Arctic voyage with the "Freydis": The last journey of Erich and Heide Wilts
Pascal Schürmann
· 08.12.2022
If someone had told us at the beginning of the season that we would be sailing to Greenland twice and Iceland twice this year, we would have thought they were crazy. But things often turn out differently than you think. The virus, which is still keeping the world on tenterhooks, was to blame and threw our sailing plan out of kilter.
The "Freydis" was waiting for us in the Canary Islands. From here, at the end of our sailing life, we were to sail one last time in the South Atlantic, once again to the Antarctic and around Cape Horn. We wanted to go to the volcanic island of Bouvet, which lies at 55 degrees latitude in the South Atlantic, to South Georgia and the South Sandwich Islands. However, the coronavirus situation worsened in autumn 2020. For us, this meant that our dream of travelling to the South Land was over!
Arctic instead of Antarctic
Anyone who knows our passion for extreme areas will not be surprised that our alternatives were Greenland and Iceland. The Arctic seemed no less tempting to us than the Antarctic. Above all, it was accessible under the given circumstances. Enthusiastic fellow sailors were quickly found.
We estimate a good two and a half weeks for the first section from La Palma to Horta on the Azores island of Fajal. It will be a "good-humoured cruise". There are seven of us, we get on really well, we take it in turns to cook and - once we've overcome the seasickness - we laugh a lot. The steady north-easterly trade wind blows diagonally from the front, but we make good progress. At our destination, we even have time to explore the Azores islands of Santa Maria and São Miguel for several days. Due to the coronavirus, the number of tourists on the islands is limited. We have to take a PCR test when clearing in on Santa Maria, then we can move around freely.
In Horta, crew number one says goodbye - and with it our weather luck. The next leg will take us non-stop to Greenland. With new co-sailors, we will cross the entire north-west Atlantic, from the 38th to the 60th parallel. According to the GPS, that's 1485 nautical miles - the direct route. But we will soon have to leave this route.
Greenland's southern tip is more dangerous than Cape Horn
We decided not to make a stopover in St John's on Newfoundland this time, as we had done on our northern trips in 1986 and 1988; the risk of possible complications due to corona seemed too great. We also prefer to sail well clear of the Newfoundland banks, where you have to reckon with thick fog and where all hell breaks loose in storms. The same applies to the southern tip of Greenland, Cape Farvel. Experts say that it is more dangerous to sail around than Cape Horn - because of the storms, but above all because of the pack ice and icebergs that drift around the southern tip with the East Greenland Current, even in the summer months. And if fog rolls in - no thanks! Cape Farvel has already been the undoing of many ships.
We estimate three weeks for the passage, but secretly hope to reach our destination after just two weeks. But no way! Our weather router from Kiel predicts nothing good: there is an extensive low-pressure complex between the 42nd and 48th parallel. One marginal low after another is moving from west to east, with no end to the storms in sight. At the same time, a hurricane is travelling north along the US east coast. Will we make it through unscathed? The weather expert's advice: bring the departure forward by one day. That would increase the chance of perhaps getting past the lows through a brief gap that forms.
So let's get going. Luckily, our crew is already on board and instructed, the trysail is lashed to the second mast track, the capstan for the storm anchor is attached to the stern, and the 150 metre long Jordan drogue anchor is ready to hand aft in the port locker. With two reefs in the main and the jib reefed, we leave the port of Horta on 30 June.
The North Atlantic welcomes us with strong winds diagonally from the front. Nevertheless, the crew quickly grow sea legs, and after two days the seasickness is over for those who have caught it. We stick to the three-watch system used in commercial shipping: four hours on watch, eight hours off watch. Meals are prepared on watch. If it gets too rough, we turn to meals.
Storm forces change of plans
For the first five days we make good progress. We have already travelled over a third of the total distance upwind. Then the bad news: "An extensive storm depression is moving across the Labrador Sea and causing a wide area of stormy weather. Contrary to the previous forecast, it is moving much further north. So you'll have to stay in the south." This is the wording of the depressing forecast from Wetterwelt on 5 July.
