Sailing in the shallow end

John had left Voltair nicely tucked in around the side of Teerhof Insel, a couple of miles downstream from Lubeck. She was in a ‘box’ on the end of line of smaller boats all tucked up in their own little boxes. We could see how he had motored straight in, but with the wind angling 30 degrees off our bows there was no way we were going to back straight out; and with the gap between the lines of boats around 2 metres less than Voltair’s length, turning under power in the gap was out of the question. In the end we put a line to control our stern onto a pile further down the lane and another to control our bows onto our own outboard pile and eased Voltair out at a gradually increasing angle; once we were fully committed, the shower than had been threatening turned into a fully fledged torrential downpour; but finally Chris was able to push our bows past our outboard pile whilst we still had 6 inches of clear water between our stern and the inshore boat diagonally opposite. After which is was plain sailing, apart from the fact that Robin was blinded by the water on his spectacles and everyone needed dry clothes. But the sun came out, once we did not have to remain outside.

We decided to head into Lubeck for lunch, but after a mile came across a lifting bridge that was not on our chart. Had we got lost? Already?! A Danish boat came up astern and asked us about the bridge; apparently it was not on their chart either. Not even “Danger: uncharted bridges” The bridge was raised but two red lights seemed to forbid progress through it. Eventually a local boat came up with information that the bridge was brand new and the connecting approach roads were not completed – so we ignored the red lights and went on through to the Hansa Hafen; where the merchants of this onetime leading Hanseatic port used to load their merchantmen.


Walking up the cobbled streets from the harbour passed the merchant’s houses we came to the Evangelical church where once Buxtehude played the organ. Bach played at the Cathedral at the other end of the city. Our wanderings were interrupted by another shower – which prompted a dash into an Italian restaurant and the delights of Tortellini stuffed with truffles, another with spinach cream and ham and a fine Penne Arabiata. Thus intellectually and gastronomically fulfilled, we sailed down the Trave to its mouth. There, the Travemunde festival was in full swing and we went out to greet the three masted barque, the ‘Mare Prissium’ coming in under full sail.


We berthed alongside the breakwater and went to sample the delights ashore. It was a mixture of bank holiday Blackpool and Cowes week – sand castle competitions, fun fairs and 2000 yachts. And of course the food stalls. As evening fell, we browsed on Pommes Frites Spezial, Bismark Herring Brodchen and Crepes Grand Marnier, washed down by half a litre of Weissbier in a Bier Garten and entertained by a fine Umpah Band.












Back on board we caught a gale warning coming from Hamburg Radio for the German Bight, "Force 7, locally 8, later near Hurricane force…” WHAT? The German Bight is only the other end of the Kiel Canal. Too close, by half. Still they did not offer us more than force 7. But nevertheless we scuttled across to a lake in the former East Germany, and put out lots of chain.

It was a brisk sail across the Lubecker Bucht and then through the Fehman Sund between the eponymous island and the mainland and under the massive tube-stayed bow-string arch bridge that carried the railway and the motorway onto the island from whence ferries left for Denmark. We sustained an average speed of 7.5 knots over a measured 5 nm stretch, which was pretty good for the old girl under reefed sail on a broad reach trailing a dinghy. Turning to go under the bridge we had to follow a narrow dredged channel no more than 20 meters wide and full of craft going in both directions. Either side of the channel, the sand banks stretched for mi les - often covered by less than 2 meters of water.

Heilegen Hafen, our destination, was once a fine natural harbour, but now the west end is filled with a large marina and the rest remains a nature reserve. The nature reserve was studded with some fine thatched houses and one extraordinary structure. A small prize is offered to anyone who can work out what it is.

We managed to find a free ‘box’ in the marina and explored the town in the evening sunshine with one round of beers leading to another and finally a plate of Backwurst and chips with three forks – as an aperitif to the fine Chris-cooked chicken on board.

Our next stop was back in Denmark where we made a ‘perfect’ entry into the box mooring at Bagenkop on Langeland. Unfortunately the tumultous applause that we had been expecting from the onlookers did not materialise as their attention was taken by some spectacular happenings at the other end of the quay. A large yacht, anxious to bag a slot before the last one was taken for the day had approached her chosen ‘box’ quite fast, then being slammed into reverse by her helm, had swung round through 90 degrees inside her box and now lay trapped between the outboard piles and the stern of the adjacent boats with the warp with which a pile had been lassoed now underneath her stern. How this was achieved without serious damage remains a mystery, but the entire audience was now involved in offering – mostly contradictary – advice. Etiquette prevents me from mentioning the hair colour, sex or nationality of the helms-person involved; so I leave that to your imagination. As the rain came on, the local school band climbed to the top of the watchtower and played “Abide with me”, for which they were applauded – and rightly so – for the weather was making it highly likely that we would be abiding with them for some time.

