We further discussed the feasibility of sailing into Stockholm city and in the end made up our minds that the effort would not make the trip worthwhile. For one thing the winds were not favourable to head southwards, so we either had to tack the whole way or engine against the winds and waves. Neither option really appealed and if the weekend weather forecast is accurate, we would get very little chance to see the Tall Ships as it would be pissing down all day. With that decided, we set off heading to nowhere in particular. The idea was just to sail and when we felt like it, to stop and head somewhere for the night.

We sailed out of the protection of the inner islands and began to cross the main route of Furusundsleden, which leads into Stockholm. One always has to keep a good look out here as the big ferries plying the Åland/Finland/Estonia/Sweden trade use these waters and the ships are the size of a skyscraper and move quite fast - it's always better to be well out of the way when they appear on the horizon.

As well as playing dodge the ferry, we saw one of the participants in the Tall Ship's race out on the route. She was naturally motoring as the wind was directly on the nose, but on looking through my binoculars, I could see that some of the crew were right up at the top of the rigging.




Better them than me in this wind was all I was thinking. It would have been good to see the boat under full sail and this certainly brought back memories of the few days we spent last year at the Baltic Sail in Halmstad. I idly wondered which boat it was and waited while we edged closer to see if I could spot the name. From a distance I saw the German flag, but I did a bit of a double take when I saw the name Roald Amundsen on the hull. Lars-Göran thought I was surprised to see a Norwegian name on a German flagged ship, but really the shudder was at the thought of Amundsen, who I hadn't thought about since Sister Mary's grade five Social Studies class in 19... - well, a long time ago.




Any of us who went to school at that time in the British Empire knows just how black that name was painted. While he may have been the first to the South Pole, it was the manner in which he did it that was considered "just not cricket".

"For us, the true hero of the Antarctic exploration" I told Lars-Göran with a passion, "was Robert Scott."

"Don't tell me." he said "Let me guess.... he was Australian." And he laughed.

But he wasn't. Scott was English. I explained that we were taught that he planned a scientific expedition to the south pole. Amundsen (a professional explorer in the age of the amateur, gentleman explorer) was supposed to be racing for the north pole. However, when he got wind that Frederick Cook and Robert Peary had beaten him there, he secretly headed to the south pole. He had not even told the people in his expedition party until it was too late for them to refuse. Sister Mary made much of him being underhanded and sneaky. He turned up at the Ross Ice Shelf illegally (it was British Territory at the time) and challenged Scott to a race to the pole.

As history notes, Amundsen made it to the pole a good month before Scott, whose entire party perished in the snow on the return journey. Many in the British Empire blamed Amundsen for Scott's death, claiming that he'd exerted pressure on him that was unbearable. One of the reasons he could go faster was that he travelled light, with only half the provisions carried by Scott's party. And the thing that sealed Amundsen's fate as "a bad guy" in the eyes of the nine year olds listening spellbound to this lesson was that he only needed provisions one way as for the return journey he butchered his dogs and ate them! All of us with pets at home immediately burst into tears and from that day forward we hated the name Roald Amundsen.

Lars-Göran just shook his head and declared "I used to think it was just you, but I'm becoming more convinced that your whole country is certifiable."

Anyway, it was quite sobering to think what an impact that Social Studies indoctrination class had on me and that so many years later I could still get goosebumps of revulsion at the sight of that name. Lambi sitting in her basket staring up at me didn't help, either.




We had talked about this for ages and by now we had a choice to make. The islands around here are quite large and Lars-Göran said we must decide whether to go northwards or southwards to get around them, but I told him that I knew a short-cut through the middle. He rolled his eyes and asked if he'd need his brown underpants as he knows that my so called "short-cuts" are often quite challenging. I showed him a narrow opening marked as Klintsundet on the chart. I read had about it in the Åke Améen navigation book we have onboard and it separates two of the larger islands. It would save us many nautical miles of sailing and bring us straight out to the other side.

Of course, what I neglected to mention was that it was quite shallow as well, probably around 2 metres deep, so right on the boundary of what we could safely negotiate with our keel. I thought I'd do an Amundsen and tell him when it was too late to turn back. Oh yeah, and there was a bridge only 3 metres high across the passage, but we could ring and get them to open it, but I'd wait to tell him about that as well.

So we turned off the craziness of Furusundsleden and found ourselves alone again, sailing through a quiet and pretty area. I did fleetingly wonder why there were no sailing boats here, but decided that there was probably no reason to worry. It would be okay. Wouldn't it? Close to the passage, we saw the funniest sea marker that I've seen in Sweden:




I laughed and declared that it was worth coming this way just to have seen that and when I asked L-G what he thought, his only comment was "I think there must be Australians living in the area". Why does he automatically associate anything whacky with Australians, I wonder?

It was a little hairy going through the channel, not helped by the motorboats who were zipping through at high speed like maniacs. We rang the very helpful brigde operator and he came out and manually opened the little bridge and we found ourselves through and out onto the open waters of Gälnan just north of Ingmarsö. Easy Peasy and no skid marks in the undies! We meandered past the islands of Äpplarö, Ingmarsö, Svartsö before deciding to make our way into the area around Lådna and dropping anchor in the large flad.




We eschewed the popular and crowded bays of Skomarsviken and Krokholmsviken (pictured above), settling instead on laying by anchor in a private ground filled bay where we had a great view of the afternoon cow parade. These cows really cracked me up. They were not afraid of people and were quite happy to just wander in and plonk themselves down on the picnic blanket. They didn't even seem to mind that the air was filled with the smell of their rellies grilling on the many bbqs. No doubt this cow is looking at the motor boat and thinking "There goes the neighbourhood".




Friday and today were rather grim weatherwise. We had periods of sunshine and blue skies, followed rapidly by the inevitable black cloud mass moving in at high speed, bringing an hour or so of thunder and pouring rain. Repeat ad nauseum. I really wish the weather would make up its mind as this on-again-off-again summer is most trying. In the bursts of sunshine we could roll up the flaps of the cockpit tent and enjoy watching the cows and the boats again, before the arrival of the next thunderstorm.




We spent our time doing odd jobs on the boat, cooking up a few meals for later in the week and reading. We both have a lot of books on board and this is perfect weather for us to bring out the cosy mattresses, fluffy pillows, red wine, cheese and biscuits and laze in the cockpit watching the fascinating theatre provided by the passing clouds.

It was very relaxing. All we could hear was the gentle lapping of water on the shore and occasionally the far off sound of a motor on a boat across the bay. Every now and then a tern or gull cried out before divebombing to grab one of the tiny silvery fish that broke the surface of the bay. In the afternoon I saw some birds diving in the water and sat there staring at them, simply spellbound by their elegant beauty. I had never seen these birds before and so I swiftly consulted my book of European birds and saw that they are called Storlom in Swedish. I had to consult my Swedish-English dictionary to see that they are called Black-throated Diver in English (Arctic Loon in North America). They really were quite superb looking birds.




We were not wholly occupied with impersonating sloths, however. We grabbed a few opportunities to go to land and have a look around at the pretty meadows beckoning to us from the shore. Again we were dressed in our Swedish summer uniform of rain jacket and rubber boots. It was hardly worthwhile bringing my sandals this trip, I fear. But the meadows were fantastic and after the cleansing rain, everything smelled fresh and very fragrant.




Again I was taken with the sheer variety of flowers in these fields. If anything, it was more impressive than those we visited at Ängsö. Lars-Göran told me of his happy childhood memories of summer holidays spent on his grandfather's dairy farm in similar countryside. The cousins would all head out in the morning and spend the day in such a place as this, exploring the flowers, looking at the insects (there were indeed many dragonflies here), traipsing through the woods looking for berries, lying in the grass watching the clouds and not returning home until their rumbling tummies alerted them that it was time to eat. It sounded so blissful.




Each area had a different mix of flowers, depending on how close to the woods we were. The flowers have a really carefree, friendly quality and I like the way they bring colour and perfume to the environment they live in. We so enjoy walking around and slowly and deeply savouring the fragrance of these meadow flowers. It's a chance to still the busy-ness of our minds and simply listen to twigs cracking under our feet, to the leaves rustling in the breeze and the birds singing.




In the centre of the meadow was a carpet of lovely bluebells. We grew these pretty blooms in our garden when I was a child and I remember that my gran used to tell me that in her local folklore, the bluebell was said to summon the fairies to their meetings. People in her village would not walk through a field of bluebells because they believed it to be a enchanted place and that the fairies would spirit them away – never to be seen by human eye again. Just in case there was an element of truth to the story, I walked around them.




In another section were lots of pretty strawberry clover (my favourite honey is Leabrook Farms Strawberry Clover, so I always love to see these flowers) and daisies looking cheerful in the sun. Daisies also have so many happy childhood memories attached to them. Remember making daisy chains or picking little daisy posies for your mum or for the school teacher? Or doing the "he loves me -he loves me not" thingy?




I sat with Lambi on the rocks by the shore, looking across the water to the next island while Lars-Göran went for a forage in the woods. He has an uncanny sense of where to look for berries and today was no different. He came back with a large amount of these delicious and jewel-like fruits of the forest. He brought me wild strawberries, blueberries, gooseberries, blackcurrants, blackberries and pretty raspberries, glittering like rubies in the sun. We had a great feast on the rocks.




The family who run this farm are typical of those living here in the archipelago. They have had to diversify and be flexible in order to maintain their lifestyle and so now they supplement the ecological farming income by running a guiding company. Visitors can come and stay on the island and take tours in the archipelago and they can also buy the products of the farm like archipelago salami, smoked lamb and fleece from a little shop. The tours are custom-made and dependent on what the visitors want. During these tours, the guide lets the visitors a little about the archipelago and what it is like to live out on an island, both today as well as in former times. How the archipelagos were created, how wind, weather, water and man have helped to form it the way it is today are other issues that are explained. The visitors get to know about the natural and cultural landscape they find themselves in as well as the importance of the agricultural landscape in the archipelago.




When we came back to the boat, I saw that Bruce and Sheila had been entertaining friends in our absence. It was a real bird party on our boat, with the railings full of these cheeky little swallows. I love swallows, they're amazing little birds. It's incredible to watch them fly early in the morning. They do such acrobatics in the air, swooping around catching insects.




