Götheborg III films

If you are looking for a little nautical entertainment, I highly suggest visiting the Götheborg III website if you have not already done so. The site features dozens of short films made by the ship's onboard videographer who has been covering the entire voyage from Sweden to China. Plenty of both placid and petrifying sailing, nasty gales in the Indian Ocean, and wonderful welcome parties in Spain, Brazil, and Shanghai--all with plenty of cannon firing fanfare.

And don't worry, there's a button on the page that turns it all into English for you.

You will find the link for "The East Indiaman Götheborg" in the column on the right.

Midsommar on Thisbe

Ah!.....the pleasant gurgling of a hull driven by sail.....

Indeed, for the Midsommar holiday, I got to return to my natural habitat--"the watery part of the world" as Ishmael puts it in the opening lines of Moby-Dick. However, in my trot down to the seas it was certainly not "a damp, drizzly November in my soul" or anything of the like. After all, I was going sailing!!

Through a somewhat confusing chain of contacts (classmate's boyfriend's father's...) I had secured a spot on a fine little craft headed for the gorgeous Stockholm Archipelago. The vessel (I find it's always good form to introduce the ship before the skipper or crew) was the fiberglass sloop Thisbe. She was sailing out to the islands for that most treasured 'day of days' in the far north, Midsommar. The day when the sun--a rare treat in the short days of winter--stays up longer than at any other time during the year, almost 19 hours plus a long dawn and dusk. In fact, it never really gets dark.

Her owner and skipper was a very interesting gent named Owe. He had been a high official in the UNESCO natural resources management authority, traveling the globe to just about every corner of every continent to meet with heads of government to discuss resource sustainablility and so forth. He had a wealth of rich experiences and good stories--including a few chillers like a meeting in one African country that started with a pistol being laid on the desk, "So what did you want to talk about?"

Owe's son and chief deck-hand, "Grumps"--no idea where the nick-name came from for it certainly doesn't describe him--is a Swedish-English translation specialist whose real passion is philosophy. Incidentally, he is also my classmate's boyfriend and thus one of the vital links that got me out on the water for Midsommar. Like a true deck-hand, here he is peeling potatoes.

We drove out one of the larger islands of the archipelago to a little marina tucked in a reed-lined cove and piled our scant gear--mostly exquisite Midsommar food and such--aboard the little Thisbe. Then, we got the little motor puttering away, cast off, and glided out down a long and very narrow channel through the reeds that led out of the sheltered anchorage.

Wriggling past the little beachhouses that lined the shallow channels where tree branches pawed at the rigging, Owe guided Thisbe out into the open channel, opened the throttle, and a fine brisk breeze began to blow over the deck.

It was already late in the long day and so we ducked into the first available cove, scarcely a mile from the marina. Because there is no tidal change in the Baltic, we were able to nose Thisbe right up to the rocks, dropping an anchor astern as we came in. Then, securing another line to a tree ashore, we suspended the little craft just inches off the rocks so one could easily step dry-shod on and off the boat.

Being a native of the Pacific Northwest where a tidal range of 15 feet is essentially the standard, this kind of cruising and mooring was a total novelty to me. In fact, like a five-year-old, I spent half the evening hopping ashore and then back aboard just to make the most of this peculiar opportunity.

So we eventually settled in and Owe threw together a very fancy pre-Midsommer's eve dinner. Three guys on a little sailboat; I was expecting hotdogs in a can. Clearly I had landed a spot on a pretty choice vessel.

There followed a bit of Swedish Midsommer activity--or lack thereof--sitting in the cockpit with the traditional schnapps telling sailing stories and admiring the slowly fading light.

Rising quite early the next morning to catch a very 'envigorating' swim, we had a traditional smörbröd (bread with herring, cheese, etc) breakfast and then got ready to get underway for the outer archipelago. As the other boats in the cove began to show signs of early morning life, we cast off, hauled up the hook, and raised sail.

Soon we had broken out of the little island group and were galloping eastward across some of the wider channels.

Thisbe was really flying, slicing along and leaving a nice foaming wake.

