It is one of those brilliant Swedish summer mornings. It's one of those mornings that makes you feel "Oh, it's great to be alive". There is a soft, warm golden light and the sky is the clearest and deepest shade of azure blue. What a blessed relief this is after a month of drab, grey heavens. It would all be so perfect, except the sea around us looks like a mirror. Yes, it is very picturesque, but it means we have very little wind and our ambitious plans to sail a long stretch today up to Kalmar or Öland will have to be heavily revised. This map will give you an idea of where we are at the moment. The yellow area represents Småland and Öland, the next province on our journey northward.

Right at the moment, we are lying just below the yellow area, on the very edge of the coast east of Karlskrona. It is plainly too far to travel to Kalmar in one hit with zero wind unless we motor all of the way. We talked about that and decided that we had already motored far more this summer than we like or want to do. It is pure sailing that we miss and we have a glorious day ahead of us, so why not simply sail for as long as we have the energy and then nip into one of the small coastal communities for the night. Who really cares if we travel 100 or 10 nautical miles - we are here to enjoy ourselves, not to set records.




We set sail early and the boat glides out into Kalmarsund and we drift very slowly northwards in the gentle late summer breeze. Sittng and sunning ourselves in the cockpit, sipping on green tea and listening to the gentle swish of the water on the hull, life feels good again. While we sail, we look at the green, fertile coastline, watch gulls swoop down to feast on schools of tiny fish and wave to the few yachts we pass. We notice that all of the boats are Germans and are headed southwards; I guess they are going home after sailing in Sweden for the summer. As usual, we are the lone boat headed northwards - and the only Swedish boat.

In the early afternoon, we turn in at the town of Bergkvara, a small rural community which lies about 40 kilometres south of Kalmar. We had read a little about the town and it sounded like it would be worth visiting as it had a long tradition as a seafaring harbour. It certainly had a large commercial harbour, with sawmills and stacks of timber lining the wharfs. We moored at the nearby guest harbour, which was deserted and thought we would take a walk through the town and see what it was like.

The literature we had read about Bergkvara spoke of it being a modern tourist town which had still maintained its old world charm. It was touted as the handcraft centre of the area with several artisans active as well as there being several old but well preserved buildings and a little maritime museum to visit.

Unfortunately we found none of that. The tourist office at the camping grounds had closed for the season as had the museum, but we thought we could follow the road out of the harbour area and it would lead us to the town. Well, you would have thought so, anyway. We walked in the heat for what seemed like miles. The road was lined with ordinary houses, but there was no sign of a commercial centre or any life. There was a lot of heavy traffic to and from the harbour and as there were no footpaths we had to walk single file as well as stop and stand back from passing trucks several times. We walked and walked, through fields, along the edge of the road and down lanes in an effort to find the town. Of course, Lambi became hot and we had to make numerous rest and water stops for her sake. I'm really beginning to be concerned about her health - is this just old age or something else?

Eventually we came to a chapel with an interesting bell tower, but there was no sign of this charming little town we had pictured in our mind.




Finally, we made our way back to the main road and guessed that the town itself was at least a couple of kilometres further along, up near the E22. This harbour area must be quite separate. Had we known that, we could have used our bikes, but now we faced a long, hot walk back to the harbour and by then we didn't feel like hauling out and assembling the bikes, then riding all that way again. Some kind of map in the guest harbour would have been quite helpful!

Still, we enjoyed the rest of the day walking along the rocks at the shore and looking out towards the lighthouse located on the rocky shoals at Garpen. It looks such a fascinating place, but our draught is too big to risk taking Fiona out there, even in calm weather like this. We are content to simply enjoy the view, savour the evening warmth and to contemplate the next morning's sailing.




There is a little more wind today and we make another early start. We discussed possible places to visit and we think that we'd like to stay on the island of Öland tonight rather than the mainland. We have always loved Öland and have wonderful memories from previous trips. In the past we have stayed in the northern part of the island, so we are a little curious about the southern part, so we are setting our sights on little port of Färjestaden ("The Ferry Town", so called because until 1972 the only way to get to the island was by ferry from the mainland to this little town).

As we sail along the water, the sight of the enormous towers of the wind farm come into view. The first time we sailed along this coastline, we were very confused by these windmills. We had seen them from many miles away and had assumed that they stood on land and so we kept altering our course in order to miss what we thought was a peninsula jutting out into the sound. But after some time, the course did not make sense, we were headed too far east, so we double checked with the electronic GPS and the compass and came to the conclusion that these towers were actually in the water. Which they were. There is an interesting photographic description of their installation here.




There was nothing marked on the paper or electronic charts (and we had the most up to date charts available), so that is why we had been confused. This is the world's largest sea based wind farm and they are a majestic sight, rising out of the sea, towering over everything with these enormous sweeping blades and their presence here indicates just how much wind this place is subjected to. "Except for today" quips Lars-Göran and he is right - the wind is barely enough to fill the sails.

We see in the distance that a fast moving rain front is passing over Öland, completely obliterating the coast at times. We still think it is the very best place to visit and we are hopeful from the forecast that these are only passing showers and that the weather will be mostly fine. So on to Färjestaden we go. Across the water, six kilometres away on the mainland, is the town of Kalmar beckoning to us.




It's tempting, but we have made up our minds already. And anyway, it is raining hard on the mainland and we've had enough rain to last for a while. Once we are moored, we hit on the idea of hiring a car from the local OK-Q8 station and spend some time taking a really good look around the interior of the island. Lars-Göran has fond memories of camping holidays he spent on the island and is keen to show me some of its history and nature. I think it's a splendid idea, so off we went and hired a cute little VW Polo for a day. Our first stop was the tourist bureau to pick up a free map, then we set off to drive all around the beautiful countryside of southern Öland.




This is Sweden's second largest island at 137 km long and 16 km wide. We are based at about the mid pint on the west coast, so we aim to drive down the west coast to the southern most point, then head back through the interior. A great deal of this area is world heritage listed because of its long cultural history and the way the people have adapted to both the challenges presented by the island's geography and topography. It was judged to be an outstanding example of human settlement and of making the optimum use of diverse landscape types on a single island. Not far down the road, we came across the first of the distinctive farming communities.




