Essay: Summer sailing trip – The best time of the year

​Summer’s finally here. But what’s even better is that our sailing holiday is about to begin. And it starts long before we set sail. “I’m so looking forward to wandering about” is my standard line. And it’s really true. I’m already looking forward to the sun and the water, to sailing and dropping anchor, to new and familiar harbours, and I’m looking forward to ice cream in all its forms. From “Shall we go for an ice cream?” to “Will you switch on the ice cube machine?” and, of course, “Oh, that’s lovely!”

Anticipation is all part of the sailing trip

Our excitement starts quite early. As early as two months beforehand – especially when we’re sitting on our boat – we start planning and thinking things through; we draw up routes and then scrap them again: “We can do better than that.” Then: Six weeks to go. Three. Two. Tomorrow. Here we go. Packing really does release endorphins – honestly!

​The weekend before we set off, we bring our clothes on board, stow everything away, lash down the dinghy, and start stowing things below deck in preparation for the long legs of the journey. And then it’s just a matter of boarding with the fresh food and a small bag to kick off our holiday – marvellous! Packing is also part of the sailing summer ritual. Sailors pack differently from other travellers. You don’t just stuff clothes into a bag. You set yourself up with a little life on the water.

At some point, lists start to appear. First just in your head, then on paper. What on earth would my husband do without lists? What do we need? Waterproofs. Spare glasses. Reading glasses, contact lenses, a torch. Binoculars. Nautical charts. Chargers. First-aid kit. Favourite knife. A jumper for chilly evenings. Swimwear for those rare perfect summer days. And time and again, that question: what do you really need? Because on a boat, you quickly learn that happiness takes up surprisingly little space. I admit I’ve still got some way to go! The experienced sailor knows that the most important things are often the smallest. The rituals. A particular coffee cup. That trusty harbour knife. And, of course, ABBA in a Swedish bay.

Then there’s the food. There’s hardly anything as enjoyable as planning the galley before a long sailing trip. What spices do we need, what tinned food, shall we take a few bottles of Muscadet with us? Of course, that’s a must if we’re eating oysters. ​The first big shop before the holiday has an almost festive feel to it. The shopping trolley slowly fills up with things that taste of summer. Flour, because I bake my own bread. Coffee capsules. Pasta. Olives. Potatoes. Strawberry jam.

I’ve got to take this tunic, and this one too – will three swimsuits be enough? Will 15 pairs of shorts do? And 20 T-shirts? How many pairs of socks do I need? How many jumpers and jackets? You’ve got to be prepared for all weathers, after all. My husband – and this happens all the time – naturally gets annoyed: ‘You’re taking far too much! You’ll never wear all that.’ And of course he’s right in this case. Then, of course, sun cream. And a very specific after-sun lotion that I’ve been using for 25 years! In winter, I sometimes have a sniff of it, and it makes me feel all warm inside.

A summer sailing trip begins in the mind

Ah, a summer sailing trip is more than just a holiday. For many sailors, it’s the real highlight of the year, a time towards which everything builds up. It’s the part of the year that makes it all worthwhile to look forward to, and which you’ll draw on for the rest of the year. Others plan long-haul trips, book hotels or think of sun loungers and all-inclusive buffets. We sailors, however, plan ports, wind directions, distances and archipelagos. We measure our wonderful anticipation not in hotel bookings and flight tickets, but in weather charts, provision lists and the new nautical charts. Yay! That’s precisely where a large part of the joy lies. After all, the summer sailing trip doesn’t just begin in the harbour. It begins in the mind. There’s hardly a more wonderful form of anticipation than planning a long summer of sailing.

In our case, Denmark and Sweden are ideal destinations. They’re close enough to feel familiar, yet far enough away to give us the sense of a proper holiday. The Danish South Sea with its charming little islands, tiny villages and tranquil anchorages. Just thinking of Ærøskøbing makes my heart sing. This town exudes centuries of history. Or the the Swedish archipelago with its smooth, polished granite cliffs, its red-painted houses and its bright, starry nights. Anyone who has ever sailed through the strait in July, or made a cup of coffee one morning in a secluded Swedish cove and then dived headfirst into the water, knows exactly what I’m talking about: these images stay with you for a lifetime. And how wonderful it is not to experience them alone!

Oh, it’s so lovely to plan all this! My husband takes the harbour guides off the shelf. I really do think they smell of salt and summer. Tucked between the pages, there are sometimes yellowed receipts from a harbour in Stockholm or a restaurant bill from Marstrand. ​As I leaf through them, whole days come flooding back. The lovely, perfect wind, the little smokehouse at the harbour in … where was that again? The thunderstorm off Læsø. The sunset behind the archipelago. And so a tingling sensation runs through my body as the anticipation grows.

