After our couple of days in civilisation again, we set sail for the nearby eastern archipelago around Karlskrona. The weather continues to be dull and overcast and we are considering doing another lightning tour of the area and trying to escape more northwards where the fine weather is to be found. There are a few places that I'd like to visit, but not if it involves having to use the motor because of lack of wind plus being royally drenched every hour or so. It is very pretty and peaceful in the bay we stayed overnight but a little more sunshine would make the days so much more bearable. Somehow it is hard to generate any enthusiasm when you have to contend with sh*t weather on a daily basis for weeks on end.




One of the places I had hoped to visit was Utklippan, a tiny island group about twelve nautical miles south east of Karlskrona. These are bare rocks with a lighthouse and a safe harbour which in the past was used by fishermen when storms suddenly hit in the area. This is another of those places that we had always been curious about, but like so many other times this summer, the winds were not right to go there and we decided to leave a visit for another time - hopefully when the weather is better.

Instead we took a narrow, winding inner route that took us through waterways peppered with rocks and past pretty homes set on the sheltered sides of islands. It was quite beautiful and oh so peaceful with hardly a boat in sight - we felt quite alone and relished the solitude. The threatening sky accompanied us most of the way and we wondered how long we could keep ahead of the fast moving rain systems.




We came to several junctures where a decision on direction had to be made. Should we try for Utklippan, we wondered, given that the heavens could open at any minute and who knows what sort of waves were to be found out in Hanöbukten. Should we perhaps look for a harbour around this part of the archipelago instead? We discounted that idea as it was still only late morning and from the look of the skerries here, they were mostly low, windswept places offering scant wave shelter and absolutely no wind shelter. I suggested that we head directly for the east coast and once that decision was made, a new enthusiasm swept through the boat.

As though to help us celebrate, the wind co-operated and we picked up speed, easily cruising down the old marked route and heading for the very edge of the bay where we could turn north and say goodbye to this familiar shelter of islands. As we were just about to reach the last of the islands, we spotted a little settlement nestled around a red wooden tower and we both felt the pull to investigate it.




As you can see, the harbour area is somewhat shallow. Certainly in the charts, it was completely dark blue (0 to 3 metres) but we figured, nothing ventured, nothing gained so we gingerly edged towards a long concrete pier at the very edge of the island. I stood up at the fore, peering over the bow to check for any shoals and while it was tight, we did manage to moor without any difficulty and stepped ashore to check out the little settlement, lying along a long, leafy village street which seemed well-kept, but deserted.




We came to the red tower, which had a small sign saying that it was the old pilot tower of Långören, which was manned from 1711 to 1960. We pushed open the little wooden gate and went up to the door, which was unlocked, so we went inside. Inside, the ground floor was set up as a pilot's office and there were postcards for sale plus a box to leave the money. We bought two postcards and dropped another 20 crowns in the box so that we could climb up the narrow, musty, wooden spiral staircase, to the top of the tower to look out at the sea. The view was fantastic.




You can see Fiona moored to the pier and see the empty waters right across to the shore, where the tiny fishing harbour of Torhamn is just visible in the distance. Down below a couple of workmen were repairing a pier unaware of our presence high up in the tower. We looked all around, enjoying the fresh breeze on our face. Directly behind us were a few homes facing out to sea and then simply the open water. The next land eastwards from this point is Lithuania, several hundred kilometres away.




To the south west, lay the islands around Gåsefjärden, which leapt to the world stage in late 1981. A local fisherman discovered a Russian submarine which had run hard aground on the skerry of Torumskär fifteen hours before. He reported it to the naval base at Karlskrona, just up the road and there were red faces all around - the Russians because they were sprung red-handed and the Swedes because they had not detected them so close to their most holy of holies naval base. "Sounds like a job for Flipper", I quipped, but Lars-Göran just groaned.




The incident, popularly known as "Whiskey on the Rocks", involved a Soviet Whiskey-class submarine S-363 (called U 137 in Sweden). The grounding was the start of 10 days of diplomatic tug-of-war between the Swedes and Soviets. Sweden was convinced that the submarine was there to spy on the new torpedo testing at the Karlskrona base. They wanted to interview the captain and also to look at the logbook and charts, but Moscow refused, taking the stance that the submarine suffered from "navigational errors". They claimed to believe that they were in Poland, many hundreds of nautical miles away. The Bugs Bunny bluff of "I think I made a wrong turn at Albuquerque" didn't really wash with the Swedes, but after an apology and a lot of posturing by various politicians, the submarine was allowed to leave. No doubt, the crew swiftly changed address to c/- the Siberian salt mines.




Today, it is a quiet peaceful place once again with only the occasional call of a sea bird to disturb the air. This seemed like a fitting and enjoyable close to our sailing in this archipelago group. We could have stayed here much longer, but we were worried about the advancing rain front and we needed to make tracks if we were to reach a sheltered harbour by the evening.

We said farewell to both Långören and the south east coast as we headed out into the Baltic and along the east coast. Again the boat moved very sluggishly, so we had to start the motor to get any sort of speed going. Later the wind died completely and the sea went a dark, menacing steel grey colour. A glance behind us showed that a front was heading our way, announcing its arrival with a thunderous rumble and a mighty crack of lightning. We know that often these squalls produce bursts of very strong winds, so we quickly drew down the sails, donned our wet weather gear, stowed everything away, disconnected all of the electronic gear and stored it in the oven and even connected the lightning protection cables, draping them over the side to trail in the water.

The front passed through - fast and furious as we had anticipated and behind it lay the first blue skies and warm sunshine we have seen for a while. I hope it is a good omen. After twenty or so nautical miles we felt it was time to stop for the day and we made our way into the pretty little harbour of Kristianopel, where we were yet again the only Swedish boat, surrounded by Dutch, German and Polish vessels.




We walked around the quiet little village, enjoying the fresh smell of rain on the newly mowed lawns. It is a tiny place, with about 40 inhabitants but historically it played a major role. It was founded by the Danish king Kristian IV in 1600 as a fortified town on the border with Sweden. Like Sweden's King Karl was wont to do, Kristian named the place after himself!




Because of the strategic placing of the town on the border with the warlike Swedes, Kristianopel was surrounded by three kilometres of three metre thick fortification walls to protect it from attack. The walls are around eleven metres high and we were able to climb up and walk along the top of the walls around the town, looking at the view of the harbour in the distance and across the waters of Kalmarsund. You could easily imagine yourself back in those earlier times on the watchout for enemies approaching by sea.




Of course, this became Swedish territory in 1680, so there was no need for these fabulous fortified walls and they largely fell into disrepair. Today, there is a large caravan park built on the inside of part of the walls and I bet they are grateful to the Danish king when the wind blows strongly from the east. They have perfect protection behind the great wall.

In the evening we were able to sit outside and enjoy the warm sunshine and the pretty harbour view next to the church.




This church was built during the time this was in Danish territory and opened in 1624. It is fairly typical of the Danish style churches we have seen around Skåne and Blekinge, with their characteristic stepped-style roofline. I noticed that they still flew both the Swedish and Danish flags. It was really a pretty little country idyll.

So we are off northwards again in the morning. We are tossing up whether to go to Kalmar on the mainland or maybe over to the island of Öland but it all depends on the weather we get. You can see from this map, that we are close to either place. The most important thing is that we are out of the horrible greyness that has dogged us for the last month - bring on the sunshine!