Progress Toward Norway

0945
Land ho! A few Norwegian islands (Myken and others) are visible, about four miles off the starboard beam. And still we motor on, 60 miles or so from Bodo.

I woke a little while ago after sleeping for a few hours following another boring 2-4am watch: more motoring, mainsail banging around in the wisps of wind coming from astern, in drizzle and fog and cold. While a drag, that watch couldn’t hold a candle to the goat rodeo that was my previous watch at 6-8pm yesterday evening.

Mr. Know-it-all Crewman — who is, it should be pointed out, my watch partner — and I had cooked and served a pretty damned good chili con carne dinner at 6pm (tasks such as cooking and cleaning are preassigned by watch on a rotating basis for the duration of the trip) and were on watch, aided (?) by the boat’s owner, henceforth known as Boy Wonder.

Boy Wonder is a nice guy. He’s in his 20s or 30s, fit and earnest, and he works hard on his boat/business. Sadly, he has the attention span of a sparrow and the patience of a teenager. In fact, in a lot of ways he seems like a teenager, hence the nickname. Back in Newcastle he was notorious for starting a job — stowing the anchor in what passes for a bow pulpit, for instance — and leaving it midway to go tilt at another windmill. Often while in mid-sentence. Combined with Mr. KIA Crewman’s insistence on constant tinkering, a dangerous nervousness ensues.

We were, once again, motoring along with the single-reefed mainsail sheeted mostly amidships. The wind was light and all over the place; the sail was hoisted mostly for stability and centered to keep it from banging around in the puffs (potentially damaging the sail).

The wind seemed to steady a bit from the starboard quarter. Boy Wonder sprung into action, assisted fervently by Mr. KIA Crewman. They unstrung the preventer from the starboard side: they took the long line that runs from the cockpit of the boat forward to almost the bow and back to the boom, where it is shackled to a line from the aft end of the boom to prevent (“preventer”…get it?) the mainsail from crashing back in toward the boat when it’s slung out wide over the rail. The preventer does that on Polar Bear by running through a series of blocks, under spars lashed to the deck, and under and over a series of sheets and other control lines.

The dynamic duo got the preventer from the starboard side and restrung it on the port side, they eased the mainsheet and pulled the mainsail out to port (I must confess: I helped), the better able to catch what wind was blowing from the starboard quarter.

Once the sail was set, we paused and dared to hope: sailing, perhaps? Please? Marginally. The engine was still creating most of our forward progress, and when eased, the true wind was clearly not as strong as thought — nor from the direction it had seemed. But we persisted for a bit, which was no small feat since we were also headed into a surprisingly big, locally generated northerly swell. Let’s just say: there was a lot of banging around.

After about half an hour, the wind was coming from more directly astern so we brought the mainsail back inboard and secured it a bit (whereupon Mr. KIA Crewman took it upon himself to go to the boom and rescrew the shackle I’d secured when we took the preventer down; I wasn’t aware that turning a screw was such technical work). But a half-hour after that…

The wind was now freshening, declared Boy Wonder, this time from the PORT quarter. He and Mr. KIA Crewman sprung back into action, reversing their earlier action and moving the preventer back to the starboard side. This play I sat out; the wind was clearly doing what Marlies had said it was doing when she went off watch at 6pm: it was light and fluky, rising for a few minutes only to fall again after getting everyone’s hopes up.

Once the main was swung out to starboard we did indeed seem to have several minutes of pretty steady wind. Call it: seven or eight minutes. At which point Boy Wonder called for the yankee, the larger and forward-most of Polar Bear’s two headsails. Once unfurled, the yankee filled and helped the boat hit 7.1 knots, a speed called out by Boy Wonder, standing wide-eyed and grinning in the cockpit as he lowered the RPMs on the engine. What he’d failed to notice was that we hit that speed using full engine revs and while sliding down the backside of one of the large swells.

No matter. Time for the other headsail, declared Boy Wonder. At least when he and his sidekick unfurled the staysail, it was Boy Wonder who did the unfurling — Mr. KIA Crewman, as has been the case, wasn’t strong enough to pull the sheet enough to get the sail fully deployed.

By this time, no longer sliding down the backside of a large swell and with less power coming from the engine, Polar Bear was now slower than she was when the circus started: we were doing 5.1 knots, according to the instruments. On top of that, now the sails were banging around like a spastic rhythm section, not helping the speed at all and likely damaging some very expensive pieces of canvas. Boy Wonder begged off with, “I’ve never seen the Norwegian Sea this calm;” Mr. KIA Crewman sat eagerly by the mainsheet, recoiling any line within reach; I sat there disgusted, wondering how long it was going to be before the ruckus brought Boogie up from his bunk.

