No, not us, but it was a close call for Fiona anyway.

On the 17th we woke at one thirty in the morning because the mainsail line was bashing against the mast. Poor L-G had to go out in the cold and fix the problem and he reported that it was cloudy, foggy, much colder and the wind was ferocious. We both wondered if we ought to have left yesterday when it was so much calmer.

In the light of day we could see that other boats had the same thought and people were leaving the archipelago in droves. Many were trying to find somewhere more sheltered within the island group and I could see from the veritable forest of masts in the northern bays around Gubben and Gumman that it would be impossible to go there, even if we were able to safely get the anchors up. While it was grey and depressing outside, at least we were safer staying put than risking going out, though watching the last of the boats around us beat a retreat made me feel a little uneasy.




As the day wore on, I repaired Lars-Göran's jeans, stowed everything away safely and basically waited. I even had a little snooze as I was tired after the broken sleep. When I woke, I could see that Lars-Göran was worried and looking out, I could see why. The islands which looked so beautiful yesterday seemed desolate and a little threatening today in the floating mist. We are right on the edge of the sea and these rocks devoid of vegetation offer no protection. It appeared so inhospitable and exposed to the elements. The other worry was that the wind was much more south-east than the south-west we had expected. Lying where we are, it was the worst possible direction and I could feel Fiona being raked by the icy Baltic gale which raced in through the narrow passageways like valkyries. There was so much wind that it started to throw up spray and the air smelled strongly of brine.

We discussed moving, but where to? The nearest sheltered place was a good two hour slog from here and anyway, the winds seemed to be increasing, so there was no guarantee that we'd be able to draw up the anchors without being driven into land in this maelstrom around us. Lars-Göran went to land in the storm to collect our now useless ropes from the shore and I dressed in oilskins and watched uneasily from Fiona's deck. The wind was so powerful that he could not row back to the boat, so I grappled with the boat hook and latched it onto the dinghy's ropes and drew it in. By now I was really shivering as the damp settled on to my skin like a claw.

He shouted that he'd just tighten the rear anchor and I went down to turn on the navigation instruments to see the depth meter. A shocked shout brought me topside again as L-G yelled out that the anchor was dragging. Shit. We'd drift into the rocks in this wind, so we had to act fast. I started the engine and held the boat at a steady angle while he drew in the anchor and we saw exactly why it had dragged!




I've no idea how we managed to do that, but it did explain why the anchor was so heavy to draw up. We now had no choice but to leave, so while I kept the engine running at full throttle and steering the boat away from shoals and towards the wind, L-G went up and started winching in the fore anchor. Boy, that electric windlass is looking more and more a necessity as the season wears on. We got a fortunate break when the wind suddenly dropped to nothing. I recognise this as the sign of a wind direction shift, so we thought it best to get right out of the outer archipelago and hot foot it as fast as we could to the nearest sheltered island, which was the northern end of the Möja archipelago about 10 nautical miles away. A listen to the VHF weather confirmed that even worse weather was on the way, so it was best not to dally. I was just so grateful that the wind eased enough to allow us to get free of Stora Nassa and cross over the open water to Tistronskären in the north east part of Lökaön.




It was a fast and bumpy ride across Nassafjärden and several times I said a silent prayer of thanks for the electronic navigation system. While L-G is a great navigator and can plot a course really well manually, in a tight situation like this, it's great to have that back-up of glancing at the computer screen and seeing that you really are safe from grounds and following the correct course. We had thought that there would hardly be any boats moored at this bay as traditionally in bad weather, people head to the safety of a town and pier. It is a tight little bay to manoeuvre around, not helped by the fact that I get confused by the scale changes in the charts. Out on the fjärd we use 1:50,000 scale charts, but when you suddenly change to a chart that is 1:7,500, those passages that look big enough to accommodate the Titanic, i reality look only small enough for a canoe.

We took down the sails and motored gingerly through the rock strewn entrance and to our surprise, there were a lot of boats moored to the cliffs at Furuholmarna. That is normally a huge turn off for us, but we were desperate, so we thought we could stay, albeit by anchor far away from the crowd and see what tomorrow brings.




What a relief to be safely moored again while the storm howled around us. As the weather got progressively worse, I could only be glad that we were still not out at Stora Nassa. That would have been so tense as we'd have to be on guard constantly. Here, there is a lot of vegetation to break the winds and many more little islets to break the waves, so things were much calmer.

It is very beautiful here, even though the weather is so grey and dreary. The rocks are soft and smooth and you get both a view of open water in the distance as well as the safety provided by the presence of so many reefs around the islands and by the tall pine trees on the bigger islands. In total, there are around 150 islands in this little group which is a nature reserve for everyone to enjoy.




