Magellan i Sverige

Tall Ships Departure

2008-01-30T23:24:00.000+01:00

The Tall ships are putting to sea!

And there is no better way to see them go out than to be on the water yourself. Fortunately, I knew a boat owner who was of the same mind.

Tobias is a good buddy of mine from the museum and had just purchased a new motorboat that he was just dying to use (it was so brand-spanking new it even had that ‘new boat smell’).

It was a pretty spiffy little craft built for sport fishing (sold with the model name "The Merry Fisher"). Tobias was still considering different names for it, but Orka was by far his favorite (A refernce to the Orca whale & also the Swedish verb orka meaning 'motivation' or 'will').

So the morning the ships were due to sail, we threw a few groceries and sleeping bags into his shiny new boat and barreled off down Lake Mälaren towards the locks and Stockholm Harbor.

When we burst out into that tall-ship-lined harbor we found that we were a bit early. None of the grand sailing ships along the quays had budged.

But we weren’t the only nut cases out there waiting for the fleet to sail. There were boats loaded with spectators all over the harbor and many of those boats were a sight to see themselves. Lovely motorboats,…

Something that was not a sailboat but not quite a powerboat either…

…a funny little steamer…

…and even a lifeboat from one of the big ships.

Then suddenly, the moment everyone was waiting for—the first Tall Ship underway!

She came cruising down on us under full sail, the morning breeze billowing her canvas like a batch of fresh sourdough rolls emerging from the oven. How gently she glided through the water….

She was the brig Tre Kronor of Stockholm, the local vessel and the very picture of sailing grace and beauty.

I had been following the Tre Kronor since I arrived in Stockholm. She is a newly-built sail-trainer constructed just across the narrow channel from the Vasa Museum on Skeppsholmen (Ships’ Island).

Since she was launched in the summer of 2005, we at the museum have watched the fitting out,...

...seeing her transform from just a stately hull to a truly lovely ship as her masts and rigging went up.

For two years we had watched her being fitted out, a process that doggedly carried on despite cold, rain, and fog.

Then, as the Tall Ships approached Stockholm, the city’s own proud sailing ship was moved out to the tip of Kastellholmen, the most prominent spot in the harbor.

Docked at Kastellholmen, the Tre Kronor stood at the center of the harbor, the focal point in the thicket of rigging that poured into Stockholm.

And my! Did she look grand!

A better proportioned ship never graced any harbor in Europe!

And so how fitting it was that the first ship to get underway was Stockholm’s own Tre Kronor.

She came gliding past as gently and silently as any of the harbor’s swans (actually the swans tend to hiss and wheeze—probably bird flu).

Reader: (gasp)

Reader: (sigh)

And this was just the first ship!

How brilliantly she glowed in the morning sun!

And how proudly she started off the fleet!

Well….we hoped she’d start things off, but Tobias and I—and all the other boaters in the harbor--fell back to waiting. Tre Kronor was just ahead of the game. So we dawdled around a bit longer with a peculiar collection of craft. There was this lovely ketch (clearly still in the process of restoration)…

… and then a fleet of more menacing craft like this torpedo boat…

…and the M 20, a minesweeper that is usually tied up at the Vasa Museum’s pier.

The chap in blue is my friend, colleague, and fellow boat/airplane buff, Fred Hocker. Fred wasted little time before calling me on my mobile to brag about the fancy viewing platform he had scored. To add to his bragging rights, the M20 was the only one of the fleet of naval craft on the harbor actually shooting. The tri-pod mounted ordinance on the foredeck is a top-of-the-line movie camera rolling for an upcoming Hollywood film (watch for a sailing ship movie in 2009).

While Fred and I bantered about boats, Tobias was at the wheel dodging the chaotic flood of traffic plugging the harbor—ferries, torpedo boats, sloops, skiffs, water ski boats, dinghies…..

All just waiting for the big ships to get underway.

Then, alas, the first of the Tall Ships Race participants cast off and headed towards the harbor entrance.

The first pair to make their way out were the Swedish Navy’s two officer-training schooners, Falken and Gladan. They had scarcely cleared the quay before setting sail…

…riding out of the harbor on the morning breeze.

Yeeeoow.....that's a nice rig.

Then followed the rest of the smaller ships….

….the schooners, ketches, and yawls under their red, white, or yellowed canvas sails.

Past the rapidly gathering crowds….

…the cruise ships…

…and out of the harbor amidst a swarm of small craft out to witness the grand parade.

Then we heard the hoarse notes of a sea chantey from the big ship quay.

The crew of the Norwegian bark Statsraad Lehmkuhl were springing into the rigging to the tune of “South Australia.”

Astern of her we sighted a tug coming alongside the Polish full-rigger Dar Mlodziezy.

It was Stockholm’s intrepid little historic tug Fritz coming to lend a hand.

Soon the Lehmkuhl and the Mlodziezy had cast off and were underway astern of the coal-fired steamer Blidösund that was loaded with paying spectators.

Dar Mlodziezy came cruising right past Tobias and I, her crew sprinting around the deck, hauling on lines, and preparing to ‘make sail’.

Gathering speed, the Dar Mlodziezy began to overtake the smaller vessels that had slipped past her.

Meanwhile, an armada of yachts followed the fleet out.

Boats of every description…

…and every era.

I never did find out how many of the little ones were run down during all that confusion and excitement but some were definitely pushing their luck in that overcrowded channel.

Motoring ahead, Tobias brought us up abeam of my personal favorite, the Russian frigate Shtandart.

Her crew was also getting ready to ‘make sail’.

Overtaking a graceful three-masted schooner, a shout from the poop deck threw Shtandart’s crew into action.

Easing the brails and hauling away on the sheets, the fore-course came flopping down.

Then followed the main-course (the sail, not the dinner dish).

One by one, the sails came rolling down from the spars and the Shtandart--bedecked with flags—seemed to almost blot out the sky.

Stunning!

Then Shtandart’s big topsails came tumbling down. It was fascinating to see them beside the split-topsails of the much more modern ship Europa. Split topsails were introduced in the early 1800s and the smaller, lighter sails it created made a sailor’s work aloft much easier. Splitting the topsails also made ‘shortening sail’ for bad weather much easier as a sail could simply be taken in rather than ‘reefed’ down to a smaller size. Hence why the horizontal rows of ‘reef points’ on the Shtandart’s sails do not appear on the Europa’s sails.

Work aloft may be easier with split topsails, but there sure is a lot more of it! The Europa has 23 sails bent on the spars and stays. That is a lot of time climbing in the rig. Lucky fools….

But apparently not everyone was hot about the idea of working in the rig in the soft summer breeze and the Shtandart kept the diesels churning away as she scooted past the true ‘windjammers’ that had already surrendered their progress to Neptune’s whim.

But Neptune is not one to shy from sport and so the wind stiffened and sail matched diesel for speed.

Although the official race was more than a day away, the crowds that had gathered on the shore were well aware of the competitive jockeying in the channel.

Then all attention turned from speed to mass. The moment everyone had been waiting for had come as the first of the giant Russian ‘Babushkas’ hove around the point and came booming down the channel with her lower topsails set--the mighty bark Khruzenshtern.

She was a stunning sight to see as she eased along int he breeze, her crew sprinting about in the rigging unfurling the upper topsails and hoisting the head-sails.

It was most surreal--this giant mountain of a ship gliding by...

...dwarfing every other craft on the water.

...utterly unreal...

...and yet, Holy Smokes! I was there!!
Sometimes life is just so very, very sweet....

And WHAM! we were off. Tobias at the helm with the throttle open and the motor roaring, we practically flew away from the grand fleet...

Tobias took us charging down side channels and off through the thousands of islands off Stockholm on our way to a quiet anchorage on the outer coast, on the very edge of the Baltic and not far from the next day's Tall Ships Race starting line.

As evening fell, we were in another world, far from the bustle and crowds of Stockholm. Out here in the islands, it was still and almost completely quiet save for the lap of the waves and a few chirping birds.

Scouting out the various coves on those countless islands, Tobias found an empty nook that just happened to be one of his favorite spots.

There was a bank of sailboats anchored along the southern edge of the cove (no doubt doing the same as us and getting in position to see the next day's race start).

But the eastern shore was open. So Tobias nosed us in. We dropped an anchor off the stern and I hopped ashore with a line and secured us to a sturdy-ish looking sapling. Home.

Then, having secured all, we took up that old yachtsmans' tradition of having an evening drink on deck (Norrlands Guld if you are serious about it) while watching and criticizing the boat-handling ability and seamanship of every other crew in the harbor. None should be given a rating higher than 'acceptable' unless you really botch your own anchoring.
But I must say, it was mighty nice to be able to sit back and relax with a good friend on a boat anchored in such a wonderful, still, and wild place. What a fantastic escape. No wonder Sweden has one of the highest boat-ownership-per-capita ratings in the world.

After a long dinner the July sun began to sink over the Northwestern horizon (where it would hover for about 4 hrs before coming up again in the Northeast) and so, after standing atop our little islet to take a last look around and a nice, fresh, deep breath, we headed down to our bunks...

...and dreamed of all the wonderful sights of the day...

...and the ones that awaited us tomorrow at the races.

Quality Entertainment.

2007-10-24T12:25:00.000+02:00

The last night of the Tall Ships Race visit literally ended with a bang as the Stockholm Harbor Authority threw a big fireworks show for the fleet. Now I know that I am supposed to be all grown up and whatnot, but the simple truth is that--like many men--I still get a gitty thrill from explosions. What can I say? I am a guy.

So naturally, my evening started off with a bit of excited anticipation. The problem, however, is that this far north it barely gets dark enough to hold a fireworks show during the summer months. So I had some time to kill.

Of course, with a harbor full of sailing ships, a guy like me doesn't really have any trouble 'killing time'. I grabbed a quick bite to eat at a dockside dive and then spent the next few hours meandering up and down the quays gazing at the grand fleet. The long hours of dusk in Scandinavia make for wonderful evening strolls and at 10:00pm I still found myself wandering the waterfront in broad daylight.
The waterfront was packed that evening. Everyone was hanging about waiting for the big fireworks show, but darkness came so very slowly. After a long while, the ships along the quay flicked on their decklights one by one and lit up their elaborate rigging, making the vessels even more striking to the eye.

The best non-explosive light show on the harborfront was undoubtedly the Mexican bark Cuauhtemoc. She was decorated from stem to stern with strands of festive lighting and signal flags topped with a generous helping of lively mariachi music. There was really no question that Cuauhtemoc was the party on the waterfront.

And why not? After all, Cuauhtemoc had just entered her 25th year of service (like me!) and so quite naturally the whole ship was rigged up like a big floating birthday cake.

Stepping out of the daylight-like glow emenating from the Cuauhtemoc into the dimming murk where ship-gazers splashed into unseen puddles with a yelp, I realized it was time to take up position for the show. There were literally dozens of good spots around Stockholm Harbor to view the fireworks show, but picking the best one was going to be a challenge.

You see, I figure that the key to finding a truly choice spot at such a spectacle--the kind of spot that will make the experience memorable for all time--is to make sure you are close as you can legally be. All this talk about getting back far enough 'to see the show as a whole' is just plain hooey. With big-bang, car-alarm-tripping, professional fireworks shows, closer is always better. Few people dare to understand this. Fireworks are not supposed to just be viewed. They should be experienced. Fully. As in a full-body experience involving all the senses. To fully appreciate a genuine pyrotechnic display one should be able to hear it (thoroughly), feel it (internally), smell it (cautiously), and in certain instances, even taste it (regrettably). That is what a true fireworks show is all about.

To ensure that kind of experience, there was only one place for me to be; on the launching barge. But unfortunately I am not classified as 'VIP' or 'certified in high explosives'. Nor did I have a boat so the second best position alongside the barge was nixed too. But position 3--a small island in the middle of the harbor right by the launching barge called Kastellholmen--was wide open.

It would be a bit of a treck around the harbor to the little bridge going out there so with just 20 minutes until the start of the show I took off at a brisk trot, whisking past the towering silhouettes of the great ships along the pier and constantly tripping and stumbling over the cobblestones.

Dashing across the bridge to Skeppsholmen, the stepping stone island on the way out to Kastellholmen, I caught sight of the Cuauhtemoc lighting up the evening sky. That grand rig standing in front of the aged city with its domed and spired churches...majesty is such a limited word.

As I bounded onto Kastellholmen the moon came swelling up out of the southeast, glowing through an almost imperceptible cirrus that diffused its yellow glow like melting butter.

Settling into my preferred perch along the Kastellholmen shore, I surveyed the dozens of tall ships lining the far shores of the harbor. What a grand sight! Ships of every size, shape, and kind from monstrous cruiseships to grand sailing vessels like the Sedov, on down to the harbor ferries, steamboats, and motor yachts...

...and even the big floating crane, Lodbrok (famous for recovering Vasa's cannons during the 1957-1961 salvage), all lit up with blue spotlights. What a fantastic night to be on the harborfront!

Then, with a pop and a 'fzzz', it began. BANG!

With the rising moon and all those ships in the background, it was a wonderful sight--as beautiful as fireworks shows come. This show gets twenty-five points right out of the gates for aesthetics.

Then the big ones began going off--the heart thumpers and bowel tremblers. Another twenty-five points for providing a physical experience.