Not long. We usually wake him up (his watch is after mine) half an hour before the switchover. He came up at about 7:15pm, looked over the scene and disappeared below to get his gear. When he returned, I asked him if he was now on watch. He said yes, to which I said, “good, then I’m now off-watch.” Boogie nodded, clearly understanding my frustration. I went and dealt with the tasks that get done at a watch handoff — filling the day tank with diesel and making an entry in the logbook — and went back to bed since I was on again at 2am.

What could I do? It’s Boy Wonder’s boat. Whether he’s on watch or off, he can do whatever he chooses. Hell, if he wants to sink the damned thing, that’s his prerogative. If he’d just stayed below while Mr. KIA Crewman and I were on watch, we’d have stayed consistently in the mid-sixes for speed instead of lowering to the low-fives. We wouldn’t have wasted a lot of energy. And while we would have remained boringly motoring, we wouldn’t have increased our frustration at the lack of wind (and my frustration with one-quarter of our crew).

So while the 2-4am watch was perhaps the coldest I’ve endured thus far, it was blessedly peaceful after the 6-8pm silliness.

1520
Nearing Bodo with the engine still clanging away and a full set of sails (unfurled both headsails about half an hour ago, right before my 12-3pm watch ended) — more comedy but we are finally getting a bit of lift from a small breeze.

The mountains inland have come into view and their snow-covered flanks are bathed in bright sunshine — apparently we’re under a marine layer of fog and mist.

What we can see already is stunning. It’s very Alaska-esque, even from this distance, with tall, steep mountainsides that emerge from the clouds to plunge straight into a dark, cold sea. Green swaths cut through snowfields, accentuating the juxtaposition of the high alpine with sea level: just about my most favorite scenery in the world.

And we’re not even there yet (still another three hours or so). I’m very much looking forward to exploring.

9-12 June 2011

9 June
2310
I’m sitting beside the companionway looking southwest to the northernmost point in the United Kingdom: Saxa Vord on the Shetland Island of Unst. The first-quarter moon sits low over Unst, in the twilight of a northern sky whose sun set just a short while ago. Despite the still-bright northern twilight, the moonlight shines off the sea. Moonlight on the water…a lovely sight. The full moon in another week will likely be the last full moon we see for a couple of months (if we haven’t already traveled too far north in the next few days to see it); the solstice is in 12 days.

To the lower left of the moon, there’s a lighthouse on a rocky islet just north of Unst that’s visible. That islet is known by the wonderful name of Muckle Flugga. I am not making that up. What a great name! And what a great sight it must be to southbound sailors.

We’ve been motorsailing since leaving Lerwick this afternoon around 1:30pm. It was a lovely trip — despite the sound of the engine — under warm, sunny skies and light breezes. A nice end to our time in Shetland.

We made our way north past Symbister (where we spent last Thursday night) and at the island of Yell, turned a bit east to head outside and run north alongside the islands of Fetlar and Unst. Upon reaching Saxa Vord about 45 minutes ago, we turned a bit east; next landfall: northern Norway.

It’s good to be sailing again, good to be at sea again. I dug Lerwick and will definitely return, but the urge to get moving and head for the next spot was strong. It’s that same urge that is the principal challenge thus far in my journey.

There are two reasons for this journey. One is to see places such as Shetland, that have been in my imagination for a good chunk of my life, and make them real to me. The other reason is to learn as much as I can about operating a modern sailboat. I can sail, I know that; it’s dealing with the minutae of keeping a boat operating — and operating well: safely, efficiently, fast — that I need to learn more about. And Boogie and Marlies, the skipper and mate, respectively, and my friends, are doing a great job of sharing their knowledge and experience with me at every possible turn.

The thing is: this is a commercial venture. Boogie and Marlies are here to run a charter yacht with paying guests. There’s only so much bandwidth they can spare in such an operation to educate a knucklehead like me. So sometimes I wonder if I might be better served just buying my boat and learning by doing. Hopefully it wouldn’t be learning the hard way because the implications of “the hard way” on a boat are frightening. And I’m very aware that I might know just enough to get myself into trouble but not enough to get myself out.

