Throughout the day there is only a gentle breeze, far too little to move the aged, heavy cruising yacht forward. We have a long journey ahead of us, sailing in stages from Schleimünde to Gothenburg, where the family crew is due to come on board. Until then, there are two of us and we want to sail long legs during the day, but we don't want to succeed at this slow speed. South of Langeland, we're drifting across the Great Belt rather than sailing, and the weather forecast doesn't promise much pressure under the clouds tomorrow either.
Tonight and during the night, however, the forecast calls for the wind to freshen up and blow from the west at up to 20 knots, a jackpot in the weather roulette. As the sun sinks, the wind indicator actually rises steadily and with it the mood of helmsman Jan, who now refuses to steer the course to the planned overnight harbour. "These are the best conditions, we'll take this nice breeze with us!" explains the tactical regatta sailor. Long-distance sailing hasn't been his thing so far. "Okay," I agree, "then we'll just experience a perfect sunset at sea!"
The willingness to sail at night is relevant to safety
Setting a new course for another harbour, the journey continues with a rush of speed and happiness into the waterscape, above which the evening sky has turned into a colourful spectacle of exploding red, yellow and blue. The new destination lies about eight nautical miles ahead, and darkness follows the twilight faster than expected. The position lighting has been working since sunset, headlamps and hand-held spotlights are ready to hand. It is a safety advantage if the cruising yacht is equipped for night sailing and the crew can switch to darkness mode without worrying. Doldrums, choosing a moderate course, running off in a storm, crowded or closed harbours, poor anchorage: there are many reasons why plan A can become plan B at sea, and those who also have plan N for night sailing in their repertoire can be sure of Njörd's favour.
I dim the navigation instruments and switch the light on the companionway to red. Jan stands at the tiller and peers into the darkness with his binoculars. His voice sounds nervous as he asks: "What about the fishing buoys and small, unlit vessels without AIS transmitters? Why don't we just sail over them?" On the plotter, there is no signal from a vessel within a radius of five miles; further away, there are cargo ships in the fairway heading north.
"I'll take the first watch, you have the order to enjoy yourself now," I explain to Jan. He's never been out at sea at night before, but is in the harbour by dusk at the latest. If he books sailing at night without the sun in the sky as a positive experience, a whole new world will open up to him and distant cruising destinations will come closer. "Get some warm clothes, a cup of tea and something sweet," is my comment. "And be careful: night sailing is one of the best things to experience at sea. There is a risk of addiction."
The addiction is called sailing, the intoxicating agent is adrenalin
The autopilot does a good job, and in my head a multidimensional image of the immediate surroundings is created by the plotter's situation picture, the lights of surrounding navigation marks and the position lights of freighters and ferries. I quickly find my way around even without daylight. There is much less information to process than during the day, and it is usually clear to understand.
It is always a fantastic spectacle and almost a mystical experience when the darkness engulfs the familiar view and the journey continues into the colourlessness. Now beacons and lights take over. On the port side, Keldsnor Fyr fires white all around, the buoys of the Langelandbelt deep-water route flash ahead on the starboard side, and the freighters and ferries line up like a string of pearls on the busy north-south axis. When visibility is poor, it is foresight that gives us the foresight. Our eyes are focussed, our hearing is sensitive, our sense of smell is heightened, and we perceive the smallest changes in the air through our skin. The whole body provides the brain with information that is helpful for orientation and at the same time experiences an intoxicating party of silence. The addiction is called sailing, the intoxicating agent is adrenalin.
The prerequisite for avoiding a hangover afterwards is trust. In the boat, the skipper, the crew - and not least in yourself. You must also avoid freezing, and stimulants other than your body's own are taboo. Without full visual control, you have to fully engage with the situation in the dark. Fear can hardly be avoided, but it must not take over the helm, because then the fun stops and it can become dangerous. Prudence is particularly important when encountering other ships, navigation marks and entering harbours, as it is much more difficult to judge distances and speeds correctly in the dark than in the light.
Night sailing reaches its peak at the Great Belt Bridge
Crew member Jan sits very still and alternately looks up at the sky, down into the water and at the horizon. "This is incredibly beautiful!" he states. "Let's take advantage of the favourable wind and current and sail on." His voice no longer sounds stressed, he has actually shifted the inner lever from fear and worry to vigilance and enjoyment. After a brief update on his position, possible destinations and the traffic and weather situation, it is clear that his suggestion makes sense. Although it would be feasible to call at the originally planned, unknown harbour, this would undermine the current joie de vivre and the cruise plan. Because the current experience of night sailing is marvellous. The boat ploughs at hull speed through a wildly undulating water landscape, behind us we draw a white trail of spray in the wake.
None of us wants to sleep, nor is the adrenalin sloshing through our bodies. We have entered the southern part of the Great Belt and the choreography of this night cruise has reached its climax. An illuminated giant made of steel and concrete crosses our course, the Belt Bridge. We race towards it at high speed, a route with a huge span, illuminated pylons and steel cables like spider webs, dozens of flashing lights from navigation marks and ships, and the headlights of the crossing car and train traffic.
Are we still sailing, or are we already in Valhalla?
In the north-eastern sky, the overhead light switches on and night gives way to day. As the sun climbs over the horizon, the wind gradually falls asleep again. And slowly we do too. The anchor is safely aground, the small island of Musholm embraces us in the west, sheltering us from the steamer swell. "I'm booking another night trip, this time with sea lights," murmurs Jan before falling asleep. He can have that, the wind is supposed to pick up again tonight.