Then my husband spreads the maps out on the table. At first we just have a quick look. Then we spend longer and longer looking at them. Perhaps north via Samsø this year? Or through the Svendborg Sound first? Perhaps Anholt again? But there’s so much sand there. And sand, as I’ve learnt, “is poison for the boat!!” Or finally head over to the Swedish west coast? Every sailor knows these evenings. You trace possible legs with your finger. Work out distances. Get excited. Discuss harbours. Some places have almost become part of the family by now. Others you’d love to finally discover. You get even more excited.

There are, of course, people who believe that too much planning takes the spontaneity out of an adventure. But that’s not true. At least not for sailors. It’s precisely the preparation that heightens our anticipation. It makes summer a reality. Every harbour is a promise and every distance noted down is a little dream. You read weather statistics, look at satellite images of natural harbours and ask friends about their favourite coves. Where have you been, where should we go, do they serve Köttbullar there too? They taste much better than the ones at Ikea, by the way, and we’re setting off tomorrow.

The boat is also being prepared for the summer

My husband insists that our boat has a soul. He even talks to it, and I bet he’s not the only one who does. To him, the boat isn’t just an object. It’s a summer life on the water. Our second home. A floating place of memories. A little island.

Getting the boat ready before the holiday is therefore one of his favourite rituals of all. We check the lines, inspect the shackles, examine the sails, and perhaps even polish a dull patch on the gelcoat. You can spend hours doing seemingly trivial tasks and be happy whilst doing so. We’ve bought new mooring lines and ordered two new fenders. He meticulously checks the spare parts. Do we have enough gas? Will there be enough wine and gin? Everything is stowed away according to the plan he’s drawn up.

People on the outside often don’t understand why sailors spend so much time preparing. It took me a while to get it too: the boat is part of the family; it needs to be looked after and maintained; it’s meant to get us safely through the coming weeks; it needs love and encouragement. For us all, there’s a deep sense of magic in that. And as we stow away all these things, the boat gradually transforms into a holiday home. Fresh sheets are put on the beds in the berths. Books find their way onto the shelves. Food is put away. Suddenly, the boat is ready. And so are we.

​Why the North keeps calling

There are sailing destinations with higher mountains, more exotic islands or more turquoise waters. Yet, despite this, so many people are drawn back to Denmark and Sweden time and again. Perhaps it’s down to the tranquillity of these countries. Or the mindset of the people. Here, nothing is in your face; nothing cries out for attention. Their beauty is understated.

Denmark welcomes people with a special warmth. And us sailors, of course. Little harbours with red boathouses. Seafood restaurants right by the harbour. Bicycles outside the harbour master’s offices. Children catching crabs with nets or jumping into the water, shouting with joy. Everywhere, there’s this relaxed, natural way of life by the water. I’ve often wondered what makes it so appealing. The Danish South Sea, for example, feels like a place from another era. You don’t rush frantically from one attraction to the next. You glide slowly through narrow channels, past green islands and yellow fields. At midday, you might drop anchor in a quiet cove. In the evening, you sit in the cockpit and look out over the harbour, whilst seagulls cry out somewhere in the distance and the scent of smoked fish wafts over.

And Sweden? Sweden offers us freedom. The Western Archipelago is one of the most beautiful sailing destinations in Europe. Thousands of smooth, polished rocky islets, narrow passages, sheltered natural harbours. Out there, time loses its meaning. Anyone who has ever moored the bow to a Swedish rock whilst the evening sun glides over the granite will understand why people return here time and again throughout their lives.

The summer nights are bright. The water lies still amongst the rocks. Somewhere, someone is having a barbecue on a neighbouring boat. Children are paddling about in the dinghy. And later, you sit outside for a long time. Without music. And without rushing. Everything moves very slowly here. Just the wind, the water and that deep feeling of being exactly where you want to be.

Once the mooring lines are cast off, the rhythm changes

The first day of a holiday has a magic all of its own. Things are still a bit hectic. You’re still thinking about things back home. Have you really packed everything? Is everything stowed away properly? Have we filled up with enough diesel?

Then, at last: the moment of departure. Casting off. The boat slowly moves away from the jetty. The harbour opens up. Our neighbours on the jetty wave and wish us a safe journey. Suddenly, a weight lifts. A sense of happiness washes over us. With every metre we cover, everyday life recedes further into the distance. On land, we live amidst news, appointments, screens and constant availability. At sea, simple things suddenly matter again. Wind direction. Water depth. The weather. Hunger. Tiredness. Yes, simple. But important. Life becomes clearer. We get up in the morning and look up at the sky first thing. We think in terms of wind forces rather than video calls. The days no longer follow a calendar. They belong to us.