We never had swallows in Australia, though I read about them in storybooks. I was instantly enchanted when I saw them for the first time here in Sweden. They are so lively and fearless. I don't even mind that they sit on the boat, chatter incessantly and make something of a mess.




My sister-in-law told me that when the swallows are fly low to the ground (as they are doing today), then it means that it's low pressure system and when they are flying high up, it means it's high pressure. The reasoning behind this is that they fly around grabbing insects from the air. In a low pressure, the insects can't fly as high, so the swallows have to fly lower, and the opposite in a high pressure.

I think they are particularly beautiful little birds, with their sharp colours and those lovely shimmering blue wings.




The swallows were not the only feathered visitors to our boat. We had another tiny little wagtail sitting on the railing and eyeing off the cockatiels' food bowls. I thought about sprinkling a few seeds around for them, but decided that I'd better not, or the word might spread and we'd be covered in birds and bird droppings. This looked like quite a young bird and as is the case with this species, it was very agile, in constant movement and with the characteristic endlessly "wagging tail"




We are thinking of moving on tomorrow if the weather improves. We don't need to move far, as there are dozens of bays within a few nautical miles of here and I've been reading all about these islands in the Stockholm Archipelago Foundation booklet, which has whetted our appetite for long country walks. The Stockholm archipelago is truly one of the reasons why people say that Sweden has wonderful nature and I feel so lucky that I can enjoy it fully.

We have been here for two days now, both cursing the weather somewhat as well as savouring the chance to wander around on land and explore the very pretty national park of Ängsö in full bloom.

The first day we were pretty much stuck on board all day. It was sunny in the morning after the night's rain, but once we had showered and organised ourselves it began to cloud over then rain - at times it was a solid downpour very much like the last time we were here.

The second day was considerably brighter. It still rained in patches, but there was enough of a break between the showers to allow us to take the dinghy to land and walk on the island. What a superb array of flowers were out in the fields. These ones are called "night and day" and I like these simple and modest little flowers so much.




I immediately felt the urge to quote Shakespeare when I saw them.



A little further along I spied big clumps of giant bluebells (though I have no idea what that white fluffy thing in the background might be. A fungus, perhaps?)




I really love all wild flowers and especially the wild meadow flowers you find in Sweden. Aren't they simply the best - just breathtakingly beautiful? I think they are far more interesting than simply an expanse of green grass. When I first saw this meadow, I had a childish urge to dive right in it, to roll around, to lie there and watch the clouds drift by while chewing on a stalk, in short to enjoy it to my heart's content. But then I thought: "Hmm... I'd better not, I don't think they would appreciate me rolling around in this gorgeous meadow that was so painstakingly created for my enjoyment". So I didn't do the rolling thingy, but let me tell you, it wasn't easy to resist.




Apart from the bluebells, we found plenty of buttercups, ox-eye daisies, red clover, hawksbit and hay rattle. The floral splendour of the island has been created by farming. While we marvel at their beauty, that was not the reason they were made. Instead it was for a more practical reason - the need for winter fodder for cattle.

According to tradition, the meadows are cut in July-August when the plants have gone to seed. When it is cut, the hay is left in the sun to dry for a while, then raked together. This drying gives the grasses and herbs a chance to set seed before they are gathered.




Back at the boat we had lunch and watched the boats arrive and tie up at the guest pier. Later a boat came in and headed over towards where we were moored, which was most unusual as we find people generally reluctant to lie anchor. What horrified us was that there were several loud, whining children on board, two dinghies and assorted water toys plus the unmistakable raucous grating voices of Americans - the really annoying Americans with the strident Fran Drescher accent. "We'll have to leave if they anchor here" said Lars-Göran and we watched as they looked at the chart, pointed our way and the wind brought snatches of their conversation and the children grizzling towards us. They tried to anchor rather close to our boat, so we started to stow things away and prepare to leave. However their anchor kept dragging, so after several tries they became irate and decided to go elsewhere. "Oh, how sad" I said, with all the insincerity I could muster and we both breathed a deep sigh of relief.




In the end, the boat anchored in this very selfish and potentially dangerous spot. Selfish, because it was right in the middle of the narrow entrance to the bay and every boat needing to come through there had to squeeze past them. Dangerous, because that sign clearly states "Warning. Electricity Cable. Anchoring Forbidden" What knobs!

In the afternoon, we went to the northern part of the island to look around. In spite of its name (Ängsö = Meadow Island), only about a sixth of the island consists of meadows. The rest is dominated by forest, some of it conifers but also quite a large area of leafy woods, some of the trees being quite old and gnarled.




In the pasture areas to the north and west of the island we found fields of a pretty flower that I believe is cornflower (blåklint). There is nothing quite like the blue of a cornflower - so called for their propensity to sprout up in corn and wheat fields. They are also sometimes called "bachelor's buttons" in English because they traditionally were tucked into a young man's lapel to indicate he was in love. I love the fragile blue flowers which look like a tuft of fairyfloss on lanky, sprawling stems.




We strolled along pathways admiring the fences made from the timber of the nearby forests. These are broad leafy forests, with fresh leaves sprouting on all of the trees, breaking the bright sunshine which fell through in a dappled pattern to the moist forest floor. It is really a most unusual island with its mixture of landscapes and it is no wonder that people are keen to preserve it.




A little further to the north, near the bay of Svartviken, I found myself in a shoulder high field of frothy cow parsley. I like all meadow flowers, but I have a special fondness for Cow Parsley (Hundkex in Swedish - literally dog biscuit!). I think it might be because it was the first Swedish wildflower I learned a name.




We continued on through woods and pastures. While it is forbidden to pick the flowers, one is allowed to pick berries and we were in luck as we greedily gorged ourselves on blueberries, wild raspberries, wild strawberries and blackcurrants. Just as well we had done so much walking to help burn off all of those extra kilojoules. As you can see, I'm really dressed for Swedish summer - rainjacket and wellies!




The pastures on Ängsö are still grazed in the same way they were in the early days, with cattle let out onto the cut meadow to do complementary grazing. Since the cows choose which herbs to eat, the pasture land develops different flora to the meadows which are cut. Apparently on this small island alone, over 400 different species of flowering plants have been found. All because of grazing and hay-making activities.

It is a picturesque island, even on an overcast day and the view across the fields out to the water where Fiona is anchored made a perfect place to stop for a coffee break.




After dinner, the golden evening light made the island look so very inviting, that we went back again for a walk, confining ourselves to the fields and marshes around Hemudden. A large section of the island is a bird protection area where enrty is prohibited between February and September. We read that it is mainly to protect the breeding areas of the birds of prey. The meadow we stopped at was one facing the sea with a bird protection area to the east of it. I was standing by one of the trees, reading about the flowers in the park when I heard a dry rustle above me and looked up to see a magnificent white.tailed sea eagle take off, glide past Lars-Göran and Lambi, soar out over the water, then come sweeping back towards us. It was one of the most impressive and moving sights I have ever witnessed. What a truly majestic bird.




Rather worryingly, I saw it eye off Lambi, so I insisted that Lars-Göran carry her just in case she was too tempting a morsel. I'm not kidding, this bird was enormous and picking up Lambi would have been child's play. Also rather worrying was that I saw there were ormvråk on the island. While I know it's a buzzard in English, the literal translation of ormvråk is "snake hawk". So I wonder what they eat? I hope there are no snakes here.

Lars-Göran of course laughed at me and wandered off with Lambi to chat to the cows who seemed quite responsive to him.




We then looked around the farmhouse nestled in its own private little bay just west of the meadow. A family lives in the home and takes care of the park and the animals here. It is a beautiful place to live in, surrounded as it is with meadows, sea, woods and so much life.




Down near the main guest pier the sun was setting in a golden ball, lighting up the small coastal patches of wildflowers. I never want to leave! But leave we must as we have lingered here long enough and must now move on.




We don't know where we'll go next, just follow the wind I think. The weather forecast is again nothing to rip your nightie over which is becoming the distinctive pattern this year. It will be a mixed day tomorrow, then rain, rain, rain again. We had thought to go into Stockholm itself to see the Tall Ships, but are quickly tiring of the thought if it's going to rain for days on end. Where's the fun in that? Still, we'll wait and see what tomorrow brings. Tonight I'll be happily dreaming of rolling in a summer meadow.

What a glorious morning. Sunshine, gentle breeze - it's absolute paradise and on mornings like this I feel full of energy and ready to begin another day. The sun was really glittering off the sea and there was not a ripple in the calm still water. It was instant unwind time as I lazed on deck, spent some time watching the fish flouncing around and the ducks floating by. It`s such a pleasure to wake up on this kind of morning, when the view from the window is like this.




There isn't much better in life than sharing a beautiful sunrise and a crisp, calm water view with your loved one. It put us in such a positive frame of mind, that we felt like making the trip to Rödlöga and so packed up early and headed out around the island of Blidö. Once out on the open water, we found that we had to tack again, but the wind was brisk so that was okay. However, the wind was ice cold, so we were forced to dress very warmly, including woolly hats and gloves - IN JULY!

It started to get a bit boring zig zagging back and forth in the wide fjärd, so we thought we'd try out a shallow route through Svartlöga. I made us some killer sandwiches to munch on and fortified with steaming hot, strong coffee we spent the next couple of hours winding our way through this little used old route while everyone else was busy tacking out on the open water (how boring for them!)




It is so peaceful here with little or no boat traffic and just a few gulls here and there on the unusual striped rocks. The place is actually on the route for the taxi boats that ply their trade in the northern end of the archipelago, and apparently has excellent swimming spots. The name of the island comes from the fact that it is covered with a forest of dark conifers which look black (svart) from a distance.

Svartlöga has an interesting history, being inhabited by several dozen families since the Middle Ages, who made their living by fishing, seal hunting and boat building. Apparently this island was one of the few that did not suffer from the Russian looting in 1719. The Russian ships actually ran aground on the many reefs around the island. Then the island people, experienced from hunting seals could then easily pick off the crew with their rifles. Be warned - these are tough people!

It wasn't long before the glittering red cliffs of Rödlöga came into view and we started to look for a place to moor. We had a spot that we liked, but thought of trying something new and wandered here and there, rejecting one bay as there was a motor boat moored just where we wanted to be, then another bay which was in direct line for the huge swell created by passing tour boats several times a day, and yet another place where it was too shallow for our boat. In the end we retraced our steps and took the little bay on the east side where we stayed two years ago. We get a nice open view there and best of all, we can be alone.