(Wish I had been aboard the little tin ferry dashing by; must have been resonating like a kettle-drum).

Pretty soon the prevailing wind began to carry that acrid gunpowder smoke my way. Olfactory impact? Check. This was quickly adding up to a quality, full-body fireworks experience.

Another important aspect in judging a fireworks show is the temporal element, for everyone is disappointed by short show. While watching a good fireworks show, there should be at least three points when you think its all over and then 'pop-fzzzz-BANG!' it starts up again. This show had four of those. Dandy!

By unwritten law, the show must crescendo to a new level after each false-finalé, dazzling all the senses with barrage after barrage of multi-color detonations of various sizes and stylistic effect. Each new beginning should leave spectators dumbfounded with shifting mitures of colors that delight, booms that stun, and powder smoke that gags. Good stuff!

After the third false-finalé the first car alarms should be going off, burning embers from the mega-teeth-rattlers ought to be reaching the water still alight, and small children and dogs should be terrified. I know that sounds mean, but let's face it; fireworks aren't for everyone. On an American Motion Picture Association scale, lightshows like the Lodbrok's colored spotlights would get the all-audiences, family-friendly 'G' rating. But 'G' is for 'gimpy' and good fireworks should shock, amaze, and instill a fear of God. They should Roar and warrant a solid 'R' rating. That's what the Stockholm Harbor Authority secured for the Tall Ships. Verifying that, the Jack Russel terrier beside me dove under a bench, howled, and promptly wet the gravel. Well done.

And like any good fireworks show, it wrapped up with a classic, thunderous, and concussive grand finalé. You know--the kind of explosive, fiery, hell that just about scorches your hair and sucks the air out of your lungs. A real thriller of the variety that a mischevious 10 year-old would enjoy. That's what they had going here in Stockholm that great night.

Now that's a send-off for a grand fleet!

Then it broke. The last explosions rumbled off the cliffs and the harbor fell into a remarkable silence. As the smoke drifted listlessly across the water in the moonlight, I waited for the final and most essential measure of a quality fireworks show--the response.

A truly good show causes a 10-30 second delay while 'the stunned' regain their motor skills. That window can seem deceptivly negative at first. But the moment it breaks with the first sounds of scattered clapping from a few bewildered spectators, you can feel where it is going. It quickly escalates to an applause, and then--and this is why fireworks are best when mixed with boats--then come the horns!

In this case it was a few motorboaters who got off the first blasts--just whiny little squaks--, but within the minute the mighty four-masted Russian bark Sedov rattled the foundation of every building in the city with the loudest and lowest ship's horn you have ever heard. As crewmen on the other vessels ran from their viewing perches in the rigging or on the foredeck toward the wheelhouses and horns, the rest of the fleet chimed in one by one until Stockholm Harbor was awash in a thrilling rumble of ship's horns large and small. Even the cruise ships chimed in, giving one long, low blast after another. When the great salute ended, the horns echoed off the cliffs and encoureaged everyone to start another round . It was great! It went on for like five minutes! There dogs howling and seabirds screeching off into the dark in great flocks. Now that's a response.

Obviously I was pretty pleased witht the whole affair. Look at that stupid grin on my face! Like a fox strolling out of the hen house....beamin' like the Cuauhtemoc.

Heading back across the bridge afforded a great view of all the smaller craft (under 250 tons) lined up along Gamla Stan.

It was magical just to gaze at all those little vessels lined up along that aged center of Stockholm that, long ago, was lined with sailing vessels like this every night.

Following the shore past the fleet it was clear that the end of their visit had come. The piers had fallen quiet and the crews were resting up before their morning departure.

The next day they would begin moving out of Stockholm, making for a shallow bar offshore known as Revengegrundet. There, these Coast Guard vessels would be waiting with the icebreaker Sankt Erik to serve as the start line for the next leg of the race.

But during the preceding 5 days, Stockholm had turned out in force to throw an enormous party in celebration of its maritime heritage both past and present. It is a city that knows its routes and doesn't hesitate to light up the night in honor of the centuries of shipping that have passed through this venerable port.

Besides, it was just good, quality entertainment.

The Fighting Frigate Shtandart

2007-10-20T11:00:00.000+02:00

Okay, that's enough steel-hulled war prizes for now. Let's go aboard one of those tough and gritty wooden sailing ships that went out and won expensive war prizes! Time to go aboard a true fighting ship--the Russian frigate Shtandart!

While most of the big ships that came to Stockholm were technically naval vessels with navy crews, the Shtandart with her 22 cannon was the only real warship among them. The others were mere training vessels where cadets learned seamanship and etiquette.

But Shtandart--although displaying wreaths of peace around her gunports--was not built to 'play nice'. When the original ship was launched in 1703, she marked the beginning of a new era in Russian seafaring. Peter the Great envisioned Russia as a major European power and knew that a strong, centralized navy was essential. One of the first major ocean-going naval vessels to enter service with the Imperial Russian fleet was the dashing little frigate Shtandart.

Going aboard the replica today, one definitely gets the impression that this embodiment of military and diplomatic will is the creation of a country on the rise. She is as stout, solid, and ornate as any naval ship from Britain, the Netherlands, or France, but notably small. The Shtandart is only 25 meters long on the main deck (82ft) and weighs in at just 220-tons displacement. Yet she's a tough little ship--and like I said, the only decently armed one of the Tall Ships fleet.

She is an extraordinary vessel to come aboard. As soon as you hop off the gangplank and thump down on that solid wooden deck you find yourself in another age. Ships like the Lehmkuhl, the Sedov, or the Europa have a very different atmosphere and you half expect to see steamships on the horizon. But a ship like Shtandart--a rough and ready wooden vessel built in the era of undiscovered lands, mythical sea creatures, and Blackbeard--evokes an entirely different aura. One gets the notion that just beyond the ship's sturdy bulwarks lies an unknown world full of savages, pirates, and fire-breathing fish that will strike down any sailor who dares to tresspass in the wilderness realm of the world's uncharted seas. Facing such terrors, the ship is one's only safe haven and it is no wonder that the bell--the ship's soul incarnate--is enshrined abaft the forecastle. The Shtandart really is a journey into a time when the world was a much larger and more mysterious place.

After being aboard those battleship-like, German-built, steel barks of the early 20th Century, the little wooden Shtandart with her stocky masts--each hewn from a single tree and bound with hempen woolding--or the creak and groan of her hull immediately heave you back at Nature's mercy once again.

For all the power and wealth represented in the Tzar's Imperial flag flapping at the masthead, she is still just a little ship of wood, canvas, and tar safeguarded by nothing more than the strength and courage of her crew. When she went to sea (almost in spite of the forces against her--both natural and naval) it was an era when navigation was imprecise and the kind of weather that would be welcomed as a fresh breeze aboard Shtandart's enormous steel-hulled descendents would have struck her as a fierce and ravaging storm.

Yet in her time, the now-archaic looking Shtandart with her iron cannon, unsplit topsails, and castle-like tops (circular platform on the mast) was the pinnacle of naval technology. Okay... maybe not quite the pinnacle that the established naval powers were. After all, Sweden built a much more complex version of this ship 70 years earlier--the Vasa. But for being the vanguard of a fledgling naval power, Russia's little Shtandart was pretty cutting edge!

She was definitely the pride of the Russian Imperial Navy and made such an impression during her years of service that she has been resurrected as a replica and once again sails as a symbol of another new Russia. So for whatever her shortcomings past and present may have been, she fits the maxim "We may be small, but we're scrappy!"

And armed with 22 stout 4-pounders with thickened breach for a larger charge and thus higher muzzle veloctiy, she is more than ready to get into a scrap!

But Shtandart isn't just a fine example of New Russia or a fighting ship from the early days of fleet action theory. She's also an interesting--if not always accurate--example of shipbuilding in her time. She has a thousand fascinating details from the days when big ships (relatively speaking) were built from wood. The heavy timbers, the joinery, the sculptural work, the trunnels, mortices, tennons, scarphs, even the mast boot (pictured here) were from a seemingly forgotten era in shipbuilding....

The rig too, was a fascinating piece to look at. Although much of it was functionally practical rather than historically accurate (the laminated blocks for example), it was still impressive to pause and gaze at an example of the heavy and often slack rigging used in that era (between the flexibility of wooden masts and the tendency of hemp cordage to shorten when wet, the rigging had to be kept loose to prevent breaking the spars--watch a video of an all-wooden square-rigger like Götheborg III or Batavia under sail; you can't miss how loose the rig is and if the seas are rough enough you can even see the rig flopping about).

All right, time to go aft and have a look at the wheel and the quarterdeck. Clearly, it is the popular hangout onboard aboard this Russian beauty.

Unlike the Vasa which has a very similar rig and general design, the Shtandart does have a steering wheel rather than the awkward whipstaff used in previous centuries. Even so, it is fairly rudimentry as far the technology goes--except that fancy synthetic blue line running around the drum and down to the rudderhead. In 1703 that was probably hemp or seal-skin (doesn't stretch). There is something wonderful in the simplicity of such a design....

From that perch by the wheel on the quarter deck one gets a pretty fine view forward over the plucky little ship.... (Note the spare topmasts standing by--the thing with the white-painted end in the foreground).

...and more importantly, the helmsman has a clear, unobstructed view of the sails hung on those 3 masts (technically 4 if you count the stubby little sprits'l topmast mounted on the end of the bowsprit). As helmsman, he who steers the ship is not just responsible for keeping her moving in a particular direction, but he also must keep the ship on course relative to the wind and be sure the sails don't get back-winded.

Certainly an enchanting rig if there indeed ever was one!

Well, with a parting salute (preferably not from this literally 'loose cannon') I suppose it is time to head for the gangplank and the shore....

...as we bid farewell to the dashing knight of the 2007 Tall Ships Race, the illustrous frigate Shtandart.

A Dose of Norwegian Pride; Statsraad Lehmkuhl

2007-10-19T15:19:00.000+02:00

Now for a quick peek at the Norwegian bark Statsraad Lehmkuhl.
The Lehmkuhl had the distinguished honor of being among the oldest vessels to participate in the 2007 Tall Ships Race. Like the Russian giants, she was built in Germany. Ninety-eight meters long (258ft) and rated at 1,516 tons, she slid down the ways in 1914 and went to sea as the Grossherzog Friedrich August.

However, 1914 marked the start of that rather disastrous downturn in German seafaring known in certain circles as World War I. When that 'Great Misunderstanding' was resolved in 1918, the Grossherzog Friedrich August was handed over to Great Britain as a war reparation--notice a pattern here? I am beginning to wonder if the Tall Ships Race is really about historic ships or just for showing off war prizes?

(Either way, sailing ships make great war reparations. America really ought to build a few dazzlingly lovely ones to give away at the Post-Iraq Gala. After all, we need to recover our dignity after giving South Vietnam those ugly, modern navy ships. Where has the grace in losing gone?)

In 1921 the Grossherzog Friedrich August was sold to Norway and has since operated out of Bergen as the Norwegian Naval Training Ship Statsraad Lehmkuhl.

When I stepepd aboard there was a training excercise/demonstration in progrss. With a harness, block and tackle, and plenty of encouragement shouted from the deck, one of the Norwegian cadets was hoisting herself up the mainstay. Sure cuts down on the need for extra crew if people can hoist themselves aloft!

Yet, being a square-rigger carrying five yards on both the main and foremasts, plenty of headsails and staysails, plus a spanker, gaff-topsail, and everything else on the mizzenmast, the Statsraad Lehmkuhl still requires a crew of 150 cadets to keep her ship-shape and on course.

From the look of it, they are doing a mighty good job of it. The paint, varnish, and bronzework was spotless, the lines nicely coiled down, and the teak decking scrubbed and clean.

She was the picture of a 'taught ship' without a slack line or a brush and bucket out of place.

The Lehmkuhl was moored furthest out along the south side of the harbor and from her decks one had a pretty good view of the happenings of the harbor. Peeking over the rail to have a look at the hull plating, I found the little M20 nosing past. She's a wooden-hulled Swedish minesweeper from the 1950s that resides at the pier in front of the Vasa Museum beside the icebreaker Sankt Erik.

Speaking of the Sankt Erik, she was steaming in from one of her tours at that moment--cooling water thundering out of her side and a flotilla of admirers following along.

My... how she just glides along making nary a wake at all....

Wow....

But wait! I am already aboard a stunning vessel!

But why fight it? As lovely as the Lehmkuhl is with her gorgeous teak deck and brightwork, she is not my ship in the way Sankt Erik is. The Lehmkuhl is just a passing acquaintance...but certainly one of those stunning acquaintances you never forget.

The Norwegian bark Statsraad Lehmkuhl.

Indeed, another magnificent ship.

Iraq United...

2007-10-18T18:25:00.001+02:00

As the Tall Ships Race visit was drawing toward a close, Stockholm erupted into another wild celebration as the united Iraqi football (soccer) team won the final round in the Asian Cup Finals.

In a tense game held in Jakarta, Iraq had defeated the Saudi Arabian team 1-0.

Stockholm's expatriot Iraqi population threw an enormous celebration, mobbing the central squares and driving laps around the city streets honking horns and waving big Iraqi flags.

