Our first mornings in Motala were glorious. It is such a quiet idyll here in the smaller guest harbour at Motala Verkstad, which we have all to ourselves. As tempting as it would be to stay here forever, we really have to think about going through the last couple of bridges and the final lock to take us out into the main town and the channel which leads out on to Lake Vättern, Sweden's second largest lake - more like an inland sea, really. We aren't venturing into the lake though, as Fiona will be moored at a buoy in Motala Boat Club, out in a protected little bay at Råssnäs (number 3 on this map - and click on the camera symbols to see some photos of the surroundings. It's a beautiful spot).




So we reluctantly say goodbye to the sheep and ducks who have been keeping us company each day and prepare to bring Fiona home. The route down the last mile of the canal is so green and pretty that it is hard to believe that we are in the middle of quite a large town. We tipped our hats at the grave site of Baltzar von Platen, who provided the vision and drive needed to build the Göta Canal and establish Motala as the cradle of Sweden's engineering industry. He was buried here in 1830, sadly two years before his dream was completed.






Then it was a quick job to go through the final lock and into the main bay. Here you find the head office of the Göta Canal (it is the half way point, so an ideal place to have it), a big motor museum, a fantastic ice cream shop and of course the main guest harbour, where we stayed for several days last year.




But there was no stopping today as we were on a mission and getting excited at being re-united with our poor little car, which has been parked at the boat club now for over two months. I hope it starts when we get there! We are also keen to see where we will be moored. We have paid for a buoy to be set out for us, but have no idea where it is exactly. We chose today to go and look as it is calm and still, so we won't feel stressed trying to catch the buoy for the first time in windy, wavy conditions. As Lars-Göran's hands are tender from all of the rope pulling over the last few days, I'm guessing that will be my job.

Just past the guest harbour, the bay opens out quite a bit and we sailed past the big fountain, thankful that the wind was not blowing the spray our way.




We are both in really high spirits, despite the sailing being cut short by a week or so and the warm, sunny day seems to confirm that we have made the right choice. I'm hoping that once we have the boat safely moored that we can relax a little bit. Stress is one of the triggering factors for eczema and I've been thinking about whether the stress of preparing the other place for selling up, buying this place (which needs renovation as well) and moving half way across the country has taken its toll on Lars-Göran. I know he is happy to move, but it has been a lot of work, with much more to come once we assess how much we need to do in the new flat. And it has been a less than perfect summer weatherwise, so he may be feeling a bit down about that as well. We'll have to take it slowly I think.

As we swung into the boat club's bay near Råssnäs, we immediately saw our buoy. Now I wonder how we guessed that it was Fiona's?




I caught the buoy first time (legend that I am. Modest, too.....) and in no time at all, she was safely moored and we could see her resting among the other boats. I notice that she is rather large compared to the other boats in the club and that we are lying furthest out - so we have a bracing 200 metre row in to shore. That ought to be fun if the wind is against us. I feel that the lightweight electric motor we have been considering for the dinghy may be bought sooner than we planned.




We moored the boat, rowed to shore, finally found a fellow club member to help us jump-start the car (second person we asked - the first man couldn't find his own battery!) and drove happily home.

So where is home? Be patient, be patient. It's one of a group of flats in a small, quiet town. On a quiet street. And we are on the second floor of two - NO UPSTAIRS ELEPHANTS NEIGHBOURS!!!!! What can I say - we take AGES to finally make a decision. This had been on our minds for at least three years and we have looked at other towns. The first was Nyköping, not too far from Nynäshamn. But I was rather put off by the advertising.




Now be honest. Tell the truth. Like me, aren't you wondering exactly what he's doing with that other hand? I told my theory to Lars-Göran who thinks I seriously need help and that nobody would assume anything of the sort that I was suggesting. So what else is making him look so shall we say, orgasmically happy, I ask you? Please confirm it isn't just me.

We looked at other towns that we dismissed one by one because we thought they were ugly or too far away or there simply were no places available for sale. Sweden is somewhat socialist in character and in many of these rural regions, all of the apartments are owned by the local government. I prefer to own my apartment rather than rent. It's probably some outdated Australian home ownership notion, but I still prefer it to renting. The towns we considered included Oxelösund, Oskarshamn, Mönsterås, Bergkvara, Kristianopel, Karlskrona, Mariestad etc. Many of these towns we investigated thoroughly while we've been out sailing. We had not considered anything away from the coast, so it was quite by accident while I was idly flipping through a realtor website that I found a flat for sale in a town that we loved. And the flat was ridiculously cheap - so we travelled down to Vadstena to have a look. And where is Vadstena when it is at home?

Here:




We loved Vadstena and when I saw this apartment, we finally did the maths (or math, for you Americans) and worked out that we could live there cheaper than we could in Nynäshamn, which would leave us enough to also run a small car. We had visited Vadstena last year while sailing to the west coast and fell in love with the town. The apartment needs work, but it was love at first sight for us. High ceilings, solid timber floors, a bathroom window (unheard of in Sweden!), a small group of flats, a quiet street, a sunny location. And what a pretty town!




But now we have to get cracking and do some work, as everything we own is in storage and we have to sleep on the floor until at least one room is fixed up. We started on the main living room first, which was painted with three white walls and one blood red wall. Not really my taste. So we spent an afternoon combing through the wallpaper shop in town, looking for something warm and friendly. I finally found a soft terracotta colour in a book of old-fashioned wallpapers dating from the early twentieth century. Our apartment was built in the early 1940s, so I feel that it has the proportions for this type of paper. We ordered that paper for the living room, bedroom and hallway (plus a decorative border for the hallway as well) and even found a pretty blue and white floral paper for the kitchen.

Then we started work. First the walls had to be made ready while we waited for the paper to arrive. Then it was a matter of measuring, wetting the paper and then applying it to the sanded, prepared walls.




We had to improvise a bit as we were not able to find a suitable container in which to soak the wallpaper, which was prepasted. None of the local shops had anything we could use and all of them said that we ought to use paste instead. But Lars-Göran was adamant that he preferred the other method. In the end I had a brainwave and we went to the local plant shop down by the harbour and bought one of those plastic balcony planter boxes, drilled holes in the side and added a spare bit of curtain rod we had lying around and we had a great container to soak the wallpaper.

