a very compact channel opposite Sandhamn harbor the day before so I was feeling my oats a little bit and not daunted by their compact size, clearly visible on the Arholma-Landsort guide. However, with sailing there is very often a fly in the ointment and in this case there were two; the winds and current had shifted to easterly. Instead of rethinking my plan I pressed ahead, confident that the dogleg nature of both harbors would afford me some shelter. I was wrong.

As I entered Kyrviken I was left with very little time to both select a mooring and plan my approach to it because of the wind and swell. And did I mention there were no moorings left anyway? To my left, right and dead ahead were small sailing vessels, motor boats and a couple of working boats. I had perhaps one and half boat lengths between myself and obstructions on all sides. Amid rising stress I was able to turn the boat 360 degrees within the tight and challenging confines without damaging either myself or anyone else, and we headed out gratefully and turned left towards Loka. Turns out Kyrviken was just the appetizer for a smorgasbord of issues facing us down the road. Loka has a tiny harbor entrance – barely twice as wide as our beam, and the unwary will find fiberglass meeting with unyielding Swedish granite if they get it wrong. Here I made my second error. I saw there was one of the many inter-island ferries approaching and decided to duck in quickly rather than wait till the big bruising boat – and its swell – passed us by. We made the entrance okay, only to see there was just one available berth (of an alleged but doubtful 15), and that was right by the harbor entrance basically not sheltered in any sense of the word. A combination of finger piers and mooring buoys constrained my room for maneuver, and as with Kyrviken, wind and swell kept pushing me forward. There was really no time to idle the engine and consider the situation. I was already in a problematic situation.

At this point the ferry arrived and the swell doubled. On the plus side Swedish ferry pilots are like Formula One drivers in a pit stop. Full speed in. Full speed out. Absolutely no hanging about. So although dealing with the swell was nerve wracking, it was short-lived. But it certainly added to the stress level. The hardest part of his whole episode was accepting that I needed to give my boat plenty of throttle to complete my turns while battling wind and waves. It’s counter intuitive to do so because of all the potential collision points around you. Twice I lost my nerve when trying to turn the bow to the harbor entrance, and was both times blown back to where I started, just a few feet from other craft. I finally got the courage to do the right thing, and amid much urging from Franz, jammed the throttle forward and managed to get the boat around and facing the exit. Which I surged towards gratefully.

No more moorings on the east coast for us. Amid a rising wind and the promise of driving rain we motored to the northern tip of the island about a mile away to Langvik, a small fishing harbor with (allegedly) 6 moorings. We were not optimistic about finding a spot, but our luck turned. Immediately to the right of the harbor entrance is a small ‘allman brygga’  (guest dock) for half a dozen boats and there were a couple of empty spots. And best of all by now we were perfectly sheltered and docking was a breeze (or rather, a lack of one). Time to breathe, tidy up the boat and perhaps crack open a beer.

Langvik is a pleasant spot to stay overnight. And after the challenges of the previous hour, it felt like a godsend. The guest harbor has outhouses, water and electricity and makes for an interesting ten-minute walk from our dock. If you are feeling more ambitious, it will take you half an hour to make it down to Kyrviken, where you can rent bikes to tour the island. We enjoyed another quiet night in situ. I for one was very happy that the lessons I had learned cost me only a little stress. And no gelcoat scrapings. Or worse.

If you subscribe to any social media feed for sailing in and around the archipelago, it won’t be long before you see a post about Biskopson.

Or more specifically, the Koxviken anchorage on the island’s north coast. Strictly speaking Biskopson is a small group of islands on the periphery of the outer archipelago, about 5nm south of Namdo and 10nm east of Orno, but Koxviken is where you MUST go if you are in the neighborhood. It is a just-wide-enough, picture-perfect little bay with about two dozen bows-to mooring spots on the north and south side, with the granite rising quickly all around to about 70ft to provide the best possible shelter. The western end of the bay is shallow with plenty of reeds, but the water is still and warm on most summer days, and this makes for a great spot to spend a night unless there are strong north easterly winds. There are outhouses at both the northern entrance and the southern shore, but they were close to full during my visit so you won’t want to linger…!

We arrived about 2pm Saturday July 9th after a three-hour downwind sail from Dalaro. The bay was barely a quarter full at that time so we picked an empty spot on the north side and were immediately helped with our lines by another family who were already snugged in. After a quick dip in the waters – cool but not frigid – I toured the bay on foot as best I could – the island is a national park so there are no clear trails, but rather plenty of boulder-hopping and double-backing. We suffered a brief rain shower which was followed by the most spectacular rainbow and the water turned glassy. After dinner and a bottle of wine I launched the dinghy and rowed out to the mouth of the bay and for perhaps an hour savored the languid sunset over the western horizon. Just emptying my mind and focusing on the beauty of the scene before me reduced me to a zen-like state of utter calm. It’s fair to say I zoned out, and was only rocked gently back to the real world when the dinghy bumped softly against a small rock, forcing me to come back to reality and, with regret, row slowly back to the mothership. Needless to say, it was an utterly peaceful night in my bunk….