These farms are known as linear villages, where all of the properties are arranged in a line along the village street. The land on Öland was divided during the Middle Ages (1100-1400 A.C.) into either village ground, arable land or grazing land. These linear were villages established according to a system called laga läge and were common sights throughout most of Eastern Sweden at the time. In a linear village, each farm plot faces the main street and the plot's width is used as a measure of how many "shares" the household had in the village.




While Öland is now connected to the mainland by bridge, it still has a rugged, rural flavour which is quite unique and I am so happy that they have managed to preserve this atmosphere. It has a rich blend of natural, cultural and historical attractions: its Great Alvar Plain, divided by a network dry stone walls; the ancient coastal hay meadows and pasturelands; the unusual linear villages, the wealth of Iron Age, Stone Age and medieval remains, an exceptional flora and a rich birdlife. It really has something for everyone and today we got to see some of it close up. Just across the road from this village, we saw the hayfields.




There is a real feel of approaching autumn in the air when you see that the hay has been gathered into rolls, ready for storage as winter food for the farm animals. And the sun's warm, golden light made me burst into song:



This caused Lars-Göran to nearly run the car off the road in shock. Obviously he's never seen the musical Oklahoma! *grin*




We didn't follow a direct route, but instead turned off and wound our way in the sunshine down any little country road that took our fancy, through townships, isolated farmland, along the coast, then back again. As we rounded each bend in the road there was always something to catch our fancy, a sight to talk about or a view to admire. It is interesting to see that while this area is one that is steeped in cultural heritage, it is still a living agricultural region today.




Leaving the beautiful, fertile coastal farmlands we drove to Mysinge to look at one of the most striking landscapes of Öland - the Great Alvar Plain. An alvar occurs on hard limestone bedrock and is a flat area where bare rock breaks through thin soil. The Great Alvar Plain is the largest grazed alvar in the world, an extensive limestone plateau, strewn with windswept junipers and granite rocks which were deposited here during the last ice age eleven thousand years ago. The plateau has been grazed continuously until relatively recently and the plants living here are particularly well adapted to this peculiar and harsh environment.




It looks like a barren sort of place, but it is interesting to look at it from close range. I was also fascinated by the carefully constructed walls that dotted the landscape and divided this area into plots some time between the seventeenth and nineteenth centuries. What a huge undertaking this must have been.




Another noteworthy and very typical sight on the island is the windmill. It is undoubtedly Öland's most prominent symbol. From an estimated 2,000 windmills built here, about 400 remain and have now been classified as cultural monuments and are maintained by the many local associations active on the island. They add a romantic and charming touch to the view.




And let us not forget the sea - you are reminded of the water wherever you are on the island. You smell the salty air and hear the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore. Unlike the very rocky parts of the north of the island, this southern coastline is dominated by shallow, sandy beaches and in July, this is the holiday and beach paradise of Sweden.




Just before we got back to Färjestaden, we spotted an outlet of ÖoB (a cross between an army disposal store, K-mart and Cheap as Chips) and went in to see if we could find some decent rain gear and some new rubber boots for Lars-Göran. Had I mentioned that his boots were also leaking profusely and that he had stubbornly spent all of August trying to repair them with some kind of gunk and finally resorting to putting his foot into a plastic bag before putting it into his boots? I'm not really supposed to tell anyone this, but I'm sure I can trust you to keep it quiet. Sheesh, men! He has had these boots for decades, so it was high time they were retired and I was thrilled when he came out with nice new boots and a great rain jacket and pants. Äntligen!

We were still restless and the day was long so we decided to drive over the bridge to the mainland and do a quick tour of Kalmar while we still had the car.




This reinforced concrete bridge was built between 1968 and 1972, replacing the ferry service across Kalmarsund. It is just over six kilometres long and at the time it was built, it was Europe's longest bridge. It stands 40 metres above sea level at its highest point. It was a little scary to look over and see the water below. I think I've been on the boat so long that I've forgotten what travelling at this speed is like.




We drove into central Kalmar, which is a large and busy place, then around to the harbour area and on to the castle which I've always loved. I took the next photo when we were here in November five years ago, just to show you how striking the castle looks from the water.




Bear in mind that this was taken on a grey, cloudy day in late November and using my ancient Minolta camera, so it's not the best shot in the world but you can see that the castle dominates the landscape. I've always wanted to take a closer look, so we parked the car and went through the impressive stone portal and into the grounds.




The history of Kalmar castle stretches back over 800 years. During the 12th century a defense tower was erected to protect the town against pirates. A harbour was built and later the castle grew around the original tower. Kalmar Castle soon became known as “The Key to the Kingdom”, because it's location provided a significant defensive fortification right on what was then the Danish border. The castle acquired its present appearance in the 16th century, when the Vasa kings Erik XIV and Johan III rebuilt it in the style of a Renaissance palace.




And in the glow of the early evening sunset, it looks splendid. We took a leisurely walk along the ramparts, looked through the cannon turrets and crossed over the moat. There was a warm, friendly and relaxed feeling to the place aided by the large number of families having an evening picnic on the lawns. It's all a far cry from those warlike days when Sweden had illusions of empire building.

Across the way from the castle we saw a large, well maintained cemetary with the most beautiful chapel inside.



There was such a feeling of calmness, peace and solitude about this place and I looked around to see if there was any information about it close by, but I couldn't find any. We finished the evening by walking around the beautiful town gardens, sipping a drink and enjoying being on dry land, soaking up the sights and sounds of this lovely town. I can tell you that after such a full day, we were tired little teddy bears when we finally drove back across the bridge to the island.

In the morning we want to look a little at Färjestaden itself before we return the car and set sail again and see what other delights the Småland coast has to offer. But right now, I want to spend this treasured time relaxing, enjoying a glass of wine and a big dinner with my fabulous family.

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!

The Swedish navy had been originally based in Stockholm, but in 1680 it was decided that the main base should be moved to the Blekinge archipelago and a new naval town, Karlskrona, was to be established. The location was chosen because this area had recently been ceded to Sweden by the Danes in the Treaty of Roskilde and they didn't wholly trust that the Danes might not try and wrest it back. They were also carrying on a war with Poland and Germany and recently had established territory in that part of the Baltic. See, Sweden was not always this white socks with sandals peace-loving nation.