While returning, I saw a boat towing water skiers, with real sea dogs onboard. I tried to interest Lambi in this, pointing out how engaged the dogs were, how they stood out in the fresh air, alert and joining in the fun. She merely yawned, inspected her long nails, then turned three times on her cushion and went back to sleep in her basket! Talk about a lazy dog.

The evening was sublime, with light breezes, a comforting view of the lighthouse at Hundskärsknuv, the gentle lapping of the water on the rocks, good food and wine and a sense of joy that we were out in the landscape that we both love.




After a restful night, we took the dinghy for a trip into the little village on the island. It was a sunny day, but quite cold in the wind (what is it with the cold wind this year?) In some ways I was glad that it was a little milder. Last time we were here it was very hot and Lambi really suffered in the heat, panting and looking quite distressed, even though we were carrying her. There was also a snake sighting that L-G tried to stop me seeing, so a cooler day was welcome for more than one reason.




For some unknown reason, we were here quite early, which is not like us at all. People had not yet stirred for the day and we could sit on the rocks above the little café and look over the still bay and enjoy the peace and calmness of the early morning. Later in the day, the day trippers from the mainland would start to arrive and the island would become very busy. But now we could just sit and watch the gulls feeding.




After a while there were signs of life on the piers. There were families loading up their boats for a day out fishing or a picnic and swim on a small island out in the archipelago. The little petrol station opened and there was a flurry of boat traffic to fill up their tanks. But all this was happening at a distance and it was interesting to just sit and observe it all.




We thought it was time to make a move and go for a walk around to see some of the island outside of the village. We looked back towards the little café, named "The Gull" (Truten). It is a lovely old building set on the sea front with outside chairs set up and is open in the summer months between 12 noon and 6pm. Like a lot of the businesses on Rödlöga, it is friendly, low-key and relaxing. It all helps add to the atmosphere of being on holidays and unwinding in a stress-free place. They do it so well here.




We walked out of the main village and towards the woods and cliffs on the eastern part of the island. The houses we passed were lovingly cared for, freshly painted and with beautiful gardens and of course the glittering water as a backdrop. There are quite a few holiday homes dotted here and there on the island, but the presence of so many people does not disturb one at all. There is still a sense of privacy and tranquility about the island that makes it one of my favourite places to visit.




The island has no roads, only indistinct pathways which wind their way through the leafy forests and over the rocks. We followed one of these towards Seglarberget (the sailor's hill) which is where most boats who visit the island moor for the night. From the top of one of the hills, we peeped between the trees and we could see Fiona's mast far away on the other side of the island. Her flag was starting to flap, which meant the wind was picking up out there and we could perhaps sail again later today. Yippee.




Around the corner we emerged from the still, cool forest to the sunny rocks packed with boats. You can see why we avoid this place - it's no fun being moored so close to one another that you can hear them floss their teeth in the morning. But Swedes seem to like it and the minute they see a boat tied up, they tie their boat right next to it, even if the rest of the bay is free. It does not look as packed as it did last night because several boats have already left and today's contingent have yet to arrive.




There are several gaps between the boats because in some places, it is extremely shallow as you can see on the next picture. While it may stop you getting a boat neighbour (though a motor boat may brave it), this sort of place can be dangerous if the wind changes and you find yourself being pushed into the rocks. We also saw a tour boat pass by and illustrate why this is a place to avoid - it sent huge waves into the shore and people had to leap out of their boats and try and hold them off the cliffs. As the boats pass many times a day, you could never afford to leave them, or to relax your vigilance. Give me a peaceful anchor spot with 360° of freedom any day.




We made our way back through the forests towards the main village again as Lars-Göran has an unfailing nose for icecream and he had spotted the big GB signs (the Swedish equivalent of Australia's Street's Icecream) on the way out and had figured that the shop might be open by now. Which it was, with the fruit and vegetables arranged under a tent outside in the shade of a big old oak tree.




The selection here is surprisingly varied, though the prices were eyewatering. What do you say about apples at 40kr ($7) a kilo? Ouch! I bypassed the apples, but did get some red onion, fresh potatoes, garlic, lettuce and tomatoes. And yes, I bought him his precious Magnum White (how can he eat that stuff?) We had hoped to tie Lambi under a tree, leave her a bowl of water and go in and shop together, but she carried on like a pork chop, yelping as though she was being torn apart by rabid wolves so I went in alone and Lars-Göran stayed out with her and observed the people milling around. It really is a meeting place for the island's inhabitants, with a buzz of life, kids playing and a friendly summery atmosphere.




Just across the way was the little second hand book shop where you could pick up some summer reading for just a dollar or two, or even swap your books for some other books. What a great idea and again, a business that is useful and run in a friendly and low key manner.




Loaded up with our few groceries, we sat and had coffee and biscuits in a shaded spot towards the little harbour, looking out at a house with a display of glorious red roses and stately delphiniums swaying gently in the wind, their blooms creating a lush tapestry of brilliant colour. They were highly perfumed and I drank in the fragrance and enjoyed their vibrant display.




We chatted idly about whether to stay or to move on. As the winds were picking up again, we thought it might be fun to sail and see where we landed. The morning forecast had spoken of rain and strong winds overnight (hard to believe in this sunshine) and we were not keen to get caught a second time so far out from a safe harbour, so we decided to go back to Fiona and make her ready to sail. We enjoyed this little trip to Rödlöga and felt content and happy to head somewhere new.

We were lucky that we could sail halfwind, so the journey westwards was fast and quite a change from yesterday. We made it to where we had left the day before in record time, so we thought we could sail on while we still had the energy and will to do so and see where we ended up. It was a lovely sunny evening and we loved gliding between islands, which were surprisingly devoid of boats. Where was everyone? We did catch sight of the elegant steamboat Blidösund, which we used to see when she brought tourists to Nynäshamn for the Christmas markets.




The evening weather forecast was for almost gale force winds again, so we were thankful that we'd left the relatively exposed mooring place at Rödlöga and had the chance to find a nice sheltered bay to wait out the weather. We looked at the charts and saw that we were quite close to the pretty island of Ängsö, where we had stayed for several days a couple of years ago. We were keen to look at the island again, so off we went and by seven in the evening, we were safely anchored in a sheltered bay near the guest piers, sipping on Aussie shiraz and enjoying our dinner, with this view around us.




Come on wind, do your worst. We are happy to sit here and enjoy ourselves, knowing that the boat is secure and that the island is but a short row away. Life is good.

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.

A couple of nights ago, we woke up at around 3am because it had started raining and the hatch above our bed was open and we were getting wet! Having fixed that, we lay awake and listened to the wind which had really increased - so much so that Fiona was rocking. I just can't get over how unstable the weather is this summer. Where are the days of no wind or gentle breezes? (mind you, I'd probably still be complaining that there was not enough wind in order to sail). And the rain! It is raining every day, which does nothing to improve my mood.

Anyway, while we were mulling over all of this, we heard a banging mast (not ours, thank goodness), followed shortly by someone banging on one of those metal mooring wedges people here use to attach to the rocks. Lars-Göran went up for a sticky beak and saw that the change of wind and wave direction had caused problems for one of the boats tied up to the cliffs. The boat was banging into the rock face, so the crew along with the crew of a neighbouring boat were frantically trying to adjust the moorings - in the middle of the night in howling winds and driving rains. Poor bastards.

Yesterday was grey, cheerless, gloomy and dreary. We did a few things on the boat and talked a bit about our disappointment that this weather was restricting us. Usually if we were in an archipelago of 364 islands, we'd be exploring them, but the rain and gales do not really make that possible. These islands, which were so gorgeous when we visited them two years ago in blazing sunshine, look dull and melancholy.

We had a sleepless night last night as the wind was unbelievable, howling like a banshee and we were listening constantly to all of the shakes, rattles and other noises trying to judge if the boat was in any danger. It was a real worry and caused us more than once to contemplate moving from such an exposed place. It is often written that the outer islands, while beautiful offer very little protection if the weather turns nasty.

But this morning, it was sunny and relatively calm so we drew up anchor and moved the boat round the corner and into what we hope will be a better and more tranquil spot just two nautical miles further south. I took the opportunity to wash our sheets and towels and left them out on deck to dry.




It hasn't been easy to get decent drying weather this summer, so I grab these days when I can. Lars-Göran is feeling the effects of lack of sleep and a sore throat that he's having trouble shaking off. I can see that a day of rest and relaxation is in order and I believe I know just the place we can go. I had spotted it when we came in yesterday and thought to myself "What a fantastic snooping spot", so I prepared a picnic basket, studied the chart until I was sure of the place I wanted and we took off in the dinghy.

It is amazing what a dose of sunshine will do to one's mood as well as the surroundings. What looked so uninviting in the overcast weather of the last days now glitters and shines in the sun. People in the small houses on the main island were out enjoying the day as well.




A few birds were also taking advantage of the weather and it was gratifying to see the gulls wheeling and the terns out fishing. On one of the little skerries we we saw a baby wagtail (sädesärla) taking its first tentative steps. While it is a different colour to Australia's own dear little willy wagtails, it is just as charming and its movements are almost identical and they are just as inquisitive and chatty. They really are sweet little birds and sighting this one gave us a lift.




It seems that people are on the move today and I noticed that along the main route through the islands there was a steady stream of boats heading in and out. This island group is perfect for cruising around. There is only inhabited island, surrounded by hundreds of smaller ones only large enough in some cases for a smattering of wildflowers. And all of this arranged in an intricate maze that is both challenging and quite beautiful. It really is an extraordinary landscape.

I really love it that being out in the archipelago is not just something exclusive, reserved only for the wealthy or famous but instead has become an experience shared by people from all walks of life - during these peak summer months the area is full of holidaymakers from the city, who fill the cottages and homes of the islands and sailing boats cruise the waterways in between.




I was exactly right about the perfect snooping spot. Lars-Göran had been a bit sceptical (oh yea of little faith!) Of course he had been busy navigating and trying to avoid hitting other boats while I had time to be a tourist on the way through the other day and this little tongue of land, nestled between the rocks and lying just above water level was quite striking. I knew he'd love it - and he did!