As you journey from the southern end of the archipelago northwest, the biggest islands you’ll find are Nattaro, Uto, Orno, Namdo and Runmaro. North East of Namdo where Ingaro meets Fagelbrolandet, there are several tucked-away little inlets and hidden bays which make a pleasant place to spent a night or two.

My endlessly helpful English acquaintance Rodger had recommended Malma Kvarn as a hidden little gasthamn offering almost complete shelter in all winds, which after Huvudskar seemed very appealing. The approach was easy enough, we put Arcturus on a broad reach heading NNE, darted between northern Orno and southern Namdo, and then headed a coule of miles north before turning east into the waterway dividing Ingaro to the left and Fågelbrolandet to the right. Malma Kvarn is up on the right hand corner, tucked away almost out of sight and promised a peaceful night’s rest. The only fly in the ointment was that I’d seen storm clouds approaching from the west for some time but kept sailing anyway – just a little too long before firing up the jenny for the last mile’s approach. By the time we reached the harbor the wind was blowing a hoolie which  made for some interesting conditions coming in and hooking to a stern mooring ball for the first time. These buoys are preferred to stern anchors in many harbors and take some getting used to. Unsurprisingly we missed the ball on our first try but were already committed to coming between two other boats. But fortunately we had plenty of fenders out and a helpful man on the dock who took our lines while another hopped in his dinghy, took our stern line and attached it to the buoy himself. As the wind whistled and howled we tightened our lines, got snugged in, and as so often happens in Swedish summers, thirty minutes later all was calm and sunny, allowing us to unwind with a beer at the dock restaurant and a plate of the chilled shrimp with aioli (called rakor in these parts). So many of these little harbor restaurants have been excellent, which is quite a pleasant surprise after some of the swill I’ve had in California harbors.

The harbor here takes perhaps twenty boats and is clean and well-maintained with toilet and showers. A five minute walk up a country road bursting with tall hedgerows and birdsong is the laundry building and two minutes beyond that, just around a winding road you’ll find the sauna, another huge bonus for us, since it is a wood burning model and there is always plenty of chopped wood, kindling and firestarters left for your use. Franz and I enjoyed our first truly rustic Swedish sauna here before cooling off with the adjacent cold shower, but on a subsequent visit  with my family instead of a cold shower we walked perhaps two hundred meters round the corner and found a gorgeous, tranquil and temperate lake, where we lazed for a delicious hour slowly cooling off. In addition to such enticements to visit, Malma Kvarn is run by friendly young Swedes, the best of whom was Julia, a Polish-Swedish girl, very well travelled who spoke excellent English, who not only served as hostess and waitress for the restaurant, but even offered a yoga and breakfast combo for 200kr at 8am the next day. This gasthmamn a terrific find and will cost you around $35/night.

Huvudskar. I was first told about this place by Bjorn Millang whom I met with his wife Ann at the Bistro Solsidan in Dalaro. He described the place – which is a group of half a dozen small, windswept islands at the eastern edge of the southern archipelago as a ‘magical place, very special indeed’. And that’s certainly the way it turned out for us – us being myself and my latest guest on the boat, Franz of the Sailing in the Mediterranean podcast. Franz is a veteran sailor, patient, kind and very knowledgable, and perhaps my biggest sailing influence given that I decided to buy a boat in Europe precisely because of my experience on Franz’s Bristol Channel Cutter in Turkey and Greece last year.

Franz arrived in Stockholm on Saturday July 2nd and after half a day provisioning and locating a reasonably priced sleeping bag at the local sporting goods store, XXL, we left Vasahamnen on Sunday afternoon. We followed the same route I had taken with Richard, turning to starboard down Skurusundet and then negotiating the back door of Baggenstaket before hoisting sails as we entered Baggensfjarden. After a long sail (20nm with plenty of tough beating upwind) we spent Sunday night in Kyrkviken on Orno, a place I had visited with Richard but decided to revisit because I loved it so much. Come Sunday and with light winds out of the north in the forecast we had planned an easy downwind sail to the neighboring island of Uto and to overnight in the Gruvbryggan gasthamn on the north east side of the island. But as we rounded the southern tip of Orno we decided to take a a quick detour to Dyviken at the north west tip of the island  because our pilot guide told us this was a very promising anchorage. We guide was right, it offers almost 360 degrees of shelter and there were plenty of boats already tucked away into one sweet spot or another. We then decided to use the calm of the bay to practice reefing. Since buying the boat from Andy I hadn’t needed to reef but figured now was as good a time as any to familiarize myself with the system. Thirty minutes later we headed out of the bay, with two reef points in, just for fun and found the conditions had changed dramatically. The wind had clocked round almost 180 degrees and we were greeted with 15-20 knot winds on our nose, forcing us to beat up and out of the harbor. It was uncomfortable and tough going. The only bright spot was at least we had two reefs in! Instead of another upwind slog we changed our destination for the night to Huvudsar, about 10nm due east and a comfortable beam reach.