As an aside, I've been rather fascinated by the number of places that good old King Karl named after himself. I've counted no less than 32 towns in Sweden which are named "Karl's something". As well as Karlskrona (Karl's Crown), we get things like Karlsarvet (Karl's Inheritance) as well as Karl's wood, mountain, fortress, village, field, harbour, town, farm, croft, valley, grove, moor etc. I immediately thought of those seagulls in the Finding Nemo movie going around saying

"Mine?"

"Mine?!"

"Mine!"

"Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine, mine...."

Good one, Karl.

So while I was explaining all of this to my long suffering husband, he was busy sailing us along the skerries to the main town of Karlskrona. The first sign that we were nearing it was when we passed the fortress called Godnatt (Goodnight). "What an odd name for a fortress", I thought. It sounded so Swedishly polite that I laughed. Now, if I was in charge, I would have named it something to strike fear into would-be tresspassers - something with blood, death, gore and fright in it. Lars-Göran just shook his head sadly.





This fortress tower on Godnatt is just like the keeps that were built in Sweden in the Middle Ages and is the last example of older fortification before modern artillery took over. The tower was constructed in the 1850s and was already outmoded by the time it was completed. It has two battery levels and one low cellar level, with the foundations laid directly on the bedrock. On the top is a lighthouse which is still in use. Each floor in the pentagonal tower had space for eight cannons.

It wasn't long before we found ourselves approaching the main town and we were surprised at just how big it was and how interesting. I'm not sure quite what I was expecting as I knew little about the place apart from the fact that our submarines were moving here. What we saw was a fantastic naval town which seamlessly blended the old with the new. Is it any wonder that it is on the UNESCO World Heritage list as an outstanding example of a late seventeenth century European planned naval city.




Shipbuilding, architecture and town planning are the soul of the town and the naval base and shipyard are still in use today. At the old shipyard there were long wooden buildings and an enormous dry dock.It was a really interesting blend of old naval base with a modern harbour town. Today it has a population of 61,000 though at one time it was Sweden's second largest town.




The town is spread out over 33 islands, with the main central area on the island of Trossö. The streets were wide and the buildings really gracious and stately, with centrum dominated by classic architecture and magnificent statues, especially around the great square. And always in the background are the unmistakable reminders that you are in a naval base.




We sailed into an area that had been closed to civilians for over 300 years - the island of Stumholmen, with it's canal like openings and glimpses of stately buildings and where the new naval museum is housed. We have read that it is free to go in and see it, so provided we can smuggle in the dog, we will make an effort to take a look at it.




Everything here spoke of a living, breathing town. Among the waterfront homes there were offices, workshops, well visited and popular bathing beaches and a fantastic array of shops, with everything within walking distance from the water, where you are reminded again of the long history of Karlskrona and its association to the sea.




And while standing on the street, you can look out across the water to the islands and skerries that surround the town. What a great mix of all worlds - a living, growing, dynamic town, a place with a strong sense of history and tradition and to be surrounded by the peace and beauty of a rocky archipelago. It sounded so perfect to us.




We wandered around the town over two days. On the first day we did the boring things like shopping etc, but on day two, we went to look at centrum as well as at the wonderful Marinmuseum. We began with the underwater observation tunnel, from where it is possible to see the wreck of a ship from the 18th century. There are also displays explaining the history of diving and salvage, which include a number of interesting artefacts retrieved from the Baltic. There was a Naval Warfare Gallery with models of big sea battles (though, as I pointed out to Lars-Göran they only showed the ones where Sweden won!). There was also a life-sized reconstruction of the gun-deck of Dristigheten, a 18th century warship, showing the living conditions as well as how the gun-deck would have appeared when the warship was in action. But what I really loved was the figurehead gallery.




They are in a splendid setting, housed in a twelve metre high, glass-topped hall with a view straight out across the piers and the water. It was visually quite stunning. Most of these figureheads, which one time or other graced Swedish naval vessels were carved by the eminent 18th century Swedish sculptor, Johan Törnström. I spent a long time walking around and admiring these sculptures from every angle.




The story behind figureheads is rather interesting and illustrates well the superstitious nature of sailors. The traditional view for centuries was that women had no place at sea and that a woman onboard would bring bad luck. The only woman accepted on board by many sailors was the ship's figurehead. These wooden figures in the bow of the ship have traditionally been used for luck for many centuries and were made to embody the spirit of the ship. They were carved into many designs, mainly mythological creatures. However, from the 1770’s human figures became more frequently used, particularly women. Now get this, despite being viewed as unlucky aboard a ship, women were perversely believed to be the best navigators. Hey, I can vouch for that!

Superstition amongst sailors said that the female figurehead should have eyes to find a way through the seas when lost, whilst her bare breasts would shame a stormy sea into calm. Hmmm.... I can tell that men were writing the script in those days. In fact this theory about the4 power of female nudity was first put forward by Pliny more than 2000 years ago. I really had to laugh out loud at that - as I understand it, having a woman on board would anger the sea, but having a “naked” woman on board would calm the sea. Imagine that!

I wonder what the sea gods would have made of this figurehead:



That looks quite a painful wedgie he has as well. What a limp wristed caricature. I'm fairly sure that I don't want to travel on an ship that he graces, though Lars-Göran seemed interested in the idea of a bare-breasted woman in the fore of our boat. I'm afraid my answer of "In your dreams!" was not totally unexpected.

We wandered around outside as well, checking out a periscope view of the islands and looking at the boats moored nearby as well as inhaling the intoxicating smell of tar mixed with the salty tang of the sea. They even had the very first submarine built in Sweden on display, built all the way back in 1907.




In other parts of Karlskrona there were beautiful buildings everywhere you turned. One place, Admiralitetskyrkan Ulrika Pia (The Admiralty Church of Ulrika Pia), is Sweden's largest wooden church. It was built in 1685 as a provisional church - and here it is still in use 300 years later. Outside of the church is a statue of Matts Rosenbom.




The story goes that he was a seaman who lived in the wharf area around Björkholmen. Around 1700, he fell ill and could not work, so he was granted permission to beg in order to raise money to keep his large family. He apparently froze to death on New Year's Eve in 1717. He was found in the morning with his hand outstretched, his hat pulled over his ears, and a beggar's bundle on his back. A wooden statue was erected on the site and this has been adopted as the symbol for Karlskrona. It is a poor box with the box concealed beneath his hat. You raise his hat to leave a donation.