It was a genuinely thrilling atmosphere that overtook the streets, a tremendous celebration that stood in such stark contrast to events in their shattered homeland.

The sight of hundreds of extatic Iraqis celebrating the victory of their divided nation's unified team was an encouraging sight. It was wonderfully reminiscent of the celebrations in both East and West Germany when the united German football team won the World Cup on the eve of reunification in 1990. Let us hope that a major football victory will once again bring peace and unity.

The Russian Giants...

2007-10-15T18:01:00.000+02:00

Away all boarding parties!
Having visited the Mexican bark Cuauhtemoc, let us move on to the two Russian giants--the 4-masted barks Kruzenshtern and Sedov (the two black-hulled vessels).

Kruzenshtern was the largest vessel to participate in the Baltic Tall Ships Race 2007 and came in a full two days before the Sedov and so was naturally first on my itinerary.

She is a true giant among sailing vessels, measuring in at over 114 meters long (376ft) and towering 51 meters (168ft) to the mastheads--taller than the high cliffs on Stockholm Harbor's southern shore. All together, this behemoth is rated at some 4,700 tons.

Originally, she sailed under a German flag as the Padua, having been built in Bremerhaven in 1926. She had been a record-setter back then, making a run from Hamburg to South-Australia in just 67 days. Then WW II came along and upset the whole apple barrel. When the dust cleared, the Padua was handed over to the Soviet Union as a war reparation and renamed the Kruzenshtern in honor of the the famous Russian explorer.

Now this stunning forest of spars and rigging is one of the most famous tall ships in the world, traveling to all oceans as an emissary of 'Mother Russia'.

And what an impressive emissary she is! She dwarfed all the other ships in the harbor, towered over the big shipping warehouses, and even peered over the top of downtown Stockholm's highest hill! She even rivalled the church steeples for height and grandeur.

But there is no better way to make yourself feel small than to actually go aboard such a hu-norm-ungous craft....

But once on deck, I found Kruzenshtern wasn't so bad. In fact, she appears to be a remarkably comfortable vessel--not in a beanbag chair kind of way, but rather more in that as huge and daunting as she seems from the pier, she is so narrow that she feels like a much more sanely-sized vessel when you are onboard. On deck, she gives you a feeling of 'sure, I could probably sail this thing out of the harbor all right'.

True, she is big, but not that big. Kruzenshtern is still just a square-rigged sailing ship with all the familiar elements--bollards, lines, pinrails, capstans, a bell, a wheel, deck prisms, etc., etc. She's totally managable....

But as you continue to walk the decks for mile upon mile on your endless journey from bow to stern, you get this sinking feeling that this thing is waaaay more complicated than you thought. Somewhere amidships you begin to realize you can't see either end. The ship just seems to disappear into a fog of rigging that obscures any sense of the entire vessel. Suddenly it is overwhelmingly enormous and complex. I found myself looking about trying to figure out which of the four masts I was standing beside--from on deck, you really could never see all four of them at once!

For someone who is used to knowing what each line aboard ship is for and what it does--and maybe even its name--being lost in this cloud of rigging was a really creepy and disorienting experience.

Hundreds of lines running here, there, everywhere....

...and then to think of the strain on all those lines. Some of the yardarms alone were up to 5 or 10 tons. Add sail, wind, rain, and ice and the total load on this tangle of rigging is strong enough to move a mountain...a mountain of steel and canvas. These big windlasses and the steel wire top-ropes, shrouds, and stays were absolutely necessary on such a craft (apparently, no matter how aged and rusty).

Sailing ships have long been called a machine for harnessing the forces of nature--but seeing how many lines and cables it takes to rig a sailing ship is a stark reminder of the sheer power of nature. How hard man works to create something just to catch the breeze.

After a rather long walk I finally reached the quarterdeck of the Kruzenshtern. The wheel, binnacle, and steering box (as big as a shed) were all varnished up nicely and the bronzework polished down to a fine sheen. But even here the size of the vessel could not go unnoticed. Two steering wheels were fitted so that up to four men could get a solid grasp on them to steady the huge ship in a gale--and they would be lashed to the ship so that a kick on the rudder from a wave didn't jerk the wheel, snagging a spoke in a man's clothing and heaving him skyward over the rail.

On that note I was ushered over the rail and down the gangplank as hordes of people gathered for their chance to come aboard the great ship. She was a little intimidating, I must say, but still a grand ship to explore.

Onward to the mighty Sedov!--Russia's other enormous 4-masted bark (I tell ya, some countries have it all....).

Sedov was also a German-built vessel constructed in Kiel in 1921, sailing under the name the Magdalene Vinnen II. Only slightly smaller than the Kruzenstern, she crosses the line at 108 meters in length and a rated 3,500 tons displacement. She sailed on all oceans before the war. Then she, too, was transferred to the Soviet Union as a war prize. Becoming a training ship for the Soviet Navy, she managed to dodge the scrap yards that dismantled so many of the great 'Cape Horners'--that last generation of commerical sailing ships.

It is difficult to convey the scale of these wind-driven craft. They are as elegant and graceful as a swan, but tough and solid as a battleship--at least, in appearance. They are stunning creations the likes of which our species seems to have forgotten how to create. Few modern ships can be said to have 'graceful lines' or 'tranquility of form'. Now they all look like a box. But ships like Sedov--solid, elegantly rigged, and fitted out with billowing sails and fluttering flags--are an experience to behold.

Two days after experiencing the Kruzenshtern, I headed over to the Sedov. She was open to the public, but clearly not all visitors were welcome. Like most of the sailing ships in port, rat-guards had been placed on all the mooring lines. Rat-guards are, well, guards to keep rats from climbing aboard ship--before you even think of making a joke about Russian sailing ships, I'll have you know that even the American aircraft carriers still rig these every time they are in harbor.

I am not sure exactly what kind of death-defying thrill rats obtain from skittering out on the mooring lines to get aboard ship (where they are reduced to nibbling lead-based paint and often dispatched with a belaying pin) but an artistic crewman aboard the Sedov seems to have taken the matter to the level of psychological warfare.

Besides being over water, boarding on the mooring lines is a bit dangerous in other ways. After all, there is a 3,500-ton ship pulling on the other end of it. This line up forward had come under such enormous strain that it had actually torn right through the steel plating of the bulwarks!

If I were a rat, I would definitely think twice about this ship.

However, being a biped with opposable thumbs, I promptly set about finding a way to board the ship.

Walking along the pier beneath both Kruzenshtern and Sedov felt a bit like being stuck outside a great fortress or the Great Wall of China. They really were like huge walls...

...and finding a way over the top of it usually involved a wobbly gangplank, 20-30 Swedish crowns, and a number of stern-faced, uniformed 16 year-old Russian naval cadets.

Rummaging through my pockets for every coin I had, I managed to scrape together the boarding fee and stake out a spot in the queue. Usually waiting in line is about as interesting as a 5lb bag of fertilizer, but waiting alongside that incredible ship, gazing up at the rigging, was well-worth the wait. It was assigned admiration time.

But alas, my lunch money was gone and I was passing through the bulwark onto the deck of the floating giant.

Once again, I found myself in a surreal universe of paralell lines--rigging, deck planks, spars, Russian navy shirts--all paralell, or nearly so. But what a forest of rigging! Incredible.... One thing that always amazes me on the bigger ships is how the crews (about 270-strong) manage to learn all these lines amidst everything else a naval cadet is being forced to learn and do--and many cadets are only aboard for a month or two!

Heading aft I passed by the skylights from the galley. Perhaps my palatte is insufficiently international, but the aroma of borsch cooking below just didn't have the same affect on me as the Cuauhtemoc's Mexican cuisine. Judging by my brief olfactory encounter, I suspect it is something of an 'acquired taste'.

These ships really are a marvel of organization and coordination, though. They are as complex as a power grid and yet they move! The whole thing moves--and moves where someone decides it should move--and it is powered by the unpredicatable whims of nature! Remarkable. The choas of weather and hundreds of lines, men, and sails choreographed into the breatheless, smooth motion of a tall ship under way. Sailing ships could really be a whole conceptual model for some branch of chaos theory...

Yet to those who know the wind and tide and know the workings of their ship, there is plenty of logical, practical, and functional order in what appears to many as an unfathomable mess of hemp, canvas, and steel. To the seasoned tall ship sailor, it is all as clear as day.

To others, it is just a place to play, to explore, and to experieince. The children of Sweden really made the most of Sedov....

...ringing in their generation and keeping the dreams of sailing the high seas alive...

But all that clichéd rhetoric aside, Sedov with her miles of hempen line, the steering wheels, the bell, and so forth was clearly a great playground--even for me. I was a kid in a candy shop for five days while these ships were in port!

I mean...you can see I photographed just about everything. You should see how much I didn't put up on the blog! But then again, when you see the ship's name emblazoned on a beautifully polished bronze plaque fitted to the top of each bollard head, who wouldn't take a picture?

I even photographed the safety chain securing the starboard anchor for goodness sake! But how could I not? It was so thoroughly corroded to the bollard that I half expected it to be an original from 1921. I mean, what a safety hazard. The steel links were literally flaking apart. Between the corrosion and the flaking, this anchor couldn't be dropped with the work of a dozen men and yet, at the same time, it might just drop itself within the hour.

But amidst all my nautical delight, not everyone was enjoying being aboard. Amidships I found a group of cadets getting a royal chewing-out from one of the senior officers. They were smirking and exchanging glances in a way that suggested that a prank had gone awry--or possibly had just gone very well.

Either way, they ended up being put on work detail and were sent down the gangplank to a waiting truck.

Supplies had arrived for the evening party being thrown in honor of foreign dignitaries invited to the ship--all of the ships were holding banquets...except the Polish ships. They were strangely dark and silent at night.

Paying penance for whatever had happened, the Russian cadets sullenly hauled case after case of beer and Coca-Cola (ironic?) aboard ship. Poor schmucks.

As preparations for the evening event got under way, I debarked from ...the bark...Sedov and headed for home.

But what a sight--the Russian giants Kruzenshtern and Sedov. Magnificent ships.

Aboard Cuauhtemoc

2007-10-09T17:14:00.000+02:00

It's high time I finally take you aboard some of these Tall Ships.
The first one to open to the pblic (and thus the first one I boarded, for I wasted no time) was the Mexican naval training bark Cuauhtemoc--fast becoming a popular feature of this blog. And why not? Cuauhtemoc was definitely the center of the show!

From my perch on the bluffs overlooking Stockholm Harbor where I set up to watch the first ships arriving from Finland, I had a pretty good view of the pierside where the biggest vessels were docking. From that vantage point I could relax and enjoy the harbor--and keep an eye on whether any of the ships were opened for boarding.

Little more than two hours after the Cuautemoc had docked, I spotted a surge in the crowd alongside the ship--a surge toward the gangplank. The ship was open!

I scuttled down from the high bluff and found that the Cuauhtemoc was indeed open to visitors--a full 36 hours ahead of the official opening of the Tall Ships Race visit to Stockholm. What can I say, Mexico knows how to greet the public and win a following.

When I reached the gangplank, a large group of her own crew was returning to the ship. In the short time they had been in port, the officer cadets had already headed out sightseeing, many of them passing by me with Vasa Museum gift shop bags (talk about role reversal).

Three minutes later, I was in that cathedral of rigging.....although it was something of an unconventional 'cathedral' with all the festive mariachi music blaring away from the loudspeakers. Livliest music on the planet and mighty refreshing amidst the melancholy ballads of Northern Europe.

Once I got over the inital 'awe response', I headed up the starboard alleyway past the galley and.....OH MY LORD. MEXICAN FOOD!!!!!!!

Like a golden ray of sunshine on a stormy day came the most fantastic aromas of Mexican cuisine. Holy smokes! I had not smelled Mexican food in months. It is a good thing the crew had the presence of mind to string a rope across the entryway to the galley or I would have been in there in a moment--and in a bit of trouble with the half dozen Mexican cooks already warding off the tourists. But oh, how I wanted to get down on my knees and beg for an enchilada or a taste of guacamole.

I was suffering horribly from Mexican food deprivation, I tell you. Sure, you can buy "nachos" in Stockholm, but it isn't at all the same. For one, there is no cheese--WTF?. How can that be considered Nachos? What is the world coming to when a cheeseless pile of imitation corn chips can pass as a platter of sacred Nachos? A travesty!

Biting my lip for an extra measure of self-control, I continued forward past the cooks and crew. Some looked as if they desperately wanted off the ship, to go explore this new port, and maybe have some real Scandinavian pickled fish instead of the same old burritos and fajitas they had to suffer through each day.

Well, I managed to get myself past the fantastic smells and up onto the foredeck....where the smells of good Mexican cooking were even stronger! The skylight hatches to the galley were open to alleviate the heat and I just about dived down one, aiming for that big kettle of refried beans or the mountain of tortillas.

But in the nautical environs of the foredeck my principal passion regained its grip on me and the salt air caught my attention again. What a spectacularly clean and tidy ship! I mean, I've seen 'ship-shape', but the Mexican crew had a true showpiece here. The carefully coiled lines....

...the spotless and perfect deck planking, the smart uniforms, the carefully flaked headsails...

...the freshly painted deck equipment, the polished anchor bell...

...even the 3-inch guns were glimmering away in the sun, their brass components polished up to the point where the reflection off of them constituted a weapon in itself.