We set up our folding chairs, the dog's basket, broke out the coffee thermos and lunch and began with the serious task of checking out everything going on from our front row seats. For those of you familiar with Stora Nassa, this islet is just as you pass Grytan and directly east of Hustrun. On the chart you'd see a group of three elongated islands, linked by a few smaller rocks. Well, this is one of the rocks. It gave us a view of the main route and all of the passing traffic, a view of the houses on Stora Bonden and a chance to see boats attempting to moor to the cliffs at Stor-Sprängskäret (and make a complete dog's breakfast of it). Lambi, as you can see, is more interested in seeing if I am collecting more food from the dinghy. For a dog who only weighs three and a half kilos, she manages to pack away an amazing amount of tucker.




And what could be more perfect than enjoying a coffee break (fika) while watching the passing parade and enjoying the rare appearance of sunshine. As luck would have it, we were sitting in shelter from the wind, so we could even fool ourselves that it was warm and for the first time this summer we were without our jacket and could walk on the rocks barefooted. It must really be summer now. Lars-Göran dipped his foot in the water and tried to convince me to do the same, but I saw his grimace of pain, so I guessed the water was probably still arctic so I declined.




It was lovely to just laze the day away in the sunshine. We both felt uplifted and lighter than we had in the morning. That's figuratively speaking of course, as we were no doubt heavier, having scarfed an indecent number of Anzac biscuits. Around us the birds glided, the breeze wafted through and the water glittered. I love being by the sea, gazing out at the horizon and simply watching nothing. Just being. Lying on a rock, or even better in the sand, running my fingers through it and listening to the waves breaking gently on the shore. We even had a visit from a frog. Or is it a toad? How can you tell? Actually it looks a bit warty, so I guess its a toad.




Lars-Göran dared me to kiss it to see if it changed into a handsome prince. I told him that I already had my handsome prince and I fluttered my eyelashes at him, so he made appropriate vomiting noises. Aren't we romantic?

We decided to walk around the island - well just the two of us as Lambi in true Lisa Douglas style refused to budge from her shady, cushioned basket.

A couple of nesting terns gave us the hairy eyeball, but we knew to keep far away from their territory, though I was curious to see if they had a cute, fat, fluffy chick. I stood on my toes burt couldn't see anything. The flowers were out again making a colourful display along with the peculiar orange/yellow lichen that you find out here. There is no doubt that there has been a real burst of wildflowers this summer, perhaps reflecting the wet, mild weather.




Down at the water's edge I found more little clumps of aster growing right in the brackish sea. It's amazing that they grow in such conditions, but grow they do and seem to thrive really well. It is a very agreeable surprise to see just how many wildflowers are growing here. I absolutely love wildflowers, so a sight like this is such a wonderful treat for me.




It is so relaxing to walk along the beach, listening to the sound of the softly breaking waves, breathing in the fresh sea air, feeling the gentle warmth of the sun on our backs and to not meet another soul. Sheer bliss.

By now, it was late afternoon and people were beginning to drift in and look for a more private mooring space than the popular bays mentioned in the nature harbour books. If one is brave, you can usually squeeze between the rocks and get your own perfect slice of paradise - but it takes nerve. I saw a single yacht go behind the little islet we were on. The crew were studying their chart carefully to see if they dare bring their boat in closer. I'm not so sure that it will work as there are several shoals near the shore and in fact after going on ground a couple of times, they moved on in their search and we wandered back to see if we could coax some life out of our lazy poodle.




Near our picnic basket I came across a little clump of flowers that contained an amazing number of different plants. Gosh, I love this place. It's especially lovely as I came upon this plethora of wildflowers unexpectedly and only a few metres from the sea. Again, it is beauty in a surprisingly harsh, exposed environment.

When I think of a beach, I think of white sand, seaweed and maybe a few lovely rounded pebbles. But never wildflowers. In the part of Australia where I come from, absolutely nothing grows either on the beach or very close by. It's only in the sand dunes, far back from the actual shoreline, that you'd find some very tough plants and grasses but not much else. So in Sweden, I am in wildflower heaven.




Reluctantly, we decided to head back to the boat to take in the laundry and listen to the all important wind and weather forecast on the VHF. The wind is beginning to freshen again, so this tiny glimpse of warm, still conditions may already be coming to an end. We took a meandering route around the maze of islands and often came across a small boat tied up in their own little place. I tried to memorise any good spots and check on the chart whether Fiona's draught would allow us to use the same spot at another time. This little boat had a fantastic place, which was just as well for them as the whole family were prancing about the island totally starkers. Hmmm... nope, it's not really my scene. It's too bloody cold, for a start!




Soon we glimpsed the tell tale view of our laundry flapping in the wind and saw that Fiona was safe and sound where we had left her (by Bredskärsharan if you know the area). We could hear the birds chirping away in the cockpit as well. I wonder what the native birds think of their Bruce and Sheila’s exotic chirping. The boat looked so funny viewed from this angle on the other side of the rocks. And I can also spy another mast sticking above the rocks, though it was on the other side of our island. We were careful to pick a place that was really only big enough for one sailing boat.

As you can see, there are also plenty of flowers to enjoy over here as well so I can still savour their beauty all evening.




Unfortunately, the short term weather forecast was not good. I can’t believe that we’ve had just the one day of good weather and already overnight another group of cold fronts will move in, bringing rain and gale force winds. We think we’ll be okay tucked up in here, but it is annoying to have to spend yet another day “waiting out the weather”. It feels a lot like the siege conditions we endured on the west coast last year and which we were less than keen to repeat.

I can see that this news was a real body blow to poor Lars-Göran, which is a shame after the relaxing day we‘ve had today. Now we must think of securing the boat properly for storm conditions i.e. rowing out a second anchor and perhaps even attaching extra ropes to land to keep Fiona fixed in one position. There is limited room for her to swing in this bay as we have seen several reefs off both the port and starboard side. But really, it is the thought of being cooped up under sufferance inside for a day that is getting to L-G. He feels the winter darkness so much more than I do and he longs for the sailing season with a childish joy that is really infectious. He adores being on the boat, being his own boss and most of all the feeling of freedom that comes with it. And part of the joy comes from being out in the sun and sailing along feeling the warm wind on his skin. This summer has been mostly sailing in cold winds, rugged up in oilskins and rubber boots. This is okay occasionally as no place can be perfect (well, except Australia, as I keep telling him!), but we don't want to be dressed in wet weather gear all summer.

Well, we'll just have to endure it for a few more days and hope that some of the warmth from the Med floats up this way. I keep thinking of my Aussie internet friend Sue, who lives in Corfu in the blazing sunshine and wondering why we don't sail down to see her and freeload enjoy her hospitality. Maybe one year....

I am determined to stay positive and cheer L-G up. After all, vast stretches of blue sea with limited humanity around us, really makes the archipelago a paradise, so we are so lucky to have the opportunity to be able to explore it all. Sunshine is the absolute icing on the cake, but I'd happily make do with just the cake, wouldn't you?

Sunshine! And fine winds from the south west. I think that means a sailing day. I had thought to have a washing day, but a couple of days of stable weather are forecast, so we'll go to the more northern limits of the archipelago and worry about the washing another day.

We set the sails and prepared to ease outside of the protected waters of the archipelago and head for the island group of Stora Nassa, via Bullerö, Sandhamn and Björkskär - a distance of 25 nautical miles and quite a decent day's sail from here. Downwind sailing is actually the toughest point of sail compared with any other point of sail. It can take a lot of concentration to keep the boat on course and follow the winds which is coming from directly behind the boat. Sailing downwind means less apparent wind, which means that the boat can carry quite a bit more sail area to maintain reasonable boat speed. The trick is the combination of doing the right things with the sails and constant adjustments to accommodate the existing conditions. Lars-Göran set the sails in a goose-wing and we sped along at a respectable 5 knots in the light winds towards Bullerö, sighting the little village at Hemviken an hour or so after setting out.




Well known Swedish artist Bruno Liljefors bought Bullerön in 1908, and one year later built a hunting-lodge where he and his family spent their summers. In the springtime, Liljefors and his artist friends hunted on Bullerön. Some well-known names included Anders Zorn and Albert Engström. It was their paintings of the marvellous natural environment and animals in the area that caused the archipelago to become well known in the twentieth century. The hunting lodge (pictured below looking fabulous in the sunlight) is today a museum of archipelago nature and culture, and also contains reproductions of Liljefors’ work. We were there two years ago, so it was interesting to see it from the water.




Despite these outer islands lacking in vegetation, much of this area is a bird sanctuary with a startling array of nesting birds. We could see eider, tufted ducks, beautiful velvety black scoters, oystercatchers and my favourites, the sweet little scampering turnstones (roskarl)




While the islands lying westwards closer to the mainland are cloaked in forests, those out here in the eastern extremities are bare and quite barren. Though there is still a striking beauty about them that artists like Liljefors and Strindberg captured on canvas. Some of these islands almost look alive and this one appeared suddenly around the corner rising up like an enormous whale. I looked at the chart, expecting it to be called Valön (whale island) but it was inexplicably called Fågelö (bird island). Go figure.




Beyond Bulleerö we had a choice to head past the lunacy thast is Sanhamn in July, or to stay on the outside where we were guaranteed to be pretty much on our own. It wasn't a hard choice to make, so we continued on our route out at sea, coming in close to Korsö lighthouse, which signals the beginning of the buoyed passage westwards into Sandhamn and Stockholm itself.




We looked with binoculars towards Sandhamn itself and saw many billowing sails on the horizon. I can'y blame them as it is a perfect day to be out on the water. I just have no desire to play dodge-the-once-a-year-sailor. It's enough of a challenge to avoid the shoals, so we slipped by without bothering to check out Sandhamn and concentrated on moving northwards.




The wind began to freshen in the afternoon and we made good speed, gliding into the wide passage through the archipelago of Björkskär, which lies about 8 nautical miles north of Sandhamn. We really like this island group, but not in July as the few mooring spots are quickly filled. It is owned by Lidingö municipality and they run a guest harbour complete with sauna, piers, bbq spots etc on the main island. There were quite a few people there as we passed by in increasing wind. Where did all of this wind come from?




