Hamburg sailor Christoph Lauterbach has been living on board his traditional sea cruiser "Gutland", built in Sweden in 1965, for around a year. His journey took him from Kiel through the Kiel Canal along the coast to Brittany in winter and back to the Baltic Sea in the western Swedish archipelago last summer. We met him for a chat about life on board a classic.
Christoph Lauterbach:My father taught me to sail on the Alster when I was eight years old. When he died, I wanted to use his inheritance to fulfil my dream of a long voyage on a classic boat. My plan was to spend the winter in the Mediterranean and the summer in northern Europe. No big jumps, out in the morning, into the harbour in the evening. In my life, I've ferried several large yachts for a living and only ever sailed long legs without taking the time to conquer the areas.
Nothing else came into question for me. It's my philosophy, if you like. I was looking for a classic wooden yacht that would be between ten and twelve metres long. I went to see the "Gutland" in Kiel in June, and when it was finalised in November, I went back a second time and signed the purchase contract.
Well, there are lockers on both sides and in the foredeck, a small galley with storage space for cooking utensils, a small cupboard in the toilet and lots of hanging bags in the foredeck. So I have plenty of storage options. But in hindsight, I should have made a different decision. This boat is not built sturdily enough for my purposes. The deck structure, for example, is not strong enough. I would take a much closer look in future.
Very good, the boat had been in the heated hall for two years and had dried out, but the paintwork was good. Everything was in tip-top condition.
The water ran immediately. There was no electric bilge pump either. The floorboards floated every six or eight hours and had to be drained by hand. But after three days it was over.
Yes, I signed on 23 November, the ship was slipped, the mast was set and, together with my Belgian co-sailor, I immediately began to equip and prepare the "Gutland". Four days later, on 27 November, we set off for Cuxhaven via the Kiel Canal. I wanted to leave Germany as quickly as possible due to the tense coronavirus situation at the time.
I used social media to look for a fellow sailor with local knowledge for the challenging leg along the coast to Brittany. Benoit, a great guy and very good sailor in his early 40s, a Whitbread type, got in touch. He was a watch leader for Peter Blake at the time. Benoit knew the route along the Channel coast like the back of his hand. The whole route was very familiar to him.
We spent the four days with chandlers and in DIY stores. There was no steering compass, no chart plotter, no marine radio, no storm jib, no life raft. The bilge pump and the diesel heater were broken. And these were just a few of the things on the list.
The battery is enough for me. The machine serves as a generator. I don't have a fridge either, just a cool box that I fill with dry ice.
No. I had given notice on my three-room flat, packed up what I needed to take with me on the ship and stored the most important things in a friend's cellar. Everything I need is here on board. I still have the feeling that I have too much. I budget differently than I used to. I only wash ashore when I need to. When I cook, I buy what I need beforehand. I don't have any perishable provisions.
We travelled through the Kiel Canal to Cuxhaven and spent a few days in the wind. We realised that it was going to be very cold and that we would have to expect a lot of breaks. We travelled on to Borkum via Helgoland, where we were again exposed to strong winds for a long time. That was the first time I realised how cold it was. After arriving on Vlieland, I even collapsed on the jetty with hypothermia. It was early December, the water temperature was two degrees, the air was no warmer and everything below deck was wet because the deck was leaking.
No. We heated with shore power to 16 degrees below deck. The diesel hot-air heating wasn't working again yet. It's now running perfectly. It now reaches 22 degrees down there in ten minutes. And you can hang everything in front of it to dry.
Yes, from Vlieland it was a long passage to IJmuiden and after a short break on to Ostend. There my co-sailor Benoit left as planned. After a three-week Christmas break in Hamburg, we continued on our own.
Yes, I once sailed alone with a folk boat from Wedel to Aberdeen and with a charter yacht in Greece from Naxos to Athens. But now it was really difficult: winter, tidal waters, the English Channel as a busy waterway, all the halyards at the front of the mast and no autopilot!
I have a tiller pilot, which I tried once, but it bucks around far too much for me. And I'm used to steering a boat like this, even if it takes 20 hours. I prepare myself well, have everything ready, food, drink. The only thing I can't do up here is go to the loo and eat on a grand scale. But I don't cook on the way anyway because my cooker isn't hung up.
Then I open the main a little and wait a minute or two. Until I realise that this is the right sailing position to go to the loo, get something to eat or my oil trousers, and then I rush back on deck. You can do that up to about 5 or 6 Beaufort. Beyond that, it becomes critical because of the waves. But I sailed the whole way like that.
I sailed to Calais and then along the French coast to northern Brittany. From there I travelled via the Scilly Islands, southern England, France and the North Sea coast to Hamburg, where I had some repairs to do. In the summer, I then travelled through the NOK to the Baltic Sea and sailed to the west Swedish coast. That's where I've just come from.
I paint. Ever since my early youth. If I have time and feel like it and am somewhere for several days, I take my paint box, go out and look for a motif. Or I walk through the harbours, take photos and then paint.