We use our Iridium satellite phone to download daily grib data so that we are also well informed ourselves. But when it comes to interpreting the data, which is sometimes difficult, the support of weather professionals is clearly an advantage. We no longer wanted to do without it. Gone are the days when we sailed the oceans without any information and had to take the weather as it came. Just a few decades ago, we would have been fully aware of the rapidly approaching hurricane. Now, however, we are given waypoints that keep us out of the reach of the low.
The days when we sailed the world's oceans without any information are over"
Nevertheless, it is annoying that we have to tack back south under storm jib and with three reefs in the main and then tack both ways. This went on for four days until the depression weakened. Only then are we able to head north again, but now we have to push hard against it. Not fun, especially for the skipper in the forward berth.
The full circle takes us almost exactly one week. Surprisingly, the mood on board remains good. Everyone has realised that the trip can be tough. Now they take the discomfort and the many manoeuvres in their stride.
Fortunately, because the weather gods are still not giving us a break: we actually wanted to make a wide arc westwards past Cape Farvel. But we don't get high enough into the wind. Instead, our "Freydis" is pushed further and further to the east. And the weather world is already announcing another severe storm that will reach us on 18 July. We are told to do everything we can to get to the east of Cape Farvel beforehand and find shelter on land.
Cape Farvel has already claimed many victims
We remember the "Pagan", a steel staysail schooner owned by our sailing mate Reinhard Schmitz, which capsized in a storm at Cape Farvel in September 2001. Just like the Hallberg-Rassy 42 "Solveig IV" owned by Rollo and Angelika Gebhard many years earlier. And we remember how in 1987 - one year after we had sailed a wide arc around the Cape to Greenland - the German yacht "Seufel VI", an Amel Maramu with skipper Günter Gassner, came too close to the Cape and was trapped and crushed by the pack ice. The two sailors just managed to escape onto the ice and were rescued by the rescue helicopter.
We have sailed around Cape Horn over a dozen times, but have always avoided Cape Farvel on previous voyages."
The disasters of the "Titanic" and the "Hans Hedthoff" prove that the Cape can also be dangerous for much larger ships. The latter was built in 1959 specifically for Arctic conditions; it was considered unsinkable - until it collided with an iceberg and sank. No one survived. At the time, it was the second biggest disaster in civilian shipping after the "Titanic".
We have sailed around Cape Horn over a dozen times, but have always avoided Cape Farvel on previous trips. With one exception: in 2018, during a short break between two storms, we ventured out of cover and rounded the cape from west to east - unscathed.
So now we have to hurry. The engine runs with us, we don't want to be surprised by the storm near the cape. The wind drops temporarily on 17 July. We reef out. At six o'clock in the morning we have an excellent view of the coastal mountains of Greenland, which are still around 60 miles away. Huge icebergs come into view. We test our radar: not all of them are visible on the screen. In the late evening, fog rolls in and the wind picks up again, now to 30 knots from the north-east. Again two reefs in the main and reduce the jib. Damn, stress again just before the finish!
After midnight, we turn eight nautical miles off the cape. The risk of colliding with an iceberg or one of the many growlers is too great. Visibility doesn't improve until the next morning. We are surrounded by an incredible ambience: high, rugged mountains, iceberg monsters and huge pack ice floes.
We set course for Cape Farvel and decide in favour of the sound that leads west past it through the mountains. Three years ago, we travelled this route in the opposite direction. As we turn in, we know that we no longer have to fear a storm. We've made it, we've reached Greenland safely! 18 exhausting days lie ahead.
The new crew is stuck in Iceland - and is being picked up
Two days later, after sailing through the spectacular fjords and sounds of south-west Greenland, we arrive at our destination harbour of Quaqortoq. We have travelled 3007 miles since La Palma and 2153 miles since Horta according to Sumlog - almost 700 miles more than the GPS had indicated at the start.
Our "Freydis" is the only yacht in the harbour. We announced our arrival to the Greenlandic authorities by radio and satellite phone. As we have not only all been vaccinated, but have also been travelling at sea for three weeks, there is no need for quarantine and PCR tests. We are even allowed to continue to the places on the east coast. Sailing luck seems to be with us again. But then, unexpectedly, the upcoming crew change is cancelled!