We worked steadily, finding a system that functioned well and despite friends' predictions that we'd divorce by the second wall, we found it quite fun - tiring certainly, but not stressful. It wasn't long before we were covering the awful red wall. I know in this picture that the wallpaper does not look much better than the red paint, but believe me, it's a lovely colour in real life, with a faint watermark pattern on it, as though someone has shaken a brush and splashed the surface with lighter and darker paint. It gives the walls a bit of depth and texture.




Once the paper was done, it was time to add the cornice. These are not at all common in Sweden, which is a pity as often the ceiling/wall joints are not very straight and they can look untidy. Fortunately we have lovely high ceilings and we had no hesitation in choosing the same cornice we had used in our flat at Nynäshamn (mind you, we had to drive a round trip of 180kms to Norrköping to buy it!). It's easy to work with and once we figured out how to correctly set the mitre box for perfect 45 degree angles at the corners, it went very quickly.




Then it was a matter of moving in the furniture, popping along to IKEA to get a few extra bookshelves for our growing book collection and then settling down to a wine and a few nibbles in the afternoon sunshine. Life feels good again.




So that's one room partly done. We still have to put up paintings and add a few ornaments etc, but we haven't found the boxes they are packed in yet. Oops...

Our next project is to tackle the bathroom, which to be honest is far more work than we anticipated because for some odd reason, the previous owners stripped it and left it in a dreadful state. We had only a toilet, a sink hanging off the wall by the pipes and a staggering 58 holes in the walls, each a different size with a different coloured plug in it. Knobs! They took all of the cupboards, the towel rails, hooks, the shower shelf, the bathroom mirror, even the bloody toilet roll holder. Talk about wtf. According to the apartment board of directors they ought to have left the stuff belonging to the bathroom (even if it was a bit ugly). So we are looking at the bathroom renovation shops and trying to decide what to do about it all. I guess it's going to keep us busy a while longer.

Despite the less than auspicious start to our homeward journey, the thirty five nautical mile trip to the first stage at Mem was not only easily achieved but was also enjoyable. The day was warm and balmy, it was quiet out on the water, the scenery was gorgeous and I think that now we have made the decision to go, it feels easier.




We chose a slightly meandering route through both the Gryt and St Anna archipelagos, finally deciding to chance getting under the bridge at Lagnöströmmen, west of Norra Finnö/Yxlö. We have done it once before, about three years ago, but we were unsure just how high the water level was given the wet summer we have been experiencing. Our mast is 15.5 metres high, so we have to be really careful when we approach fixed bridges.




As it turned out, we had a small margin to spare and we even had time to stop and fill up with more diesel (and of course eat ice cream - no prizes for guessing whose idea this was!) In early afternoon, we turned up into the area known as Slätbaken, a 15 kilometer long inlet of the Baltic Sea. We passed V. Gärdesholmen island and its distinctive Capella Ecumenica Chapel built in 1965.




And not long after, we sailed past the tower of the ruined castle of Stegeborg. This castle was originally built to defend the town of Söderköping. In a natural setting on Slätbaken bay with its oldest sections built in the 1300s, the castle was at its height during the 1600s when Kings Gustav Vasa and Johan III held court here. In 1590 the latter transformed it into one of Sweden´s loveliest Renaissance palaces. During the 1800s it fell into disrepair but was restored until its current condition in the 1930s. It's still a powerful sight.




By early evening, we were in the tiny hamlet of Mem, overlooking Slätbacken to the east and the beginning point of The Göta Canal to the west. Yes, I know, I know, this time last year I declared that I would absolutely, never, ever travel along the Göta Canal again. But one ought never say that fateful phrase "Never Again" because just look where I am today - and this looks like being an annual event as our new home town is on the shores of Lake Vättern. And the only way to get there with a boat is to take the canal.




The reason we were going to wait until at least next week before taking the canal is that it is still officially peak season until August 21st and they charge a whopping fee for the service. We only need to go half way, but if we had waited, we could have saved 700kr. As we are forced to begin our journey now, we have to pay the full 4,000kr (just over $AU700) to get to Vättern. Highway robbery or a two day trip, if you ask me, especially when you know that many of Europe's canals are free.




But we need to get home, so we smiled plesantly like good little Swedes and paid up, preparing the boat carefully with ropes, fenders etc for the hard work ahead. We managed to find some more cotton gloves at Mem, so hopefully we can keep Lars-Göran's hands protected while he works. I'm quite concerned as I know he has to winch in the ropes in all of 37 the locks through which we have to pass in the next two or three days. It's my job to stay on land, to attach the ropes to the mooring rings and loosen them when we have locked up, so I can't help him onboard. I just hope and pray that he'll be okay. We began the day quietly and after the third lock, in Söderköping, we picked up a Danish boat which became our travelling companion over the next days.




Generally speaking, the weather was a little better than it was when we travelled this stretch last year. As I was the one leaping on and off board, it was a relief to be wearing light clothes and shoes rather than trying my hand at gymnastics in the multiple layers, rain gear and rubber boots that I was encumbered with previously. I've always hated any kind of sport, so this is not my natural milieu at all. I also tried to take some of the strain from Lars-Göran by driving the boat through the stretches between the locks, giving him a chance to rest as it was hot, sweaty work for him.




The canal weaved its way through the countryside, around twisting bends, over roads and beside fields and dales. It was quite green and lush in the sunshine and we did get a chance to enjoy the vista. Last year we were mostly huddled under umbrellas trying to keep warm and dry.




The farmlands in this region are very rich and productive and we remembered last year when we spent the day along this part of the water literally holding our noses and gagging as a farmer was spreading liquid manure on his fields. It was the worst smell imaginable. Today there was no sign of farmer or his dreaded tractor, but the manure producers were out in full force enjoying the sun as much as we were.




As usual, the sight of a herd of highly contented cows cheers me up considerably. I feel such a bond with them that Lars-Göran has taking to jokingly calling them my sisters whenever we see them. Quite what my real life sisters would make of that, I'm not at all sure.

This part of the canal, which stretches from Mem to Norsholm (on the eastern shore of Lake Roxen) is around 28 kilometres long and has 15 locks, raising us up a total of 33 metres above sea level. In addition, there are three bridges that need to be opened to allow us to pass through. While it doesn't sound far to go, it takes quite a while. We began to lock up at Mem at 9.00am and it was almost 5pm when we arrived at the bridge which carries the European Highway 4 over the canal. This one is a fixed bridge as it would be too disruptive to stop the traffic on a road like that.




