Friday was forecast to be a rainy day, so we had not planned to go out sailing again this weekend. However, it dawned sunny and bright, so we decided to take a chance and go off somewhere nearby to enjoy the emerging spring. There were brisk southerly winds, so it seemed smart to take advantage of them and head northwards to see what took our fancy. It was fast sailing in the sunshine, with Fiona coasting along nicely at between 4 and nearly 7 knots. After a couple of hours, we looked at our charts and remembered how lovely it had been last autumn in Rånöhamn, so we thought it would be interesting to seeit again in the spring. It is a narrow but deep bay, providing good shelter from the forecast winds and while Saturday going to be wet and grey, Sunday promised sunshine, so I couldn't think of a nicer place to be in those conditions.

During the night a big yacht (Hallberg-Rassy 54), came in and anchored behind us. While we were having a late breakfast in the cockpit (I LOVE the cockpit tent!!), we saw that they were having a problem taking up the anchor, even though they had an electric windlass. On a closer look (yes, of course we snooped with the binoculars) we saw that their anchor had snagged on an underwater electrical cable.




Oops.......

It was raining and windy and you could tell that they were anxious to leave, but the anchor was well and truly caught fast. They attempted to free it by lowering and raising it again at another angle but all to no avail. In the end, after half an hour or so of discussions, reaching over with boathooks and cursing, they were forced to pump up their inflatable rowing boat and then one of them engined around and manually unhooked the cable in order to free the boat. It was raining even harder by now. I can just imagine how they felt. Nothing is worse than everything suddenly going spectacularly wrong like that.




I was really happy that we were staying put today, anchored safely and firmly in this sheltered bay as the weather was quite a mixed bag with mostly cloud, rain and a fleeting few patches of sun. As I said, much as expected. We spent the day lazing inside, cosily wrapped in a soft, furry blanket, nibbling on goodies, drinking wine and reading. Except for HRH Lambi who slept the entire day away. Talk about a charmed life.




Sunday as promised dawned bright and sunny again, if still somewhat windy. It seemed a good day to rug up well, take out the dinghy and motor around to see the emerging spring. One thing that still takes me by surprise every year is the literal explosion that characterises spring in Sweden. In Australia, spring is a much more gradual process where days become slowly warmer, carefully planted bulbs begin to peek out from the damp soil, blossoms and leaves start to appear in an orderly, civilised fashion. There is no such finesse about Swedish spring. One day everything looks completely dead and bare, as though the earth has been touched by a never-ending nuclear winter chill. Then literally overnight the temperature rises considerably and the leaves and blossoms burst forth prolifically - as if some power has waved a magic wand. It is truly wonderful.




One of the first things we saw was a carpet of pretty native viola poking up through a crack in the rocky shore - such beauty in such a harsh place. The trees were also exploding in blossoms that shone in the early morning sunlight.




And across the fields circled by stately ancient oak trees, the meadows were alive with a multi-coloured, varied carpet of new spring grass and blooms. When people speak here about the miracle of spring, it is easy to understand their belief in a greater power controlling things and some of the traditions and superstitions surrounding the seasons here in the far north start to make a kind of sense.




It was not only the plant world that was coming to life. The migratory birds are slowly reappearing from their winter homes in the southern climates and looking for mates. The variety of sea birds with new hatchlings here in this small island was astounding. I saw dozens of herons nesting and fishing in the reed banks by the shore.




One rarely catches sight of these majestic but very shy birds, so I was extremely surprised and happy to see them out today and at such close range. We had elected to row rather than use the outboard motor so that we didn't disturb the bird and animal life. I am fascinated by watching herons fish - they stand as still as a statue for the longest time before expertly spearing a fish in the waters below. Their precision and patience is quite astounding.




And there is nothing more impressive than a heron in flight. They have such immaculate grace and poise, it is like an aerial ballet.




As well as the herons, we saw several grebes swimming and diving for food. These gentle, expert swimmers are Lars-Göran's favourite sea bird and he always enjoys watching them dive and swim and play with each other. One family of hatchlings even managed to score a free piggy back ride from mum (or maybe from dad - this is Sweden after all!)




Another of our absolute favourites (the tern) was also out in force today, darting and divebombing in it's search for fish. It is incredible to see them beating their wings so quickly that they hover perfectly still over the water, then plummet from the heights straight down underwater to emerge with their catch (which then had to be protected from the scavenging gulls). I've even seen them take on the much bigger cormorants and steal fish straight out of their beaks before they can swallow. They really are amazing, fiesty, tiny birds.




One of the more charming sights was a nest in the reeds containing baby coots. They are such sweet little birds and this is the very first time that I've been close to one of their nests.




They are usually very shy, gentle birds and it is a joy to see them return each spring to the archipelago. They nest in the reed banks in protected bays such as this one, venturing out and quietly feeding among the more noisy and pushy ducks and geese around Nynäshamn. They have to be among my favourite birds, though I do laugh at their enormous, untidy almost prehistoric feet that somehow look completely out of place on such a small, neat looking bird.

Today it really is like a bird paradise out here with the rocks filled with nesting seagulls, terns and grebes.




Not to be outdone, the forest birds are twittering madly in the trees, though they are so fast that it is impossible to photograph them easily. I can even hear the unmistakable call of the elusive gök or cuckoo. And let me tell yo that they really do say "cuckoo". This came as a total surprise to me the first time I heard them, much to Lars-Göran's amusement. While I had naturally seen cuckoo clocks in Australia, usually brought back from Europe by visiting relatives, it never seriously occurred to me that the little bird in the clock was actually based on anything in reality. It seemed a bit ludicrous that a bird would say "cuckoo", but it does. I still haven't seen one, though, so it could still just be Lars-Göran tricking me.

The other birds that are here in abundance today are the elegant eider duck colonies.




They are found on many of the local islands, living in enormous groups with one or two adults taking care of a large number of swimming youngsters. They are always a really charming sight as they float along with an almost grumbling, muttering noise that is so unmistakable. And so amusing to listen to.

Sadly, it is time to head home as the sky begins to cloud over and the winds pick up again. It should be a fast and furious ten nautical mile trip back to the pier after a couple of relaxing and enjoyable days out in nature. It gives us a boost to get us over the next working week and a wonderful taste of the long, lazy weeks of summer we will be spending on board Fiona. Bring on Midsummer and the holidays!