Even the belaying pins were shined up on their varnished mohagany pinrails and hung with perfect coils of new (synthetic) lines. Note that even the shrouds, painted in a galvanized aluminum paint, are perfect--each one square and spotless.

In fact the whole rig was pretty near perfect. The masts and yards were freshly painted and the sails clewed up smartly--but not furled. That way they flopped lazily in the breeze, giving the rig a little more life than the other ships had (As if the mariachi music wasn't lively enough).

The midship's bell station/smoke stack with all its cast bronze plaques was equally well maintained. Kind of struck me like a shrine of some sort.....

The main ship's bell was so perfectly polished that you could almost see your future in it! these sailors must have spent all day and night rubbing away at the bronzework.

As I came aft I noticed that all the ship's senior officers were gathered amidships by the gangplank, all in their finest 'Class A' uniforms.

A minute later the piercing scream of the bosun's pipe snapped the entire ship to attention and an apparently important woman came aboard with a full salute from all ranks.

Then all filed into the restricted officers saloon after them. I am still most curious who it was. But that whistle piping her aboard will send a chill down your spine like nothing else. I suppose it is rather like a dog whistle, now that I think about it. Poor dogs....

Whoever the mystery woman was, she must have been important. As soon as she was piped aboard, a signalman ran up a special pennant denoting that somebody of stature was on the ship.

Yet, amidst this official visit, the ship was still crawling with visitors coming aboard to admire, to explore, and certainly plenty (usually those by the wheel gazing off through the tangle of rigging) came to dream.

For the dreamers, it worked out nicely because the Cuauhtemoc has two steering stations for people to pose by. The first is just aft of amidships and is the steering position used when under engine power or in close quarters like when entering and leaving harbor. It has an engine telegraph etc and has good forward visibility.

The second steering station is on the fantail at the stern. It is much more traditional, has no engine controls, and provides a view of the sails--important for a cadet instructed to take a 'trick' at the wheel and be damned sure not to backwind the sails! Have you ever seen such a fine piece of luxury furniture?--And this is meant to go to sea!

In fact, even the ship's launches were stunning furniture pieces, beautifully varnished up--even the bronze propeller is all polished to perfection! As a work-boat kind of guy myself, all this seems rather outlandish, but then again, naval discipline was never for me.

But that isn't to say these masterpiece craft were not intended for working. They aren't just show pieces. While I was aboard the crew came and swung out one of the boats for lowering.

A half hour later they were bobbing about, touching up the paintwork on the Cuauhtemoc--and being darned sure not to drip on the launch!

Well, that's the Cuauhtemoc. As ship (bark, actually) of unparalleled spotlessness and military perfection well worthy of its namesake Aztec ruler-god. Indeed, she--and her crew--are a stunning emissary for Mexico.

The Masts of Gamla Stan...

2007-10-08T18:15:00.000+02:00

Brigs, ketches, schooners and barks! During the Tall Ships Race visit, the ancient heart of Stockholm, called Gamla Stan (Old Town), was a delightful thicket of sailing craft large and small.

There was actually quite a group of square-rigged vessels there including two of my favorites--the Russian Shatandart and Stockholm's own Tre Kronor.

But the quay along Gamla Stan was mostly schooner territory...and lovely ones were they....

It was a fantastic place to go just to gaze into the mess of overlapping rigging (that only the dumbed seagulls attempted to fly through....one failed)...

...to admire the beautifully maintained brightwork (the spars were like mirrors!)

...and just walk up the line, drooling at one schooner after another.

Before you laugh too hard, I'll have you know I was far from the only one captivated by 'The Masts of Gamla Stan'. The area was mobbed with people at all hours....

...even attracting a throng of reporters. This one came from Dagens Nyheter, Stockholm's biggest news group.

Oh my, they were stunning! These Baltic schooners with their broad, round hulls were quite something.

The outboard one of the two was the Seute Deerne II, a Gaff-rigged ketch from Germany. Oy....

Or there was this lovely Baltic ketch draped in Tall Ships Race flags going back to the 1970s--a long time participant.

It was an amazing sight, all that classic rigging, the reek of fresh pine tar, the signal flags snapping in the breeze, the lap of wavelets, and groan of mooring lines.....Heaven on Earth!

Speaking of Heaven, I'll leave you with this curvacious pair of Swedish schooners....

And with this shot in particular, for everyone knows the rear end of just about anything Swedish looks fantastic!

Out for a stroll, arm-in-arm....

2007-10-06T17:39:00.000+02:00

You see couples out strolling in the park together all the time, but this is rediculous!

Yet at "Tall Ship Love Fest '07" Sweden's two naval training ships, Falken and Gladan, paired up for a stroll about the harbor together.

With a total web of mooring lines and plenty of fenders between them (always remember to wear a fender!...not my joke...it was all over the waterfront), the peculiar promenaders strutted about in the evening sun showing off a strange form of military discipline (or total lack thereof if your mind is in the gutter).

The jokes didn't quit when Falken and Gladan hit the pier.

Upon seeing the little cluster of skiffs launched from Falken and Gladan after their stroll, onlookers kept on churning out middle school level humor about 'where boats come from'.

But if those jokes had any truth in them, it would be a tough....boathood(?)....to be raised in the Swedish Navy....

There would be no acting up or causing mischief with a cadet on watch around the clock....

...and with all the formal knots and lashings, there is definitely no 'gaffing about'.

So beware of all the slender, beautiful, and flirtatous naval training ships that dress up in fine white canvas and jibe about to catch your eye....for everyone knows, navy training ships all have a ketch in every port....

Okay, enough horrifyingly tasteless boat jokes for today....

Crew Parade

2007-10-02T12:50:00.001+02:00

Who doesn't like parades?
One of the big events during the Tall Ships Race visit was a parade of the ships' crews through the streets of Stockholm.

It started out very formal and impressive. Leading the parade--and indeed the entire five day event--was the crew of the Mexican Bark Cuauhtemoc.

Cuauhtemoc had been among the very first ships to arrive, her crew in the rigging with Mexican music blaring away over the PA system. Ever since their arrival, they had been the life of the party--superb ambassadors embodying the pride of Mexico.

In parade they were in top form; crisp and smart in their dashing white uniforms, they marched up the streets in perfect military step.

The officers all had their swords drawn and held to the shoulder...

...followed by the crew dressed in their best.

Then came the sailors of the Swedish Navy, marching along with the three-tongued royal flag out front.

Compared to the Mexicans, the Swedes seemed to be few in number despite having two naval training ships in port. But as you can see, Falken and Gladan--although stunningly graceful-- are considerably smaller than Cuauhtemoc.

Next came the very professional looking crew of the Norwegian bark Statsraad Lehmkuhl--also, exhibiting calm, cool Scandinavian military composure.

They had been a sensation when they sailed in. The rain had been pouring down and yet those tough-as-nails Norwegians were still aloft belting out sea chanties from the yardarms.

A bit further on in the parade a few surprises showed up. One was the crew of the American racing sloop Fazisi. They had the uniforms and...

...I suppose Fazisi is technically a 'tall ship' but i must say that such a speed-demon boat looked a bit out of place among all the slow-poke square-riggers.

Shortly thereafter came the Russians, the massive crews...

...of the even more massive four-masted barks Khruzenshtern and Sedov.

They seemed to come forever, row upon row. First the officer cadets....

...then the crew, wave upon wave sporting the classic sailors' uniform of the former Soviet republics.

Then came an unexpected surprise--the crew of the Malaysian topsail schooner Tunas Samudera--and with them, the parade began to lose its formality. They marched by to the lively rythm of Malaysian drums.

Like a number of the ships and crews, this crew was on their way around the world, showing the flag and proving skillful ambassadors for their country.

But in the midst of the tromping boots, there was a hold up in the parade procession. Using the lull, the crew of the Tunas Samudera suddenly broke into a delightful line dance. Indeed, a spirited group.

In fact, there was a lot of that kind of crew spirit in the air. It started subtly with the Tunas Samudera and then gathered momentum with the crew of the Polish full-rigger Dar Mlodziezy who came up the street banging belaying pins together and singing Polish sea chanties. This stirred some consternation in people along the route, one asking me what these people were protesting (9 out of 10 processions in the streets of Stockholm are protests, not celebrations). But then there were other crews...

...like those of the Swedish gaff-rigged ketch Gratia who all came down the street in togas with the ship's pennant...

...or the fellow who came by wearing a square sail, yardarm and all!

...or those from the German schooner Johann Smidt who dressed up as Neptune and his mermaids and rode an inflatable motorboat on a cart...

Not to be outdone by their countrymen, the crew of the German bark Alexander von Humboldt came next...

...carrying an entire offshore emergency liferaft and wailing away on portable fog horns!

Perhaps my favorite, however, was the crew of the Russian full-rigger Shandart. Not only did they have the most unique ship in port (a design dating from 1703 and very similar to Vasa's rigging plan)....

...but they also came up the street in full period dress from the days when a new Russia was bursting onto the world stage under Peter the Great. Fitted out in colonial dress, they came marching along to the sound of fife and drum, the flags of old (and new) Russia waving overhead.

I know no parade is the same in pictures as it is in person. Indeed, I am afraid you'll just have to try imagining the excitement in the air, the cheering, the drums, the wailing of fog horns...or go to St. Petersburg for the Baltic Tall Ships Race in 2009! Either way, it was such a thrilling spectacle, I could not refrain from sharing it with you all.

It's Alive! Ride on the Sankt Erik

2007-09-10T17:47:00.000+02:00

It's Alive!

Hissing, whooshing, and rumbling the great beast charges forth.....

...with a ferocious fire in its belly.

Hallelujah, a dream come true!

I finally got my chance to take ride on my old floating home, Sankt Erik.... and thanks to Blogger's new video uploading feature, you get some of the action shots too!

During the visit of the Tall Ships Race to Stockholm, the icebreaker Sankt Erik made several excursions. Being my former home, I followed each of these sailings closely. Then, after four runs, it was my turn.

I got myself aboard for a special evening cruise arranged for the National Maritime Museums' staff and big name donors (being a destitute student, it goes without saying that I was attached to the former group). The excursion was clearly a big to-do, but despite all the luxuries of wine and hoeur d'oevres...

...despite the wonderful narrated tour given by the Vasa Museum's director, Klas Helmerson...

...and despite our cruise route past all the Tall Ships lined up along the waterfront, I managed to miss virtually all of it. In fact, I was hardly on deck at all.

Instead, I disappeared down into the bowels of the ship, uncontrollably drawn into the hot, steamy realm of gnashing metal and scalding gases in the engine room. I just could not refrain from going below to marvel at Northern Europe's largest operational steam piston engine at work.

There is something inexplicably compelling about such mammoth machines, hissing away effortlessly with those massive grease-smeared steel components swooshing and swinging about, somehow transforming hundreds of tons of steel ship into a mobile creature jauntily slicing through the water.

Along with a handful of other spellbound engine admirers, I spent much of the trip close to the chief engineer, watching him monitor and control the huge engine. One could see in his motions that he was as much a part of the machine as any other component; it flowed in his veins.

Then the telegraph would ring as its little arrow swung across the dial face to 'slow astern' or 'half ahead'. The engineer would reply, throwing the telegraph lever back and forth to ring the bell and then leaving it in the position signalled from the bridge. Then he would crank a valve or two, pull a lever, and the engine would smoothly change speed and sometimes even reverse direction. He did it so expertly that you almost couldn't see it happen.

After tearing myself away, I trotted up to the forward engine room. Things were almost as exciting up there as the main engine room. The 'little' 1200 h.p. engine turning the bow propeller hissed and chugged away, its piston rods shooting up and down on top of the cylinders like a game of whack-a-mole (the blurry rods inside the little rope-railing here).

The most fantastic thing was the sense of life and energy in the engine rooms. For one, all that cold steel was hot to the touch--even the handrails were hot. Then there was the vibration, subtle and smooth, but still a definite vibration that reverberated through everything. To those who think machines are just inanimate hunks of steel, I recommend taking a trip into a steamship's engine room as that encounter will make a believer out of anyone who experiences how steam engines live and breathe, animating their entire surroundings in a throbbing heat that feels like the pulse of life itself.

Steam Power!

Though the engine room is clearly the beating heart of the beast, I did not encounter its raging soul until I entered the dragon's lair; the boiler room.

When I lived aboard Sankt Erik, the boiler room was the darkest, coldest part of the ship.

How things have changed! Stepping through the water-tight hatch from the main engine room, I entered a blazing, roaring Hell (Heaven for me). The inferno in the firebox roared away with an tenacity that stunned even an old steam boat nut like me. Nearing the firebox under the No. 1 boiler, I could feel the raging fire suck the air out of my ears and throat. It was like encountering the essense of anger and hunger as a single concept. The roaring fire had such a consuming presence, like a black hole except that a blinding orange light beamed out through the tiny viewing ports. Standing in front of the burner was almost deafening to and the heat it gave off was absolutely searing. In that dim cavern where the fires roar away, I knew I was indeed in the dragon's lair...and he was close.

But the only inhabitant of that hellishly hot compartment was a very jovial and friendly stoker. He was hopping back and forth tending the two boilers, making sure that the fuel was burning with maximum efficiency and that the boiler pressure was staying relatively stable as steam was vented off to drive the engines.