Once we locked out of Norsholm, we had a choice. We could stay at the guest harbour there and continue our journey tomorrow, or we could cross the 15 nautical miles of Lake Roxen and moor at Berg instead. That would allow us to be the first to lock up in the morning and as we need to press on while Lars-Göran's hands are still okay, we decided to cross Roxen tonight. The Danes agreed, so we both set off immediately for the three hour trip. The weather was warm and clear, so I cooked dinner while we motored along and we sat out in the cockpit and ate it, enjoying the evening and letting the autopilot steer the boat. It's the first time this year that we have eaten a hot meal while underway. We usually have lunch while sailing, but that is generally a salad sandwich. Tonight we enjoyed spinach tortellini with a nice spicy Arrabiata sauce topped with parmesan shavings. A simple tossed salad, crusty bread and a glass of Aussie shiraz completed the meal.




Out in the middle of the lake we came across this man out in his kayak, complete with his faithful companion. They made a charming sight and the dog looked as though it was enjoying the ride and quite familiar with the boat. I was a little concerned that the dog was not wearing a life jacket, but then maybe it is an accomplished swimmer. Unlike a certain toy poodle I could mention, who despite being bred as a water dog, positively loathes water. And last year, not that far from here she proved that not all dogs can float.

We arrived at the Berg lock soon after 8pm, tired and almost ready for bed. The thought of starting the day with the enormous seven part Karl Johan Lock, followed by another four double locks in just a couple of kilometres will be enough to keep me awake with nightmares for the night.




As far as Lars-Göran's hands are concerned, it's so far so good. We have decided to hit it hard with the steroid cream, keep his hands warm and dry in cotton gloves and try and stop it spreading. So far it is confined to two fingers only, which is promising. I certainly hope we can avert a full blown attack this time as it is extremely painful.

In the morning, we discovered that there will be three other boats locking up with us today. That is okay, though the gale force side winds are a cause for concern. The boat which will be next to us in the locks is from Germany. It's a husband and wife team, who come to Sweden most years sailing. They requested to be in the back of the lock as the wife is still recovering from a serious illness and finds climbing the steep walls in the lock very tiring.

They told us that they had been sailing in Sweden two years before and while in Stockholm, they had hired bicycles to ride around Djurgården. The woman had fallen from her bike and badly bruised herself. They had expected the bruising to subside after a few days, but instead it seemed to get worse and to be spreading. She didn't want a fuss, but her husband insisted that she get it looked at, which was just as well, because the doctors at Karolinska diagnosed advanced breast cancer and she found herself admitted immediately for a radical mastectomy and radiation treatment. Not quite how she had envisaged spending her summer vacation in Sweden. They could not speak highly enough of the care and attention they received from the hospital and this year they felt that she had recovered enough to come northwards again.

What a lovely, positive and inspiring couple they were. They had determined that from now onwards they were going to live for the day and experience everything that life offered. While she tired easily, she helped out with the boat as much as she could and he proved to be an exuberant and cheeky companion to Lars-Göran as they chatted together while locking up through this difficult set of locks.




If you peek carefully at that picture, you will also see that the birds are out in the cockpit as well. They just love the attention and excitement of being out and seeing people. There were a large number of bystanders watching proceedings and several people ohhed and ahhed over the birds. I think Bruce in particular knew he was the centre of a lot of admiring looks and so he showed off shamelessly, climbing around the cage, hanging upside down and making eyes at the crowd. What a little con artist!

I also met a couple of Australians at these locks. They were from Perth and driving around Europe for their holidays. They had stopped to watch the boats and spotted the Australian flag on our boat (and the cockatiels in the cockpit - who could miss them hamming it up). I had finished with the final lock and walked up to the next set of double locks to wait for the boat. They had asked Lars-Göran about the flag and when he told them where I was, they walked up to say hello. It was quite a surprise for all of us to find a fellow countryman out in the middle of nowhere and we had a lovely chat while we waited for the lock keeper to arrive and open the gates.




The weather became quite patchy after these locks and several of the next ones were done in pouring rain - yuk! It wasn't wholly awful, though as the sun chased away the clouds and the strong winds kept the weather moving along at a fast pace. In many ways it was a little like an antipodean early spring day, with blazing sunshine, a quick, violent shower and then blazing sunshine again. Lars-Göran kept rubber gloves over his cotton gloves as all of the ropes were sopping wet and we tried to air his hands between the showers and keep new, fresh cotton gloves on him when needed. I also drove some of the stretches and we did get a chance to enjoy the scenery.




This part of the canal goes from Berg to Motala, which is where we will stop. We aren't living in Motala, but it will be Fiona's temporary home until there is a vacancy at our town. It is quite a long and demanding section today and I know that I am going to be bushed tonight. We will travel around 38 kilometres of canals and lakes, pass through 22 locks which will raise us to 88.5 metres above sea level and pass through nine bridges that need to be opened. This section also has two aqueducts - the Ljungsbro aqueduct, built in 1970:




And the Kungs Norrby aqueduct, which was built in 1993 in order to carry the canal over Highway 36. It feels really strange to sail OVER the road. You just can't get the idea out of your head that something is fundamentally wrong with the whole picture. It only makes me keen to visit the famous Håverud aqueduct on the Dalsland Canal. One day. Maybe...




We had spent a long time hanging around and waiting for bridge openings, for boats to lock down in the other direction and for a motor boat that dawdled all day long behind us. When we arrived at Borensberg, it seemed as though we would not make Motala today as we still had to cross Lake Boren (an hour's trip), negotiate the five step locks at Borenshult, then get the railway bridge opened into Motala harbour. We felt so close to our goal that we didn't want to give in. The Danish family were also keen to keep moving towards home, so we decided to take a chance and set off at full speed across Lake Boren. It was hazy and with the extensive blue fields of flowering flax (lin), it was hard to tell where the land ended and the water started. It's just as well that the non-floating dog was firmly asleep in her basket and not tempted to test the boundaries.




The wind picked up to near gale force as we crossed the lake and as the forecast was for more unsettled weather tomorrow, so we really wanted to be in Motala today if we could manage it. As we arrived at the Borenshult locks, torrential rain began to fall, just as it did last year. Thankyou for that, Mother Nature, just what I needed at the end of a long, tiring day!

But we were on a mission, so while I tied up the boat, Lars-Göran and the Danish captain went to land and talked the lock keepers into letting us lock up today. They had been a bit reluctant as it was close to the end of the day, it had just started to teem and they were huddled under shelter eating plates of hot waffles, jam and cream. I don't blame them for hoping that we'd just go away, but eventually Lars-Göran convinced them that we'd go fast and so they relented and let us go as far as Motala Verkstad. Thankyou, girls!