We correctly guessed that the main mooring place at the north of the island would be popular today as it offers good shelter from southerly winds. One disadvantage of this spot is that it is a passageway, so you get a lot of traffic going in and out of the island group. Not only can it be noisy as they pass, but it can be wavy as motor boats in particular leave a lot of wash and water disturbance. Quite a few boats were already tied to the cliffs in Hemsundet and I predict that soon they will be rubbing fenders together as more boats were headed in this direction.




We sailed the last five nautical miles to Stora Nassa, a prettyouter archipelago consisting of 364 islands - one for each day of the year. As a lot of this area is a bird sanctuary, it is out of bounds at this time of the year while the birds are nesting, so that somewhat reduces the choice of mooring place. Some of the more popular places were quite full. It's no fun being squeezed in between others in a nature harbour. It's unavoidable at a guest harbour, but the idea of a nature harbour is to "get away from the rat race".




We spent quite some time drifting around trying to balance our need for some kind of privacy, beautiful scenery, a degree of protection from winds and the weather forecast and chose a compromise spot for tonight. We can review it tomorrow, as there are a few little one boat spots that are ideal in less windy conditions.


And as if reading my mind, when I turned on my mobile phone to see if we had connection so far from the mainland, there was the much anticipated SMS to announce the birth of gorgeous little baby Oscar - he was born today (sharing a birthday with Sweden's Crown Princess) and the message reports that mum and baby are well and that dad is still recovering. Typical.




Congratulations to all of you! Apparently dad is already onto his second video tape.

I say keep that camera firmly glued to your hands and pretty soon you’ll catch him doing something you can use as ammunition against him when he’s older! (The 18th birthday bash works well for that)

Congratulations Bethy, we can’t wait to meet him in person!

Sunshine? What was that again? I can't seem to remember.

As you can tell by the heavy sarcasm, it dawned with wind and lashing rain. Despite that, we saw miserable looking crews dressed in rubber boots and oilskins ready to brave the elements and depart. One poor boat had only gone 50 metres when an enormous rain squall hit, reducing visibility to zero and dousing them in buckets and buckets of freezing water. While watching them from the comfort of my warm boat, I was reminded of last year when we were in similar conditions outside of Fjällbacka on the west coast. Boy that was a soaking to remember and as we were also sailing downwind like these poor unfortunates, there was nowhere to seek shelter and everything got soaked (except for the pets). I knew just how they must be feeling.

Several hours later, Lars-Göran spied a sliver of blue sky appear and he determined that the worst was over and that we would also head out northwards to the next island group - Långviksskär.




While hauling up the 30 metres of anchor chain, the wind contrarily picked up (Murphy's Law again) and I felt a few rain drops, but as denial is our middle name, we convinced ourselves that it was simply a passing shower. Hmmmm... The forecast had spoken of winds around 7-10 metres a second which would have been good. Unfortunately the wind appears not to listen to the Swedish forecasters (I think we ought to follow suit) as I judged that the wind out on the open water was much stronger than that. Just off the north of Biskopsö, we measured it and saw it was gusting at over 16 metres a second - in other words building up to gale force again. We furled in sail, stowed anything not watertight, pulled our wet weather gear around us as the rain clouds massed in behind and waited for the expected drenching, which didn't disappoint. Oh well, we're still saving money on sunscreen, I guess.

We only went six nautical miles before deciding that this was madness and so I glanced over our large scale Hydrographica chart of the area and suggested we pull in to the northern part of this island group. These charts are a worthwhile purchase and we refer to them all of the time as they give such accurate detail not found on official charts. Following the chart, we found an ideal spot just where we had hoped, all alone and well protected. We anchored and perversely the rain clouds disappeared, the sun came out and everything looked beautiful.




In the afternoon, a little Viggen sailed right past us and tied to a small islet nearby. It has a much shallower draught than our boat, so they have a greater choice of mooring places than we have. The beauty with a group of islands like this is that there are so many little nooks and crannies that several boats can be moored here in tiny hidden spaces and you can feel quite private and alone.




While you can't see the detail from the map I posted above, as well as the bigger islands of Långviksskär, Söderö and Hummelskär, there are over 300 islets, rocky shoals and skerries making up this mini archipelago. One is really spoiled for choice of mooring site and there is a good chance that you can have your own private little beach, just like these people.




With the sun shining, Lars-Göran got itchy feet and so rowed to a nearby island to check out the view from the cliffs and see if they were good islands to walk around on. How different everything looked in the sunshine.




Back at the boat, it was gin and tonic time for us. We sat outside under our cockpit tent, soaking up the warmth and ambience. A couple more boats came in and moored nearby, but not close enough to really bother us at all. Tomorrow's weather forecast is for cool, windy conditions, though later in the week it promises to be fine. We decided that we may stay and look around here tomorrow and head north again the day after.

While chatting, we noticed a small motor boat come in. There appeared to be a young couple on board with two small children. Like true grumpy old farts, we hoped they would moor somewhere else. They passed us and I watched as they headed towards very shallow ground. Just as I was saying "I hope they know what they are doing", they went on ground, but not seriously so. However, it was enough to make them turn back and retrace their steps.

They passed rather close to us and suddenly I heard the sound of an anchor being hauled out and watched in surprise as the young woman flung the anchor over the side only a few metres from our boat. My first thought was "Are they mad?", but Lars-Göran, who is much more observant than I am, noticed that their motor was not running and guessed that they might be in trouble. Sure enough, the young woman called out to us that the engine had stopped and that they were drifting towards rocks in the increasing wind, adding that she couldn't get the anchor to grip. So, it was L-G to the rescue!




He motored out in the dinghy to see if he could help. The couple were in a bit of a panic as it wasn't their boat. They had borrowed it for the day, hoping to spend a night out in the archipelago with the kids. The man had jumped overboard into the freezing water to help push the boat away from the rocks (ruining his mobile phone in the process), while his wife was frantically trying to get the anchor to grip. With some difficulty Lars-Göran managed to tow their boat to a safe spot while they worked out what to do.

He checked the anchor to see why it wouldn't grip and saw that they had no idea of what they were doing. It was a collapsible grapnel type of anchor, much like this one, but one needs to set it with the grips expanded before throwing it overboard. When he showed them how it worked, then threw it in the water, it caught immediately. Then the rather embarrassed young man then saw that the reason the engine stopped was that he had inadvertently engaged the dead man's switch. Well, at least it was easy to remedy and the motor sprang to life!

They then asked where it would be good to moor their boat. Lars-Göran recommended a little sheltered inlet where they could tie easily to land. The rocks were flat there, making it an ideal spot for the kids to explore. He offered to lead them over, check the depths and attach their mooring lines. What a great guy I've married.




In the morning we had glimpses of sunshine, so we set up the tent to maximise the sun's effects and put the birds out to enjoy a little fresh air and a bit of a view. We were quite close to land and the trees on these islands were full of forest birds, twittering their little hearts out while flitting here and there. Our own birds really respond to this, which is always funny to watch.




We dressed up in windproof gear as the breeze was rather fresh and took the dinghy out for a spin to see how things looked in the southern part of the archipelago. We chose a rather meandering route, trying to stay in shallow, sheltered little shortcuts between islands rather than be out exposed on the larger waterways. It was fairly calm in here despite the wind, but we caught glimpses of the sea outside of the islands and it looked quite rough. I was glad we were not out in it. Again, we marvelled at the beautiful array of wildflowers out on the rocky cliffs. It is quite astonishing that they manage to survive here with so little soil, but they appear to thrive. The mild and wet conditions this summer seem to suit them and there is a proliferation of species. I can't recall seeing so many different flowers blooming all at once so far out in the archipelago.




In another little turn, we came to a cul-de-sac between high cliffs, ending in a serene, verdant pond. It was so damp and still in here - not a breath of wind, only a gentle lap of the water against the rocks, which themselves were draped in various types of mosses. I love moss, so I made Lars-Göran row closer to the rocks so I could stroke the lovely velvety surface.




We then started the motor and drove around to the main island, which is about a kilometer long and is the permanent home to a family who has lived here for over 200 years. The island and the family are seen as a living museum as they live by the old ways, trying to preserve a way of life and a culture that has mostly disappeared from the region.




It must be quite a lonely existence out here in the bitter winter months, with the mainland many kilometers away and only the howling wind and a few hardy seabirds for company. The family make their living by boat building, fishing, caring for livestock in the summer, running a taxiboat service, acting as rangers for the bird, seal and nature reserves in the area and offering guided tours of the archipelago.




Surprisingly enough, it was very quiet down here. The bays around the main island are usually a forest of masts in the summer with boats packed in. We speculated that maybe the less than stellar weather has kept people away from the outer archipelago and closer to the mainland. Often in rainy weather families prefer to be at guest harbours with all facilities and a town nearby to amuse the kids. We sat on the cliffs and had a bite to eat, gazing out to sea and the lighthouses in the distance. It was very relaxing.

One thing that has been on my mind lately is my friend Beth, who should have had her baby by now. Remember that anti-baby shower I went to last month? Well, her guy promised faithfully to SMS all of us when bubs was born and I've been checking my messages twice a day, waiting for news. He's normally such a responsible, reliable person that I am now worried there might be something wrong. But what ought I do? I don't want to ring them and stick my oar in where it's not wanted or needed, but I want to make sure they are all okay. After talking to Lars-Göran, I decided that if I've heard nothing by Sunday night, I'm going to ring Jodi and see if she knows what is going on.

Fingers crossed that I'm just being a worry wart.

At last, a dry and sunny day! Yes, it is still bitingly cold, but the sky is blue, the sun is shining, the birds are singing and best of all we have the perfect wind direction for our journey back into the familiar waters of the Stockholm archipelago. Yay for us. We quickly got everything in order and raised sails and joined the throng of boats, who also seemed to have the same idea as us. Who can blame them, as they must have all been suffering from cabin fever these last few days when the foul weather made sailing a less than inviting thought, except for masochists. Even the birds began flying around, now that the gale force winds have departed eastwards.




This is yet another heron. I'm amazed to have seen so many of these normally shy birds this year. We have been jokingly adopting a bored, eye-rolling, yawning expression when we see a heron, but the truth is that we can never get enough of these graceful birds and we do enjoy seeing them in increasing numbers. The same applies for the magnificent sea eagles that we have also been seeing in increasing numbers. Not so long ago, they were in decline and seriously threatened by high levels of PCBs in their environment. A concerted effort to improve this has resulted in them once again nesting along the coastal waters.