He had only two of Sankt Erik's four boilers up and running. The other two were undergoing restoration, but on an ice-free summer day two was more than enough to keep the Sankt Erik chugging along (This is the oil-sprayer unit fitted on the front of one of the boiler's three fireboxes--note the glow of the fire inside).

Baked by the heat, I finally stumbled up on deck for a little air. By that time we had been underway nearly and hour. On deck I found Leif and Magnus. These two men are critical members to the Sankt Erik story, Leif having directed much of the original restoration of the ship in the mid 1990s and Magnus doing much of the work for the most recent overhaul of the interior. Bengt, the fellow who restored the engines and boilers almost single-handedly, was scarcely to be seen all evening. He was always wriggling about between bits of machinery in the engine room--and always with a grin. For these fellows, this was their day.

Trotting up to the foredeck, I found Sankt Erik steaming up the main shipping channel out toward the Baltic, the very route she kept clear of ice for sixty winters.

It was mighty grand to be out there on her deck. I had gotten used to her being a permanent fixture on the dock and then suddenly here we were--the same ship but totally different surroundings. That's how it ought to be. A 'stationary ship' is just a confusing contradiction in terms.

While I was on deck, I decided I had better go up to the wheel house and have a look.

Usually the wheel house was empty, a vacant command post with a very fine skipper's chair that I had grown slightly accustomed to perching myself in.

But not today. The wheel house was jammed with so many people that I really began to worry about the safe handling of the ship. The captain had to shout over people to order a crewman to wriggle through the crowd to the telegraph and send a message to the engine room to slow her down. Meanwhile, the helmsman wasn't far from hooking someone's evening gown on the wheel spokes and the din of chatter totally drowned out the marine radio. It was far too tight up there so I skidaddled out.

Out on the bridge wing things were a little calmer. It was a fine, still evening and just a light breeze drifted over the bridge, carrying with it a waft of oil smoke from the funnel.

But the view was fantastic as we came around and began to steam up-channel again...

...passing various vessels including the car ferries to Finland, the coastal passenger boats, and a giant Russian trawler refitted as a luxury yacht.

Astern, Sankt Erik left only a slight wake as we made our way back into Stockholm Harbor.

After another trip to the engine room, we docked back at the Vasa Museum. Home from a fantastic journey into the past, an unforgettable experience aboard an incredible steamship.

What a fine evening....I think I'll do it again.

Well, I'll leave you with the requisite sunset picture, the lightship Finngrundet moored beside Sankt Erik.

Sankt Erik Underway!!

2007-08-24T15:45:00.001+02:00

Sankt Erik is underway again!

During the Tall Ships Race Festival in Stockholm, the National Maritime Museums' 1915 icebreaker, Sankt Erik, made several passenger tours under her own steam--probably the most exciting event of my time in Sweden.

What made it so exciting for me was not just that a dashing steamship was being brought back to life, but the fact that Sankt Erik had been my home when I first arrived in Stockholm. Unable to find housing ashore, Sankt Erik had been my refuge during those bitter cold months in early 2006 when the wind howled in the rigging and the harbor ice closed in, grinding ominously against her hull plating.

But it was a fantasticly pleasant home with fine cabins, a nice wardroom for studying and reading, a decent galley...

...and plenty of decks and passageways to explore...

...including the engine room (don't worry, I didn't actually monkey around with the valves or levers--this was a semi-operational ship after all). But the engine room definitely lacked life. What should have been a swealtering hot, steamy space with warm lighting and a shuddering vibration was dark, cold, and quiet. How that has changed!

Everyone at the museum has known for almost two years that the Sankt Erik was being readied for operation during the Tall Ships Race Festival. Bengt and Magnus had been laboring feverishly to get the ship ready. While I lived aboard, they often showed up around 0600 to get started, banging and clanking about.
But the first real clue indicating that Sankt Erik was almost ready was the fuel delivery. The first shipment arrived a few weeks ahead of the tall ships aboard the little fuel tender Oljex--a stout little tanker known for being virtually everywhere in Stockholm Harbor at any given moment, fueling anything afloat.

A few days later this tanker truck rolled in and also passed a hose aboard Sankt Erik. Within days, inspectors came to conduct a boiler test at pressure and later Sankt Erik went out on her first shakedown cruise with the Coast Guard inspectors. But all this was just build-up for the main event; Sankt Erik's first passenger cruise since the 2002 Tall Ships Race Festival.

The day the first tall ships sailed in, I was sitting on a high hill overlooking the harbor when I caught sight a massive plume of greasy, black smoke rising from the Sankt Erik's funnel. Her engineers had just lit the boilers.

It was almost 3 days before Sankt Erik's first scheduled trip, but every hour of that would be needed to get the severl hundred tons of water in the huge Scotch boilers hot enough to build up a good head of steam.

Finally the day arrived and I scurried down to the pier early in the morning to catch Sankt Erik heading off on her first passenger run. When I arrived, she was almost ready to go; steam hissing out of the vent valve and cooling water from the condensers pouring out of her side.

Everything was in place. The mandatory rescue boat was swung out, ready for launching and the decks were already cluttered with excited people ready to go along for the ride...

The last pasengers were still arriving, but after just a few minutes, the gangplank was cast off and all hands took to their stations for leaving harbor.

Dock-hands stood by the lines and swung out a few big fenders to cushion the steel ship against the concrete pier (not that it did much good). Keeping the breastline secured, the skipper had the main engine run dead slow ahead and put rudder hard over. Straining against the line, Sankt Erik's stern bgan to swing out away from the pier.

As her stern went out, the bow came in, dumping hundreds of litres of luke-warm water from the cooling system onto the pier. Oops!

The line handlers stood in a virtual flood as Sankt Erik pivoted and postioned to back out from the pier.

Then, with great fanfare and applause from dozens of early morning onlookers, the final lines were cast off and Sankt Erik smoothly began to steam backwards out of the dock. As she did so, the skipper gave a thrilling triple blast on the steam whistle (note the steam cloud), the signal to passing vessels that a ship is backing out.

And off she went. My old floating home under her own steam again!

Just then, the sun broke through, brilliantly illuminating Sankt Erik. A fine omen.

Then, with the forward engine in reverse to hold the ship in place (remember, icebreakers al so have an engine and propeller in the bow to flush broken ice aft along the hull) and the main engine in forward with the rudder over, Sankt Erik began gently turning in place...

...slowly...

...but surely...

...around she went.

What a sight!

Several minutes after she had actually left the pier, a crowd remained staring at her, totally entranced.

Hans-Lennart Ohlsson, director of the Maritime Museum that manages Sankt Erik, was one of them, visibly proud as she steamed out.

That magnificent ship, alive again and moving, just gliding out into the brilliant sunlight as if it were the most common thing in the world...

There is some wonderous thing about an old ship going past that leaves you breathless. Big sailing ships or steamers like Sankt Erik....they seem almost unreal; they have an uncommonly powerful presence. They are phantoms of another age but what really stuns you is how effortlessly and silently they go by as if unaffected by this world...and as if they would not leave the slightest trace behind. No noise, no smoke...just an enourmous mass sliding by (contrary to popular opinion, an oil-fired steamship with a skilled stoker should make almost no smoke at all. Smoke indicates inefficient burning--like when the boilers are first lit and the firebox is cold).

Sankt Erik then turned toward the main harbor, taking her passengers on a scenic tour past the Tall Ships, now all settled along the harbor front. The big 4-masted bark is Sedov, the massive Russian training ship.

Then Sankt Erik swung by Slussen, the place from which Vasa set sail on her fateful maiden voyage, and then...

...on under the famous Lodbrok floating crane that lifted Vasa's cannons...

... and up along Gamla Stan before turning toward the harbor entrance again.

Then I'll just leave you to enjoy the photo montage of her steaming by...

...and out toward the open sea.

As Sankt Erik disappeared around the corner, I relaxed at the harbor front watching the Tall Ships and the little minesweeper M20 out poking about. It would be nearly an hour ebfore Sankt Erik would come back; time to grab a hotdog at one of the carts by the park and maybe see what's happening in the shipyard.

Then, right on schedule, Sankt Erik came steaming around the point returning to the pier outside the Vasa Museum.

The only problem was that while she was away, the Russian vessel Shtandart had come by for a visit and taken her dock space. After all, Shtandart and Vasa have virtually the same rigging plan; it was a natural attraction. But no matter how many cannon Shtandart carried, a duel with the 4,000 horsepower icebreaker was not worth the risk. As Sankt Erik hove into sight, Shtandart's crew sprang to life, firing up her diesels and casting off immediately.

The crew scrambled to get the lines clear and get the ship out and turned around, even employing the man-overboard boat as a tug to spin the sqaure-rigger about.

Meanwhile, the big steamer quietly bore down on her dock and the offending Shtandart.

Out into the channel, Shtandart was shifted into 'forward'...

...and the crew prepared to take in the small boat, make sail, and scoot out of there.

It was a playful standoff as historic ships and their crews are a pretty unified group, but there was also a little bit of visible tension.

Sankt Erik was still putting on a pretty good show of looking a bit 'steamed' that her dock had been taken while she was away, venting steam from both her bow and stern windlasses.

Shtandart stood clear to let the steamer pass...

...skirting along the Skeppsholmen and Kastelholmen shores.

...and slipping under the cliff below the Royal Standard...the very place where Vasa was eventually raised in 1961.

Then Shtandart darted past the quietly hissing steamer...

...passing well astern...

...and setting sail for a little fun dodging cruiseships in the busy harbor.

Meanwhile, Sankt Erik approached the pier, drawing a crowd of onlookers.

With her windlasses steaming and ready to take the mooring lines, Sankt Erik was edged toward the pier.

...gently now...

...the forward engine went into reverse...

...turning carfully...easy...watch the pier!

...almost there...

...CRUNCH!!!

There is simply no way to bring a 1200-ton ship alongside a dock gently. The final moments had been painfully drawn-out to minimize the impact to nothing, but given her huge momentum, even a snail's pace approach sent a violent shudder through the dock and took a stripe of paint off the ship.

That done, the mooring lines were handed across in the most civilized way I've ever seen.

But all hands quickly recovered their gritty professionalism, throwing a heaving line from the bow. The dock-hands put their backs into it, hauling the heavy bow hawser down and securing it.

Of course, as the ship was snugged up to her moorings...

...she again began dumping hundreds of litres of water onto the pier. Double oops.

But before long, the lines were trimmed so as to hold the ship squarely beside the pier (and keep the cooling water going into the harbor). The windlasses clanked and hissed away, tightening the lines, and all was pronounced secure.

The gangplank went across and nearly 250 delighted apssengers came off the ship, chattering away and grinning from ear to ear.

The crew (this is just the 1st mate and deckhands) relaxed a little, a job well done.

So that is the photo story of the Sankt Erik's first 2007 passenger cruise, the resurrection of my old floating home.

Tall Ships Day 2: Europa sails in!

2007-08-19T14:24:00.000+02:00

Day 2 started out miserably cool, wet, and rainy. But the crowds were already flocking to the waterfront early. They were not to be disappointed. Before long the Shtandart came in, then the stunning and melodic (as melodic as sea chanties get) Statsraad Lehmkuhl came gliding in like a great swan. Then, shortly afterwward came this little beauty under full sail, the Dutch tall ship Europa.

She was a sight coming down the channel through the rain squalls. I remembered seeing her at precisely the same angle as she sailed into Seattle for the Tall Ships parade in 2002. An unforgettable ship, she had been the queen of the fleet. A true full-rigger with five square sails on each of her three masts, she was as stunning sight.

Small craft--many of them museum pieces themselves--rushed out to meet her.

As she came into the heart of Stockholm harbor I realized that as impressive as she was, Europa is tiny as far as tal lships go. She may have the big ship rig, but she is only 54 meters long. However, Europa deserves credit as one of the oldest ships in the Tall Ships Race, being built in 1911.

With more than a dozen sails set almost all the way into the harbor, she attracted quite a crowd that followed along the banks, catching vistas of her through the bigger ships already docked. Although most of the crowd had only read of tall ships in adventure tales, there were probably at least a few along the shores with distant memories of the days when these ships worked commercially.

What a beautiful ship, though....

Europa sailed right up to Gamla Stan in the center of the harbor just as Shtandart did, showing off ship and crew in an unforgettable display of canvas and seamanship.

On her heels came a lovely gaff-rigged ketch also under sail...and a wall of rain.

Ooo...what a fine, sharp prow on that beauty!...

....and the sweep of her stern!!

By noon when the skies cleared, Europa was secured and open for visitors...and had her sponsor's banner topsail proudly displayed. But what a show!

Tall Ships Day 2: Statsraad Lehmkuhl glides in

2007-08-18T15:23:00.001+02:00

Arriving early at the harbor to start off Day 2, I caught the arrival of three of the event's most beautiful vessels, Shtandart, Statsraad Lehmkuhl, and Europa. Despite the rain and blustery winds, thousands joined me at the harbor to parttake of the grand spectacle.

Statsraad Lehmkuhl of Norway appeared out of the mists like a ghost ship in some aged tale of Arctic exploration. It was amazing, just seeing that form loom out of the sheets of fast falling rain.