It poured and poured all night, but we didn't care. We were but a couple of kilometres from Fiona's new home, a few more kilometres from our own new home and we had managed to get here from out in the archipelago in just a few days. We're feeling quite relieved and pretty pleased with ourselves. And to welcome us properly, in the morning it was a glorious sunny day and we awoke to the bleating of sheep, who were grazing happily in the field next to the boat.




So our summer trip has come to an end. There may be more sailing this season, if Lars-Göran's hands can manage it and if the weather improves and if we don't get too stuck in unpacking, renovating and settling into the new town. As with so much in life, the journey is the goal.

After our look around Kättilö, I had settled down to get ready for the evening when I saw that Lars-Göran was looking at the charts restlessly. I guessed that he wanted to move on, but as it was late in the day he hesitated to suggest it. I swear that you have to be a mind reader being married to this man!

So I broached the subject and suggested that we could easily move elsewhere. The forecast for the next day was appalling, so we would either have to be out in the rain or stay here another day and I think we both wanted to see a new view as the days left before turning for our new home are dwindling fast. With this on-again-off-again summer, it seems as though we really haven't got into our usual swing yet.

So we upped anchor and followed the islands southwards for a few nautical miles, choosing to stay at one of the Swedish Cruising Club buoys at their St Anna district harbour in Stugvik on Stora Ålö. Considering it is nearly mid-August, there are a surprising number of boats still out in the archipelago. Certainly many of them are foreign yachts heading home and among those tied up here were boats from Germany, Holland, Denmark, Switzerland and Great Britain. But there were still a decent number of Swedish boats as well.

It was one of those golden summer evenings and we could enjoy dinner out in the cockpit, soaking up the warmth and I hung out some washing hoping that the forecast was wrong.




Unfortunately, they weren't wrong. But looking on the bright side, the washing got a good rinse. Boy did it rain overnight - a real, solid downpour without letting up at all. Poor Lars-Göran was up half the night shutting the portlights, then opening them when a shower passed, only to have to leap up and shut them again as the next downpour arrived. You can always tell that the rain is coming as the wind picks up, like a prophet predicting the coming of a more potent god – rain. This was not just plain old pitter-patter little showers, but a full bore tropical style deluge that went on for hours.

The following day was awful - foggy and raining all day, so we bunkered down and sat it out in Stugvik. I know how much Lars-Göran wants to sail, but it seems like this is not a good year for a boating holiday. In fact it has been the worst summer weatherwise in the nearly seven years I've lived in Sweden.

When Saturday dawned bright and sunny, we knew it was time to head out and explore further. I had been looking at what lay in this area and I suggested that we go and have a look at the town of Valdermarsvik, which lies at the end of the east coast's only fjord - a narrow, deep ten nautical mile long waterway.




I had seen a back route around past Lilla Ålö, so we took that way and enjoyed being in a quiet and very pretty island area. Both of us were intrigued by a little bay we glimpsed through the trees just as we were about to join the main fjord but decided to press on and leave it for another day.

It was so good to be out in the warm sunshine again and we sat back as the boat glided gently up the fjord. There were areas with summer houses on the northern shore, but most of the southern shore was farmland with a few traditional wooden cottages at the water's edge.




One reason that we decided to have a look at this area was that one of our good friends was born and brought up in Valdermarsvik and we thought it would be interesting to see where he lived. We have often passed the opening of the route to Valdermarsvik, but never before have we had the right winds to tackle it.

In many places the fjord was enclosed by high, barren cliffs - it is certainly very different to any other place I've seen along the east coast. At times, the height of the cliffs blocked out the wind completely, so we motored through those spots or we might still be there, totally becalmed.




At one stage, we sat and watched an osprey (fiskgjuse) come swooping down just in front of our prow and fly off with it's catch firmly grasped in its talons. It was really fascinating to see the technique - the bird flew in a very tight circle, folded it's wings and dove confidently into the water. It rose with the fish, paused in midair to shake water from its plumage and to arrange fish with head pointed forward (which apparently reduces its resistance to air) and flew off, ignoring us completely.




We arrived in Valdermarsvik in the afternoon and spent some time walking around this very windy and hilly town. Unfortunately it clouded over and we could not get any decent shots of it. I would have liked to take a look in better weather and debated the pros and cons of staying the night and looking again in the morning.

However, we thought that it was not an ideal place to spend the night because it was so windy and the fact that the pier was already full of some of the Saturday night drunks. We got enough of that when we lived in Nynäshamn and there was no way I was going to pay a harbour fee to be kept awake all night. Added to that, our nearest boat neighbour was a bit of a creep and made me feel uneasy. He kept standing on the pier, arms to his side just staring at us as though we were Martians. I have no idea why and we were further puzzled when he put up a huge sheet in his cockpit and hid behind it. What a fruitcake! So instead, we filled up with diesel and water (watched intently by Mr Creepy), I took some rubbish to the bins (followed by Mr Creepy - I was seriously tempted to turn around and confront him, but in the end I couldn't be bothered). We went to the local kiosk and bought some lovely hot chips (that we ate doused in vinegar (inside the boat rather than give Mr Creepy something else to stare at) and then we left and motored a few nautical miles away, anchoring in a little bay behind an island, with the local cows for company. Much preferable to Mr Creepy.




On Sunday we retraced our way back along the fjord and decided to take a look in the little bay we had seen in passing the day before. The chart showed that there was also a shallow opening through to another larger bay and I hunted through our books and found a sketch of it in our 1970's nature harbour guide. It seemed worth a try, so we carefully eased the boat through the grounds, with one eye on the depth metre and me up the front of the boat checking for grounds. We were rewarded by coming into a lovely large, very protected pond-like bay. It was beautiful, with a gracious manor house on one shore, surrounded by extensive grounds, fluffy sheep and deep, deep silence.

We decided to tie the boat up to land Swedish style among the trees and wildflowers on a little rocky islet opposite the manor house. We were the only boat here and we loved it.




The weather was overcast, but we still enjoyed being there, watching the clouds sweep along the sky, the fish jumping in and out of the crystal clear water and the very busy bees rolling themselves joyfully in the blooms near the boat. Life seemed perfect and I was looking forward to planning where we could spend our last ten or so days out on the water.