As we barrelled along at 6 knots, 'Grumps' and I poured over the chart, trying to decipher the absolute forest of submerged rocks that lay in wait in all the thousands of little channels. But Ova kept his eyes ahead. Every shoreline and rock had its place carefully pinpointed in his mind. He truly knew these waters.

Owe had been sailing the Stockholm archipelago almost his entire life, learning the waters in infinite detail from the decks of countless vessels. His favorite, however, had actually been his previous boat, a lovely, traditional, Swedish skärgårds folk boat--a real beauty. There are still a number of these pretty little craft out there in the summers--glimmering like furniture but sailing along more gracefully than the most etherial swan.

There is a good website with a bunch of great pictures of these boats out on the waters outside Stockholm, http://www.kf-yachts.se/NFCharterPictures.htm

Almost as soon as we sailed out I had been revelling in what outwardly appeared very similar to the places in British Columbia, Canada where I grew up sailing--of course the mountains were definitely missing, but the ragged shoreline, the glacier-sculpted granite, the moss blanketed islands, the pines etc were like a long-missed treat from home.

Yet, for all the similarities, it didn't quite suffice to cure me of my yearning for BC sailing. The main problem was that the Baltic just doesn't smell right. I longed for the waft of a low tide, the aroma of drying seaweed and mudflats. However, being without tides or even particularly salty water, the Baltic was jsut fudnamentally different. It was really more akin to a big lake, the shallows being disappointingly devoid of marine life and the shoreline clustered with reeds. Yet, all the same, it was beautiful.

So I continued to soak up the new sights, sounds, and smells of sailing this new craft on these new waters. 'Grumps', meanwhile, was preoccupied with his reading and the fine basking-weather.

At the end of the day we reached an exposed little cove in the outer archipelago. Out here the islands were different, being lower and having fewer trees, largely a result of the harsh winters that pummel this area with ice and swirling snow.

Yet, at Midsommar the islands' vegetation is going full-bore.

This little island we stopped at for the seond night was covered in lovely wild onions...

...and thus attracted a few other boaters to the neighboring cove--or maybe it was jus tthe Midsommar vacation allure. After all, if you have a boat in the area you simply do not consider spending Midsommar doing anything other than sailing into the archipelago.

So, we too sailed out there to the little flower-covered islands dor the longest day of the year and had ourselves a fine Midsommar feast--and a bit of concertina music for good measure.

The waning light of that longest of days--about 11pm.

Then, the festivities over, we set sail for home the next morning, threading our way through the islands and the other lovely sailboats gliding from island to island.

But definitely, a fine way to spend the Midsommar holiday, sailing the Stockholm archipelago aboard the Thisbe with Owe and 'Grumps'.

His Majesty...

Today, the Vasa Museum has a most distinguished visitor,

his Royal Majesty King Carl XVI Gustaf.

He has come for the annual Naval Officers Review, a high-to-do ceremony for all the Swedish Navy's top brass. Although the Vasa may seem like a bit of an untactful centerpiece for this event given her failures as a sailing and fighting ship, her reputation as an icon of the Swedish Navy in the Great Power Period and as a spectacular feat of salvage and preservation must have met the King's approval.

Naturally, no detail has been overlooked in preparing for the King's visit. Extra cleaning crews have combed every surface of the shiphall, staff meetings have been convened on every imaginable topic including searches for burnt out lightbulbs, and everyone--even me--is on their best behavior. Klas, the museum's director, just stormed by all dec'd out in the finest tuxedo I've ever seen. He had the full works-- cummerbund, shimmering black shoes, bowtie, side-striped military pants (he's a former a naval officer himself), and my very favorite, long coat-tails.

But the restaurant staff has probably been the busiest of all, polishing glasswear, ironing tablecloths, and cooking up all kinds of super-fancy things. It is really quite an event.

So, Hail to the King!

Lost at Sea...

Perhaps by now you've already heard about the latest maritime disaster in the Baltic, the sinking of the M/V Finnbirch that went down in last week's snowstorm.