And look who we found in the town square - none other than a statue of Karl himself.




No doubt he is casting an eye around to mark out some other things to name after himself. I'm sure that Karlskrona, as a naval port is so well preserved because Sweden has not engaged in any war since 1809. The town’s naval heritage has also been passed on thanks to over 300 hundred years of unbroken co-operation between the naval base and the shipyard.

It has been a pleasure to visit the town and see it happily thriving. I am always interested in history and I think you can learn a lot about people by looking at how their history developed. Having a chance to walk around and see this place first hand has added another layer to my understanding of my new homeland and I hope I never stop learning new things about Sweden.

We have filled the fruit and vegetable locker again, the captain's bar is restocked with essential liquids, we have managed to wash and dry all of our laundry, filled up with water and diesel and feel refreshed and ready to tackle the eastern part of the archipelago before turning northwards and heading into more familiar waters. Sail On Sailor!

Well, I'm trying to keep positive about this dreary weather but it is starting to be so depressing. I associate this kind of greyness with November and I am not ready for that just yet. While we have had sunny days in June and July, we have had our share of rain as well, so it hardly feels like we have had a decent summer yet. We are also getting calls from friends in the Stockholm area telling us how beautiful, hot and sunny it is there at the moment. I gather it has been the best summer there for many years. Typically, we are elsewhere! They are really surprised that we don't have identical weather here in Blekinge, but I'm afraid we are in the mad grip of a continental rain system that we can't shake off. I'm starting to wish that we had stayed in Stockholm, though I know that had we done so, it would have rained there instead. Perhaps I am a rain magnet.

After a day at Tjärö, we had favourable winds to head east and our plan was to sail the narrow, twisting inner route which would give us some protection from the waves that were sweeping in from the south west. Like all plans, it was reality that bit into it once we were out on the route. We saw straight away that we could not keep the course we needed to as the wind was more south easterly. We were reluctant to start the motor as we have spent an obscene sum of money on diesel already this summer and anyway, this is a sailing boat, so we wanted to sail, dammit!

With that in mind, we headed out to sea, hoping to get some distance, then tack back to land. The boat is sailing quite sluggishly, probably because of the barnacle growth on the hull, so she doesn't feel right on the tiller. The waves out in Hanöbukten are choppy, short and steep, so it makes the going quite rough. We don't mind it so much, but Lambi is not happy and that adds to the tension. After a couple of hours, a look at both our present course and the chart shows us that we have to go out several nautical miles more than we hoped in order to get a good angle to head back into land. Adding this to the unhappy dog and the sluggish performance of the boat under sail, we started the motor and motor sailed about two nautical miles before we could find an opening in the rocks and a good course to sail. This is something else that is great about sailing in an island filled environment - you get protection from the waves behind the islands. When it is tough out in the open water, shelter is always close by.

When talking to people at Karlshamn, they had said that they felt there was very little in this archipelago for a boat the size of Fiona. So much of Blekinge is shallow and hopelessly rock-filled that they doubted we could find too many places to explore. It appeared that a motor boat or small draught sailing boat was recommended. Still, we wanted to see it for ourselves and come to our own conclusion. The archipelago itself is very pretty, but there are very few islands, so we will try and head for the larger area around Karlskrona in a day or so. For the night harbour we took a SXK bouy on the north side of the island of Saltärna, with a view of a pretty seaside town behind us. Saltärna looks to be quite an attractive place with just a few houses and a small pier and looked as though it could be inhabited all year round.




In the morning, we saw that the grey, overcast, showery weather was continuing but decided to sail anyway. There seems little point in continuing to hang around in one place as the long range predictions are for the same conditions. I saw on the news last night that areas south east of here, especially in Poland and parts of Germany are suffering from extensive flooding after the continuous rain. It is hard to believe that in Nynäshamn there are blue skies and temperatures of 28C. I keep checking the GPS to see if we really are in Sweden.

On checking the charts and our navigation books, I see there is a protected inner route that goes behind all of the islands as far as Ronnebyhamn. As gale force winds are reckoned to arrive late today I am not keen to be out in the open water for an extended period. Lars-Göran agrees that we should do a short hop today to a safe place then another short hop into the western end of the Karlskrona archipelago the day after.

With just the main and storm sail up, we made great speed though we kept looking anxiously at the depth-sounder which was hovering dangerously close to 1.8 metres at times. What was also keeping us alert was the twists and turns we had to make - some of them very narrow and seemingly impossible. "We go through there" I said, pointing at the 5 knot sign up ahead, wondering at the same time if we would fit through the narrow, reed filled channel. We did. Somehow.




Despite the swirling dark clouds, the lightning and rain showers we enjoyed sailing in this environment. There is always something interesting to look at when you are so close to land - a tree, a bird, a grazing deer, people on the shore or even the passing parade of waterfront homes.




This part of the country is known as the heart of Sweden's garden and sailing around these islands you can see why. Both the houses pictured here are on Karön, a beautiful but tiny island, just some 200 meters off the mainland. On the island there are around 15 villas built in the late 19th century as part of the boom in prosperity in the area brought about by the opening of a health spa. People would come over from continental Europe to take the treatments offered at these clinics and these villas are reminiscent of the days when this was one of northern Europe's most popular health resorts. I wonder why "taking the waters" went out of vogue?




We spent the night in a bay on the island of Gö and while I was scanning our books to see where we could go in the morning I found a reference to an island that we had passed on the way; one that had sparked curiousity on the part of Lars-Göran. We hadn't stopped at the time because the area was all dark blue on the chart (denoting a depth of between 0-3 metres) and our depth-sounder indicated that we were in water that was barely above what we considered safe. The book not only had a description of the island, but also a detailed chart of the passage we took, showing the water depth never fell below 2.1 metres. "We ought to go back and take a look at Harön" said Lars-Göran and I readily agreed as the weather was predicted to be stormy the next day and I really did not relish the thought of even a short trip across the wild open waters outside.

We set off towards the island, choosing a slightly different route there just to see a little more of the archipelago. We had seen the day before that there were signs on the island, next to two piers. I had peered through the binoculars expecting to see a few words in large type but instead found a bloody essay in tiny letters that I couldn't make out. I joked at the time to Lars-Göran that it would be funny if we went in really close to see what it said and it was something about forbidding you to be close enough to read the sign.