However, in the morning, Lars-Göran seemed very subdued and when I pressed him for details, he admitted that he was really worried as a finger on one of hands had began to itch the day before. Oh no! Remember this? I couldn't believe that after all the care and treatment that this pesky eczema was making a comeback. My poor man!

Of course, this poses another problem. From here, it is at least three days solid sailing to get home and I remember that this condition does not respond to damp, onboard conditions. It means we will have to abandon plans to sail further and head home immediately. Our priority is to get Fiona safely to her new home and to do so before the eczema gets any worse.

He was feeling quite down, so I took charge. Fortunately I always have his steroid cream on hand, so I made him smother his hands and pop them in cotton gloves. I then hauled out the charts and measured the distance to Mem, where we would need to be by tonight - 35 nautical miles. Quite do-able in seven hours if we motor at 5 knots all of the way. He tried to make a fuss about the cost of diesel, but I was adamant that his health was my first priority and that he was to take it easy and leave the decisions to me.

So I guess that means we are homeward bound. And where is home now? Well, you'll just have to stay tuned and find out.

We woke up this morning to a clear, beautiful sunrise and a half promising forecast. I say half promising as we had hoped to head eastwards out to the outer reaches of the St Anna archipelago as we both love the landscape out there. The bare garden of rocks and skerries is so inviting, but in the strong easterly winds they are forecasting, we will be rather exposed to the whims of the Baltic. We felt more like a lazy sail today, so we thought we'd head south west instead and explore the inner, more protected islands behind the nature reserve at Väggö. We are still going to be in this area for a couple of weeks, so there is plenty of time for the weather to get its act together.

For once we were among the first ready to leave, trying to make the most of the warmish, clear and sunny conditions as another bout of wind and rain is due to sweep in tonight. I kept looking around at the calm, peaceful conditions and I couldn't imagine that it was going to change again so soon. However the plunging barometer is perversely telling another story, so I have to accept that it's inevitable. Unfortunately.




Again, it is practically deserted here and we can look around at our leisure and just enjoy the passing islands. It is remarkably deep water, which makes navigating easier and I know Lars-Göran is enjoying being in his t-shirt and shorts and sailing barefoot for the first time this summer. Downwind sailing is always a little warmer as we have the wind behind us and we are loving the gentle sway of the boat and the interesting skerries. These are rocks that have been highly polished by glaciation until they shine in the sunshine. When you sail in an area like this, it's not as though you are in the sea at all, but rather sailing through a chain of lakes in a great and vastly unspoiled nature.




Just when I was beginning to get too comfortable, I happened to look behind us and saw an extensive area of grey rain out to sea. Was it heading this way or not? We looked at it over an interval of ten minutes or so and decided that it was definitely heading this way, so Lars-Göran rolled in the foresail, started the motor and pointed the boat towards the wind. Meanwhile I plucked up cushions, jackets, books etc and threw them inside, shutting the companionway hatch, covering Lambi's basket with a waterproof covering and grabbing a couple of big umbrellas out of the cockpit stowage area. It was just as well because when the rain hit, after a fitful pause or two to position itself right over our boat, it bucketed down for a solid twenty minutes while we huddled under umbrellas. Great Zambesis of water flowed over me and I wondered if I'd been teleported to Victoria Falls and that Henry Stanley would step over the rail and say "Dr Livingstone, I presume?"

When the rain got bored and moved on, it was clear again and we mopped up, dried off ourselves and the cockpit, made a cuppa and discussed perhaps finding a place to stay for the night. Of course, I immediately voted for a look at Kättilö, which was not too far away.




On the above map, it is located to the left of the larger island of Fångö. As you can see from the chart, there are a lot of grounds, islets, rocks and obstacles everywhere, so careful navigation is required. I had read a little about the island and it seemed historically interesting and anyway, I wanted to stay at the bay mentioned in the book - solely because it was called Chicken Point (Kycklingudden). Yes, I know I'm shallow, what can I say? It's the same impulse I have when we come to bet on something like the Melbourne Cup or at Oakbank. My family and friends would seriously check out the form of the horses and the odds offered, whereas I'd place bets willy-nilly on horses with funny names. I mean you HAVE to put your money on "Flying Mattress" or "Richard Cranium" or "Amanda Charlotte the Harlot" when you see them, don't you?

Anyway, as luck would have it, that bay was on the eastern side of the island, so not a good choice in these winds, so we chose a bay in the south west corner of the island, overlooking the main route, but deep inside and protected by trees and the occasional boat shed.




We were a little undecided about this place as it was surprisingly deep until quite a long way in and we didn't want to moor in a place that would be in the way for the island's inhabitants. We dropped anchor as far away as we could from the small piers and felt like we were right in the forest, with branches hanging overhead and the birds of the forest twittering so close by. But it was very quiet, no boat traffic around and quite green and pretty, so we decided to stay and hopefully get a chance to explore the island tomorrow if the rain eased.




The whole area around here has been inhabited from earlier times as the sound to the north-east of Kättilö (Barösund) was the only safe way in from the sea for those who wanted to come in and head up towards Stegeborg or Söderköping. There was at one time both a customs and pilot station on the island and the custom house which dates from 1780 is meant to be worth a visit. When both customs and piloting were discontinued from the island, it was turned into farmland and one of the largest farms in this area is run here.

In the morning, after the rain, we took the dinghy to the nearby pier, tied up and went for a walk around the pretty island.




It was relaxing, quiet and very interesting. You could see how hard life would have been for those who cleared the land of rocks and tried to eke out a living from the poor yielding small farms. I think the inhabitants back then would have been poor, life was both harsh and uncertain. Like today, a high degree of flexibility would have been required in order to survive in this archipelago. Alongside the farming, fishing and seal hunting would have provided the most likely livelihood, as they could trade these for grain and other goods they needed. We found a number of well preserved traditional buildings on Kättilö, though the number of working farms has dwindled to just one today.




There were a lot of butterflies in the fields and Lars-Göran was lucky enough to get a shot of one of them which was on a gravel pathway. He tells me that these were very common butterflies when he was a child but that he has not seen so many of them around in recent years and so he was rather chuffed that he snapped this one.

We tramped over fields full of late summer wildflowers, past paddocks full of laid-back cows chewing on the lush green grass and enjoying the total silence and real rural feel of the island. What we were not really expecting in this quiet little backwater was this:




A well maintained, fully functional, professional standard tennis court. "For the cows?" I asked Lars-Göran. But no, while these cows are no doubt very well looked after, Kättilö is not expecting to corner the market on tennis playing bovines. The explanation was found at the main settlement, where I read that during his heyday, when he was winning Grand Slam tournaments with monotonous regularity, Swedish tennis star Björn Borg had a summer house on this island. And naturally, he built a tennis court so that he could practice (as if he needed to practice!).