It was some of the worst winter weather to hit the Baltic region in years. A massive low pressure system swept down out of the north, pounding Sweden, Norway, and Finland with heavy snowfall and howling winds.


Further south, the damage was even worse. The northerly winds pushed the surface layers of the Baltic down to the Polish, German, and Danish coasts where it piled up and caused extensive coastal flooding. The photo above is downtown Hamburg.

Hurricane-force gusts were driving a high storm surge into the coastal cities, pummelling German ports and driving many vessels ashore...and attracting the surfers.

But, by far, the most shocking headline was the startling loss of the M/V Finnbirch, a new, modern ro-ro freighter (roll-on, roll-off automobile carrier). Caught in the open by the ferocious winds and building seas, her cargo began shifting (probably because the contents of the containers were not properly 'blocked' in place--note the containers that have broken open) and in the afternoon hours of 1 November, her her crew radioed out a distress call saying that the ship had taken on a severe list to port. A few hours later, she was gone.

The M/V Finnnbirch was a long way from any safe havens, halfway between Gotland and Öland (Stockholm is labeled "Tukholma"on this map). As the heeling ship began to take on water, the distress call intensified to an outright 'mayday' and the Swedish Coast Guard promptly dispatched its recue helicopters into the howling snowstorm.

They flew a number of missions throughout the afternoon and evening hours, constantly buffeted by the high winds and blinded by the snow flurries. During the ensuing hours, they managed to pluck all but one of the M/V Finnbirch's crewmen from the decks or from the sea as the ship went down.

So, although the disaster could have been far worse, the startling loss of this modern ship designed in accordance with all the latest safety regulations is a grim wake-up call. Moreover, the sinking has reopened the lingering wound of the M/V Estonia, a ro-ro passenger ferry that sank in a similar storm in September of 1994, claiming the lives of 852 passengers and crew--mostly Swedes and Estonians.

In the M/V Estonia's case, it was the bow door (being salvaged in the photo above) enclosing the car deck and loading ramp that had failed, opening the front of the ship like a great mouth and flooding her in just minutes. The cause of the M/V Finnbirch's loss will no doubt be subject to similarly lengthy investigation into the design and safety of ro-ro vessels.

Old Man Winter...

Old Man Winter is back.

With the first of November comes the first of the winter snowfall. The last of the colorful fall leaves are dropping to the ground, the puddles are icing up, and all the historic vessels in Stockholm are tarped up and downrigged for the season.

This morning a fine swirling flurry is dusting the city and providing that thrill that comes with the 'first snow'.

Of course, for me, it is also a reminder of how bloody far behind I am with this blog. My next post was supposed to be about my Midsommar holiday adventures sailing in the Stockholm archipelago--yeah, the 21st of June. I am waaay behind.

The Thisbe moored off a wild onion-covered islet in the Baltic.

Then there was that month of driving around Sweden, Denmark and Norway seeing all kinds of things from the wreck of the Kronan to the Norwegian fjords.

A few of Kronan's guns.


One of the Norwegian fjords.

Right on the heels of that big trip I was back in Denmark to sail the Danish Straits on Ole's (my Danish ropemaker friend) tubby little traditional Dutch-design boat, Havhesten...

Ole's Havhesten. You may recall her from the "Havhesten" post from last May.

The bow of the swift Viking ship replica Sif Ege.

...and then sailing on two Viking ship replicas. Now that's real blog material!

And the largest Viking ship replica in existence, Havhingsten fra Glendalough.

However, as eager as I am to tell you all about these adventures (with plenty of photos of course), research demands at the Vasa Museum and Stockholm University as well as the everpresent scramble for funding have put me far behind schedule on the blog. Terribly sorry. My apologies to my loyal readers.

But fear not, good things are on the way as soon as I finish my grant applications, document a few hundred more of Vasa's rigging blocks in collections storage, and finish a university paper.

So 'stand by and prepare to take on tales'.

Wow! It's a near white-out out there now! I think this will be a good, deep, Scandinavian winter.