The sailing was really enjoyable. The only pity was that we are still having to be so rugged up - IN JULY! Am I never going to dispense with long sleeves this year? It felt good to be back on very familiar ground, spoiled for choice about where to anchor for the night. We decided to keep sailing until we felt like stopping, so we managed a quite respectable 25 nautical miles before calling it a day in Solmansviken, a very sheltered little lagoon just across the water from our old home town of Nynäshamn. (It feels really strange to say "our old home"...)




The evening was long and sunny and we lazed around sipping on wine and glancing at the charts trying to decide where to go next. I voted for following the wind and choosing places based on the best wind direction. With that in mind, we ought to head roughly north east tomorrow. There are many places we could stop at depending on how good the winds are and how we feel in ourselves. We thought about Utö (if it's not too crowded), Fjärdlång, Biskopsö ("Bishop's Island" thus the appalling pun in this post's title!) or maybe even further if we felt so inclined.

The morning was bright and sunny, though the winds were only about 4 m/s, so it looked like the closer destination of Utö or thereabouts might be a good goal. Lars-Göran was obviously feeling the benefits of a little sunshine and he suggested hoisting our light wind gennaker. It's always a little amusing to watch him set this up, as despite marking the corners of the sail, he still manages to hoist it upside down and even sideways! Today though, it hoisted like a dream and we were quickly out on the water gliding along beautifully.




We reached Utö and still felt like continuing, so we did so. The sky began to cloud over and rain threatened, so we drew in the light wind sail and instead hoisted the main and rolled out a bit of foresail and continued through the narrow strait at the top of Utö and out into the outer archipelago. Of course, just as we were approaching the narrowest, shallowest bit of the passage, with boats coming at us from all directions, Fiona decided to really put on some speed and despite reducing the foresail to a bare minimum and releasing the wind from the main, we still screamed through the opening at 7 knots. I had my eyes closed!

With the clouds and drizzle coming in, the journey became a little boring as visibility was reduced. It was much quieter out here than in the middle archipelago, so we thought that there may not be too many people at Biskopsö and headed in that direction. I looked at our books of nature harbours and found a chart to help us navigate in the shallow waters around this island. Just outside of Vellinge, we saw this couple wrapped in rugs and fast asleep on the rocks. When we first sighted them, they looked as though they were dead bodies. Doesn't look much like summer sunbathing, does it?




It was starting to blow quite strongly now and the wind was extremely cold, so we were grateful that after 30 nautical miles, we came to to the narrow passage that signified the entrance to Biskopsö. While our bay was still a little way inside the island group, we were hoping for some shelter from waves and the worst of the wind behind these heavily forested isles. It was quite stressful to be in unknown waters trying to navigate in very tight spots when the wind was so strong. The rocks were very close...




In fact we DID hit a rock with a mighty bang, but I promised Lars-Göran that I wouldn't mention it, so just forget I said anything.

While it doesn't look far "as the crow flies" to come from the entrance to the little lagoon where we thought to moor, it is actually quite a zig-zag route backwards and forwards because of the many shoals. We could see several masts already in the distance, so we knew we'd not be alone and as we approached and the cloud lifted, we saw the moored boats bathed in golden evening light.




We were happy to see that all of the boats here were tied up to land and that the little spot in the middle of the lagoon, just big enough for one boat, was free. Yes! By now it was getting on towards evening and we were the last boat to come in, providing entertainment for the assembled crews. We were determined not to provide any laughs, so we carefully checked the depths and laid anchor in the middle right next to a small rocky ledge. It is a little un-Swedish of us to eschew the apparent "joys" of tying the boat to land and setting up a grill on the cliffs with the others, but we much prefer a civilised warm meal eaten under cover, with our only neighbour a curious little black-headed gull.




In the morning, Lars-Göran rowed to land with our still wet light wind sail and spread it out on the cliffs to dry. Gradually as the morning progressed, the assembled boats left one at a time until we were the only boat left in the little lagoon. It seemed a perfect time to explore in peace before the next lot of boats began to arrive in the afternoon. It was sunny, though a little cool and hazy, with a biting wind that cut right through you. Still, when you look at the scene, it looks like a perfect summer day.




Each time I look at the pictures we took today, I can see how deceptive they are. You'd swear it was 28C with a gentle breeze. I think you'll agree that the beauty of these islands makes upo somewhat for the cool temperatures. It really is very serene and quite lovely. The next picture looks across the rocks to the entrance where we came in (a gap in the trees between two islands). It's hard to convey just what a snaking route it took us to get here. Oh God, did someone say snake? *shudder*




While I had always been curious about these islands, I doubt we would have attempted this with just the charts. It looks completely impassable, so if it wasn't for the coastal guides describing the nature harbours (we like to use Åke Améen's Naturhamnar på ostkusten and Lars Granath's Arholma-Landsort - also available in English) we would hesitate about attempting to moor here and thus miss out on all of this beauty.




While we were having breakfast outside, we saw that the local gulls and terns were busy fishing. It is fascinating to watch each species' particular techniques from the elegant gulls gliding in a holding pattern to the energetic dive bombing exploits of the terns. Just wonderful.

After a short time, a gull came up with a fish and quickly ferried it away to a rock ledge to gobble it up. In no time at all, a couple of "fairweather friends" strolled by with that "I just happened to be passing and couldn't help noticing that you had food" look on their faces. I know this look well from living with a dog whose number one interest in life is food.




Pretty soon, a kind of pecking order was set up and one could see that it really was birds of a feather who flocked together, because when the pretty and much smaller black-faced gull sought to join in the feast, it was informed in no uncertain terms that this was strictly Mew Gull gathering and they certainly didn't want any interlopers.




We loaded up the dinghy with morning tea and rowed off to land at Finnskär, intending to hike up to the sea marker we saw at the top of a hill, reasoning that the view ought to make the climb worthwhile. And it did. The only slight hiccup was seeing a snake, that Lars-Göran was almost sure was the harmless one. I wonder why I was not totally reassured by that "almost sure"...

Anyway, I did get over it without too much hysteria and we could sit at the base of the marker (out of the wind, förstås!) and look at the maze of rocks below us in all directions.




Before we came up here, I had no idea that boat was even there "around the corner" and we wondered how they had managed to get there, determined to look it up on the charts when we got back to the boat.

Not all of the islands are so full of foliage. To the east, the islands are much more bare. We are right out on the very outer edge of the archipelago here and beyond this point there is no more land until you reach another country.




From up here we could also see Fiona happily moored in the flad. It's funny how she looks like she is out in the open from up here, but seen from the perspective on the boat, she seems much nearer to land. This is a landscape that I love and look forward to visiting.




Looking towards the north west we could see that the first of the afternoon boats had made its way into the entrance. You can see the sails from here framed against the greenery of the main island (Biskopsö). I noticed that they may be locals as they came in at quite a speed. certainly much faster than we dared to. Or maybe we are chickens. Anyway, I hope they are prepared for the fun game of dodge the rocks. I'm guessing that they will have to reduce sail fairly smartly so they have a little more fine control. The wind is quite brisk and it is so easy to go aground in these waters as you can see.




As the boat made its way towards our bay, we focused on the houses on the island. These islands are owned by a private foundation and are a nature and bird sanctuary. There is only one family on the island who act as park rangers and they live here all year round. I remember reading about them in Malcolm Hanes and Staffan Sjöberg's excellent book Utskärsfolket. It sounded like quite an isolated and spartan existence when they first came here in 1944 - no comforts at all and grinding poverty. Things are a little easier these days with motor boats to get them to the mainland for supplies and since 2003 they have had electricity. I couldn't believe that it took until 2003 to get something so basic in an apparently civilised country. Still, they must love the life here.




After a time, the boat we had seen come in was making its way towards where we were moored. See, I was right - they had to take down the sails and motor along very carefully. As a precaution, one of the crew members (and I wonder why it is always the woman?) is standing at the fore watching through the clear water for any rocks.




We had thought to wait until they were moored before we went back, but they were taking 1,000 years to decide what they were doing. They anchored a dozen times here and there, always deciding at the last minute that they didn't like it, or the anchor dragged, or the boat didn't reach land. I think it was fairly obvious that this was a charter boat as they were completely clueless. We got tired of watching them fart arse around, so swe walked along the rocky shore admiring the pretty wildflowers.




We prepared to go back to the boat and just as we did, in one of Lars-Göran's brilliant bit of bad timing, a big powerful RIB pulled into the bay from the south. It was full of people who we thought might be on one of those fast tours of the region. As I looked closer, I saw they were filming - they filmed Fiona, they turned and filmed us in our dinghy and just as I was wondering wtf?, I saw that the boat was a from The Swedish Sea Rescue Society. All I could think was "thank goodness we were all wearing life jackets". Rowing closer (because, let's face it, we are a couple of nosey parkers) we could hear that they were filming a tv commercial. Wow, fame and stardom at last!




Or maybe not. Who can tell? But just in case, I'm practicing my autograph.

The wind is picking up even more, the clouds are moving in and rain is falling. We talked about this and still remain surprised by the sustained period of gusty, cold conditions. I can only hope that it will quit soon and send us proper Swedish summer soon. It's funny that after last year's hot, dry conditions in Stockholm, everyone was talking like we were about to become the new Spain. Yeah, right! Perhaps mother nature has a sense of humour, because she is certainly having a joke at Sweden's expense.

All things considered, we are still happy to be out in this beautiful environment. We lounged the evening away, checking the charts for a possible move tomorrow, cooking up a a batch of aromatic fresh bread (I love my pressure cooker!) and generally chilling out. And thinking positive thoughts for sunshine, sunshine, sunshine for the next few weeks.

That is the one and only consolation that I can think of as the dismal summer weather continues. We've been out for nearly three weeks and have not really had a decent summer day yet. While the photos may suggest otherwise, it has generally been cold and rainy. We don't tend to take photos under those conditions, but wait for the patches of sun that appear. What a contrast to Australia at the moment, suffering under a terrible drought and with a surfeit of sunshine. I wish we could do some kind of international swap - I'll send you a big serving of rain and you could reciprocate with precious SUNSHINE. But not too much....