I can't think of a nicer place for someone in his position to unwind. It is really remote, quiet and a place where you have time to stop the merry-go-round of your life for a while, to setp off and take a deep breath. I imagine that the locals would have left him in peace and been fiercely protective of his privacy, making this an ideal retreat, much like Dannholmen (near Fjällbacka) was for Ingrid Bergman.




We returned to our picturesque bay just before the next downpour. This time we had a little entertainment as the bird's cage caught some of the rain. I was just about to shift it to a sheltered spot, when I noticed what fun they were having with their impromptu shower, so we let them catch the water on their wings and shake it off to their heart's content. Much like the birdies here. Who knew they'd love it so much?

There are very few leisure activities that quite compare to sailing. Taking out your yacht can be a gentle and relaxing outing, just moseying along quietly with the only real noise you hear being the wind in the sails and the water lapping against the hull. It can also be a white knuckled, fast paced experience, where a sudden gust of strong wind catches the sail, driving your boat forward with a turn of acceleration which you wouldn’t have believed possible. Both kinds of sailing have their pros and cons, but regardless of that, sailing gives you a real sense of being at one with nature. Though of course, in an instant this can turn to a duel, with you wrestling frantically in an attempt to control and harness those very forces of nature whose virtues you were extolling not five minutes before. Such is life.

We had that sort of morning when we left Lundarna and made our way along the coast outside of Arkösund. We got caught in a narrow, busy channel with some nasty cross seas and too little wind, followed by sudden strong gusts in the tightest spots, so we decided not to fight and instead we motor sailed until we came to quieter waters heading southwards. At least you know you are alive while you are out on a sailing boat. Heart thumping, adrenaline pumping - well, it's one way of living I guess.

Travelling along the islands on the main route around Kejsaren proved a bit tedious, so we turned to the west slightly and chose to weave through the rocks again, navigating ourselves rather than simply slavishly following the buoyed channel. It's always much more interesting to go a little off the beaten track and you see things that you may have missed otherwise.




The scenery here is quite arresting, with the mixture of different types of islands, the variety of plant and bird life and the sense of wilderness you get when you gaze at the horizon. Yes, there are small fishing cottages and summer cottages dotted here and there, but they only add to the scene, not detract from it. The silence is palpable and the feeling that I never want to leave is really strong. Though a couple of the names of the bays were quite off-putting. Care to tie up at Kolerakyrkogården (The Cholera Cemetery) for example? It's not really an inviting prospect, is it?

As we passed one of the islands, appropriately called Lammskär (Lamb Skerry) we could hear bleating and a careful look between the trees on to the fields showed some of the new spring lambs romping around on the grass. They are so cute!




On yet another island, we saw some cows out enjoying the sun and chewing the cud. There is something very relaxing, unhurried and friendly about cows. They seem to simply amble along at their own pace, following their own agenda and just being. Perhaps it isn't as laid back as they make it seem, but I envy them every time I see them. Although I'm fairly sure that in the end there's not much to celebrate about being a farm animal. I know that my dog and birds think it's much nicer being a pet.




Though not everything I saw today could be described as a joy. A revelation, certainly...

You see, I was looking through my binoculars at the various islands, trying to see if there was a bay where we could shelter for the night. I was also admiring the scenery, the little cottages, the cute sheep and cows around the place. As I scanned the horizon, I stopped and looked at a naked guy on the cliff. You get used to public nudity after living here for a while. When I first moved to Sweden I found it a bit confronting, but it seems to be such a non-issue here that you quickly tire of pointing and saying "Look, there's a nudie!" In warm weather Lars-Göran has even been known to sail in the nude. Not me, I hasten to add as I consider it far too cold for that sort of exposure. And vast expanses of my white, naked flesh is not a sight for anyone to see.

So today, it wasn't so much that he was in his birthday suit that caught my attention, but his pose. He had his back to me, knees bent and seemed to be slightly leaning forward. It looked really uncomfortable, but I passed on and checked out the rest of the island. When I looked at Lars-Göran, he had his binoculars trained on the same spot.

"Can you see that guy up there?" I asked. "What's he doing? I mean it must be so uncomfortable to stand like that."

Lars-Göran grinned and said "Don't you mean THEY? He has a woman there with him." And he gave me a really raunchy wink.

Now, I put it down to the excruciating pain of my badly injured shoulder (that by the way my husband refuses to take seriously even though I remind him 100 times a day!) but I must be a bit slow today. I looked at him confused. Okay, I only saw one person, but so what. I just wondered why he was standing like that. And I made the mistake of saying just that to Lars-Göran who laughed his head off, gave me the most sleazy salacious grin, started raising and lowering his eyebrows like a demented Groucho Marx, thrusting his pelvis like ... well, Elvis, I guess and singing

let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel

I know, I know. I'm ashamed to say this, but I STILL didn't get it. I looked at him as though perhaps there were even more kangaroos loose in his top paddock than normal and said tentatively "Are you saying they are Bloodhound Gang fans? Is that at all relevant?" (God, this is SO humiliating...) So he spelled out in the raw vernacular, complete with graphics exactly what those two were doing on the cliff, for all the world to see. Okay, so it was just us and we were a good mile away. And I suppose they weren't to know that we had high powered binoculars trained on their act of consummation.

So the penny finally dropped with an almighty clang. I was at a loss for words. A first for me, just so you know.

"You mean they were doing IT. Sort of ....mutter mutter (something about "doggie" and maybe "style" etc". I think I need a cup of tea, a Bex and a good lie down after that. I know it's what my gran would recommend.




For a while, the scenery passed in a bit of a blur. But I soon laughed it off and concentrated on the beautiful archipelago around me. We were at the northern end of the beginning of Missjöarkipelagan, where we had never ventured before. It's really a paradise out here - a natural paradise, that is. All around me the scene was full of life – with birds in the air and the animals and trees on the ground, but still all was so very calm and quiet. Apart from the distant putt-putt of a small fishing boat engine and the sight of the occasional red and white summer cottages peeping out from the forests on the surrounding islands, there were no signs of anyone else being around at all. Somehow it seemed as if the whole scene was being played out just for me, that the world had stopped whatever it was doing and decided to sit back and enjoy things for a while. It's a fantastic feeling.




