Last night it rained.
For the last 15 days - ever since Tromso - the barometer has been falling. At Tromso it was 1031, but by last night it had dropped to 996; and all the time our on board barometer had been predicting rain. Last night its persistance paid off and it got the forecast right. Today, for the first time on this phase of the cruise, the barometer is rising.
The cooking of the fish mentioned in the last postcard consumed the last of the gas; so we slipped into Svolvaer the next morning where Robin thought he remembered once having found gas in the eastern bay near the main road - but could not repeat the trick. So we slipped carefully under the bridge of unknown height (using the principle of similar triangles developed three years ago) and made for the west bay, where Statoil had a bunker station which the pilot said had gas. A young man was roller-painting creosote onto the wooden quay as we arrived and was very reluctant to lower his fenders (and thereby mess them up) to let us come alongside. Clearly a philosophy student with a summer job, his conversation was reminiscent of the Marvyn from the Hitchhikers. "Brain the size of a planet and here I am painting creosote".
"Did he have any propane?"
"… in the Office" he replied, and set off trudging wearily the quarter mile or so to the office where a chatty woman sold us lots of the stuff. Marvyn silently helped us carry it back towards the pontoon, but only as far as the walkway onto it. Meanwhile Maggie was unwittingly on the recieving end of a long enquiry in Norwegian from a fishing boat concerning the length of time we intended to occupy the pontoon. We could see this upset Marvyn. It was only noon, and already two boats were wanting to use his pontoon. It was just not going to be his day.
Back we motored into the town for some shopping, pausing only to pick up a big fender we found flaoting in the harbour; so now Big Bertha has a companion to hang out with. Little Bertha was subsequantly to prove her worth when all the best mooring spots in Bodo were already taken and we had lie along the harbour wall.
But back that sunny afternoon we crossed Vesterfjorden, and arrived at the charming bay of Straumshamn, normally deserted, but then crowded with vessels and with more to come. In the end we were seven. Voltair nudged her way into the entrance into the sandy bay to the south of the entrance; strung between her kedge and main anchor and with two ropes ashore, she passed a peaceful night in paradise.
The next moring we were able to play on the beach, do a spot of rock climbing and visit the fresh water 'Loch' at the head of the bay, before setiing off for Rossoya.
Rossoya was a new harbour for us and a fairly shallow one. We stuck Voltair on the end 'T' of a pontoon and enjoyed the glorious sunset merging into a splendid dawn. The wind fell to nothing, turning the water into a perfect mirror.
From there we visited Kjeringoy (pronounced 'Sheringer' - a rather posh place of which more anon) and proceeded on our way to Bodo to meet Barry and Sue. A fishing rock provided 7 haddock in as many minutes which Dick spent the rest of the trip gutting and filleting. They graced the table for the final meal. The fillets were poached over a bed of shallots half covered with fish stock made from the haddock heads. They were served on a bed of leeks cooked in butter and a little white wine and with a sauce made from the shallots, cider vinegar wine, full grain mustard, cream and a lot more butter. And mashed potatoes. Strawberries and cream followed and then, towards midnight, the cheese board, chocolate and the last of the Malt Whisky in the early hours of Friday.
Sadly Dick and Maggie had to leave us then after a fabulous spin south.
With Barry and Sue on board, we left the busy night-life of Bodo and did an easy sail to Osholmen for the evening. The eagles came out to play and Barry got a good shot of one in flight, but all Robin could photograph were a couple thinking about it.
A few porpoises swam alongside the next moring as we made our way back to Kjeringoy. There was a wedding going on in full traditional dress. The wedding moved first to the garden of the old trading house and then to the rather smart restaurant near the quay finally finishing near midnight. The old trading post was one of perhaps a couple on this coast that bought fish from the Lofoten fishermen, processed it - drying the cod; pickling the herring - and sold on the the product to the merchants of Bergen in the south. They brought back produce from Bergen that they sold in the estate shop to their workers, servants and the fishermen who supplied them. As she was buying in a competive market - there were many fishermen needing to sell - and selling in a near monoploy, the estate owner, a lady named Anna Elizabeth Ellingen Zahl made a great deal of money. Often her servants owed her more for the food they bought at her shop that she owed them in wages and so they often died in debt to the estate. She herself married twice, the second time to her chief buyer - a man 25 years her junior. They enjoyed a splendid honeymoon in Paris. Anna died at the age of 74, after falling downstairs having partaken of perhaps a little too much medicinal Brandy. Her young husband carried on the business, but gave up alchohol. Almost immediately the business went into decline and when he died, 20 years later, it was but a shadow of its former self. Let that be a lesson to us all. Never give up alchohol.
From there we sailed to Hvartoy where we lunch in a charming bay on the north coast and then beat towards Vettoysundet for the evening, catching a cod and 4 haddock on the way. Sue cooked a splendid version of fish and chips and mushy peas for dinner and we went to bed content. The wind blew up to 20 knots in the night and boxed the compass, making for a noisy anchor as the chain was constantly re-arranging itself on the sea bed; but when we went looking for a sailing wind the next morning, it promtly vanished. So we motored to Bogen after a lunch stop in Grottoysundet. Bogen has seen better times and is a bit off the usual tourist route, but the spendid facilities for us 'Batfolk' included a fully equipped kitchen, dining room and bedroom. All for 70 NOK a night. We had a real Norwegian meal that evening; pickled herring for starters; roast reindeer for the main dish and sweet goats cheese to finish.
On the way south we explored the 'Ytre Steinen' - the 'outer stones' - including the Maloyleie and the Husoyvear. These are pretty remote. Perhaps for that reason we were delighted by an evening display from a number of eagles who took it in turn to show off their flying styles. More success with the rod brought Barry's total of caught Haddock up to eight. We started the evening with a taster of deep fried Cod crumbled onto brown bread and butter, and enjoyed a fabulous main course of baked Haddock (with pepers, lemon and white wine) - the haddock being cooked to perfection unfilleted, so that flesh to fall off the bones onto our forks. Truely delicious.
Herringvear provided a nice stop; we tucked in alongside a pontoon at the north end of the archipelago (no charges) and walked along the mowed path past the neat houses to the top of the hill from where the whole world from the Lofotens to Bodo was spread out before us. From there we sailed back to Bodo finishing on a fine reach, but pausing on our way to visit the posh houses of Bliksvear and to share a fishing spot with a seal - but we soon gave up as he was much better at it than we were.
And so back to Bodo where, after a spledid final meal (peppered steak for me!), Barry and Sue had to leave.
Aficianados will be interested to know that on the very next quay is an old fishing boat with a semi-diesel Antonson. And they started it up tonight. What a noise!
Best wishes to you all
Variously Barry, Sue, Dick, Maggie and Robin