Report: Sitting on stilts in Mommark - Denmark's toughest long-distance route
Ursula Meer
· 04.10.2025
The last weekend of July 2025 is one of sporting superlatives, with the Admiral's Cup and Fastnet Race, Tour de France and Swimming World Championships. Meanwhile in Mommark, Denmark: four men push cushions under their buttocks and take a seat on bollards, with small parasols above them and water below them.
Their sporting challenge is to endure up to 72 hours on the piles in the marina in the south of the island of Als. Prize money of just under 2,700 euros awaits the winners - 37.50 euros per hour if only one person makes it, a meagre 9.40 euros if everyone holds out. But that hasn't happened yet in Mommark's slow-motion competition.
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Thursday, late afternoon. A stage has been set up in the marina and music is blaring from high speakers. A team from NDR is filming for "Mare TV". The participants are confident of victory in front of the camera. Sander, because at 23 he is the youngest in the quartet. Kevin, a well-trained former soldier with an upright posture, describes himself as the strongest-willed of them all.
Casper was already certain in his application letter: "I absolutely want to win, even if I have to sacrifice my poor arse to do so." Ideally equipped with a waist belt with two drinking bottles, from which other equipment hangs on long straps, he raises both arms in front of the camera and lets out a loud "Hau!". Mathias, meanwhile, plucks at the hem of his yellow football shirt with both hands like a little boy who has done something wrong. It remains to be seen that poses do not make winners.
Part of the harbour festival in Mommark since 2013: pole sitting
The four of them board the boat that will look after them day and night, steered by harbour master Carsten Kock in his yellow high-visibility waistcoat. One by one, they place their equipment on hooks. This consists of a change of clothes and jacket, blankets or sleeping bag, mobile phone and power banks and other small items that can make vertical living more comfortable. They climb onto the poles. 6 p.m.: The competition begins with music and an announcement from the stage. 18:10: Mathias and Casper look at their watches.
Pfahlhocken has been part of the harbour festival in Mommark since Carsten Kock took over the marina in 2013. He regards it as a sport, as all participants are looking for a challenge rather than hoping to win prize money. They push their performance and endurance limits and have to be sufficiently acrobatic to be able to fish for the equipment under their feet. This can sometimes go wrong: on one occasion, a participant slipped off the bollard after just five hours.
The distance from the shore just about allows for conversations between the seated athletes and their shore crews - family and friends dropping by to cheer them up. Only at night, when the cold and fatigue weigh on morale, is this forbidden. Sander's mum Pia has come to support him. "He had a low last night, so I spoke to him on the phone for a while, at least that's allowed," she says on Friday morning.
The youngest in the group has already been to the toilet twice. Now he has to hold out with bouncing knees until 6 pm in the evening. Because the poles are not thunderbolts. The question of going to the toilet becomes a hot topic among the viewers. The competitors are only allowed ashore twice in 24 hours for 15 minutes each time to go to the toilet. Discharging into the harbour basin is taboo. "We only had to deviate from this once at night," says Carsten, "when it was very hot and the competitors had to drink a lot."
Other spectators raise the question of the risk of thrombosis or whether the men's family planning has already been finalised. The latter is a private matter; a medical team takes care of everything else. It is on standby around the clock in case anyone gets into trouble or falls into the water. Most of them give up voluntarily. But especially at night, someone can slip into sleep and then into the harbour basin.
Into the first night
In the evening, the harbour party picks up speed. Boat crews, campers and people from the neighbourhood enjoy food and drink at the buffet and bar, laughing and having fun. On stage, the harbour master sings "Soon may the wellerman come ...", the very song that describes the days and weeks-long ordeal of whalers whose boat is pulled further and further out to sea by a whale. Intentional analogies to the competition cannot be ruled out. Later, Elton John sings about his "Nikita" and Whitney Houston swears eternal love in the highest tones. Songs that can lodge themselves as catchy tunes and haunt sleepy heads all night long, with only one thing they must not allow: Deep sleep.
"I'm not going to oversleep and I'm determined to win, even if I have to sacrifice my poor arse to do so."
The music stops as the sun goes down. Carsten climbs onto a bench. His waistcoat glows bright yellow in the last rifle light as he raises his hunting horn for the evening roll call and blows a short song. "Godnat, Mommark! Good night, Mommark!" he calls out in two languages and waves across the harbour basin. The sailors take down their flags and it becomes quiet.
Shortly before midnight, wispy clouds drift across the sky and the moon bathes the scene in changing light. The three stools are keeping night watch: Casper has turned towards Sander and Kevin from the far right. They talk and laugh together. Kevin talks about "Danish Dynamite", Casper about his family. Mathias is silent, he's probably on a free watch. The four of them show the first signs of forming a crew.