We didn't venture into the narrow sound southwards as I don't really like staying in sounds, so we thought we'd try our luck at finding a place to stay in this northern section, around - The Eagle Rocks! No, not the ones we stayed at a few weeks back (see what I mean about the Swedes having no imagination and just naming hundreds of places with the same name - so confusing), but I was sure we were meant to stay here.

The narrow sound between Små Viskären and Långa Missjö seemed to be the most popular choice and there were already several boats tied up there. We kept going as we saw that a couple of the boats had several kids onboard as well as an inflatable dinghy with engine. A certain recipe for irritation as the kids all hoon around the area in these dinghies making a nuisance of themselves. I've see signs in some nature harbours for the first time this year asking that people not do this, so I'm hoping that they heyday for being a total pratt in this fashion has passed and we may get to enjoy our bays in peace once again.

We then came to a pretty but tight little bay - far too tight to anchor a boat the size of Fiona. I felt a prick of disappointment, but put on a brave face and was about to suggest that we go back to the sound when Lars-Göran reached for some rope and said "Why don't we be Swedish for a change?" I instantly thought back to the couple this afternoon and blushed a very unfetching shade of cerise. But it seems he wasn't thinking of that, but of dropping the aft anchor and tying up the boat to land!




In a flash we were moored in our own private little bay on a small rock called Grannklabben. With room for only ONE boat as it was too shallow around us for anything else. We were just in the nick of time, too, as several boats came by looking pointedly at our spot and the chart trying to see if they could join us. But they all had to go back to the sound.

I sat here in the sunshine utterly entranced by nature yet again. On a neighbouring island (Östra Örholmen) I watched an agile osprey (fiskgjuse) came in and deftly land on its nest at the top of a pine tree. I wondered if there were perhaps some chicks in the nest? I looked carefully, but the view was interrupted by another pine tree and I couldn't see properly. A few minutes later a flock of those sleek but unloved birds, the cormorants, passed over us in a perfect V-formation. They looked just like a small black aerial display team - a mini version of The Roulettes. In front of me, just at the water's edge a mink emerged warily from the reeds, sniffed the air for a few seconds, was startled by the flutter of a dragonfly and disappeared from view. I also caught a glimpse of a very large bird of prey as it flew into view from behind the trees on the island to the south of us. It took another few minutes of patient waiting before I was rewarded with a the view of a magnificent Golden Eagle (kungsörn) gliding and circling lazily just 20 metres or so above me before heading off to the horizon to try new hunting grounds. No camera on hand - I was too taken with the moment.

One sight that did disturb the equilibrium of a perfect afternoon was the flocks of geese I saw HEADING SOUTH!




I called out to them that it was only early August, we hadn't had summer yet, the warm weather was surely on its way and that they better get their tail feathers right back here this instant! All to no avail. They continued on their journey to warmer lands, and this year, who can blame them? Perhaps they know something that I don't and depressingly enough it wouldn't be the first time I've been outsmarted by a bird (looking significantly at Brucie).




We both agreed that our mooring site was perfect - it was an optimal location to both catch the sun as well as to shelter from the wind. As an added bonus, we had a lovely and very private island to walk on and even a small cove should we want a swim.

It also offered a view of one of the best sunsets I’ve ever seen this year and the promise of a good day tomorrow.

"Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Obviously I am a weather force to be reckoned with, as the days and days of grey, windy weather have suddenly disappeared – at least for the time being. I should have started with the threats earlier.

When I last wrote about where we were, it was in Munkö in the central part of the Stockholm archipelago. Since then we have sailed around 90 nautical miles and are now staying at the very pretty island group of Lundarna (meaning the groves), on the southern edge of Bråviken. We arrived here last night "with a bang" so to speak and have been exploring all day.

We had been moored yesterday just north of Oxelösund after a horrid day - a long tiring day of sailing in cold, adverse winds and mooring first at Lökholmarna, changing our minds after dinner when we started dragging and instead going back to Stora Trassö.




Lökholmarna certainly lived up to it's name (onion islands) as they nearly made me cry yesterday. We had such a great time last time we were there, that it was frankly the only thing that kept me going while I was shivering along the length of the Södermanland coastline.

Yesterday though, it was exposed, windy, impossible to anchor in and just SO WRONG. The one good thing about stopping at Lökholmarna was that we ran into our friend Ulf who was tied up to a cliff on the western (more sheltered) part of the island. We chatted and laughed for a while, but we had to re-anchor (where the hell is the electric windlass when you need it?) several times and still dragged, that we had no choice but to leave in the night and seek somewhere else.

At Stora Trassö, we regrouped, lazed around a bit, did the washing (so badly needed - I swear the sheets were about to jump overboard themselves), baked bread, sorted through the food stores, prepared some meals, cleaned up and talked about what we might like to do in the last couple of weeks before we head to our new home. We had intended to stay the night, but at around 5p.m. we had a sudden 180 degree wind shift. This made the crossing of Bråviken a cinch, so despite it being a bit late to start off, we packed up and by 6pm were on our way southwards.

Two hours later, we had crossed over and were coming to the beginning of the next archipelago and I started looking for an anchor place close by. I pointed to Lundarna on the chart, a small group of islands that form a wave breaking function for the coastline around Arkösund. It looked quite impassable on the chart, surrounded as it was by dark blue (signifying a depth of 1-3 metres), but I had found a more detailed diagram in both of our harbour guides, so I selected the more modern of the two and showed him where I thought we could anchor. With this view! Hard to believe it's 8pm, isn't it?




Now, I know I promised Lars-Göran not to blog about this next bit, but I can't help myself and anyway, I had my fingers crossed, so the promise doesn't really count, does it? The nature harbours here in the St Anna Archipelago tend not to be as all-round sheltered as those in Stockholm and you really have to think about wind direction. Lars-Göran had slowed the boat to 2 knots and was gingerly making his way forward, aided by the chart I had found. I had copied out the VHF forecast and he was trying to decide whether to anchor off Lunda or perhaps we'd get more shelter along a narrow passage closer to Måsskären (seagull skerry).

Honestly, it was 8pm, we hadn't eaten and I just wanted us to anchor, but he insisted I stand and look at Måsskaren and say whether I thought it was better than where I first pointed. Just as I stood, there was an almighty BANG!, followed by a full orchestral performance from the mast and rigging CLANG! SHAKE! CLANG! HEAVE! CRUNCH! CLANG! CLANG!, sending the crews of boats already moored there leaping into their cockpits for a stickybeak. Not that WE would ever have done anything like that...