As we approached again, I was able to read the sign which merely said that boats were allowed to moor there freely but that the pier must be clear on Wednesdays between 7am and 12 noon for the rubbish collection boat to moor there. So we tied up to one of the piers and went for a walk on land.




The island was similar to many others that we have seen, with a combination of tangled woods full of berry bushes and a few bits of open pasture which were kept in check by a wandering flock of sheep. Everywhere we walked on the island we were surrounded by bleats carried to us by the strong wind. While we were sheltered where we were moored, the view from the southern side of the islands showed a grey, angry, foaming sea and when I sat down on the rocks to rest and have a drink, I had to hold on tight to Lambi so she wouldn't get blown away. All night we could hear the wind through the rigging and the waves pound against the southern shore like thunder, but we were safe and calm in our little bay.




In the morning, Lars-Göran was keen to get moving towards the belt of large islands near Karlskrona but I was dithering as I didn't know how bad the sea would be. Lambi has not been well and I don't want to stress her at all. If we can possibly avoid it by simply waiting another day, then I thought we should wait. He volunteered to walk over to the other side of the island to see how bad the waves were, as the winds had eased a little and they were supposed to shift more westerly which ought to help us move along fairly easily. He returned after a time and declared that the seas were calmer and we studied the chart and saw that we would only need to be out in open water for 5 nautical miles - approximately an hour's worth of sailing. What could happen in that time? So we set off in the afternoon bound for the Listerby archipelago.

The less said about this passage the better, I think. I don't think I have ever been more scared in my entire life. Once we reached open water, the waves were enormous and quite powerful, sweeping us towards the rocky shore. Had either of us guessed at what we were about to experience, we would never have left the pier. By the time we realised the danger we were in, it was too late to turn back. Any attempt to turn the boat in this sort of water would risk us being swamped. The poor dog was whimpering and shaking like a leaf and I had to hold her tight in a protected corner of the cockpit and pray that we would be okay. We had to stay wedged there and connected to our lifeline as any movement would risk us being flung overboard.

Meantime, Lars-Göran was struggling with the tiller, holding on with both hands and trying to keep the boat steady as she ploughed confidently through the water. Every so often a much larger wave would lift us up and slam the boat down into a pit. It was really scary to look across the bow and not see the horizon as the waves were so high all around us. I was sure we were going to be overturned at any minute. I was rehearsing my Mayday calls, ready to hit the distress button on our VHF (and thanking the stars that we had opted for the expensive model with this feature!)I can honestly say that it was the longest hour of my life. We were sailing blind, with no time to look at the chart - we just had to follow the electronic plotter, keep the boat out of shallow water and head to a lighthouse that marked the entrance to the channel we needed. The boat behaved beautifully and the birds remained oblivious of any danger but the rest of us were shitting bricks!

When we came screaming into the channel at full speed and we felt the waves reduce as the rocks provided a welcome seawall, I could have cried with relief. As we edged around to the north of the island of Aspö, it was peaceful and calm - like another world. Waves? What waves?




In the morning we had recovered enough from our ordeal to go ashore and look around. The stones you can see arranged on the shore are part of a labyrinth. You sometimes find these on islands around the Swedish coast that were used by fishermen. Many of them dating from the 13th century, though they seemed to have peaked in the 16th and 17th centuries. These rings of stones were built by the fishermen during rough weather and were believed to be used to entrap evil spirits (the smågubbar or "little people") who brought bad luck. The fishermen would walk to the centre of the labyrinth, enticing the spirits to follow them, and then run out and put to sea. This would ensure their safe return.




The whole island is preserved as a place that illustrates a "cultural landscape" in much the same way places like Ängsö are preserved in the Stockholm Archipelago. We were moored in Madviken (rather appropriate, I thought) and we had a view of the light, very open fields surrounded by woods made up of old hawthorn and oak trees. Some of the trees were so old that you need several people standing in a circle holding hands to go around the circumference of the trunk. On the other side of the island, it was more rocky and the wind was blowing and the current flowing strongly. Remember, this is inside a protected area - out in the bay, the waves are between two and three metres high. I know that doesn't sound much, but a three metre wave, if it breaks over a boat like ours could actually flip it over - all seven tons of her.




Can you tell that I haven't really fully recovered from yesterday's scary unintentional white water rafting experience?

There was a pier in a nearby bay that we could have moored next to, but we hesitated as we saw a big motor boat there and heard the unmistakable sound of tinny pop music blaring from the cockpit. We watched warily while the crew pranced around singing along with the song, each holding a tin of beer while setting up a bbq! Hmmm... this might be a long night.... No way would we put up with that, so we stayed where we were. I noticed in the evening that the local cows had come down to the water nearby to have a drink and check out the action. But as the motor boat people were busy barbequing one of the cow's rellies, they left quickly.




On the small island opposite us (Slädö), there were also well tended fields and these were used to graze ponies. They galloped up and down the island all day and looked like they were having a lot of fun. One black pony in particular was fascinated by our boat and often stopped to look across the water and see what we were doing. I have found horses to be very inquisitive animals and they won't give up until they are satisfied.





In the morning, the skies are still leaden and threatening rain at any second. We have an urge to keep moving and so we spent breakfast pouring over charts to see where we could go. One positive thing about the coastline here is that it is well sheltered behind a border of big islands from Hasslö to Sturkö. A large part of this archipelago was restricted for over 300 years because of naval operations held here. Up until 1997, foreigners were forbidden entry and even Swedish boats had many harsh restraints and no-go zones. Fortunately over the last ten years these have eased and it is now possible to sail in and enjoy the scenery and the settlements on this chain of islands and skerries.




It felt really good to be sailing in calm waters again and we could take the time to look at all of these large islands and the communities who live on them. The islands in this western part of the archipelago are mostly leafy beech woods and oak lined pastures with small fishing villages and the occasional church. We chose to go to the island of Bollö, where we could tie up to an old military pier no longer in use.




This was a quiet place with not a soul around. We have seen just a handful of sailing boats over the last couple of days and they are all foreign - mostly Germans. There are not many good anchoring spots in this part of the archipelago because a lot of the area is still occupied by the navy and the other areas are settled and you would be disturbed by local traffic. We've had a lot of rain again today but in between the showers we have been for a walk around the island, along the stone slabs that make up the shoreline. The dark clouds continue to sweep across the leaden sky and I am despairing of ever getting any of my washing dry. It has been hanging up for three days now, so I think we may have to bite the bullet and go into a guest harbour tomorrow and use their tumble drier.