Built in 1914, her masts were raked back just enough to give her a proud--even slightly haughty--posture as she came gliding into the harbor disciplined and stately.

As she came out of the rain one could see and hear her crew aloft singing that familiar and even over-used sea chantey, 'South Australia'.

But those voices belting out the song over the raindrop-dotted harbor was enough to put a thrilling chill down you spine.

An almost inaudible engine rumbling away in the bowels of the ship eased her gently through the harbor toward Gamla Stan.

As the air cleared of rain, her brilliant white paint seemed to illuminate everything around the ship...

...a seemingly hallowed glow that followed her as she strode onward toward the palace.

What a sight!

Nearing Gamla Stan, she swung to port and making a salutory pass by Stockholm's ancient center, settled in about 1240.

Somehow, the Statsraad Lehmkuhl, a vision out of the mists of the past, just seemed to belong with the city's bygone skyline.

Then, completing her 180-degree turn, Statsraad Lehmkuhl headed for her berth along the Södermalm shoreline, her strident form beaming in the sun that was just piercing through the clouds.

Like Shtandart, Statsraad Lehmkuhl had a hoard of admirers following her up the banks (with me practically in the lead).

Passing Cuauhtemoc, Khruzenshtern, and finally Dar Mlodziezy, the 98-meter Statsraad Lehmkuhl swung her bow toward the pier...

...her crew still belting out 'South Australia' from aloft.

The crowds were restrained behind a fence while the line-handlers readied themselves to receive the Lehmkuhl's lines on the pier.

As always during the Tall Ships visit, a tug stood by to help. But its presence was never needed as the crews sailing on these great ships had mastered their maneuvers to the point where a tug really wasn't anything more than a formality required by insurance companies.

These men and women, after all, were among the world's most elite sail-training crews.

With that, the heaving lines were thrown ashore and the dock hands began hauling in the heavy mooring hawsers...

Soon lines were put across fore and aft and the Statsraad Lehmkuhl was hauled into the pier and made fast.

Bo no sooner had the chantey singers come down from aloft than the next tall ship could be sighted coming down the channel.....

Tall Ships, Day 2: Shtandart arrives

2007-08-18T13:00:00.000+02:00

Day 2 started rainy and cool, but absolutely thrilling as the gorgeous Russian frigate Shtandart came sailing down the channel.

The Shtandart is a replica of an identical frigate built in 1703, the first ship in Peter the Great's modern Navy. A piece of elite technology in her time, she was championed as an icon of the new, modern Russia that was stepping onto the stage of European trade and politics.

The replica, launched in 1999, is also an icon of the new Russia, built and sailed by young Russians dedicated to establishing and showcasing the new, post-communist Russia.

But, my!....what a sight to see that fine ship come booming up the channel under full sail, right into the heart of Stockholm.

What made her doubly fascinating for me was that she has virtually the same rig as Vasa, complete with a spritsail topmast (the vertical spar with the red flag on it). There is only one other operational ship in the world with a spritsail topmast... mainly because they were phased out by about 1730. Most of the world's extant tall ships are of an early 1900's design with steel-hulls and modern square rigs.... nothing like incredible this 'blast form the past'.

Even though Shtandart is less than half the size of the Vasa, she gives a powerful sense of what it must have been like to see those grand ships sailing around in the 17th century with those steep bowsprits, woolded masts, and massive unsplit topsails.

Equally amazing was how easily the crew sailed her right into the harbor. Cuauhtemoc, Kruzenshtern, and the other mega-sailing ships would not attempt it in these tight channels, but the symbol of new Russia was not to be intimidated, sailing boldly through the rain and gusting winds with almost every scrap of canvas flying.

What a sight...and what an interesting choice of color....

Then, as Shtandart reached the harborfront, all hands fell on the pinrails and clewed up the sails, easing the ship to a stop right off the quay. Fantastic!

Then, at the center of one of the ornately carved wreaths along her side, a gunport lid opened....

KaPPOW!!!

A hefty cannon shot cracked the air, echoing around the harbor and down off the Södermalm cliffs. The crowd (several thousand by 10 am) gasped with delight as the cloud of black powder smoke drifted through the rigging. Shtandart had arrived!

Then the gunport lid flapped shut and all hands set to preparing the ship to come alongside the pier.

Despite the nasty rain squalls, the crowd continued to thicken.

Shtandart, radiant as the sun on such a grey day, eased toward the pier as her crews heaved the big, modern fenders over the side.

Once abeam of Stockholm's own brig, the Tre Kronor, the heaving lines were cast over and the hawsers hauled through. Taking hold of the heavy mooring lines, Shtandart's crew began hauling away, pulling the ship toward Tre Kronor. Ready and eager to help, the tug had to just stand by and watch; real sailors don't need no tug.

Inch by inch, she crept sideways under the strain of the lines until her crew slacked off the mooring hawsers and let her drift up along side Tre Kronor.

Meanwhile, part of the crew was back at the pinrails again 'cock-billing' the yards, tipping them from horizontal to a diagonal so they wouldn't get tangled in Tre Kronor's rigging--a real danger with tying up sailing ships together.

Secured and fast, a delighted crowd gave a whoop and a cheer and Shtandart's award-winning entry was complete.

What a fine pair those two ships were to see!

Rigs that were almost two centuries apart, tied side by side...

...and just a belaying pin's throw from the fore-and-aft schooner rigs that followed after them. Here in one shot could you see almost 300 years of sailing ship development.

How wonderous the Tall Ships Race is, bringing together such stunning examples of the craft that created the world as we know it. I love every moment of it!

Tall Ships: Day 1

2007-08-15T14:27:00.000+02:00

Glory be!!

Moving at a dead sprint, I made it down to Beckholmen Island just in time to catch the grand Mexican bark Cuauhtemoc coming into Stockholm harbor.

It was an beautiful sunny morning, absolutely perfect--and then to have that incredible vessel slowly moving past with her sails clewed up, flags waving, festive Mexican music playing....

...the cadets all lined up on the yardarms saluting Stockholm... how I envied them.

It was positively amazing--the sights, the sounds, and the soft smell of the harbor... To say it was 'moving' only gives the faintest hint of the powerful sense of the sublime that swept the harbor that morning as Cuauhtemoc glided in.

But for all the glory of that moment, it was just a taste of what the next five days would bring.

Yachts, motorboats, and even a helpful harbor tug swarmed around the great white ship as she came in.

Then as she approached Gamla Stan (The old Town), the mariachi music soared to a new tenor and people began to congregate along the shoreline all around the harbor.

Cuauhtemoc was not the first ship to arrive. Two others--the Polish full-rigger Dar Mlodziezy and the Russian 4-masted bark Khruzenshtern--were already docked, having come in around 08:00.

But Cuauhtemoc still took the show. After taking a showing off along the Gamla Stan waterfront, the Cuauhtemoc swung around and came alongside the pier just behind Dar Mlodziezy and Khruzenshtern, music still chortling away. But what a display! These 'ships of olde' coming in to restore Stockholm Harbor's former maritime glory alongside the local steamer fleet (Storrskär going by in this shot).

Of course, I could not resist the temptation to immediately take the ferry across the harbor and go check out the Cuahtemoc.

When I arrived I saw an incredible model of military discipline. The deck officer in full 'Class A' dress stood atop a deckhouse between the ship's 3-inch guns wailing away on his tiny little bosun's pipe, whistling out the orders to the swarms of sailors manning the lines--all whistles; not one spoken order.

As he whistled, the men fell on the lines, heaving on the braces and swinging the huge yardarms around to port so they wouldn't get tangled up on the lampposts along the quay (and because bracing around is just good practice in port). What a rig!

No sooner had she docked than a few hands were put over the side to touch up the immaculate paint work of the hull, covering the slightest scrape from a tugboat, the pier, or other offender.

My...what a grand ship! And the music; it was wonderful!

Right down to her stunning figurehead of Cuauhtémoc himself (the Aztec ruler of the mid-1500s), every detail of the ship was maintained to absolute perfection.

Being there on the quay, I could not resist going a little further to take a look at the larger 4-masted bark Khruzenshtern from Russia. As I approached, the majesty of these truly 'tall ships' struck me hard...

...what beautiful forms these stately behemoths have, what grace and beauty in every contour...

...and what stunning complexity they hold in those massive rigs...

I decided to find a good place to spend the rest of the day reading--reading and keeping a sharp eye for incoming vessels. So I headed towards the high cliff overlooking the Cuauhtemoc, Kruzenshtern, Dar Mlodziezy, and the rest of the harbor.

On the way to the long staircase going up the face of the cliff, I found the Tall Ships Festival's volunteers undergoing a little maritime safety training--Today's lesson; how to rescue burning sailors.

...yes, that is indeed a flaming dummy soaked in kerosene.

Good job. Next!

Well, I got up on top of the cliff and found a nice patch of grass on the grounds of a monastery or divinity school or whatever it was, and settled in to watch the ships come in. Form there I also I had a great view of the Polish training ship Dar Mlodziezy.

From that vantage point I could also see all the small craft coming out to greet the tall ships, all dec'd out and ready for the biggest maritime party Stockholm has seen since the Tall Ships Race of 2002. Here a nice, gritty little tug came out with all her signal flags flying from stem to stern.

The festive welcome seemed to be appreciated by the slow parade of vessels now coming into the harbor. Most were small schooners like this one (small, ya know, like only 100-200 tons). But the fleet was beginning to arrive.

Or this modern 3-master. Note Oljex going by, the diligent little harbor tanker that is constantly coming and going to fuel one boat or another all year, day and night.

Among the 'greeters' was this great little square-sail boat resembling the standard Scandinavian ship design that dominated from the bronze age to the Vikings and are still seen fishing in northern Norway, the Faeroe Islands, and Iceland. She was flying downwind...but I wondered how she would do coming back up against it.

Then, amidst the waiting, a huge billow of black smoke came pouring out of Sankt Erik's funnel as she lit her boilers. What a thrill it was to see that; my old floating home belching with life!

After an hour or so I spotted the next pair of Tall Ships coming in--two big schooners under full sail waaaay down the channel, beating their way to windward. I could see this was going to take a while, so I returned to my museum management reading.

After a bit, they had made considerable progress and were nearing the harbor proper--and revealing that they were, in fact, topsail schooners--probably the Swedish naval officer training ships Falken and Gladan. As they got set up on another perfect tack to take them closer to the harbor, the little trans-Baltic steamer Birger Jarl came chugging along to foil their plans...

The two topsail schooners began to close on her...

...as they got got closer, it was clear that none of the vessels appeared interested in altering their course. In the last moment, Birger Jarl slipped through, the schooner on the left clearing her stern by only a few meters.

...and leaving the pair of mischevious sailing vessels astern. She had safely run the Tall Ship gauntlet.

After another half hour or so, the two topsail schooners were working their way up to Beckholmen Island, tacking one way...

...and then coming about and tacking the other way, slowly making progress against the wind.

At Beckholmen, they split...

....one heading up into the north channel towards the Vasa Museum, the other....

....heading on a southerly course straight for where I sat. Beautiful!

When she reached the foot of the cliff, she swung into the wind....

...luffing her sails...

...as she came about and set off on another tack up into the heart of the harbor.

Meanwhile, the other schooner turned back and they put on a show for the forming crowds: head to head!

They glided past each other and proceeded to spend the next hour just lazily sailing about the harbor....

...making occasional passes under my perch....

...or going past the big square-riggers along the quay.

Then, at 5:30 pm the big trans-Baltic ferry Cinderella came churning into the harbor-dwarfing even the grand Khruzenshtern--and really dwarfing the little steamer here (passenger ships have really changed in the last century, haven't they?)

Then she began to swing around and approach the terminal below me. That's when I realized I was about to lose my view.

But it was getting toward dinner time so I decided to call it a day and head home. Three grand square-riggers and two topsail schooners had come in; a mighty fine show. Most of the tall ships were not due to arrive until the next day anyway. So off I went.

I did stop by Cuauhtemoc on my way and took a tour onboard, but I'll save those details for another post--afterall, it wasn't my only visit to the Mexican Navy's floating festival.

So that was Day 1 of the Tall Ships Festival.

SHE'S DONE IT!!!

2007-08-14T12:27:00.000+02:00

Havhingsten fra Glendalough is now in Dublin!

After nearly six weeks (mostly filled up with publicity events) the largest Viking ship replica in the world has successfully sailed from Denmark to Ireland, completing a voyage started by the original vessel 1000 years ago.

I know what a dream it is to sail her in Danish coastal waters...I can only imagine what an incredible experience it must have been to cross the rough and wild North Sea....

For the details, photos, ship's log etc, check out the website

http://www.havhingsten.dk/index.php?id=277&L=1

THEY'RE HERE!!!

2007-07-27T15:28:00.000+02:00

The Tall Ships are pouring into Stockholm!!!

There are 116 of these grand vessels still in the race around the Baltic. For two days now, they have been gliding into downtown Stockholm, their yards dotted with the attentive figures of their crews bawling out shanties.

At this hour we await the biggest of them all, the Sedov from Russia. It is pouring rain in Stockholm, but the entire harborfront, the roof tops, and balconies are all jammed with people watching the fleet. Of course, Vasa just has to join these other tall ships and has attracted equally large summer crowds, filling the museum to its max.