11 June
1240
Didn’t pick up the iPad yesterday at all. Sue me. Right now, enduring a dreadfully boring motor on a freakishly calm Norwegian Sea. We’re paralleling the coast of Norway headed north, now about a hundred miles offshore of Trondheim. Spent a bunch of time yesterday afternoon dancing around a couple of ships towing seismic gear (ie: looking for oil) who pushed us a ways off course. The irony was that given our mutual courses at the time, if they’d just let us continue on our original heading, we’d have never intersected, never had to stay in touch on the radio, and never had to do any do-si-do in the middle of the freakin’ ocean! Argh!

The flip side of that annoyance was this morning’s 4-6am watch. Rapture! The Norwegian Sea was calm then, too, but the wind was brisk enough to power us along at 7.5 to 8 knots. We were sailing close-hauled and it was then you could see that Polar Bear was made for upwind sailing. The balance of the boat going to windward is impeccable: get the boat tracking on course, remove your hands from the wheel, then keep an eye on it and touch it up every now and then. A sheer joy to sail under such circumstances. And the break from the rumble and grind of the engine was a relief. Keep in mind, also, that at this latitude, we’re already into the all-night daylight, so that high-latitude summer twilight that I adore back in Alaska surrounded us and engulfed the sea from horizon to horizon. A wonderful two-hour watch.

The earlier-mentioned watch Thursday evening was lovely too, despite the motoring. The moon, the north coast of Unst, Muckle Flugga. Speaking of which: is Muckle Flugga the greatest name, or what? I’ve made it my new exclamation — stub your toe, yell “Muckle Flugga!” and a) feel better instantly, while b) offending no one. What a deal! I’m also thinking that now I’ll need to meet a nice girl, get married and have a kid, just so we can him or her Muckle Flugga Smith. Has a nice ring to it, don’t ya think?

Back to the present, we’re laboring along in the counter to this morning’s watch. This is what Polar Bear was NOT made for: she has an undersized engine for her enormous bulk (50-plus tons) so we’re doing 5-and-change knots right now (with a little bit of northerly swell slowing us too). Polar Bear could use another 50 percent in horsepower…or better yet, an engine off a supertanker. We had the bottom cleaned in Lerwick after the slog from Newcastle; the divers spoke of an inch-plus-thick layer of barnacles on the hull, with another wavy, green beard of plant growth on top of that. Even with that gunk (mostly) gone, Polar Bear is still no speed demon under power. Simply put: we’re not setting any records (almost typed “ain’t” there but I know certain friends who detest that word) so even though we’re a third of the way to Bodo, it’s gonna take us a while to get there.

We are, however, approaching the artic circle. That imaginary line lies at 66 degrees, 33 minutes north latitude; we’re currently at 63 degrees, 30-and-change minutes, which puts us inside of 180 nautical miles (1 minute = 1 nautical mile; 60 minutes per degree of latitude). At this pace, we’ll cross the line in a little less than 36 hours. I’ve never been above the arctic circle so I’m quite looking forward to that. Our destination of Bodo lies just north of that line so Monday/Tuesday will be a momentous day for a couple of reasons.

On the home front (ie: here aboard Polar Bear), the scene remains much the same. We plug along on our separate watches: eating, sleeping, reading, sleeping, sailing, sleeping. We’ve seen one whale (a minke whale) and numerous schools of feeding fish (likely mackerel), so it’s been a bit of a dud trip from a wildlife standpoint thus far. Even the bird life has tapered off: periodic visits from fulmars is about it. Still, the high latitudes and being at sea…I dig it out here.

Boogie and Marlies continue to be exceedlingly accommodating and helpful — and encouraging — regarding my education. The situation is interesting because for this leg, we have the owner of the boat on board. So while Boogie is the skipper, the owner has strong opinions too. Mix in another crewman with a strong urge to act on his own — oftentimes counter to the plans of the official skipper and mate — and it’s like there are three or four (three if you count Boogie and Marlies as one) skippers on board. Makes for a bit of a goat rodeo at times.

12 June
1520
Still motoring along in the Norwegian Sea. We’re closing on the arctic circle, despite a couple of detours around more ships towing seismic equipment. We’ll reach the line tomorrow; I’ve dared folks to jump in the water when we cross and if anyone calls my bluff, I will do it (provided I can borrow someone’s big, fluffy towel; all I have are my small, chamois, travel towels). Stay tuned.

Had a delightful, if boring, motor watch this morning from 6-9am: bright sunshine and blue skies. That followed a dreadfully rainy, cool and dreary slog from 10pm to midnight last night. Gotta take the good with the bad, I guess.

Mr. Know-it-all crewman continues to try my patience so I’m getting a lot of practice counting to ten. I’m going to start counting in foreign languages — gotta learn Norwegian ASAP and Icelandic in the coming weeks — so this guy could prove a help after all.