As you sail due east the islands tend to become smaller and starker. There is less vegetation and far more granite as the rich forest of fir trees to the west gives way to hardy clusters of low-growing small bushes, lichen and mosses, clinging tenaciously to the rocks.

The heart of Huvudskar is a small and sheltered bay with a simple jetty and two SKK(Swedish Cruising Club) buoys we could have tied onto. There is also is a small area of bows-to rocks at the southern side where four or five Swedish boats were already clustered. After we had dropped the stern anchor they helped us pull in and showed us how to hammer in the bergskills – the pitons topped with rings to tie off to which are made specially for bows-to anchoring that I had bought on a whim in Sandhamn.

Franz and I then explored the island, and the word rugged, desolate and windswept really come to mind. There are perhaps 12 structures on the island – a mix of houses and huts in classic Swedish red, mostly uninhabited except for a few precious weeks in the short but glorious Swedish summer. The island’s water supply comes from a single well topped by a solitary green pump which is shared by whomever is staying on the island.

We met a group of three families from Stockholm – three wives with perhaps seven children between them, (no husbands), eating a simple alfresco meal of pasta with cheese sauce from plastic plates, who told us they come every year to ‘detox’ with no electricity, no internet and no running water. Just firewood stoves, oil lamps and each other’s company in a beautiful setting. We chatted with them for perhaps ten minutes and came away inspired by these wonderful people spending summer in a traditional way.

We slept well enough, but at 7am sharp (in every way) I experienced yet another rite of passage for the cruising sailor. I woke to the scary sound of my boat bumping on the bottom. The wind had shifted overnight,, the anchor had dragged and we were now being pushed onto the granite of the island. Bleary-eyed and not a little alarmed, Franz fired up the jenny while I pulled out the bergskills and we quickly reversed into the bay and headed west to our next port of call. As we headed out we saw two of our neighbors had moved onto the mooring buoys sometimes during the night. Experience clearly counts…

All things considered Huvudskar was well worth a visit, impressive and windswept and more than a little daunting. But if I visit again I’ll opt for the SKK buoy, if only to ensure a peaceful morning and a cup of coffee before getting underway.

Sandhamn might be considered a place with a very mixed reputation. Almost every resource I consulted ahead of my trip said this busy island was an absolute must-visit when sailing in the archipelago. But but when I asked Swedes about the place, (and Rodger, the old English salt I had met in Stockholm), the verdict was also unanimously negative: too busy, too expensive, too noisy they said. Rodger in particular was scathing, describing the harbor as a place ‘where rich Swedes come to play every summer, pretending they are regular folk by slumming it on their 50 foot yachts’.
Just the place for us then.

We left Dalaro around 10am under grey skies heading ENE. As the weather brightened a following breeze of about 8kts gifted us the easiest of comfy downwind sails under jib alone. It’s about 17nm from Dalaro to Sandhamn and the key is to leave Namro to your starboard then duck below Runmaro, negotiate one tight pass and then enjoy an easy short sail of perhaps 3nm to the Sandhamn harbor, located on the north east corner of the island.

The place has long been  a favorite destination of well-heeled Stockholmers , with the playwright August Strindberg a frequent visitor in the 19th century. Now the town is dominated by the main hotel, a patrician -looking place which dominates the main gasthamn (guest harbor). As we pulled in our lines were taken by a very attractive young Swedish teenager in a smart resort uniform. This very much set the tone for our two days here. Gorgeous young Swedish people, living a healthy outdoor life. For $40/night you can enjoy a clean, friendly and spacious marina (provided the midsummer crowd have not yet arrived), plus the place has the requisite showers, WC, sauna and laundry that all cruisers need.

The island is well worth a walk around and it’ll take about an hour. After turning right at the marina you reach the edge of the main hamlet in about two minutes, and after passing what passes for the town’s outskirts – pretty little country houses with picket fences and compact gardens bursting with summer blooms, you quickly find yourself in a big pine forest fringed by sandy beaches which, though pretty too look at, are exposed to the unrelenting Baltic breeze. Sandhamn is a pleasant island and not a bad place to relax and unwind, but if you’re looking for solitude, look elsewhere. The local ferries from the capital seemed to unload a human tide every couple of hours, and we were told that within a few days (i.e. by midsummer night on June 21st) the resort would become unbearable. There were signs of this everywhere, with a mobile radio station setting up for the annual solstice bacchanals in which all Swedes delight, and several large and very expensive sailboats pulling in just as we left Tuesday morning.