The town of Karlskrona is only five nautical miles away, so that will be a quick trip and we can look around the town while the laundry dries. I have been curious about the town ever since Nynäshamn found itself competing with it when the government announced that it was rationalising the submarine forces and one of the bases had to go. In the end Nynäshamn lost out and our submarines that were based at the nearby island of Muskö in that fabulous James Bond like hole-in-the-mountain thingy were transferred lock, stock and smoking barrel to Karlskrona. Needless to say, Karlskrona was portrayed in our local papers in less than flattering terms. In short, they are THE ENEMY. I wonder if they will torpedo us if they see that our home port is Nynäshamn? Or will they be gracious in victory? I guess we'll find out tomorrow.

When we were in a harbour last week, we spoke with the captain of a Dutch boat who was moored next to us. He told us how much he loved sailing in Sweden and said that he and his wife came up north almost every year to savour the delights of the land of herrings. He asked if we were locals and we told him that we were in fact from the other side of the country, with our home harbour being in the Stockholm archipelago. At the mention of the word "archipelago" he shuddered and admitted to us that he had never ventured along Sweden's east coast at all. We were really surprised as he was a very experienced sailor and he had a big, modern yacht, bristling with every navigational aid known to man - radar, depth metre, gps, colour plotter, vhf etc. In addition, his boat had a swing keel, which meant he could go into quite shallow water. In short, we declared, it was an ideal boat for sailing in the easy coast archipelagoes.

At this he shook his head and said that he felt safe in the south and south-west of Sweden, where one could just set the course and go, but he was absolutely terrified of the rocks and shoals in the east coast. For those of us who live in that environment, we wonder what the fuss is about. Sure, you have to be on your toes, but the benefits of sailing in these waters is immense. You are always close to land, you pass interesting islands and landscapes at close range and it is easy to find an anchoring place for the night. I find sailing along a straight coastline to be as dull as dishwater - give me the islands anytime.

To give you an idea of what scares these sailors, here is a shot of the portion of seachart where we are moored at the moment. We are anchored in the bay on the north side of the V-shaped island called Tärnö (Tern Island).




The yellow areas are the land, with the water designated by white, light blue, medium blue or dark blue. The numbers you see represent the depth in metres. In a white area, your depth is over 10 metres. In the light blue areas, the depth is between 10 and 6 metres, in the medium blue area between 3 and 6 metres and in the dark blue area it is between 0 and 3 metres. In addition, there are small "+" signs which show some of the visible rocks, a "+" with dots in each quadrant showing underwater stones, a few black dots that are rocks (visible), some stick figures which are markers and even a route marked with a solid line along the chart. This route is usually the safest way through the area - and something that we rarely follow, preferring to island hop our way around. It sounds complicated, but after a time you learn to interpret the charts quite easily. I think it is the sight of so many dark blue areas, rocks and twists and turns that puts people off, but really it is not difficult if you are careful.

After leaving Karlshamn harbour, it was a short trip through the rocks to Tärnö. Naturally we took the most dangerous, shallow route but then we used our plotter to make absolutely sure of exactly where we were. It is connected to the GPS and so is quite accurate - I would hesitate to come this way otherwise and I have nothing but admiration for the sailors who used to weave in and out of these islands using blind faith. We were fortunate that the SXK buoy was free, so we tied up to it rather than to the public pier we could see on land. Here we could be in complete peace and use the zodiac to go to land in the morning to look around. If the rain eases...





Compared with the other islands in the Karlshamn archipelago, Tärnö had very few inhabitants, even though it was the biggest island. Most people lived here only during the fishing season, though there were pilots stationed out here and sometimes the place was used as an emergency harbour. Even today, there are only sixty or so summer homes on the island, with many of them hugging the beach in the northern part of the island.




As we looked across the bay, we could even see Karlshamn in the distance. I can see why this is a popular place to sail to on the weekend. You can tie up to a free pier, there are bbqs set up there and the island itself offers a lovely variety of walks. You can simply walk along the coastline up to the small settlement, take one of the routes through the pastures to the high cliffs on the other side of the island or even look at where some of the stone masons used to carry out their trade.

We were restricted by the weather, which is almost tropical at the moment. We have warm, humid mornings, with heavy dark clouds accompanied by pouring rain and thunder arriving in the early afternoon. This sometimes clears later and we have a fine evening, but sometimes it lingers - all very strange for Sweden.




Around at the main settlement we found a tiny cafe and shop - the only one in this archipelago. I was reminded of the little places we visited last summer in Stockholm and we both remarked that this was something we enjoyed doing - coming on land in the island communities and exploring. I have missed that so much this year and it feels fantastic to start doing this all over again. We would have liked to have our bikes on land as this was perfect land to ride around, but the inclement weather put a stop to it. Still, we enjoyed dangling our feet off the pier and enjoying a coffee while we watched the clouds pass by.




As you can see from the above picture, the roads are built very close to the front of the homes. Fortunately there are no cars on the island, just a few small mopeds, though there is a lot of pedestrian traffic which would pass by your window. There are regular tour boats that come here several times a day in the summer months, so I imagine that you could feel somewhat invaded at times.

In the morning we decided to move across to another island about two hours sail away from here. Lars-Göran was feeling tired, though he didn't tell me that bit of vital information. It would have probably been better to wait rather than take short cuts through these stones when his attention was not good. It wasn't long before we got a wake-up call by ploughing into a rock while doing 4 knots. It was a big bang and gave the rigging a good shake. Of course, it happened because he was busy reducing the foresail in the most narrow part of the route and we strayed too close to land. Typical Lars-Göran timing strikes again. Fortunately Fiona has a keel structure that allows her to bounce over stones - one of the reasons we chose her. The modern bulb keels would have been quite damaged if they hit the same stone.

Phew! A big breath of relief!

After sailing through some open water where quite large waves were rolling in because the wind had increased dramatically, we managed to find our way into a sheltered bay on the west side of the island of Tjärö (Catchfly Island, referring to the pretty flower which blooms here every spring).




