Nicky, Anna, Geraldine and Felicity joined us around midday on a bright sunny Bodo afternoon – and we all promptly went shopping, stocking up on large quantities of exotic fruits and similar delicacies; this was clearly going to be a gastronomically different cruise with passion fruit and pineapple on the menu.
The next day we worked our way through the islands, passing between the Aroys to Bliksvear for Lunch and a shore trip. Afterwards we continued out through the narrow passage to the South and thence between Arnoy and Fleina, finally having to motor the last few miles into Sor Fugloy for the night. A couple of motor boats occupied the very small visitors quay; their owners had spent the day collecting buckets of berries from the heather covered hills, but they left for home as the evening gathered. That night was the night of the full moon, which rose towards midnight to fill the gap between mountains opposite and create a silver path to our berth.
From Sor Fugloy we worked our way around the outside of the dreaded Skarvskjaer seeing porpoises swim, a lazy seal examine us, and herons dive for fish. Felicity, our on board vegetarian decided that fish qualified: she became our expert catcher and gutter –even making an excellent video of the process. Anna, our on-board doctor, practised her skills by offering emergency surgery to the fish.
We past the svartisen glacier to our east, its smooth high summit shimmering white in the distant summer sun. If you examine the photgraph carefully you will see an eagle flying somewhat nearer.
Less than two days after leaving Bodo we ran out of water; it must have been the effect of the full moon. A swift glance to port showed a small ferry terminal on the horizon, so we altered course for that –despite no mention in the Pilot of any possibility of it providing water. However even whilst we were still manoeuvring towards the quay, the sight of four beautiful women all crying out "Vann, vann" (the Norwegian for "water", but you knew that of course) produced spectacular results. A hunk with ‘just havin fun’ emblazoned across his chest produced an enormous black water pipe, fitted a reducer on its end and let us have it at 20 litres a second – or something like that – whilst his colleagues put the theme music from the Titanic on their loudspeaker system.
This was where two years ago a pair of eagles had put on a fish catching display for us from the nearby Varde. They had not been at home when we sailed past on the way north, but now another couple were in residence on a nearby cliff and did put on a bit of a show, scooping up the three fish which Robin had kept back from the previous nights meal, and feeding the remains to a brood of babies.
Sailing on we paused in the sunshine for photo opportunities around the Arctic Circle monument, before continuing south to a new-to-us anchorage in a deep wooded inlet on the south coast of Tomma.
We revisited the Peter Dass memorial site on Alsten, going (just) alongside their pontoon in the Northern bay. We were somewhat alarmed to see the flags at half mast as we went ashore, and stood silently by as a funeral procession emerged from the church – the people in national dress.
Alas the old wooden barn where we had enjoyed waffles and bought the "Semi Diesel Antonsen" CD was no more. But on the other hand we were now able to see why they had been cutting though the hillside just by the church and polishing the cut rock face. The polished rock had now become the walls of the new museum, whose glazed front looked out upon the waters. With a little persuasion we were able to get warm waffles and jam from the smart new canteen, before going into see an interesting multi-media presentation about the life and times of Norway’s greatest poet priest. Apparently he was dead keen on the divine right of Kings, thinking that this established an order in society in which everyone knew their place. But he was a kind and generous man in other respects, no doubt.
The preceding evening had been spent in Hartoya where the high mountains all around the tiny circular wooded pool gave the impression that Voltair was anchored in a mountain tarn, rather that in the Norwegian sea. We deployed two anchors to restrict the swinging, and managed to set and recover both without using the dinghy for once. After the stop in Alsten we sailed on in drizzly calm, exploring the inside channel to the west of Hamnoya – a truly beautiful run with a delightful potential anchorage at the its southern end. The ‘less that 5m’ depth over the bar half way down proved fortunately to have enough water to carry Voltair safely over.
That night was an unpleasant one for Felicity as she woke up dizzy, with sore eyes and painful ears. A stop in Bronnoysund let us try out the efficiency of the Norwegian health services, who proved up to the challenge and provided a Danish doctor after a modest 40 minute wait. With Felicity diagnosed as fit to continue and loaded up with pills and potions we sort to resolve the other urgent need - Geraldine’s sudden craving for a bowl of chips. Alas this proved impossible to resolve ashore, although we did experience Norwegian outdoor Kareoke, and Geraldine bought us all bright yellow Sou’westers which made a startling fashion statement.(Nicky later prepared some great chips on board with we munched whilst sailing on)
Some more light winds encouraged us to try and find the ‘inside’ route to Leka, the one we had seen a frigate tearing up on the way north. Nicky successfully steered us through a pretty narrow and interesting passage which was intricate and shallow enough to cause Voltair to slow at points. I certainly would not have wanted to take it at speed in anything much bigger. Bold seaman, these Norwegians.
After a night in Leka, and a refuelling stop in Rorvik, the weather improved and we had a delightful motor through the passages to the North of Ranstad followed by a lovely sail across the Fosna and into the delightful bay just inside Fosnes on Joa. Beautiful Rohan trees sheltered a tiny white painted church hidden within well-tendered parkland. A short walk took us over the peninsula to where you could see the islands stretching out to west. Small deer browsed around the shoreline and the sun blazed on late into the evening – we took drinks on deck and soaked it all in before a delightful final meal on board.
For our final Sunday we worked our way down through the fjords towards Namsos, sometimes sailing, sometimes drifting, and arrived on the town quay in the early afternoon. That evening we treated ourselves to a meal ashore, and even a drink or two. Such extravagance! But the the next morning the taxi was due at 5 am or some such ridiculous time – and the summers sailing was over for Robin and his wonderful crews – but not for John.