In sum, this is a great place if you like guest harbors, and is probably the most ‘important’ island in the archipelago. But if your thing is swinging on the hook in solitude, look elsewhere.

One of the mottos that has consistently served me well in life is to surrender to serendipity. Richard and I did just that on Friday 17th June and ended up richly rewarded with not just a memorable meal but four great new Swedish friends. It was my 54th birthday and since Dalaro is rather a one-horse town we only had two restaurants to choose from, but given the fact that I fully expected to be stumbling drunk by night’s end we decided to try Bistro Solsidan, located right next to the dockmaster’s office in the marina.

The place is typically Swedish, making the most of limited space with its largely white interior accented with nautical and botanical prints. It benefits from two huge bay windows to showcase the unhurried Swedish sunset and on the night we visited the atmosphere was buzzing, helped by a bibulous goodbye party for local teacher with all her female colleagues.

As for the grub, what a pleasant surprise it was. The blackboard featured a menu of locally sourced fish and meat including sea bream, pike-perch, salmon, Swedish lamb and a reindeer hamburger that was essentially rare inside and all the better for it. I struggled to decipher the proprietor’s inventive Swenglish but my ears perked up when he described the kyckling vitello tonnato. For the uninitiated, Vitello tonnato (and I’m quoting Wikipedia here) is a Piedmontese dish of cold, sliced veal covered with a creamy, mayonnaise-like sauce that has been flavored with tuna. It is served chilled or at room temperature, generally in the summertime. In this instance the veal had been substituted for chicken and the whole thing was adorned with a cress and arugula garnish.

The wine list also made for good reading, a small but imaginatively chosen selection from which we opted for a Provence rosé priced at about $40 – a bargain by Swedish standards. Including coffee and dessert the bill came to around $112 which I considered a good deal considering some of the mediocre meals I have had for the same price in Los Angeles.

However, best part of the meal was befriending Olle and Annika, a fifty-something Swedish couple at the table next door. We struck up a conversation with them after Olle, translated ‘pike-perch’ from the proprietor’s tortured food descriptions. Turns out he and Annika were fellow sailors and within minutes we were fast friends, getting tips about secret spots in the archipelago while he quizzed me as to the provenance of my boat.

As they restaurant emptied Ollie insisted we share a post dinner drink with them, then another, and then their friends arrived, a Swedish businessman named Torbjorn and his wife Ann from Laguna Beach in California. More drinks followed along with tales of the Golden State from Ann and myself and to nobody’s surprise we all decamped to my boat in the driving rain for even more drinks. We all became fast friends very quickly.

We were rained in to Dalaro for several days which allowed us to enjoy another nice dinner with our new friends – this time at Torbjorn and Ann’s house and what a treat it was. Their large and comfortable house, decorated in a pale palate and dotted with large candles in hurricane jars, just oozed Swedish calm  and we enjoyed a typical locoal meal of steamed salmon and monkfish, boiled potatoes, carrots and asparagus and raspberry and mixed leaf salad. Since there is no systembolaget in Dalaro we didn’t bring wine, instead contributing a rhubarb compote from the excellent local deli. We were joined by another sailor named Jonas, a Hallberg-Rassy owner, who had seen my Allied Seabreeze in the marina and also peppered me with a million questions. Jonas  was a fearsome-looking fellow with a shaved head and big Viking beard but was actually quite mild mannered, telling us that last summer he had done volunteer work among the seaborne migrants in Turkey and Greece.

If you do find yourself in Dalaro, do not miss the Bistro Solsidan, or the Dalaro Bageri (bakery) or the deli about six doors down from the bakery whose name I neglected to note. However steer clear of the only pizza place in town, which although benefiting from friendly service, serves possibly the worst pizza I can remember having in recent memory….

When we finally pushed off for Sandhamn on Sunday morning we cast a long and fond backward glance at Dalaro. It was happenstance that we came here, but I for one will definitely be back.