This proved to be a long, narrow island, about two kilometres long and a few hundred metres wide. The landscape was really unusual in that it reminded me of a minature rift valley, with irregular lobe shaped beaches made of smooth rock slabs and small, deep inlets. It looked fascinating and I couldn't wait for the rain to stop so we could row to land and take a look around.




We had read that this nature reserve was a very popular day trip, with regular ferries arriving from nearby Ronneby every day during the summer months. I can see why they come here as this is a lovely example of a small island farming community as it would have looked over a century ago. In many ways, it reminded us of the islands of Håskö and Lisselön in the St Anna archipelago that we visited last year.




One thing we noticed immediately were the many, many stone walls. They were unusual in that whoever built them had even gone to the trouble of building them up slopes, along rocks and down dales. Usually we see a stone wall built up to the rock, then continued on the other side. This is the first time we have seen one built over such a steep slope.

I thought again of the first of the Moberg books I read (Swedish title: Utvandrarna, English title: The Emigrants), which documented life in this region. He spoke there about the poor quality of the land and how even the small patches of fertile ground that existed had to be cleared of stones before it could be cultivated. We gazed at the stone walls, which were built from rocks collected in the adjacent fields and thought about how hard life was for the people trying to wrest a living from this harsh land. But also how they utilised everything around them and wasted nothing.




We spent a whole afternoon walking around, looking at the slabs of stone around the shores, all worn smooth by the retreating ice during the last ice age. This was contrasted with the interior of the island that has been partially cleared and cultivated over generations. There were signs that areas had been set aside for growing meagre crops and other areas used for grazing livestock. We even came across a herd of hardy Highland cattle in a field. But what made this place very special was the sea - visible from all points.




The whole area is a nature reserve and the Swedish tourist authority run the island, preserving the buildings as an example of an old archipelago village and keeping the island's agricultural look alive. They also run a very well visited youth hostel, restaurant, small shop, café and guest harbour on the island. Even so, there is no feeling that all of this intrudes on the feeling of stepping back in time. They have done it all really well and with a sensitivity to the natural surroundings. We bought fika at the café and sat in the garden under a sweeping oak tree enjoying the green and silence before walking via the old village and back to the beach where we had left the dinghy.




We arrived back at the boat just before a big shower of rain hit, so I was able to salvage the washing and hang it under the shelter of our cockpit tent. That tent is a treu godsend as it extends the usable area of the boat considerably when we are moored. It provides a whole new room for us, allowing us to be outside in windy or wet weather - something you get rather a lot of in Sweden.

We feel ready to move on again tomorrow, though we are feeling a little uninspired about the constant cloudy weather as there seems no end in sight. We tuned the tv and watched the weather to see a map over a larger area and it appears that the weather here in the south of Sweden is dominated by a large system sweeping up from Denmark and Germany. Ironically, a little further north it is fine weather and in the Stockholm area where we would normally be this time of the year, it continues to be a hot, clear summer with no rain in sight. Which makes us wonder of course what the hell we are doing here.

So we will prepare to head eastwards again and hope that summer will come back soon. Though I have just looked out the window and seen a team of ducks flying in formation and heading south. Already! Do they know something we don't? "Come back" I called out to them waving my arms about "it's only August!".

We spent the most lazy but enjoyable couple of days successfully emulating sloths. We barely left the bed or sofa and simply read, chatted sipped wine and nibbled on cheese and biscuits. I could get used to this life, I can tell you. In fact the only thing that finally got us to shift our sorry carcasses was the forecast of strengthening south east winds which would make our bay impossible to be in. Being still in a lazy mode, we simply drew up the anchor and sailed a mere six nautical miles further along to a small fishing community called Hällevik, where we could drop anchor in a protected, rocky bay opposite the harbour. I love the archipelago!




There were a herd of cows grazing happily on the shore, accompanied by at least a million seagulls. Some family members thought that was somewhat of an exaggeration, but it was like a scene from that old Hitchcock movie outside. Having spent several weeks searching for birds on the west coast, it's a welcome, if somewhat noisy sight to see such an enormous flock of seagulls. I guess the waters must be full of fish to sustain such a large population.




We stayed overnight in the bay, then went into the main harbour to fill our water tanks and have a little look at the town. It is an old fishing village and still has a lot of the old appeal left, with narrow streets and old wooden homes with intricate fancy woodwork on the eaves. There was a small fishing museum, a fabulous and well stocked smokery, clean sandy beaches and a charming beach hotel built in the old style. The beach was full of happy families frolicking in the water. On the hill above them stodd Hällevik's lighthouse, pointing out towards the bay of Hanö ready to guide the fishing fleets back into port.




Unlike many of the tarted up places we saw on the west coast, this was actually a real, living fishing community and we watched the boats head out in the evening to set their nets, returning late the next day.

We have had a run of sunny days, but bad weather is on the way from Germany, so we have to move on to a more sheltered place. We thought about going to the island of Hanö, often referred to as "The Pearl of the Baltic", but decided that we could possibly be trapped there for several days if the weather was really bad, so we thought it more prudent to seek more protected (and cost free) mooring behing the rocky coastline to the north. On the way, we passed Hanö, with it's lighthouse standing proud on a 60 metre hill, ready to warn seafarers of the dangers of these rock filled shores.




You can also see from the picture that the water is mirror still today. So much for the forecast of strong winds in this stretch of the coast. How do they get it so wrong? Hanö was at one time involved in a history making episode. During the Napoleonic Wars, the British used the Baltic for manoeuvres for a couple of years (1810-1812). There were thousands of ships moored in the waters here and it must have been a majestic and powerful sight to see them assembled in one place. To give you an idea of the size of the operation, it is believed that over 100,000 men were onboard.




While the south side of the island is quite sandy and popular for families, the northern side is very rocky and one part contains a rocky spur made up of millions of smooth stones, stretching out into the sea. The locals call the area Bönsäcken (prayer bag) and there are several versions of how it got that name. Some believe that it is of religious significance, with some kind of worship being held here in older times. Others said that a ship laden with sacks of beans (böna in Swedish, not that different to bön) was beached on this point. Yet another story refers to a legendary giant woman who apparently lived here. She felt lonely and decided to build a stone bridge across from Hanö to the coastline. She gathered stones in her giant apron, but stumbled near the beach, tipping them all into the water.