This morning the full-rigger Europa came in under sail. Those of you in Seattle may remember her as the queen of the fleet, the grandest tall ship of them all, when she sailed into Elliott Bay for the Seattle Tall Ships Festival in 2002. Well, here in European waters she's like a dinghy beside the enormous vessels coming in such as the huge bark Cuauhtemoc from Mexico (the food in the galley smells so good I want to go back to the Americas) or the garganutan Kruzenshtern form Russia.

It is indeed Tall Ships Time!

Havhingsten is underway!!!!

2007-07-23T18:17:00.000+02:00

Havhingsten fra Glendalough is underway!!

Roskilde, Denmark---Dublin, Ireland.

Havhingsten (Sea Stallion) is an incredible vessel and holds the title of being the world's largest Viking Longship replica, measuring 30 meters from stem to stern (about 100ft). Her design was taken from the remarkably well-preserved remains of an identical ship sunk in Roskilde Fjord around 1080 and excavated in the 1960s. Among the most interesting finds during the excavation was the fact that the timber used to build the ship had been grown and felled around 1040 in the vicinity of Dublin, Ireland--then a Viking colony.

Given the ship's Irish roots, the Roskilde Viking Ship Museum decided that the replica should make a voyage to Dublin--partly as a publicity stunt, partly for research purposes. Many Viking ship replicas have been built and sailed, but never has a vessel of such size been built or tested on the open and fierce North Sea. This voyage will reveal much about the seaworthiness and handling of Viking Longships.

Havhingsten was launched in 2004 and training cruises for her 65-man/woman crew began almost immediately. I had the pleasure of sailing on one of those cruises last summer--Absolutely in-friggin'-credible!!!! (sorry, I'll get those photos up soon, I promise!).

They have a great website following the voyage that's worth checking out...

http://www.havhingsten.dk/index.php?id=277&L=1

Waterfront humor...

2007-07-23T17:43:00.000+02:00

Boat folk are known for being practical jokers....

...often with a rather lewd sense of humor...

...and other times they just like to make little jokes for the observant passersby.

Dock-diving...

2007-07-08T12:24:00.001+02:00

Suit up! We're going in!

Time for a random tale about one of the numerous little adventures going on around the Vasa Museum every day. This time we head for the putrid little pond infront of the museum for a little dock-diving!

The whole thing started with this little fountain. The Vasa Museum is built over an old graving dock (drydock cut out of the bedrock). The ship and the museum only cover part of it leaving the inland end of the dock an open pit that has been filled with water for nifty little pond. Well, someone got the bright idea to add a fountain made from a Zetterström nozzle...

The Zetterström nozzle shoots water both forward through the tip and backward through those depressions just below the head shown here. This makes it possible to use a high-pressure water hose underwater without getting the Walt Disney effect that sends cartoon characters flailing about on the end of the hose.

The Zetterström nozzle was critical in the Vasa salvage project in the late 1950s being used to blast away mud, silt, and clay as divers essentially drilled a set of tunnels under Vasa for the lifting slings. So the fountain has a special meaning here in front of the Vasa Museum.

Well, the problem was that this great fountain is mounted on a buoy tethered to the bottom of the graving dock by a cable. The cable goes through a pair of blocks (pulleys) and comes up to the surface along the dock wall where it can be managed. The thing was, those little blocks on the bottom of the dock had corroded out and broke. The buoy bobbed up, tipped over halfway, and then began floating about the pond spouting water over the railing etc. Fiddlesticks!

The fountain was quickly shut off and the head scratching over how to fix it began. Draining the dock of several hundred tons of water and to make the repair and then refilling it was out of the question. It appeared that the only way to fix it was to don a mask, tank, and flippers and dive into the dock and mount a new block; something Fred was not looking forward to as a hen mallard had been living in the putrid dock with her clutch of ducklings all spring.

But alas, one must do what needs to be done. So Niklas gathered up all the tools, ropes, a new block, and the fountain buoy (which had been removed) and began reassembling the fountain unit.

After we had hauled the 20ft-long pipe and bouy through the throngs of tourists, it was time to refit the pumping unit.

The design was pretty simple with a submersible electric pump hung from the bottom of the buoy. It would simply draw water directly out of the dock for launch up the pipe and into the air for the viewing pleasure of the visitors and resident ducks.

But simplicity of design rarely means simplicity of assembly...

...and there was a good bit of shoving and grunting trying to get the pump refitted and all its hose-clamps tightened.

Then the dirty work began; Fred wriggled into his full-body drysuit (he would wear nothing less in the 'duck poop pond' regardless of the early summer heat) and prepared to descend into the disgustingly murkey depths.

First came the suit, then the requisite struggle with the tank, valves, lead weight belt, and for good measure, some prolonged wrestling with the adjustment straps on the full-coverage face-mask.

Of course all this activity began to draw a crowd. First it was museum staff on their coffee break who had heard something about Fred diving in the duck pond; that was just somethign that had to be seen. Here Ronny and Mikke hover about for a look. As Fred suited up and began to look more and more like a space alien with huge yellow feet, a cylindrical humpback, and a glass face, tourists started to gather around the area to watch.

Down below on a wobbly steel grating, Fred got his flippers on, buckled up his BCD, fitted his mask...

...and made sure I knew all the pull-signals as I was to be his dive-tender on the emergency tether. One, give me more line; Two, take up the slack; Three, get me out of here! It wasn't the more complex signals Fred uses on his archological sites, but it was a good, simplified version a beginner dive-tender like me couldn't forget.

Then, with everything set (and every inch of skin covered to evade the duck feces), Fred laboriously heaved himself and all his tanks and weights forward and plundged into the hideous brown water.

Then the work began and Fred swam along the wall (with me following on the tether like a puppy) toward the reconstructed fountain buoy which Niklas , Ronny, and I had just put back in the water.

Then this white bucket was lowered down to Fred with the new block and an assortment of tools he might need while on the bottom of the dock, some 5 meters below the surface.

With a parting gurgle and an 'A-okay' hand signal, Fred disappeared into the murk.

His 'Dive Support Team' followed along with the various bits of equipment (from left to right, Eddie with the tool bucket, Niklas with the buoy tether, me with Fred's emergency tether, and Ronny with the fountain buoy).

After fixing the first broken block on the bottom, the cloud of bubbles that marked Fred's location began to move out toward the middle of the graving dock.

The tool bucket and the fountain then scooted off after him, being towed from below.

A few minutes later the fountain was bobbing in the middle of the dock, right in place, and Niklas could start taughtening the cable and securing the buoy fountain in place.

Fred, delighted that the repair had gone well (and even more delighted to be out of the foul-tasting water) surfaced and began passing me his gear and then hauled out; a job well done.

The pump unit was plugged in and, in seconds, the Zetterström fountain spouted back to life in the Vasa Museum dock.

What a sight!

It was so scenic a few of the staff just had to go for a short row around the fountain...to pick up pop bottles thrown into the pond by tourists.

So there you have it, another dull, hum-drum day at the Vasa Museum doing routine maintenance. I may never leave...

Special thanks to Arvid Engström for use of some of his photos.

The Harbor from on High...

2007-07-07T16:45:00.000+02:00

From a hilltop overlooking Stockholm harbor....

An unidentified schooner out for an afternoon sail in Stockholm harbor.

Around she comes...

... Jibe ho! And the boom swings across the deck and she sails off on a broad reach.

Then...
The classic old Birger Jarl comes booming up the channel.

She's the last classicly designed passenger ship doing regular trans-Baltic routes. She was built int he 1950s to ferry Swedes across to the Helsinki Olympics. Now she runs to Mariehamn in the Åland Islands.

Steaming past Beckholmen Island...

...toward the Old Town...

...where she is completely dwarfed by the mega-cruise-ships of today.

Journey through the Midwest...

2007-06-04T15:28:00.000+02:00

Well, that's me doing what I do; talking about Vasa and promoting maritime heritage.

This shot is from my recent six-day whirlwind lecture tour through the American Midwest. The lecture tour began with a sore throat, a bad cold, and a long flight from Stockholm to Chicago. Great start.

Delays en route meant I came in just barely in time to catch the last bus on a Sunday night up to my alma mater, Beloit College, two hours away in Wisconsin. The next morning came the first set of presentations. Oy...

Despite my failing health, the hectic travel schedule, and the 6-hour time-shift, all went relatively well and I really enjoyed the adventure. For one, it was just a real delight to spend time with my museum studies profs, history profs, plus a few friends who are still around, though perilously close to graduation. I spoke about Vasa in a few classes there and gave a public lecture about the Vasa story, past and present and got to marvel at the interest that Vasa sparks with people wherever I go. However, I did learn that finals week is really not the time to try to draw an audience....

It was also wonderful just to be back on campus for the first time since graduation; to see Middle College, that grand but infernal building that consumed two years of my life while I built detailed scale models of it for my senior museum studies exhibition....

...and Eaton Chapel where I spent quiet evenings doing homework in the balcony and listening to students practicing away on the grand pipe organ.

I even wandered past my old house where so many epic legends were born...the Atomic Cookie Dough Crisis, the Mouse War, the Frozen Chicken Incident...

...and I went down to my old swimming hole on the 'Mighty Rock,' the disgustingly polluted river that flows through town (ranked No. 11 on the list of most polluted American rivers) .

From Beloit I caught a northbound bus toward Madison, Wisconsin...

...and dropped in on my 'aunt and uncle' Karen and Jeremy on their farm.
It was an infinite pleasure to see them again. More caring, generous hosts are not to be found anywhere. Not to mention, the food is always good and nearly endless.

In years past when Jeremy's health was better he taught me how to drive a tractor, fell trees, maintain a testy gas-powered wood splitter and plenty of other handy forrestry skills.

But this time, with both of us in poor health and the weather rather nasty, we stayed in the living room close to the fire instead. After all the frantic scuttling about in Heathrow, O'Hare, and then rushing through Beloit, it was so nice to sit in front of the fireplace and talk with Jeremy and Karen for hours about anything and everything. The place is like home....

Now and then the local turkeys would show up to peck about the driveway and show off their plummage...

...an activity easily encouraged with a little feed. Corn's up!

..odd lookin' critters ain't they? I think it's the bald head that bugs me...

From the farm, I went into downtown Madison to spend a little time with my two good college buddies, Evan and Bjorn--co-conspirators in the mischief that led to the Atomic Cookie Dough Crisis, the Mouse War, the Frozen Chicken Incident, and so many others.

We mostly lounged about--especially when we found a good hill for cloud-gazing in the local arboretum. Evan has a natural ability to look at home in any environ...

...while Bjorn has a natural ability to sleep in any environ, especially after we'd kept him up all night.

After some of Bjorn's legendary pancakes, Evan and I hit the road.

We drove northward up that American rite of passage known as I-90, just 'a flat-out, high-speed burn' from Madison to Minneapolis...

Upon arrival, Evan dropped me off at the stunningly ornate American Swedish Institute, housed in the former mansion of a Minneapolis newspaper baron. It is an impressive place, to say the least, right on the southern edge of dowtown Minneapolis. After hopping out of the car all gussied up in a suit and tie, I went inside for a wonderful evening as one of the several guests of honor at the annual ASI Scholars' Banquet. My VIP status that evening came from the delightful fact that I was awarded the coveted Cornelia Malmberg Scholarship (adminsitered by ASI) for 2007 which will be supporting me and my maritime museums research in Sweden for the rest of the year.

The evening was a delightful blend of socializing, dining, watching spectacles like the blowing of traditional shepherd's horns, and the highlight--the most famous Swede of all time, Carl von Linnaé himself...well, Hans Odöö actually. But he does a wonderfully fun and informative Linnaeus impersonation.

The following day I gave my performance, a long-winded presentation on the history of the Vasa from the time she was built on up to the research being performed today. Prepared for 25, the epic ship drew a wonderful crowd of 68 down to the dark basement of ASI despite a spectacularly beautiful spring day above ground. But what a great way to finish the lecture tour...

While in Minneapolis I met up with another good college friend, Melissa...

...and after hopping an Amtrak train down to Chicago to catch my flight, I met up with my friend Akane...

...and soon after was back aboard an SAS flight headed for Sweden. But what a wonderful whirlwind trip it was--so good to be back in the Midwest and to see good friends and beloved family.

Barely a month after returning to Sweden, my 'uncle' Jeremy passed away. He was a most kind and generous man whom I had great respect for and he will always hold a place as one of the most influential and inspiring individuals in my life.

Birthday cake!

2007-05-23T16:09:00.000+02:00

If you are wondering where the party is....

...I will tell you, it is in Sweden!

Carl von Linné (or Carl Linnaeus) just turned 300...well, technically.

As the most famous Swede of all time and the father of the modern taxonomy of species, his latest milestone birthday is being celebrated to the fullest!

Not only did King Carl XVI Gustaf and Queen Silvia of Sweden show up for the big bash in Uppsala (the world-renown university town where Linnaeus lived during much of his career), but so did Emperor Akihito and Empress Michiko of Japan.

So, Happy Birthday Carl! Don't spit on the cake!

Cutty Sark Burns

2007-05-22T08:36:00.001+02:00

The dreaded, unthinkable, shocking news is going out; the most famous sailing ship of all time, the extreme clipper ship Cutty Sark, has burned in her drydock at the British National Maritime Museum.