We kept the VHF on all day as we heard a distress call go out in the morning, reporting a sailing boat in difficulties several miles out to sea directly east of us. I have said before how impressed I am with the sea rescue service in Sweden. They are fast, efficient and very professional. Today was no different. We wondered what sort of idiot would be so far off the coast in weather like this (the position given was 10 nautical miles north east of the lighthouse at Almagrundet - in other words in the middle of nowhere, far, far from land. We speculated whether it was a group of "he-men" trying to be tough. Whoever they were, we knew they were in serious trouble, with a report of torn sails that had somehow become twisted around the propeller of the boat. So no sails, no engine and out in the middle of the water in a storm. Scary stuff indeed.

All day we listened for updates as commercial boats asked to keep an eye out. We heard there were three people on board and it looked quite dire for a while as boat after boat reported in that there was no sign of them in the search area. Then a commercial boat sighted them, made contact and a helicopter was diverted to the position to rescue the crew and another boat sent to tow the striken craft back through the stormy seas to Sandhamn. It turned out that it was an Estonian family (2 adults and a child) who had just bought the small 27ft boat in Sweden and were attempting to take it home to Tallin across the Baltic. In a storm? What were they thinking? It must have been a terrifying ordeal to be out in a boat being tossed around in huge seas and looking at death every second. They were very fortunate that someone picked up their weak signal and were able to help them or the result may have been very grim. What a sobering thought and one that put our present situation into perspective.




As if by magic, the next day the winds had abated to nothing again and we could leave the bay and continue on our way. I wanted to drop in and pick up some butter and cheese at a great little shop on the island of Ingmarsö about 15 nautical miles away, then we could find a place nearby to spend the night. Ingmarsö is surrounded by islands so we had a lot of choice and we were looking forward to a gentle sail, a walk on land and an icecream.




The trip there was lovely - easy sailing, a little tacking needed, but how great to be in milder winds and no waves. We watched the islands float by and marvelled at the enormous number of boats out on the water. Everyone must be on the move again today, no doubt relishing the chance to sail without having to struggle for control with strong winds or get drenched by rain and sea breaking over the boat.

The shopping trip was a success, the ice cream delicious and looking at the chart we thought we'd take an easy quick sail up to the large pond-like mooring place of Paradiset on the west side of Finnhamn. While it is an extremely popular place, especially in July and normally the sort of bay we'd avoid like the plague, we felt that the desire for complete safety over rode our need to be isolated, so we dropped anchor in a pretty little place near the reeds where we could get a view of the boats lying side by side at the pier.




In the morning it was sunny and totally still. Not a breath of wind, so we decided we might stay and perhaps row to land for a walk a little later in the day. However, by 10 am we detected a little wind, so we talked about trying to sail out to the very edge of the archipelago again and drop anchor at our favourite island of Rödlöga. It was a 20 nautical mile trip, but that seemed achievable provided the winds continued and the sun shone down.




The trip began really well, but once we got out onto the main route, the wind dropped (sod's law again). We turned along the old route (Husaröleden) and as we made our way northwards, it began to cloud over and get really cold. We added layers of clothes and muttered about the weather as it became obvious that we'd never make it so far this side of midnight in these winds. So we glanced at the chart again and tried to choose somewhere half way with the idea that we'd continue tomorrow. Perhaps we'd try for Ängsö instead, we thought.

That decision cheered us somewhat, so we turned more northwards and the speed picked up as we passed a series of little islands and admired the beauty around us. Just as we came to the eastern side of Själbottna, we saw what looked like a very intensive rain squall heading our way. Neither of us wanted to get soaked to the skin as we're sick to death of being wet and cold, so we quickly turned into the nearest bay (Båtviken), took down the sails quickly, anchored and rushed inside while the heavens opened up and it poured solidly for an hour or so. We ate soup and cheese rolls instead and tried to laugh at the absurd summer we are having.

The rain passed, the sun shone and we contemplated moving on, but laziness took over, so L-G rowed out to check the anchor buoy instead and we prepared to stay the night.




Tomorrow promises to be fine and sunny, so we'll have another go at Rödlöga. If it works, fine. If not, then it was obviously not meant to be and we can choose somewhere else to go. This is the beauty of having no fixed route and no appointments or fixed destinations in mind. Today didn't quite go as planned, but we had a good day - we could shower in peace, wash a few clothes, lie in the sun reading and watching the eider ducks and enjoy being alone in this beautiful place. We need to wind down after the madness of the last few months of renovating, selling, buying and moving house and the archipelago is a great place to do that - to just BE.