The day dawned cold and grey. But we had to get to Dalaro because England were playing Wales in Euro 2016 and Richard really HAD to watch it. Plus I needed a reliable internet connection and power supply for work, so I donned my foulies and waterproof and we cast off around 8.30am for a cold and wet upwind motor to the tip of Orno – about 90 minutes of discomfort – and then a quick thirty-minute  crossing to Dalaro, a charming but slightly larger town (this all being relative in the archipelago) just across the water. Looking very much like an old fishing town in Maine, Dalaro is rocky and steep with houses dotted across the island running down to several working docks and wharves. We turned past the southern tip, again negotiating a very tricky low-water channel  with lighthouse perched right in the middle of the fairway by re-reading both the pilot AND Navionics before proceeding, finally  turning to starboard to reach the Dalaro Marina, a tucked-away sweet spot with perhaps 40 guest places. Our lines taken without fuss with a four-person team of Swedish teens, two of whom we later learned were Afghani refugees, part of a government program to give work experience to immigrants. Again this gasthamn (marina) provided us with all we needed – internet, laundry, showers, toilets and even a sauna, which was a very welcome antidote to the damp weather. With similar showers and clouds forecast for the next two to three days, it was time to hunker down and catch up on the blog….

Wednesday, June 15th: The day dawned bright and clear for our jaunt down to Orno, and after casting off and motoring out into the main channel we had hoped to raise the sails. But with the wind on the nose and a long journey ahead we elected to motor until lunch time, when we took a slight detour to the tiny hideaway of Napoleonsviking, located about 5nm from the harbor at Saltsjobaden.

This little bay was recommended to us both by Rodger back in Stockholm and Bengt, the endlessly helpful harbor master at Saltsjobaden, and though we didn’t plan to spend the night, I was eager to practice my mooring skills, which in this part of the world involve dropping a stern anchor and motoring slowly towards the granite rocks, which rise so steeply off the sea floor you can bring the bow close enough to step right off without worrying about scraping your gel coat. As a novice both with this technique AND the boat I had a few nervous moments with Richard at the bow yelling back directions, but at the third attempt we got it, Richard stepped off without incident and we secured the boat via a couple of bow ropes  around two nearby fir trees. I tightened up the anchor line, which led aft off a nifty webbing reel, and we were snugly secured and able to explore the island, a delightful little place, although we were careful to keep  a weather  eye out for ticks, which can carry TBE, (tick borne encephalopathy), a nasty little germ which can lead to permanent brain damage. Noted, doctor.

After the taking the requisite pictures and uploading them in a braggy Facebook post we cast off, motored out of this gorgeous little bay, not without regret, and hoisted sails for an easy beam reach almost to the northern tip of Orno about 6.5nm SSW. As the wind backed (or was that veered?) round to our quarter and died away we raised the mizzen and slopped along at perhaps 2.5 knots until impatience got the best of us and we doused the sails, fired up the iron genny and motored the last hour down the east side of Orno through a couple of very tight passes for about another 6nm, before turning up a creek to the dinky and totally sheltered Kyrkviken guest harbor, which consisted of just  two other boats, an outhouse and a ferry dock. The place gets its name from the large church just up the hill which dominates the landscape, and apparently it also boasts a highly-regarded restaurant, but we only discovered that after our departure.

The only fly in the ointment upon arriving was that I had not read the instructions in the pilot guide quite thoroughly enough, (i.e. not at all) and had failed to get my stern anchor ready before heading in. Rather than turn around in tight quarters,  we secured the bow with two lines at the dock and I then launched the dinghy  to row out the kedge, drop it overboard and secure it from the cockpit winch.

Another idyllic spot (getting boring, I know), but a great place to hunker down, totally sheltered,where we spent a quiet evening drinking Dark and Stormies (Havana Club rum with ginger ale and a squeeze of lime) with Richard again excelling in the confined galley, putting together a tasty grilled chorizo appetizer followed by marinated grilled chicken with green onion and jasmine rice. Really a great end to a lovely sailing day.

Mon: June 13th: Andy had kindly marked a few of his favorite destinations on the charts and first on the list was Saltsjobaden, an easy three hour journey away from Vasahamnen mostly motoring but with a nice sail at the end. Richard and I cast off around mid-morning, bidding a fond farewell to the Stockholm waterfront and taking a sharp left around Grona Lund and thence down the main ferry channel for just under 4nm before turning right down Skurusundet,  a narrowing channel with steep rocky walls that provided some eye-popping views  of a range of Swedish summer houses, some  traditional clapboard in  red ‘falu’ paint with white trim, but others austere, modern masterpieces of stone, steel and glass. No matter what the architectural style, they all shared one common feature: stairs running down to the water,  with a dock at the bottom, a small boat and and course, the requisite sauna. We passed one gorgeously peaceful and sophisticated tableau after another, with me at least contemplating another life as a bourgeois Stockholmer dividing my time between my city pied-a-terre and my country house an easy 60-minute boat ride away in the islands.

Sigh…

After about 2nm the channel opens up into Lannerstasundet as you swing east for another 1.6nm and then reach the most beautiful but nerve-wracking section of Baggenstaket, long considered the ‘backdoor’ into Stockholm,  a channel barely 100m wide, flanked by  graceful country houses on either bank, and thankfully  marked by red and green channel marks just 20m apart in places  with a scant 9ft of water under our keel. It’s less than 1nm long but sailors best be very cautious here and not get  distracted by the gorgeous scenery and inviting country houses.