It was blowing a hefty 15 to 20 knots sideways across the boxes the next day, but we nevertheless managed to escape by dint of wrapping our 50 m line around both the windward outboard pile and a shore bollard and working our way astern on this. For this operation we did have an attentive audience – especially from the neighbouring boats, who seemed suddenly to have discovered a number of minor things that needed polishing on their decks. When we had worked our stern well out beyond the outboard piles, we let everything go and engaged reverse vigorously. By the time the wind had pushed our bows across, we were clear of the piles, and reversing upwind whilst we wound in all the ropes. The wind must have blown away the round of applause.

The sea in this part of the southern Baltic basically take the form of a large shallow plain, flooded to a couple of meters, but occasional studded by ‘lakes’ where the depth is perhaps 5 to 10 meters. These ‘lakes’ are linked by narrow channels - some natural and some dredged – that are often only 20 m wide. It was up through a system of these that we intended to sail.

The forecast and our own observation had lead us to expect gusts outside the exposed harbour of 25 knots or perhaps a little more for the sharp beat upwind to Aero – so we were surprised when 10 minutes out the anemometer was clocking 40 knots in the gusts. Under minimal sails and with the engine ticking over at 1200 rpm, we were motor-sailing upwind at 5 to 6 knots and smashing through the short steep waves with spray everywhere. We had the side windows up so we could see the beam seas coming; thus Chris got the early morning shower he craves every day. Robin on the helm thought he had avoided the dousing – until he examined his bedclothes on retiring that day. David left his finger marks on the cockpit combing, but otherwise came through fine. About 90 minutes later we rounded the corner into the dredged channel for Mastal, following a catamaran with what looked like it’s mainsail in tatters. Well shaken and stirred, the crew decided to pause here to dry out and eat lunch before putting to sea again in waters that were now more sheltered by the islands.



We zipped passed Rudkoping (on Langeland again) and took the dredged channel under the bridge with 4m overhead and 1 m underneath (vertical stayed bow string arch between box girder on concrete piers) into the ‘lake’ than led to Svenborg and the ‘Danish Riviera’ on the South side of Fyn.




We anchored (yes really anchored!) for the night off Troense on TaasInge – a pretty thatched village that was running a heavy rock concert that night..

Although wanting to go on North the next morning, we popped into Svenborg and were delighted by the convocation of ‘old timers’ and especially the ‘Helge’, a fine old ferry still hard at work.



















On departing, we came up with a modern Danish yacht, “Deep Blue”, that had taken a starboard hand channel buoy to starboard whilst its dinghy had taken it to port. The two lay there, trapped by the current and by the fact that the yacht was running under full Genoa. The buoy was dragged under. In an attempt to break free, a crew member was seen wrestling the upper works of the buoy – but only seemed push it in deeper. Some-one must have lost their presence of mind at this point, for they hammered the boat into reverse when it was the dinghy side of the buoy – and the buoy took the opportunity to slip under their hull between keel and rudder

“Do you want any help?”, we enquired in our best English we-don’t-really-want-to-intrude fashion. “Help!” they pleaded.

So we downed all our sails and picked up a line off their bows: in a trice they were free as Perkins showed what he was made of. The buoy however will never be the same again, and ‘Deep Blue’ will probably need to be re-christened “Deep Blue with a Bright Green Stripe.”

Tonight we are in Nyborg (on Fyn), which was once the capital of Denmark, and took heavy damage during the Danish Swedish wars. The massive ramparts around the old castle and a town gate protected by a long tunnel are eloquent evidence of this struggle. Upon reconoitering the gastronomic establishments, Voltair’s crew declared themselves to be unsurprised by the monarchy’s decision to move to Copenhagen. However they (the crew – not the monarchy) did get chicken and chips and a bottle of beer for less that £6 each – so there were some recompenses.

If Northern Norway is the deep end of Europe, then the Southern Baltic is certainly the shallow end. Adapting to the change is quite a challenge. Some questions remain. Who has the Storre Baelte, and what is it holding up? Where is mainland Denmark? Why are so many channels reversed buoyed? Will we ever receive an accurate weather forecast, or will they continue to forecast SW 4 to 5 until a southwesterly 4 to 5 actually turns up?

Best wishes

Robin, David and Chris