I've also sold pictures on the road. In Concarneau. Someone came on board in the morning and we realised that we both paint. I showed him my paintings and then he spontaneously said, I want these six. I then deliberately painted in the cockpit in Brighton when lots of tourists were walking past. But it's not often that you get to sell paintings on the road. I haven't done much recently either, just completed sketches. But a few earnings wouldn't be bad.
I spent almost 15,000 euros in nine months. That's too much. Good food, expensive berths, fuel - these are the items I'll have to save on in future. Or I can earn extra money.
Yes, I am a body psychotherapist and offer coaching sessions for men here on board.
I take a fellow sailor with me for a week. The coaching is aimed at men who want to get themselves back on track. Because they no longer have a goal in mind. This often leads to self-doubt and a loss of self-esteem. With my help, the participants should find out where they are in life, for example in their relationship and career, and where they want to go in the future.
It's not important whether he can sail at all. If not, I show him the most important things. It's about leaving your comfort zone and being thrown back on yourself - and then taking responsibility for yourself.
I answer accompanying questions and provide assistance when necessary. During conversations while sailing. Or when behavioural patterns emerge that disturb the man. For example, when anxiety arises in certain situations. The focus is on being honest with yourself. I also have anxiety when sailing. And then I look at where it comes from and how I deal with it.
On the way from Cherbourg to St Peter Port on Guernsey, the chart plotter failed. I have it screwed onto a board and lashed down in the cockpit. It crashed against the cockpit coaming in a violent wave: nothing worked! I have the Navionics app on my smartphone as a backup, but a wet fingertip on the thing doesn't work at all in constant drizzle. So, like James Cook, I drove through the Rockies in the dark, all the way round the island of Sark, until I spotted the bright lights of St Peter Port in the west. I had thoroughly memorised the contours and danger spots from the nautical chart when routing in the morning and was probably lucky - everything went well, even the harbour approach and the search for a berth.
In winter, I'll be in the St Sebastien area. The average temperature there is 12 to 13 degrees. The region is otherwise pretty inhospitable. Few beacons, unlit fishermen. Even the locals regard it as a rather dangerous area. It's also very rainy. I want to move on from there in spring.
Neither. The Baltic Sea is too boring for me, if I may say so. And the harbours in the Mediterranean are very expensive. And as long as this orca thing hasn't been clarified, I won't go down the Portuguese coast either, it's too dangerous for me.
Yes, Douarnenez, that's where I'm heading again now. I want to overhaul the deck and do some paintwork with a boat builder friend.
The voyage has indeed left its mark on the ship. The sailmaker had to carry out repairs three times. Then the fitting that holds the mainsheet block broke. Another time, the halyard cleat broke loose from the mainsail. And the cordage of the single-line reef broke because the exit was too sharp-edged. All in high winds, of course.
(laughs) Yes! I sailed 4,200 nautical miles within eight months. And I've changed a lot in the process. I've learnt a lot, got into a routine, thought a lot. And I've become more patient with myself, with my "Gutland" and with the people on these European coasts!
The sea cruiser is a typical representative of the sturdy cruisers from the pen of the successful designer Olle Enderlein. To this day, the Havsörnen II is rightly regarded by insiders as a pearl of contemporary Swedish boatbuilding. It is elaborately crafted down to the smallest detail from African mahogany, oak, teak and stainless steel. In addition to the beautiful lines, which promise calm sea behaviour and good speed potential with an S-frame, elongated lateral plan, decent draught and low beam, the yacht's above-average level of comfort, with which it was once delivered, is striking. However, a previous owner, who took the "Gutland" under his wing, restored her and converted her into a daysailer (YACHT 20/2009). Handrails, ventilators and cleats were removed, the fittings below deck were removed and replaced with minimal equipment, and a rig designed by Juliane Hempel has been on deck ever since.
Christoph Lauterbach set off from Kiel at the end of November last year with a co-sailor, passed the Kiel Canal and the mouth of the Elbe and sailed via Helgoland to the Frisian Islands. At the end of the year, the "Gutland" reached Ostend. From there, she continued single-handed, sailing along the coast all the way to Brittany. The turning point of the journey was Quiberon. From Brest, Lauterbach and a fellow sailor set off for St Mary's Harbour on the Isles of Scilly. He abandoned the plan to sail through the Irish Sea to the Hebrides and set course along the southern English coast, again single-handed, to the Solent and France. He travelled via Belgium and Holland to the Elbe estuary in Hamburg. From there, he set off on a trip to the Baltic Sea in the summer, which took him to the west Swedish coast around Tjörn and back to Kiel, where he met YACHT for an interview. Lauterbach is currently on his way to Brittany again, where he plans to stay for the winter.
Lauterbach, born in 1959, learnt to sail from his father on Hamburg's Outer Alster. As a schoolboy, he earned his pocket money from a boat hire company. At 16, he was the owner of a towing bird, two years later he was a sailing instructor and at 23 he held a licence to sail on the high seas. After an apprenticeship, Lauterbach worked as a sailmaker and transfer skipper before setting up his own practice as a psychotherapist after completing the relevant training. Today, he offers coaching trips for men on board his "Gutland" ( www.menonsea.eu )

Deputy Editor in Chief YACHT