In Quaqortoc, we learn that the crew we were expecting to arrive here is stuck in Iceland; Iceland Air has cancelled all flights to and from Greenland. Accordingly, the return flights of our current crew have also been cancelled.
Now good advice is expensive! And so is the solution to the problem. But at least there is one. At least for the old crew. Our German travel agency gets hold of return flights with another airline. Although they require several changes and are extremely expensive, everyone returns home on time. Except for Gundolf, who has also booked the next leg and is now alone on board with the skipper. Together we discuss what to do next.
If the mountain does not come to the prophet, the prophet must come to the mountain. The distance from Quaqortoc to Reykjavik is around 800 nautical miles, but we only have a week until the start of the third cruise. Can we manage that? After a lot of toing and froing and the information from our Kiel meteorological experts that the weather is in our favour, we cast off.
800 nautical miles lie ahead of us to Iceland, first along the Greenland coast, then across the Irminger Sea. Through the Prins Christian Sund, we travel from the Labrador Sea to this waterway, which is one of the most spectacular in the world. This time, however, we have no eye for the overwhelming scenery, instead focussing on a fast passage.
Permanently at the limit of resilience - and sometimes beyond
Contrary to the forecast, it is once again a very rough crossing. Everything went according to plan for the first two days and we made good progress. Then, however, a depression doesn't collapse as expected, but simply remains in place and even intensifies. An ice-cold north-easterly wind blows on our snouts at 35 knots. With a triple reefed main and reefed storm jib, we cover 670 miles within four and a half days - permanently at the limit of our endurance. And sometimes beyond.
Gundolf lies down twice in the galley of the bucking ship. He was also thrown against the cupboard walls several times while cooking. I don't fare much better myself, I get bruises and in the end we both have aching muscles. Freydis" also suffers. The new genoa shows cracks at the edge of the clew reinforcement. So the storm jib has to be used again. Occasionally it gets so wild that breakers hit the deckhouse for the first time in ten years. To make matters worse, the northerly winds make it freezing cold. At least the new hydraulic self-steering system is holding up, which is a considerable relief for both of us.
When we can no longer maintain the altitude, we drop down to the south-west corner of Iceland and hope to get under land protection there. It works. We set course for Grindaviken, the first fishing harbour on the south coast. The glow of the new Icelandic volcano shines in the night sky. Fagradalsfjall erupted a few months earlier on the Reykjanes peninsula near Grindaviken. Now we marvel at the nocturnal spectacle.
As soon as we moor the "Freydis" at five o'clock in the morning, we fall into our bunks, dead tired. But by ten o'clock, our new co-sailors are on hand to wake us up. They have been following our battle against the wind and waves on Iceland via Marine Traffic.
The next day, 29 July, the third leg begins according to the sailing plan. After the exertions of the crossing, I would have liked to rest a little longer, but it doesn't help: in the evening, the new crew brings beer and food on board and settles in. At the crew meeting, the question arises as to whether we should sail back to the east coast of Greenland or round Iceland. As we might not have enough time to sail across the Denmark Strait twice more, our fellow sailors unanimously decide in favour of the Iceland alternative. This also leaves enough time for stopovers to get to know the country and its people.
Erich Wilts remembers his first trip off Iceland
When I sailed around Iceland for the first time in 1964 on the training yacht "Ortac" of the Hamburgischer Verein Seefahrt, tourists were still few and far between. It is only since the mid-nineties that the number of tourists has increased significantly every year. Today, over two million holidaymakers are drawn to the island in the Arctic Ocean, and the trend is rising sharply. We are surprised that it has taken so long for Iceland to become a tourist magnet. The spectacular landscape with its volcanoes, geysers, thermal springs and lava fields impressed me even back then.
Our first destination with the new crew is the Westman Archipelago, an archipelago of volcanic origin south of the Icelandic coast. On the way to the main island of Heimaey with its sheltered harbour, we pass the volcanic island of Surtsey. It emerged from the sea 58 years ago in 1963. It got its name from the fire giant Surt from Norse mythology. At the time, I was a student and the youngest crew member on the "Ortac". The eruption of Surtsey electrified us all, and we decided to sail to this spawn of hell the following year. It was a daring decision, as the 14 metre long yacht had no engines, electrics or electronics - with the exception of the battery-operated boundary wave receiver.