Soon enough the channel opens up into Baggensfjarden, a much larger section of open water, perhaps 1.5nm from shore to shore in places, where we could finally raise the main and jib and tack back and forth for thirty exhilarating minutes until we fetched the Saltsjobaden marina, the headquarters of the Royal Swedish Yacht Club, where we tied up for two nights for about $35/night, enjoying facilities including hot showers, bathrooms, laundry and a very chi-chi bar and restaurant area where a sour lingonberry cocktail would set you back $15.

This looked very much like a place where Stockholm’s beautiful people come to see and be seen on a Friday night. Lots of expensive powerboats, and ageing but still beautiful locals possessed of prominent cheekbones and a stylish dress sense. Suffice it to say, Richard’s ageing music producer chic worked better at the bar than on my boat, where topsiders and a waterproof shell answer much better.

According to the guidebook, Saltsjobaden was envisaged as a chic getaway for Stockholm’s smart set. It was the brainchild of a wealthy industrialist who modelled it on the French resort of Trouville (neighbor to Deauville) in Normandy. The bay is dominated by the fading but still glorious Grand Hotel, looking down imperiously on the bay and its boaters. It looks like the perfect setting for a Strindberg or Bergman drama, and the town behind the hotel is a quiet, two street affair, with a railway line direct to Slussen in Stockholm, now defunct in summer, but still used in winter for those who prefer to avoid negotiating the icy streets to the capital. All things considered, this is a lovely spot and a great gateway for those planning to cruise to the archipelago.

Friday: June 10th: Making the brief walk back to the dock in the morning I had lots to think about. Andy and Mia were there to meet me and say goodbye and let me just say that it was a very emotional moment for me. A novel mix of fear and exhilaration, anxiety and relief washed over me and I found it hard to keep my composure. Fortunately they had the sensitivity to make the goodbyes quick and I hopped back aboard Arcturus, took a look at my new home and, as middle aged men are wont to do, laid down in my bunk to contemplate the challenges and adventures that lay ahead.

The next three days I spent opening up all the boat’s numerous cupboards, drawers and other hidey-holes and inventorying all the equipment Andy and Mia had left me. And it was a very extensive list! I also did my best to fit into the eco-culture of this wonderful town by renting a bicycle to explore and provision. And cruising sailors being a helpful and gregarious bunch, I was able to make friends with Roger and Christian, a retired British couple whose summer home is a classic Dutch-designed sailboat whose name completely escapes me. Rog and Chris  not only marked about a dozen little ‘naturhamn’ (natural harbors) on the charts in the archipelago where I could ‘swing on the hook’ for free, but Roger also strongly advised me to visit Sarbis, a gourmet food store just ten minutes away on the bike where I could stock up on excellent cheeses, charcuterie and seafood. Not ‘arf, as my father used to say….

Then came Sunday, and the arrival of my old mucker Richard Tildesley, a British expatriate in Spain whose idea of ideal cruising togs was not layers, waterproofs and topsiders but rather  a houndstooth jacket, shiny black winklepickers and a trilby hat.

My poor old decks…

Monday 6th: The older I get the worse jetlag hits me. East to west is no problem, but west to east is a bitch. So it was no surprise that I awoke at 4am after barely three hours sleep, having walked around old Vasteras for an hour or two after my visit to the boatyard. By 5am I was blowing on cold fingers in the early morning chill while trying to peel back the cover on Arcturus. I then disassembled her custom aluminum frame, located the keys in their hiding place, took a deep breath, and pulled back the companionway board. Both inside and out she looked a little less glamorous than her pictures (no change from LA then). She was also smaller in the flesh (quite unlike LA). At 10am Andy and Mia pulled up and after quick introductions we got to work. Shortly after 1pm Arcturus was in the water. Her engine started first time (thank you Beta Marine) and we motored across to the neighboring marina where her masts where stored for two days of prep before heading east towards Enkoping and thence to Stockholm.

It won’t surprise  anyone who has listened to the 59 north sailing podcast that Andy is a whirlwind of activity onboard. The list of tasks, big and small that he crossed off his to-do list over the next 48 hours to make the boat ready for setting sail left my head spinning.

By Monday afternoon the main mast was rigged and set up. It sounds simple but in reality it involved plenty of very exact instructions from Andy and the learning of a whole new vocabulary for me. Starboard lowers, port uppers. Starboard intermediates. Cotter pins, clevis pins. Mast tangs. My head was spinning in the setup phase alone,  which was way before I watched Andy and Mia work seamlessly in tandem to get the beastly mast aloft and stepped into place on the cabin top. Mia handcranked the dockside crane while Andy secured the mast to the crane hook, maneuvered it into place, secured the fittings and tightened all the standing rigging. And Tuesday brought more of the same, albeit on a smaller scale with the mizzen aft of the tiller.