Of course the Cutty Sark Fire is the center of discussion here at the Vasa Museum, dominating the coffee and lunch beaks. What happened? How did it happen? How did one of the most incredible preserved historic ships (albeit with severe preservation problems), a keystone artifact in one of the world's largest museums, literally go up in smoke?......How?........and of course, 'Have we done all we can to protect the historic ships under our care and the cultural history thuy embody from such a dismal fate?

Encouragingly, representatives from the Cutty Sark Restoration Project are reporting that most of the original timber survived as large amounts of it--including the beautifully panelled cabins--had been temporarily removed for restoration. Moreover, the Cutty Sark's frame was iron, and thus was spared in the blaze. The project leaders have already pledged to rebuild and the ship's global reputation will likely enable them to raise the funds needed, but many of the losses of this fire simply cannot be reclaimed.

Of course, the original wood that did burn is a total loss. It is gone forever. Gone with it are the knicks and cuts of the builders' tools, the last extant impressions of the long-dead craftsmen who labored to build the history-making Cutty Sark. This is without doubt the greatest loss in this tragic fire. The loss of legacy....

Naturally, the maritime museum world networks have been buzzing, relaying updates and now the grim scuttlebutt that Cutty Sark's iron framing suffered more warping and cracking in the hot fire than initially thought. It may be impossible to restore some of these brittle frames to their original shape. More irreplaceable, original material lost. Indeed, many parts of the ship are showing severe heat damage.

Lastly, this fire hurts not just Cutty Sark and her history, but the entirety of British maritime history. Funds that might otherwise have been available for preserving the countless other precious bits of British seafaring history now must be reverted to Cutty Sark to repair the damage and get the star attraction generating funds for the museum again.

This incident remains a stark wake-up call to all the museums that have skimped on fire suppression systems for their irreplaceable collections...Vasa included. It just isn't worth the risk.

Sea legs...

2007-04-19T15:44:00.000+02:00

Life Lesson for Nat #36,642

Sealegs are not intended for ice.

It all started with a visit from my friend Grace (from my Beloit days). Then she met my friend Leah (from my Williams-Mystic days) who is living here in Stockholm. They seemed to think that part of a true Scandinavian experience lay in donning a pair of ice-skates. I was not so sure that was where the essence of Scandinavian living was to be found...

As I was outnumbered on the skating issue I gave in and we headed for the skating rink in Kungsträdgården, one of downtown Stockholm's grand garden squares. The rink itself is an octagonal death-trap around a statue, it is smothered in schmultzy Swedish pop music, and packed with reckless dare-devil skaters all day long. Honestly it was hardly the place to go for a nice evening skate--especially for a re-beginner like myself. The last time I was on skates I was six years-old. It was a kamikaze mission.

The whole way to the rink Grace and Leah were talking excitedly about the majestic joy of skating in the city's grand old park...

...while I was having visions of my near future....

...the pain...

...the chaos...

You see, I belong on the water...liquid water. Not this frozen solid stuff. For all my comfort and stability on a rolling deck, I am worthless as a two-legged creature on ice. Sea legs just are not intended for ice. Look it up in your Bowditch!

But for all my slipping and sliding, I dutifully put on a pair of skates and inched out onto the ice. Oddly enough, once I put on a pair of skates and began to scuffle my way around the rink in a cold sweat, it wasn't so bad. I think I like skating Sam-I-am!

THWACK!!

I went home with only a few major bruises...

Greenpeace

2007-04-09T12:46:00.000+02:00

Greenpeace was in town again a little while ago, docking their ship Arctic Summer along the main quay in Stockholm's historic district. She is a tubby little ship of limited aesthetic beauty but she is certainly eye-catching with that brilliant green hull, lively writing on her sides, and the multi-colored rainbow painted across her bow.

She is also of a more decent size than most (namely the mega cruise ships) and fits nicely into the skyline of the Old Town and the classic passenger ship, Birger Jarl.

Boaty-Hokey-Pokey

2007-04-04T12:32:00.000+02:00

The lovley Swedish-flagged brig Gerda Gefle...

...swinging her bow in...

...swinging her bow out...

...and sailing all about...

...and that's how she comes about!

(Please excuse the blatent idiocy of the commentary about this lovely ship that kindly graced Stockholm with a visit last week)

Sankt Erik by night...

2007-04-01T11:33:00.000+02:00

A lovely shot of my old floating home, the icebreaker Sankt Erik, under a moonlit sky on a still night.

Spring Cleaning....

2007-03-29T12:55:00.000+02:00

Stockholm University has a very environmentally conscious grounds crew, using a few horses in place of tractors and golf carts. Like the sheep maintaining Djurgården park, the horses save fuel and make very little noise, but they do have a pollution issue that requires you to watch your step.

Brush with a bridge...

2007-03-28T14:43:00.000+02:00

Riding the subway train home on a rather drab, routine winter day some weeks ago, I gazed out the window as the train skittered across a high bridge on Stockholm's south side and caught sight of a brightly lit freighter coming down the shipping channel, her spotlights stiffly jerking about, illuminating various buoys and pylons worth avoiding as she churned along.

She was a big freighter, a bit over 300 feet long and thus among the largest that steam into Sweden's interior lakes. She was outbound for the Baltic, coming down the channel from the Liljehomen area towards Gullmarsplan which sits on the bluff over the locks that separate Lake Mälaren from the the salty waters of the Baltic that surge in through the skerries (The Tegelbacken area is essentially the heart of Stockholm).

Unable to restrain my boundless fascination in all things nautical, I jumped off the train at the first chance and hopped over the edge of the bluff, slipping and sliding all the way down the icy path to the shipping channel at the bottom. Success! The big beast (PIONEER) was just easing into the locks...

The lockhands took the heavy mooring hawsers and--as if holding the leash of a seriously overgrown and ungainly Great Dane--walked the ship forward in the locks.

Eager to get a good view, I scrambled up to the old drawbridge that cowers under the new, modern high-level bridges that carry the subway trains and the highway. From there I watched the lockhands and the foredeck crew as they carefully guided the huge ship in. (PIONEER is huge for the Baltic and inland lakes, but compared to gigantic freighters built for the open Atlantic and Pacific, she's a bathtub toy).

Her heavy steel plate hatches were all battened down but clearly there was little or nothing in the cargo holds. She was floating high, her waterline lying far above the icy waters.

After a few minutes it became readily apparent just how large this particular ship was as she eased right up to the drawbridge, cornering a few ice sheets against the lock gates. They would have to squeeze her in as far as she would go in order to close the other gate behind her.

Foot by foot, inch by inch, the deckhands toyed with the winch controls, gently taughtening and slackening the mooring lines and snugging the ship as far forward in the lock as possible. Here the deckhand (likely one of the junior mates), leans over the rail, warily watching to make sure the ship doesn't 'bump' the lock gates--an accident that could hypothetically end up dumping the whole of Lake Mälaren into the Baltic.

Yet her crew kept crowding her forward, desperately trying to get the big ship far enough in to the lock to close the other gates. Her bow began to nudge the ice floes aside....

Then, her deck fell into the shadow of the bridge as she plowed deeper into the ice flow, now only a few feet from the lock gates. Something of a crowd was gathering on the bridge to see this ship shoe-horned into the locks. As the minutes crept by and the ship moved dangerously close to the bridge, the spectators began to trade worried glances and cringe in anticipation of the awful sounds that had to be coming.....

The ship continued to advance, her prow slipping under the drawbridge while the deck officer's radio crackled with requests from the wheelhouse to move the ship in just a little further. Here you can see the bow bulb not four feet from the lock gate. Yet the winches began to turn again and the mooring lines groaned under the strain....

Then there was a jarring twang and screech of steel-on-steel as the wire forestay from the foremast caught under the bridge span. The mast jerked wildly as the cable slipped haltingly under the edge of the bridge in short, ear-splitting jolts. The foredeck crew took off running for cover and shouting into their radios. But it was too late. Five-thousands tons of steel was still drifting forward under its massive momentum and no sudden counter measure with the engines or mooring lines was going to stop her before the damage was done.
Strand by strand, the cable began to part, snapping in sharp cracking bangs. The crewmen crouched behind various deckboxes and other impromtu shields, watching the violent thrashing of the mast as the ship continued to move under the bridge. "BANG!".....the cable parted, whipping back across the deck striking the mast. Then all was quiet. The mast stood still and the crew straigtened and came forward to inspect the damage.

Within the minute a watch officer came running forward from the wheelhouse. It looked like some dramatic scene in a movie with the long run across the expansive hatch covers, the spotlights from behind. It could have been a prison break scene except that there was something in the way he ran that told you he was furious.

When he reached the foredeck, he talked briefly with the deck crew, examined the damage and picked up his radio.

Within a few minutes the deck crew had produced a coil of rope and was rigging a new forestay to support the mast up while the draw bridge began to open and the lines were adjusted to move the ship forward just a touch more, finally getting PIONEER into the lock far enough to close the gates.

The water level began to fall and in a few short minutes, the lower gates opened and PIONEER began to ease forward....

Having left a mark on Stockholm (or vice versa) PIONEER's rumbling engines propelled her out of the locks and took her down channel toward the archipelago and the open Baltic.

The PIONEER by day, transiting the Kiel Canal.

Going the extra meter...

2007-02-16T09:53:00.000+01:00

Remember Havhesten, that tubby little Dutch-design boat I wrote about sailing on last spring, the one that belonged to my friend Ole, the Danish ropemaker?

Well, Havhesten--like the fat little fulmar chicks it is named for-- is now maturing into a larger, more majestic creature. Deemed too small for a comfortable retirement craft, Ole talked to the builder about the possibility of lengthening her--one of the great freedoms of steel construction. The plans were redrawn and Ole delivered Havhesten back to the yard where she was built in 1990.

Then the shipwrights donned their goggles, lit their cutting torches, and set to work. Being truly skilled craftsmen, they expertly sliced Havhesten's steel hull in half amidships. Utter perfection! Just look at that cut!--and the brick wall peeking through. I was thoroughly impressed when Ole showed me these pictures. Note the jog in the cut under the cabin roof too. By cutting in different places they can better preserve the lovely, flowing sheer lines of the boat as a whole.

Next, the two halves were pushed 1.9 meters apart to accomodate the new section the shipwrights would build in the gap.

In celebration of this great moment in the life of Havhesten, Ole and the shipwrights had to stop for a beer, some bread and stinky cheese, and a bit of Gammal Dansk--a bitter, foul-tasting, but wildly popular schnapps found all over Denmark.

Then the construction of the new section began. First the bulwaks, upper hull, cabin top, and a keel plate were cut and welded in place and Havhesten immediately began to reveal her new lines. She will certianly have a totally different appearance--much sleeker and faster looking.

But she'll be much more spacious too. The added 1.9 meters will make room for an enclosed head (toilet room) and an office/navigation space. Note the new porthole marked in chalk on the steel plating on the left.

It is odd for me to look at these photos. I recognize the space so well. After all, I spent a week sailing through Danish waters on this boat with Ole last summer. I had a bunk right...where that big hole is. Wow...

And on deck! What a different view. It has the same components but the deck is so long, the bow is waaaay up there! She will certainly handle differently under way--so long, and narrow.
Then having the mast stepped in a different spot and the larger sails the sailmaker is working on right now... she'll be faster, that's for sure!

Now that the hull is being closed up with the final plates, I can hardly wait to see her come out of the yard and to try her out in a good stiff breeze! Ole has already set the date for the christening party, a fantastic celebration of a new--or renewed--vessel's entry into the water. Music, food, and drink; lots of good people, a lovely harbor, and a fine sailing craft eager to take to the sea... who could ask for more?

On the lamb...

2007-02-12T10:16:00.000+01:00

Sometimes you just never know what you are going to run into in this town.

One day while my folks were visiting, we took a walk on the island of Djurgården--the same island the Vasa Museum is on. All of a sudden, this huge flock of sheep came pouring out of the woods!

Djurgården, meaning 'animal garden', is a mighty big park. It used to be the private hunting preserve of the king until he got uneasy about something and turned it into a public park in the 1750s. But the park is right smack in the middle of town. Even though it is wooded and all, it is still a city park like Central Park in New York. I mean, you still meet sweatered chiuahuas and weiner-wagon kitchenettes out there. You just don't expect to run into a flock of sheep.

But there they were. They came zipping down out of the trees with a couple of collies yipping and nipping at their heels, and then--totally unfazed by our presence--they settled down to business--all kinds of business. Until that moment this had been one of the prime picknicking fields on the island. Then the sheep arrived--marching right through one picnic spread--and set about their grass processing... with the inevitable lawn fertilizer treatment.

But at least we know the grass will be greener next year. Really, it is a pretty good idea; the city parks only pay a single handler. The dogs consume only a tiny operating budget and the sheep--virtually self-sufficient--save millions of crowns worth of fuel and expensive mowing equipment. Plus they create a nice ambiance, fertilize the grass, and don't make much noise--just a rather disgusting slurping and chawing sound. Really, a very good idea.

Besides, people are always inclined to chase the geese. So the city might as well get a bigger lawn maintenance creature less likely to 'take off' on its own and complete with its own protective canine escort, right?