A piece by Hannah Hoven
The thermometer in the saloon reads 4 degrees. It’s mid-December. By now, I’m used to leaving my berth in the morning in freezing temperatures. I put on some woollen underwear and fill the thermos flask with tea. The galley is weighed down by snow. I crawl out, climb the ladder to the quay wall and turn round one last time. Below me at the jetty lies my Vindö 40 ‘Lilja’. Behind the breakwater lies the Trondheim Fjord, calm and grey, framed by snow-capped mountains. I cycle to uni. Even when I chose my degree course, the location was no coincidence: by the water, with a harbour.
The preparations and the first leg: Course 000° N
In May, I start preparing ‘Lilja’ for the voyage from Kiel to Trondheim. The list of tasks is long. Two weeks turn into four, and long days are followed by long nights. On 22 June, she’s afloat again. A few days later, we set off. Course 000° N. Due to the delay, the route no longer fits in with my original crew’s summer plans. Markus, a friend from Norway, comes to meet me as far as Denmark. I’m grateful for this, as I don’t yet feel confident enough to sail alone at this stage. We head through the Little Belt to Skagen.
I’m feeling a bit on edge. Ahead of me lie 1,000 nautical miles of unfamiliar sailing waters and the start of the academic term, which is limiting the length of my trip. On top of that, there’s a new electric motor with which I’ve had very little experience so far. Will the limited range of around 15 nautical miles be a problem?
Across the Skagerrak to Norway
In mid-July, we set sail from Skagen. The 100 nautical miles to Kristiansand take us just under 21 hours, and I don’t sleep a single minute. Shrouded in low-hanging clouds, the Norwegian coast looms ahead of us. The first rocky island rises out of the sea like a whale’s back.
Over the next two weeks, we’ll mostly be sailing close-hauled, between islands and scattered rocks. Jakob has taken over from Markus as crew. The mountains around us grow taller the further north we sail. How lovely it is to travel slowly and take in these changes. At the start of August, my girlfriend Anne joins us in Bergen. Storm Hans is drawing in. On the mainland, there is flooding and landslides; entire villages are cut off.
"Anyone who is unable to make it to Trondheim in time for the start of the semester because of the storm will be excused."
The email from my university reaches me as the wind whistles past, on a simple jetty west of Florø, at the foot of a mountain just under 400 metres high. Crew member Jakob unpacks his guitar and we sing to the sound of the rigging whistling.
Harsh conditions further north
We must carry on. The wind is dying down, but the rain continues. Ahead of us lies the Stadlandet peninsula with Vestkapp. I’ve often been warned about the harsh conditions here. I hardly slept the night before. Off the cliffs, the waves put on an impressive display; they seem to be coming from all directions at once. The wind picks up and we sail towards Ålesund, keeping a good distance from the coast. My stomach doesn’t share my enthusiasm: for the first time in my life, I’m seasick. It’s a good thing I’m not (yet) on my own and my crew takes over without any trouble. We reach Ålesund at night. We’ve got no energy left to cook and, with unsteady steps, we go in search of a bite to eat.
Becoming a single-handed sailor by chance
Anne and Jakob are disembarking here as planned. A friend was meant to join us, but she’s fallen ill. About 160 nautical miles to go to Trondheim. I’m on my own. If I’d known before setting off that I’d end up sailing solo up here, I certainly wouldn’t have set sail. But now it feels good. Over the last 900 nautical miles, I’ve gained confidence in my boat and in myself. There’s no hesitation as I cast off and slowly motor out of the harbour. I still have around 60 nautical miles to go to Trondheim. Have I really almost made it? I should switch on the navigation lights; the sun has already set. ‘Lilja’ and I have been out here for eleven hours. We’re in our rhythm. The lights on the fish farm buoys are starting to flash. On the nautical chart, I spot Magerøya, a few nautical miles away.
Hospitality in Norway
For the past few days, Paul has been sailing north with me on his boat, the ‘Blob’. He’s mooring here too. Above the jetty stands a large white wooden house, which forms a sweeping U-shape around a leafy forecourt. A window opens and a friendly face peeks down at us: “Hello, welcome!” We hadn’t expected to find anyone on this little island, let alone people our own age. When we walk up to the house the next morning, they’re already sitting comfortably in front of it, basking in the sun. Coffee is waiting for us. We get to know the temporary islanders who run the restaurant in the house. When it’s time for us to move on, both boats are supplied with fruit and potato salad, and a send-off party is waiting at the jetty.
Arrival in Trondheim
On 19 August, after 50 days, I arrive. The ‘Lilja’ is moored in Trondheim. My dream has actually come true. To mark the end of summer, the hatches remain open for days on end. As autumn sets in, life moves into the saloon. The fan heater is taken out of the cupboard to join us. With winter come the darkness and dreams of the next summer sailing trip.
To be continued
You can read another exciting sailing log from the area here:
Jill Grigoleit
Editor Travel