I ought to stop whining, as the sun has actually peeped out today, albeit very shyly. The notoriously unreliable Swedish weather forecast says that it will rain again tomorrow. Boy am I quickly tiring of that particular forecast. The other worrying bit of news is that they are forecasting extremely strong westerly winds, possibly up to a strong gale, in this region over the next few days. This is most unusual for the time of year, as in summer we often get light winds in the archipelago. This sustained period of quite strong, gusty conditions is a little out of the ordinary. But the scenery is still lovely.




A decent bout of summer is really important in this relatively dark, cold country. I used to be highly amused by the Swedish adoration of sun and light and the enthusiasm with which they greet the onset of summer. Having lived most of my life in "the sunburnt country" I was pretty blasé about sunshine. It was something one expected to appear almost daily, so no cause for a big deal. I have changed quite a lot now that I've experienced the winter darkness, those weeks and weeks where everything is grey and the world is cold, silent, monochrome and lifeless. Unless you have experienced it, you cannot know how bleak that can be. If you live in a land of sunshine and evergreen trees, you can't know how depressing the sight of bare, skeletal trees in a monochrome landscape can be. And how much one can long for warmth, sunshine and light.




Anyway, enough about that. We had to move the boat at about 3am because we were moving closer and closer to that little skerry we had tied the boat to. It was too tight to reset the anchor - really this cute little bay at Örnklubbarna is only suitable in stable, calm weather. If we had been smarter we would have moved the boat as soon as we heard the weather forecast in the afternoon. But we were in denial. Fortunately, while it was windy, it was a clear, moonlight morning and it was a quick job to shift her a couple of nautical miles to the north to Griskär.




It is the same group of islands where we spent midsummer. We had thought about going a little further north to the next group of islands but decided that this one would be less crowded and an ideal place to wait out any wild weather, protected as we are in a roomy pond surrounded by land on all sides. The wind can blow from and direction and we will still be fine.




When the sun made an appearance, we went on a tour with the dinghy around the islets. It is really beautiful here, even on an overcast day. It was quite a complicated labyrinth, but we found a perfect spot out of the wind to set up our picnic on a rock overlooking the pretty flowers and the water. This area is part of the Stendörren Nature Reserve, which was established in order to preserve the area’s great natural environment. Set in a landscape of seacoast and archipelago, the reserve offers a variety of undisturbed natural ecosystems and habitats, including everything from fertile shoreline meadows and dense spruce woods to rocky terrain with dwarf pines and reindeer moss. The old farmstead at Griskär includes both small plots of cropland as well as wooded pasture. The agricultural landscape is kept open by grazing sheep, which we heard bleating piteously, but never actually saw. Perhaps it was a tape recording. Or a new breed of invisible sheep. :)




You can see quite clearly that the whole landscape is greatly influenced by the adjacent Baltic Sea, which is seldom more than a stone’s throw away. At various times in its history, the waters of the Baltic have alternated between fresh and salt. At present, it is a brackish mixture of both and is also experiencing problems caused by over-fertilisation and the dumping of toxic substances. but here, things still look healthy and pristine and there is an astonishing variety of plant like flourishing here.




In the woods you can see marsh tea, wild berries and several different species of sphagnum moss. Among the numerous pines in these rocky areas grow crustose lichen, wavy hair grass as well as several species of the foamy grey-green lichen known as reindeer moss. We collect this at Christmas time to put around our advent candles.

Growing closer to the shoreline are common centaury, strawberry clover and silverweed. A little closer to the water’s edge, one may encounter saltwort and common valerian, while out on the bare rock ledges can be found chives, yellow
stonecrop, wild pansy and sheep’s sorrel. Some area look like an amazing sort of cottage garden. Very, very pretty.




Sadly the rain came again and we scurried back to the boat. I rearranged some of our provisions while Lars-Göran did a few minor repairs here and there. The long range forecast for the next week does not look like being much better than this. Is it going to be like this all of summer?

It seems that Sweden is at the crossroad of a low pressure superhighway, with low systems and cold fronts sweeping at us from all directions. They are literally queued up waiting to have a go at us. There is rain and storms sweeping in across the Atlantic from Iceland, another frontal storm system off the Irish Sea heading our way, cold, dry arctic air traversing Siberia and making its way to Sweden and a deep low pressure system lying still over the region of Southern Sweden/Poland/Germany bringing drenching rain over that region.

While it is nice to be on board, we are both feeling restless and want to sail. We are tired of waiting out wet weather and foul winds in bays and are keen to feel the breeze in our hair and watch the islands float by. We need a glimmer of light and most of all the prevailing south-west winds to help us. I hope tomorrow is more promising.

And you will notice that this is posted at seven minutes past seven on the seventh of the seventh in the year two thousand and seven. Yep, 07:07, 07/07/07. Why? Well, because I can....

It is a fine and sunny morning, though it stubbornly continues to be really cold. We need to keep the cockpit tent up at night and in the mornings to catch some sunshine and protect us from the polar winds. By July it ought to be a little warmer than this! We are grateful though for the glimpses of sun as the forecast had painted a far more miserable outlook. Wrong again, SMHI! The other effect of the cooler conditions is that the air remains damp and a little misty. We lack the clear sunny days that make a Swedish summer so memorable.

We had thought to stay here (despite the snake threat) for another day, but there was a wind shift to the east, which would give us ideal conditions to cross over Bråviken, so instead we packed up and headed northwards towards Oxelösund. If you look at the map, we were moored just south of Gransö (spruce island) and it was roughly 20 nautical miles across to where we wanted to be. In these winds it ought to be a breeze.




The wind held steady and we crossed over Bråviken easily. It was fast, comfortable sailing, though there was an unbelievable stream of boats sailing southwards, so we had to keep good watch to avoid collisions. As usual, we were going against the traffic. We sometimes joke that our surname ought to be Motström (against the stream) instead of Nordström.

As well as leisure boats, one has to watch out for cargo ships that come in from the Baltic and head up Bråviken to the port town of Norrköping. They travel at quite a speed, so one must keep watch all of the time and make adjustments to one's course so that they have free passage. Not everyone is so careful, though and we were absolutely dumbfounded to see these two boats invite disaster by trying to outrun a fully laden cargo ship rather than alter their course to go behind the ship.




I couldn't help but think of last month's train crash in Kerang (rural Victoria) which claimed 11 lives. The truck driver whose rig crashed with and then derailed the train was trying to beat it to a level crossing. It's so sad that people continue to court disaster with their "I'm in a hurry and I won't stop for anyone" attitude. Fortunately this time the boats got by, but it was a close shave. Idiots!

While crossing, we rang our good friend Björn to see if he was on duty this week. We visited him at the pilot station last September and thought it would be fun to have him over for dinner while we were passing. As luck would have it, he was coming down the next day, so we invited him over and anchored for the n ight at Stora Trassö, a short hop away from the pilot station, with a peaceful outlook across the water.




We had a narrow spit of land to protect us from any waves and peace and quiet as the main route along the coast was behind us. This would be full of passing motorboat traffic, which is both noisy and painful as they generate a lot of swell and backwash. We prefer the company of a few nesting oystercatchers (strandskator) and the gentle lap of the water to accompany our evening g&t. We even had a whole colony of herons on a nearby - AGAIN! I swear that I've seen more herons this season than I had in the previous six summers. I wonder why?




There were a few stray boats heading along the channel to Nyköping and one or two taking the less popular route into Oxelösund, but for the most part we were all on our own. Heaven! One boat that we saw in the distance is a new type of ferry built in an older style.

This boat is run by Royal Stockholm Cruise Line and travels from Stockholm to Västervik along the various archipelagoes in a sort of Swedish version of the famed Norwegian coastal express, Hurtigruten. If you are not fortunate enough to have your own boat, it can be a marvellous way to see Sweden and the unique islands which make up the east coast. A great idea.




In the morning we made our way to moor at the pilot station, catch up with Björn and had a quick trip into town to pick up some extra wine and some loaves of crusty french bread to have with dinner. Björn invited us to accompany him out on the pilot boat to meet a ship, but we declined as the weather was cold, wet and rather wavy. Not nearly as nice as when we did it last year.

Dinner went until the early hours of the morning, with much food and wine consumed and a lot of good conversation and laughter. It was both relaxing and enjoyable to catch up with Björn and we plan to do it each time we pass if his timetable allows.

We left in the morning, under rather windy conditions with a reefed main and storm sail up. We made a fast crossing past Nyköping and found ourselves in the tight and busy route along Södermanland and up near the Västra Stendörren area, which seemed a lagom distance to stop for the day. Most of the bays in this area are very popular and in July are jammed packed with boats. The forecast for the coming days is for wet and windy weather, so people will be inclined to stay where they are and wait for better conditions. With that in mind we skipped over the more obvious mooring spots close to the route and headed to the outer archipelago and a tiny group of islets called Örnklubbarna, which translates as Eagle Rocks. Could it be more perfect?




Wow, I thought, a message from Daddy Cool. We have to stay here. Lars-Göran just looked at me and said "Daddy Cool? Who is he?". HE? HE? Dear, oh, dear. You can just tell that he is never going to pass the new Australian Citizenship test if he thinks Daddy Cool is a person, is he? I took a deep breath and explained that while Sweden was busy foisting crap like Abba and Roxette on the world, the wonderful Aussie band Daddy Cool were belting out real rock songs. And one of those songs - perhaps the ost popular Aussie tune of all time- was the megahit Eagle Rock! And here we were....




He seemed quite unimpressed by this, so I let it slide though I did spend the afternoon humming the tune while enjoying looking around and soaking up the last sun we'd see for a while. There were no other boats here, which is not surprising as the entrance to these islets is very tight. We had a description in a navigation book, plus used the depth sounder and computer navigation to get us in to a constricted but very pretty spot surrounded by tiny islets.




There was room for only one boat here and even that was a tight squeeze if you were anchored as there was really not quite enough swinging room should the wind shift, especially if the wind decided to increase as these are fairly low, sparsely vegetated rocks. Just to be certain, Lars-Göran rowed across to one of the nearby isles and attached a rope to the tree there, to prevent the boat swinging into shoals. Just in case some shallow draught sailing or motor boat should try and pass through the rocks, he attached fenders so the the rope would float and be easily visible. We also decided to use an anchor light at night to light up the boat's position. After that, we could sit back and enjoy the peace.