But while the boat was taking shape gloriously, my own mood was darkening.  With Mia and Andy leaving for the night the activity ceased and I was left alone with my thoughts. Surveying the huge pile of stuff on the cabin sole – clothes, foul weather gear, electrical equipment,  soft shackles, a portable shower, headlamps, how-to-books, charts, sunscreen, lip balm, a marlin spike, a cutting board, you name it, I was left with an overwhelming sense of despair. I had embarked on a huge adventure I was woefully ill-equipped to face. I had spent a large sum of money. I was away from my family for ten weeks in a foreign country. How in God’s name could I make this work?

or a first glimpse of my future (or folly).

After an uneventful flight from Malaga in southern Spain where I had spent a delightful four days in the company of an old school friend, Richard T (to be mentioned later on this site), I landed at Arlanda, Stockholm’s main airport, heavily laden with two bags (combined weight 80lbs) and my electronics-laden backpack.

First task was to secure a Comviq sim card for my unlocked iPhone so I could call internationally cheaply, and most importantly, use the phone as a hotspot for my laptop. Cellular service is ridiculously good in Sweden and a 10 GB package, which should last at least a month, plus very cheap international calling, cost me about $40 at the 7-11 store inside the main terminal. Result! All I had to do was insert the sim card and activate it with the code written on the receipt, according to the nice Swedish lady at the cash registe. Turns out it wasn’t quite that simple. But more of that later.

It was absolute Sisyphean task getting my bags off the Hertz rental bus and into their reception, but my exhaustion was tempered somewhat by the news that I was getting a free upgrade from the manual subcompact I had paid for (about 30 euros per day), to a spacious silver Volvo station wagon. This is a terrific car, fast and roomy and powerful, although also possessed of the quirks so particular to this marque and probably Swedish cars in general. My first clue came about five minutes after I got on the freeway, when the radio would periodically give way to a gentle alarm that lasted for just a second or so. Looking at the odometer, I saw an electronic speed limit sign appear and disappear. I soon realized that the car came equipped with a sensor that linked to the speed limit signs along the highway and adjusted its warnings accordingly. Oh, those clever Swedes!

Forty minutes later I was in Vasteras, a mid-sized town towards the eastern end of Lake Malaren. Mia had warned me ahead of time about Sweden being very much a do-it-yourself culture and I discovered this first-hand arriving at my hotel after 6pm, when all the staff go home. There were detailed instructions in my confirmation email about how to insert a code to open the front door, and where to find the key safe, and what combination it took, in order to access my room. Foolishly I had swapped out the SIM card, although I didn’t have the little pointy doohickey that you need to prise it out, but I managed it with the help of an Iranian couple in a nearby corner store, who lend me a needle. Next problem: for some reason I couldn’t activate the phone. The opening screen kept asking me to access a wifi network and I went round in circles trying the exit, without luck. So I decided to head to hotel and do it there. But now I no longer had the needle so I couldn’t put the old sim card back in so I couldn’t read the email from the hotel on how to get in. I found a local corner shop full of young, beautiful tech-savvy Swedes but after asking 2-3 people they couldn’t help me either. Deep breath. Then I made a breakthrough. The coffee shop must have toothpicks. With that I could prise out my new, non functional SIM card, insert the old one, get instructions on how to get to my hotel room and figure it all out from the comfort of my hotel room. So that’s what I did. Not only that, I discovered that the default opening screen for Comviq SIM cards is to choose a wifi network to register the phone. After that it was simple.

By now it was 8.30pm and still light, as usual in Sweden in June. So I took another deep breath, jumped in the car and navigated five minutes to the deserted Gullberg’s marina on the shore of Lake Malaren where Arcturus was stored on the hard. Five minutes later, walking round a corner, I saw her. She was unmistakeable. I pried open the back of her cover and took a picture. Walked around, had a look at the hull and thru hulls. I then took several very deep, long breaths. I finally was with my boat. This was really happening….

The Stockholms Skärgård, or Stockholm archipelago, was described in one sailing magazine as ‘a delicious chocolate box of 30,000 alluring granite islands, each with its own character, history and wildlife.’

The islands, which stretch east from the nation’s capital, Stockhom, forms the central section of a larger archipelago of over 100,000 islands – the world’s largest. Summer temperatures can hit the mid-to-high 20s Celsius and the weather is temperate. In summer there’s a 25 per cent chance of winds reaching Force 5 but the water stays invitingly flat and you’re never far from a lee. Tides are all but non-existent due to the Baltic’s narrow entrance. What flow there is runs outward and is brackish, due to meltwater run-off further north. At greater depths, salt water flows in from the North Sea.