We succeeded in our endeavour. We visited Heimaey and climbed the highly active new volcanic island of Surtsey. My skipper at the time received an award for this trip and I was proud to have been the youngest crew member and on-board photographer. Ultimately, this trip was a key experience for me, an incentive for many more trips to the high latitudes.
We last met Gisli Matthias Sigmarsson, a retired trawler captain, here on Heimaey in 2019. 55 years ago, his now deceased brother Oskar had taken the motorless "Ortac" on the hook with his "Leo" and towed it out of the notorious Medalla Bay, where we had navigated our way into the safe harbour due to fog. We were his guests there for a few days. A year later, he even came back to Hamburg with his fishing boat for a return visit.
Chance encounter with the Federal President
Another encounter of a special kind: two years ago, when we climbed the Eldfell volcano on Heimaey again, which we had already climbed 33 years earlier, we happened to meet our Federal President and his wife on the summit, who were on a state visit to Iceland and had made a detour here. We had a lively chat in this unusual setting. Frank-Walter Steinmeier told us about the time when he was head of Prime Minister Gerhard Schröder's personal office in Hanover and also worked for Leer in East Frisia - where we were still living and working at the time.
And now we are back on Heimaey. The harbour master recognises us immediately. Further stops follow in Höfn on the east coast of Iceland, and from there we visit the Vatnajökul glacier. This is, after all, the largest glacier in Europe. On the north coast, we take plenty of time from Husavik to visit the exciting volcanic landscape at Myvatn, Lake Mosquito, and - another superlative - the largest waterfall in Europe, Detifoss.
We have sailed past the island of Grimsey in the far north of Iceland several times in our lives; this time the weather conditions are so favourable that we are able to call at it. A two-metre sphere marks the Arctic Circle (66° 33') on which the island lies. Because the Arctic Circle moves northwards, the sphere has to be rolled a little closer to the sea every year. In the not too distant future, it will fall in.
The journey was almost over
The few people who live here are incredibly hospitable. A fisherman gives us some large cod as a gift, and the landlord of the cosy pub quickly becomes our friend. He visits us on board with his young daughter. And yet our journey comes to an abrupt end here: we have barely left the small harbour for Isafjördur when we learn that the whole island has been quarantined because our friend, the landlord, has caught the coronavirus. Once again, we were lucky!
This section of the journey ends in Isafjördur, close to the Arctic Circle. Like the previous crew, the last crew of the season has the choice between round Iceland and a detour to the east coast of Greenland. This time the decision is in favour of Greenland. Everyone has planned a few reserve days in case the weather doesn't play ball on the return journey.
This last trip of the year will also be exciting, especially because of the enormous masses of ice in the fjords and on the coast. The wild scenarios of rocks, ice and sea not only impress us deeply, they also challenge us in terms of navigation and seamanship.
We head for Tasiilaq and smaller Innuit villages further north. Then the weather forces us to turn back - once again hurricane foothills are approaching. So we head back to Isafjördur via the Denmark Strait. We leave the icebergs astern, then the wind picks up and we tie reefs in the sails. It turned out to be 240 bumpy but mishap-free nautical miles.
In Isafjördur, the harbour master has already reserved a winter berth for the "Freydis". She is soon in good company. Not only Arved Fuchs' "Dagmar Aaen" arrives, but also Michael Ziese on his little "X-Trip". He has also been to the east coast of Greenland and shows us photos of a polar bear mother and her cubs trying to board his boat, but being chased away by him.
The crew leave the following afternoon, and a week later it's time for Heide and me to leave too. But unfortunately, I don't stay in Germany for long. At the end of September, hurricanes hit Iceland and caused a lot of damage to the ships. Including the "Freydis". So I fly north again for repairs. But now she's lying there, fendered with car tyres and held by 21 lines. Waiting for the winter to pass and the journey to continue next year.
This voyage was to be Erich and Heide Wilts' last big trip. They had to abandon their plan to sail the "Freydis" back to Germany in the summer of 2022 for health reasons. In early December, Erich Wilts passed away in his home town of Heidelberg after a short, serious illness.