We took out the dinghy for a tour around the more inaccessible bays. The whole area is a rather charming and beautiful labyrinth of skerries, rocks and islets which is so inviting. Around every corner we saw a glimpse of Fiona from various angles and at times she looked so surrounded by rocks that I'm sure a boat passing out on the main route would look and think "How the hell did they get such a big boat in there?"




We saw one or two sailing boats look, then try and come in as well - after all nothing attracts boats like the sight of another boat moored in a pretty place - but after going aground in these rock filled waters, they quickly decided to find another, easier spot to moor.

I'm lucky really that Lars-Göran dares to try these new places and that our boat's keel is designed to tolerate hitting ground. So many of the new fancy bulbed keels break straight away, or transfer the force upwards, destroying the boat's interior. We have hit hard and apart from spilling a bit of the bird's seed and water, there has been no other damage. In fact we did hit ground on the way in here as the channel was even narrower than we believed. The fact that I was steering didn't help, either, but I had seen the depth dropping, so I turned away and we only "kissed" the stone.

So we lay on the cliffs out of the cold wind, enjoying a thermos of coffee and some Anzac biscuits watching the parade of boats passing by and looking for a night harbour.




t felt warm on the lee side of the rocks, so I could kid myself that it really was summer, even though I was still wearing a windproof jacket. Lars-Göran dipped his toes in the water and let out a steady flow of expletives, so I'm guessing it was COLD. I looked at the flowers growing all over the islands and thought that the mild, wet weather was at least a good thing for them. Some flowers (they look rather like a michaelmas daisy) were even thriving right in the brackish water of the Baltic. It's truly amazing how adaptable they are. And such a pretty splash of colour and life among the grey rocks.




Looking in the other direction, away from the mainland and the skerries between here and there lies the great expanse of the Baltic Sea. Beyond these reeds and rocks, it is only water for hundreds of nautical miles until you reach the coast of Estonia to the east. Amazing!




Back on land, it was time to prepare dinner. And from our dinner table set out in the cockpit we could watch the others also feed. Ducks and swans were diving down into the water and munching on the algae, terns and gulls were busy fishing, while the tiny fish tried to hide in the shadow of the boat's hull, and on one rock, we saw a seagull and a crow share a meal of fish. It is the first time that I've ever seen this level of co-operation between different species of birds. And certainly with gulls, they rarely share a crumb with even their own kind. Who among us has not witnessed a fight between two hundred gulls to almost the death over a chip? But here were these two buddies sharing a whole dinner.




And while I was speculating about how these islands got their name (in view of the last post about Snake Islands), a stunning sea eagle (havsörn) swooped down from on high and casually plucked a fish out of the water. What a magnificent sight and only metres away from where we were eating our own fish meal. Though I had cheated and bought my herrings from the shop, rather than compete with the eagle.





Now, I ask you, is there anything better than doing the Eagle Rock? Take it away Daddy Cool!

As I indicated last time, we left Mon and headed northwards back along the route we have already followed to get here. It may seem a bit of a backward step, but the weather forecasts for the southern part of Sweden are pretty grim, with cloud cover, wind and rain, rain, rain for the foreseeable future. Last summer we were stuck in the south around Skåne and Blekinge for a whole month in similar conditions while the Stockholm archipelago basked in the hottest, driest summer for many years. We don't intend to make that mistake again, so we are following the weather systems as much as possible this year.

We spent the first day weaving through the rocky islets of St Anna, trying to decide where to moor for the night. As it is now July, the nature harbours are soon full of boats and the trick is to avoid the more popular places and try and find your own private little slice of paradise. We studied the charts and mentally noted several possibilities and set out to check them all out. We made a lucky strike with the first little island group where there seemed to be just us and the nesting seagulls (don't worry, we gave them a wide berth and opted to drop anchor rather than disturb them by tying up to the shore). Several seagulls were gracefully gliding overhead while their mates eyed us suspiciously from the shore. I love seagull attitude. When I stood on deck, I could feel the gentle touch of the peaceful sea breeze. A pair of wild ducks were swimming around the boat and everything felt so wonderful. I do love the summer here although the downside is that one also has to undergo the dark winter!




Many islands in the archipelago have names that describe their function, their appearance or ownership. These are old names and date from the times when written charts were not available and most of the illiterate population had simple, local names for their area. So you often find islands such as Meadow Island, Sheep Island, The Milking Island, Bird Island etc to illustrate what these island were used for by the local inhabitants. Other islands may resemble something so they got a name like Whale Island, Maiden Island. Others have names like Håkan's Islet or The Priest's Isle because of a local person's connection to that place. In fact you often find the same names appearing again and again as you wander up and down the coast.

So where am I headed with all of this rambling? Well, I was not 100% happy about coming here as these islands are called The Snake Islands (Ormöarna)! Lars-Göran chose to laugh at me and spend his time creeping up behind me and hissing. But knowing that islands usually have a name for some particular reason, I felt very uneasy about these ones and studied the chart hoping that perhaps they were snake shaped. Hmmm, as much as I wanted it to be true, even my overactive imagination couldn't stretch that far.




As other boats arrived and began to tie up to the shore I watched and waited for a bloodbath. Lars-Göran was really cracking up at my nervousness. But what can I do? I come from a land where most of the top ten most venomous snakes in the world live. Aussie snakes are not to be taken lightly and all of us brought up in Australia learn at a very early age to be very wary of snakes and to stay out of their way. Add to that a strict Catholic upbringing with the holy pictures of the Virgin Mary crushing "the evil satan in the form of a snake" and you can see that it is powerful indoctrination. After fifty years, it's a hard habit to break, especially when I don't entirely trust Lars-Göran's blithe assurances. He claims that there are only two snakes in Sweden - both are black, only (in his words) "the poisonous one is all black and harmless one has yellow markings on its head. Or is it the other way around?"

Oh yes, VERY reassuring! I'd dearly love to go exploring, especially as it is a beautiful day. It is so tempting with the water interspersed with land everywhere you look and sailing boats all around it really is idyllic - just a wonderful summer scene in perfect conditions. Except for that snake in paradise!




The following morning was again a sensational day and we all enjoyed our breakfast out in the cockpit. Well we enjoyed it until someone mentioned to me that one of the Swedish snakes can swim! Not welcome news at all. The grass snake, (snok in Swedish or Natrix natrix in Latin), likes to swim, indeed the Latin name means "swimmer". The good news is that it is not venomous. The bad news is that I'm not sure if it's the all black one or the black and yellow one! I think I've lost my appetite.




Later on, Lars-Göran tried to convince me to take a trip in the dinghy, assuring me that if we saw a snake in the water it would be harmless. I wondered if there were any stray anacondas here or is it too cold? I know I sound like a complete wuss, but I HATE snakes - for no logical reason I know, but I do. He even promised not to hiss, so I agreed to row around a bit, but not to go on land. He told me that the other snake found in Sweden (huggorm), is a type of adder and while it has venom, its bite can hurt but not kill. Unless you are a mouse. "Hmmmm...." I said "maybe I am part mouse - I eat cheese after all!" He just shook his head and wandered off to get the dinghy ready.




It was funny to look up and see the tops of sails drifting by on the other side of the rocky cliffs. There were a lot of boats out and at times the horizon was thick with white, billowing sails. The contrast with the bare, colourful cliffs and the glittering blue sea was quite spectacular.




These islands form a nice little ring and give you protection from a wide variety of winds. The waters are very shallow in most places, so there are few anchoring spots, though the smooth rocks make it very inviting for those who like to sunbathe or just enjoy relaxing and watching the passing boat parade. I found the rocks here particularly fascinating with a wide variety of colours, patterns and textures. It was enough to overcome my rampant ophidiophobia and agree to venture to land.




From the top of the rocks the views across the water were worth the climb. Small islets dotted the water across to the mainland far in the distance. The sky was beginning to cloud over from the west as the afternoon summer thunderstorms threatened, but even that added to the beauty of the scene. We sat at the top of the rocks just enjoying the sultry warmth and listening to the sounds of nature.




To the east, the skies were still blue and the sun shone down on the extraordinary variety of wildflowers on display. There were dozens of varieties of tiny, colourful flowers wherever we looked. I have made a promise to buy a book of Swedish flowers so that I can identify what they all are. They provide a softening effect to the harshness of the rocks and it amazes me that they can flourish in such a bleak and exposed place.




Out on the main route the boats continue on their journey southwards in the brisk northwesterly wind. It feels good to have no real plans or appointments, so that we can just stop here and there as the mood takes us. The islets here are very pretty and wonderful to explore.




We were quite alone up on our eyrie, looking down on all of those passing by. Later in the day we were joined by a hopeful seagull, intent on trying to souvenir any part of our lunch that we cared to share with him/her. How do you tell the difference between the sexes, I wonder? These birds are so beautiful, even though I know they are scavengers. I love their neat, perfect colours and their grace when gliding on the thermals. Of course, their table manners leave something to be desired!




We sat back and enjoyed the sounds of the gulls, the water slapping against the cliffs and the sound of the wind rustling through the island's birch trees. We wondered what it must be like to live out here all year round. I know how tempting it is to romanticise life in the archipelago on an idyllic summer's day, but I'm sure that it is tough to be out here on a more permanent basis. While I love it here, I also enjoy the comforts of civilisation and the ready access to shops, libraries and company. But on a day like today, one can drift and dream in the sunshine.




When we returned to the boat, I noticed that there were a family of terns on a small rock near Fiona. These little birds are really tough and have no qualms about chasing off the much bigger gulls and crows from their little rock. Both parents were kept busy guarding their territory and furnishing a steady supply of fish for their hungry offspring, who looked cute and fluffy while toddling around the rock. What a sweet little ball of fluff.




It's been a relaxing couple of days here, but we need to move on as the weather is set to worsen tomorrow and we need to aim as far north as we can to catch the sunshine. Ironically, the far north of Sweden is enjoying a proolonged dry, sunny period and is the best place at the moment to be. It's too far away for us, but hopefully the Stockholm archipelago may experience a repeat of last year's conditions and that would bring a big smile to my face. Now it's gin and tonic time