We motored and half sailed the 15 nautical miles to the start of the coastline, watching the advancing dark clouds. We noted that while it appeared to be raining over a wide area on land, out here in the bay, it was still dry and fine. I like to watch the rain clouds moving across the sky, especially when they are raining somewhere else! In the early evening we managed to squeeze our way through the rocks and into a well protected bay next to the nature reserve at Stilleryd, just west of the city of Karlshamn.




You can see that I wasn't kidding about the rocks. Yet again I am thankful that Lars-Göran is such a good navigator and that we have a reliable plotter to help us out. It would be much more scary to have to do this without these modern aids.

We set up the cockpit tent and before long the rain, thunder and lightning started and we could enjoy the spectacle from the warmth and safety of the inside of the boat. It feels great to be in the archipelago again knowing that we can move wherever we want to easily and quickly.

In the morning it was still quite overcast with occasional showers, but we went to land anyway between the cloudbursts and took Lambi for a long walk along the country roads.




It was rather a pretty little reserve, consisting of around 20 hectares and chiefly made up of oak woods interspersed with open heaths dotted with junipers as well as a few meadows. All of this led to the rocky shore with views over the whole archipelago. It was very restful to wander around and look at the countryside.

Towards the other shore, the countryside was quite different and just as beautiful. Here the land was more marshy and filled with reeds, water birds and several summer houses. This is such a typical summer scene in Sweden - little red wooden cottages edged with white, built next to the water's edge and complete with a small pier to which is moored a small wooden boat. If you look carefully at the picture (click on it to enlarge it), you will see on the right hand side a Swedish guy out sunning himself on the lawn - yes, it must be summer!




The following morning, felling well rested but in urgent need of icecream, we sailed along the short distance to the nearby town of Karlshamn. We knew that rain was forecast for later in the evening, so we thought it was best to go to the fishing harbour first to fill our diesel tanks, then head into the main town and do a little shopping for fresh vegetables, look at the town itself then head for a nearby island for the night. The fishing harbour was really tight and the pier where the diesel pumps stood was the narrowest, shallowest space we have ever seen. It took a bit of careful steering and many fenders before we could dock and fill up. While that was happening, I glanced around the harbour and spotted this boat, with a name that brought a lump to my throat.




I can honestly tell you that I never expected to see the word Ceduna in the middle of Sweden. It was as surprising as the day we saw the boat called Kirribilli in Motala. I asked Lars-Göran if the name meant anything in Swedish, but he said that it was not a Swedish word. Of course, I already knew that, but was just checking in case they had hijacked it as they seem to do to so many English words.

To my non-Australian readers, I should explain that the township of Ceduna is situated on Eyre Peninsula in the far west coast of my beloved home state - South Australia. The name comes from the Aboriginal word Chedoona, meaning "a place to sit down and rest". I'd dearly love to know what was the story behind an Australian Aboriginal name being on a fishing boat whose home port is Karlshamn in the south of Sweden. Unfortunately there was no-one around to ask, but I felt that little tug of home on my heartstrings all day.




After filling the tanks, we went around the corner and past the citadel that was built to protect the township and into the main guestharbour situated right in the middle of town. And what a lovely town it turned out to be. There are 30,000 people living here, but it still has an old fashioned charm and a leisurely pace, with the town well laid out and a joy to walk around.




The town was founded in 1666 as a border fortress against Denmark. See, they weren't always so friendly towards the neighbours. The town was designed and laid out by a fortification expert, but was burned down several times by invading Danish forces - the last time was in 1710. Many of the buildings around the harbour date from around that time.




This has always been a harbour town and as such has been known as a rough place in older times. Karlshamn was also known as the embarkation point for many of the more than 1.4 million Swedes who fled poverty and starvation for a better life in America during the nineteenth century. Over a period of around 90 years, Sweden lost a quarter of it's population to mass emigration to the States.

We walked down to the harbour park, where high on a hill is a wonderful statue to commemorate the mass migration. It is called Utvandrarmonumentet (The Emigrant Monument) and features two characters from a well known book. Karl-Oskar and Kristina are depicted at their point of embarkation. The statue represents the split feelings one has as you prepare to leave your homeland for good. Karl-Oskar is shown looking straight ahead towards the ship that will take him across the sea to a new future. Kristina on the other hand is turning back as she casts a lingering gaze to farewell her old homeland. It was a moving experience to stand here and look at the statue.




The characters come from a seies of novels written between 1949-1961 by Swedish writer Vilhelm Moberg. These novels describe one Swedish family's migration from Småland to Minnesota in the late 18th century, a destiny shared by over one million people, including several of the author's relatives. These novels have been translated into English and are well worth reading to help understand life in Sweden at the time as well as the hardships and joys the family experienced. The novels are called The Emigrants, Unto a Good Land, The Settlers and The Last Letter Home. They are not that difficult to read in Swedish either and were among the first Swedish books I read after I completed SFI. So for those immigrants here in Sweden, I recommend them in Swedish as well. Look out for Utvandrarna and Invandrarna.




We spent a long time exploring the streets, looking at the old buildings and reading about their history. One of the homes was the birth place of Alice Tegnér, who wrote many popular children's rhymes. This excited Lars-Göran who broke out into a rendition of one of her classics "En sockerbagare här bor i staden..."




We were able to browse around the shops a little as well, picking up a few second-hand books, some groceries, a new battery for the barometer/wind metre and of course the all important icecream. We visited the church, wandered around the market stalls in the big town square, bought a few postcards and even remembered a birthday card for my brother-in-law. Won't he get a shock? It has been an enjoyable experience and we both love the town.

When we returned to the boat we found that the wind had picked up considerably. Where was it when we needed it this morning, I wonder? Anyway, we thought it best to leave before the harbour became too uncomfortable. The area is totally open to the south east and the wind was howling in and stirring up waves. Our goal for the evening is a small nature harbour on the island of Tärnö which is just a few nautical miles away. With this brisk wind we are sure to be anchored safely and sipping our red wine in an hour or two. And I can show Lars-Göran exactly where Ceduna is on the map. Presuming that it IS on the map in our Swedish atlas, that is!

After the unwelcome visit of the jetskis, Lars-Göran did not let any grass grow under his feet and within the hour we found ourselves in the canal waiting for the bridge to open a