Everyone is good - that's never happened before
Early on Saturday morning, the boat decks are covered in cold dew. A glance out of the cockpit shows: All four are still there. Kevin has pulled a sleeping bag over his head and is squatting there like an upturned bat. "It was a good night, though," he says as Carsten brings them breakfast by boat. "I was even able to get some sleep." The thin parasols at his back are just enough for a little balance, but by no means enough to lean on safely. "I imagined I was a potato. I found a suitable position to sleep in," says Sander, describing the situation, which must have felt like being on constant dog watch.
Carsten, meanwhile, struggles with his choice of candidate. "They're just too good. At least one should last until Sunday evening," he realises, "but not all of them!" Without further ado, the rules are tightened: everyone hands in their umbrellas and electronic devices at 3 pm on Saturday. From now on it's going to be tough: exposed to sun and rain, no phone calls or chats. 27 hours until the finish.
Where pole sitting comes from
The "Living Hope" is moored right next to the piles. After their initial shock at the display, the German crew is now taking an academic approach to the question of the origins of sitting on poles. The research leads back to antiquity, when saints on pillars spent entire decades at lofty heights in order to be closer to God and further away from stupid questions. Another source says that in Holland people had to sit on the bollards of meadow fences after a storm surge - the origin of pole sitting competitions there.
In the 1920s, there was a boom in pole sitting in the USA, and at Heidepark Soltau, a Pole recently spent a whole 197 days on a pole until he got bored without spectators at the end of the season. The rumour that pole sitting is a popular sport in Denmark and that there are even small practice poles for children is not confirmed.
"I imagined I was a potato. I found a suitable position to sleep in."
Meanwhile, Herbert from Hamburg sails guests around the harbour for free on his "Sussie", which he always does at the harbour festival in Mommark. The motorboat is beautifully decorated with doilies and flowers on the table. While enjoying nibbles and drinks, the pile-dwellers can be viewed from the stern as they sail past. People browse the flea market stalls or sit on the edge of the pool with hot dogs and chips to watch the men on the piles. "Dad, what are they demonstrating against? Are they climate activists?" asks a little boy.
Competitors become a team
The third evening of partying, eating and drinking begins, literally within falling distance of the four of them and yet far away for them. They twitch their heads or kneel to the music with restraint - until the classic "YMCA": four letters, one for each! Sander raises his arms to form a Y, calls over to Kevin, whose turn it is to say the M, who continues on to the others. Three uncoordinated attempts later, the choreography is in the club of those who began as combatants and ended as a crew to the cheers of the audience. No wonder everyone is still sitting there on the chilly Sunday morning.
In the late afternoon, it becomes apparent that everyone could make it to the final for the first time. The crowd at the harbour is packed. Carsten no longer sees any reason to spur on the athletes on stage. Instead, he raises the donation barometer to more than 6,000 crowns right up to the last second so that the brave ones don't walk away with a pitiful hourly wage.
"Four! Three! Two!" The boys climb the poles. "One!" They throw up their arms, jump into the water and swim ashore to the loud cheers of the audience. "Never again!" is their conclusion. But next year, Carsten is sure, hundreds will apply again - to take part in Denmark's toughest long-distance race.
Interview: Carsten Kock, the singing harbour master
In 2013, Carsten Kock took over the harbour and the surrounding area in Mommark. Since then, it has been known among sailors for its many endearing quirks.
Carsten, how did you come up with the idea of sitting on a pole?
I thought to myself that every harbour needs a harbour festival. A flea market and music are part of it, but I was looking for other ideas. I found what I was looking for in Juelsminde, where there was this pile-sitting competition. I asked if I could imitate it. The answer was: "You're welcome to do that. The more pole-sitting we have in Denmark, the better it is for the sport!"
Do you also do things differently from other harbours?
Yes! I personally sell the rolls to the sailors every morning. I also go round the jetty every now and then - to check that everyone has paid, but also to have a few nice chats. And in the evening, I'm the singing harbour master. In summer, I stand here in front of the restaurant with my mobile stage and play music for a few hours. The sailors like that. They come up here for an ice cream or a drink and enjoy the music. Personal contact is very important to me. As long as I'm here, there won't be any pay machines in Mommark. The sailors appreciate that too!
Which you then send to bed with the evening roll call. Where does the ritual come from?
I blow the call with the hunting horn because I am a hunter at heart. That's also the good thing for me here. I work through the summer when it's not hunting season. That means I'm here for many hours, organising, having short meetings, having a coffee here and there. It's not hard work, but of course you have to keep at it. In winter, I have a lot of free time and can go hunting all over Europe in my motorhome.
How do you become a harbour master as a camper and hunter?
I used to have three large household appliance shops with 50 employees. That went very well. But then came the big technology stores and online retail. For consumers, price became more important than good service. When I was 40, I decided to build something new. I sold the shops. In 2013, I got the chance to buy the harbour and the whole area with the beach and campsite. It was all pretty run-down here and it took a lot of effort and money to rebuild. But it was worth it!