The most popular section of this fabulous cruising ground contains 30,000 islands, islets, wherries and rocks – from Grisslehamn in the north to Landsort in the south – each with its own character. Rugged nature blends with wooded islands, rocky cliffs and sandy beaches. You can explore uninhabited islets as well as islands with new communities and ancient villages, where large houses and small cottages stand side by side.

One of Sweden’s literary heroes, August Strindberg, himself a regular visitor, described the archipelago thus” ‘These islands, holms, skerries lying so softly on the water it was impossible to say whether they were part of the earth or part of the heavens.’

Amen to that.

This is not a sailing story. It has nothing to do with Arcturus. But the night in question was an interesting  insight into the nature of serendipity so I’m going to publish and be damned.

On Saturday June 4th, the night before I flew to Sweden to see Arcturus in the flesh for the first time, I went out for dinner in Estepona with my old friend Richard, whom I was visiting in Southern Spain. I’d been to the town a couple of times before and it was nothing to write home about. This particular evening a few minutes after leaving the house I noticed I didn’t have my phone. But I figured, what the heck, we’re just going out for tapas and a few glasses of vino…it will do me good to disconnect for a few hours.

We began the evening at Bar Simon, right at the edge of the revitalized town center for a quick glass of rosado and the bar’s signature dish, which was recently named ‘tapa of the year’ in Andalusia.  It was a fillet of bluefin tuna with caramelized red onion topped with a pimento/strawberry confit. Sublime.  And not a flavor combination you’d think would work. A very promising start to the evening.

Soon after we strolled up the hill to the town center where to our amazement there was an event taking place which looked like some kind of Easter festival. Turns out that’s exactly what it was, but the town had just decided to revive  it in June for the first time in 25 years. Lucky us.

The Cofradía del Cautivo reenacts the procession of the captive Jesus to Calvary. And the whole town turns out to either join in the procession or enjoy it from the sidelines.  The ladies of Estapona leading the procession were decked out in their best dresses with shiny court shoes and black mantilla veils on their heads,    carrying gold or silver-plated sticks, the significance of which remained a mystery. Behind them came local dignitaries, including the mayor and city councilors toting large embroidered civic banners extolling their loyalty either to Estepona or the region as a whole. Then came the Guardia Civil dressed up in their best military spit and polish. And finally a brass band from what looked like either the local high school or the church, either way, all the  players looked like teens. But the centerpiece was a life-size statue of Jesus with a man I presumed to be Pontius Pilate, but given my ignorance of Catholic ceremony I could be wrong. Jesus wore a crown of thorns and a pained expression. The two statues were mounted on the bed supported by large railway-sleeper type beams. The whole edifice was perhaps 15-20 feet long, and doubtless weighed several thousand pounds, and it was all supported by 20 or more young men on either side, dressed in gray suits and black shoes, swaying more side to side than forward as they reverentially bore their considerable burden from one side of town to the other, accompanied by the blaring brass of the band and steadily beating drums.  A quite compelling and authentic spectacle of civic and religious pride and of course, I didn’t have my camera to record it.

It was also lovely to see that the whole of the town came out to watch: large families of ten or more, women with strollers and babies, while the children played nearby, not so much interested in the procession but rather with each other. I saw plenty of seven year old girls flirting with nine year old boys in an innocent foreshadowing of later life.

But the evening was completed for me, (because I love to eat), by the new crop of stylish and innovative restaurants that have appeared like magic since my last visit. Richard told me that since the recent election of a forward-thinking ‘non-aligned’ mayor (this is important in Spain, apparently) the place is being transformed into a culinary and cultural destination. On every corner it seemed there was a buzzy and bustling new restaurant, staffed by young, hip Spaniards, using local ingredients and farm-to-table practices, none of which would have been out of place in the more cosmopolitan districts of Madrid or Valencia. In addition to exciting and innovative takes on Spanish food,  the restaurants were showcasing boutique wines by up-and-coming small batch producers. One tiny little boite we stopped at boasted 75 wines by the glass, none of which I’d ever seen in the States  including a fabulous Hondarriba white from the Basque country which perfectly paired with their lamb and potato croquet with  mint sauce. Other highlights from our bar-hopping including a divine and unctuous oxtail dish and a morcilla (blood sausage) purse.

Estepona’s old town is quickly morphing into the sort of place you could bring the family and not be disappointed, either in terms of the variety or the price. Take your time and linger for a few hours quaffing, nibbling and people watching. And if you’re really fortunate, you might also be able to enjoy a soundtrack of the local brass band tooting melodically from somewhere just around the corner.

I was able to find a little footage of the event, which focuses, unfortunately exclusively on the statue of Christ to the exclusion of all else. But you get the idea….