​Many people are looking to slow down. And sailors actually experience this. Not as a wellness programme, but as a natural consequence of being on the move. After all, you can’t rush a boat. Perhaps the true magic of a summer sailing trip lies in the countless little moments. They don’t have to be anything earth-shattering. That first coffee in the morning, when almost everyone in the harbour is still asleep. Yes, even the clattering of halyards – that’s all part of it. The smell of sun cream, sea water and strawberries. The sound of the boat pressing gently against the fenders at night.

The joy of finding a perfectly sheltered anchorage. Ha, we’ve picked a good one! The first dip in the cold water. Just like every year, it’s a bit of a drama. To go for it or not? Definitely not jump straight in – we don’t want to give ourselves a heart attack. Fresh cinnamon buns from a little Swedish bakery. Sailing makes you more receptive to moments like this. Perhaps because, out there, you live more directly, more authentically, more mindfully. And you experience it all: changes in the weather. Temperature. Wind.

We don’t just happen to witness the sunsets; we experience them right out on the water. And sometimes those perfect evenings arise that you’ll never forget. When the boat lies quietly at anchor. The sun slowly sinks behind the islands. The water turns golden. Nobody says much, because words wouldn’t make it any better. Everything is already there.

Sailors often understand each other straight away

​And that, too, is part of a summer sailing trip: this quiet camaraderie amongst people on the water. I’ve noticed that many sailors get on with one another straight away. Perhaps because we’ve all been through the same things. Too much wind. Too little wind. Night-time thunderstorms. Anchors that have got stuck. Beautiful sunrises. Tricky harbour manoeuvres. Long trips in perfect wind.

That’s why conversations often spring up surprisingly quickly in harbours. People help each other moor. They lend out tools. They give tips on good anchorages or warn of shallow areas. In the evenings, we sometimes suddenly find ourselves sitting with people we’d never seen before just a few hours earlier. We talk about the weather, boats and travel plans.

And almost always about the question of where we might head tomorrow. After all, a summer of sailing thrives on this blend of planning and spontaneity. You’ve planned a route, but you never know in advance whether it’ll work out that way. In the end, it’s the wind and the weather that decide. But that’s precisely what makes it so appealing.

Anyone who has ever experienced a midsummer evening in Scandinavia will never forget it. The sun shines late into the evening. Even at ten o’clock, it’s still light out over the water. The harbours have a peaceful, pleasant atmosphere. Children are still playing on the jetties. People are sitting outside in the harbour pubs with blankets and a glass of wine. Candles flicker in the gentle breeze. There’s something timeless about these evenings. We lose all sense of the time. Perhaps dinner isn’t ready until nine o’clock in the evening. Perhaps you take the dinghy ashore to go for a meal. Perhaps you simply sit in the cockpit and gaze quietly at the water.

The summer cruise has an effect on one’s inner self

​It is precisely these moments that become etched deep into one’s memory. Not the spectacular moments, but the quiet ones. I sometimes think that the anticipation is such a joy because it prolongs the summer. The actual holiday might last three weeks, but the joy of it begins months beforehand. It’s there in every glance at the map and in every weather app. In every discussion about possible routes. Over and over again.

A summer sailing trip is not just about the weeks at sea, but also about the anticipation leading up to it. And, of course, from the memories that follow. Because even in autumn, you’ll find yourself thinking back to certain days. To the wind off Funen. To the quiet bay in Sweden. To the morning mist in the Kattegat. To the smell of Marstal harbour.

I think that’s why sailing is never just about the present; it connects the past, anticipation and the here and now. You find your way back to your roots, to a slower pace. To nature and to a simpler way of life. On board – at least that’s how it is for us – many things cease to matter. We don’t need major distractions or a programme of luxury. Nor do we need perfect planning.

The truth is this: a favourable wind, a safe harbour and people you enjoy sailing with – that’s often all it takes to be happy. And perhaps that is precisely where many sailors’ deep love for the North lies. Denmark and Sweden don’t offer any sensational thrills, but rather that rare sense of tranquillity that is so often missing on dry land. When the summer holiday finally comes to an end and the boat is back in its home port, a peculiar feeling often lingers. Gratitude. Tiredness. A touch of wistfulness.

But there’s more to come: the next wave of anticipation is on its way. Because at some point this autumn, we might find ourselves looking at nautical charts again and thinking about next summer. About new harbours and old favourite bays, and those indescribable feelings when we set off once more. Then I’ll know: it’s about to begin again. The best time of the year.

Is a summer sailing trip the ultimate form of true relaxation – or do sailors simply take particular delight in romanticising their own happiness? Share your thoughts in the comments.