Yes, we had come to a very sudden stop, hard on ground. We got off okay, though I guess we were the discussion topic of the evening in the bay. No damage to the boat and nothing broken inside (just the birds' water and seeds all over the floor). I was thrown forward by the impact and crashed into a stainless steel rail we have around the dodgers. I am now sporting an enormous, painful and quite colourful bruise on my left shoulder and a smaller one on my thigh. I've been attempting to use the injuries to get out of work, but Lars-Göran knows I'm faking it, so no dice there I'm afraid.

In the morning, we set out to explore this very pretty island group and to see exactly how big these shoals we hit were.




It is still cold in the wind, but if you can stay in lee, the sun warms you up beautifully and this group of islands is really fascinating. There are anchoring spots in all kinds of places, ranging from quite dark, pine clad bays in the south to glorious, open rocks in the north. While we both liked the landscape in the north, we realised that we were far better off at around mid-point where we were. With a wind shift, you'd be stuffed if you were anchored here. It is far too tight for a boat our size, even though the views out to the open sea are stunning.





We had taken a picnic and thermoses of tea and coffee, hoping to wander around, explore the islands, sit in the sun on the warm rocks and then have a snack. But we left out the furry factor in our careful calculations. Lambi may only weigh 3.5kgs, but she has the appetite of a large pelican. She knew we had a picnic stashed away in the dinghy and she could not rest until we had eaten it. So she pestered us, wandered up and down like an expectant father in the maternity ward waiting room, whined and begged until we thought the only alternative we had to cheerfully wringing her neck was to get out the food and eat it. Damn dog!




But what a superb place to enjoy your lunch. We were in the sunshine, sitting barefoot on the warm rocks surrounded by pretty wildflowers, colourful rocks, sailing boats in the distance and water. The only sounds we heard were those of a few birds in the trees and the water lapping gently by the shore. Paradise anyone?

I was even inspired to dip my toes into the water. Quite literally, as after all, this is the Baltic and still cold by my standards. But don't say that I've never tried it out! And please ignore the Swedish winter tan and the puffy, menopausal legs. I tried to get him to photoshop them to be long, lithe and tanned, but he said photoshop was not a miracle maker.




When you live here and see all of this glorious natural beauty around you, you can become a little blasé and tend to take them somewhat for granted. But I realise how fortunate I am to live here. If you were to make somewhere to relax, a place to feel calm and regenerated, it would have to be a scene like this - warm rocks, bright, cheerful wildflowers nodding in the breeze, with amazing clear blue water gently washing over the shore. It's awesome to think that this is a product of mother nature, a living place and not simply there for the sole purpose of providing somewhere for holiday makers to go.

What also makes this place a hit with us is that it is not readily accessible unless you have a boat. I'm sure this is why it is so well preserved and has such a feeling of remoteness. It is so breathtakingly stunning that I'm sure you all want to come here and laze around on the shore.




We walked over the rocks, then set off again in the dinghy to check out some of the narrow winding passages we had seen, all the while keeping to the western side of the islands because we could clearly hear the breakers pounding in to the rocks on the other side. It still amazes me that the water is so calm in lee, no matter what is raging on the other side. It is like being in two different worlds at once.

All along the cliffs we found wildflowers poking out of crevices in the rocks. I wonder how they get enough nutrients to not only survive but to bloom so profusely. It is such a harsh, exposed environment out here, but still they put on this magnificent show every year. I really must get a wildflower book, so I can find out what they all are. I feel somewhat at a disadvantage here, coming from the southern hemisphere where plants like these are unknown.




While we were on the rocks, we saw a small sailing boat motor away, heading northwards towards Stockholm. What surprised me was that it was absolutely silent. I looked through my binoculars and saw that they had a small electric motor hanging from the transom. I looked at our noisy, slightly smelly two-stroke engine on the dinghy and turned to Lars-Göran saying "We have to sell this and buy one of those" pointing to the electric motor. He confessed that he's been thinking about it for ages, so we added it to our list of things to do before next season.

As the afternoon progressed, we decided to head back to the boat. The water went through many twists and turns and we followed by motor and sometimes rowed where it was too shallow. It really is an interesting and beautiful place.




Before we went back, though, Lars-Göran went to the place where we had hit ground and armed with the chartlet in the Granath book he started to measure the shoal. We discovered that Granath's chart is inaccurate and that the ground extends for almost 50 metres further than is marked. When we hit, we were in water clearly marked in the chartlet as being 4.5 metres deep, when it was in reality only 0.6m deep. Quite a bit of difference there and important when you remember that we have a draught of 1.8 metres. Ironically enough, when I got back to the boat and hauled out the Åke Améen book from the 1970s, HIS chart was accurate. I wished we had used that one instead, but I made the mistake of thinking the modern, coloured chart based on satellite navigation would be better and more up-to-date than the black and white line drawings used in the earlier publication.




It just goes to show how careful you have to be in these rocky waters. We were not the only ones to come to grief, though. We spent the late afternoon and early evening watching boats head in and look for mooring spots and no fewer than four boats slammed into the same ground. These ranged from quite big yachts with sophisticated navigation aids to a small sailing boat with people standing on the fore watching the water and taking pictures. The evening air was full of the sounds of shuddering rigging, motors grinding hurriedly in reverse and people shouting. We spoke to one boat owner who was really angry. Like us, he was using the Granath book and had hit very hard. He was worried that his keel was damaged and said he was going to write and complain about the book's inaccuracy. We haven't bothered with that, we have just coloured in the area on our own chart so we know where we are going next time.




As you can see, none of that bothered Bruce and Sheila in the slightest. They sat on the aftdeck, protected from the wind, happily sunning themselves and working on their tans. Oh for the carefree life of a cockatiel.

I'd like to stay here for another day, but the evening weather forecast promises another wind change that will make this bay a little more wavy in the afternoon. We are still trying to stick with the idea of following the wind as much as we can, so we will head somewhere else tomorrow. Depending on the winds, it may be deeper into the Saint Anna archipelago, or across to the larger islands closer to the mainland. Whatever we do, we intend to enjoy these last couple of weeks as then we have a lot of hard work to get through with renovating the new flat and unpacking all those boxes and boxes of books, clothes and furniture.

But I'm filing that away for now and concentrating on enjoying the sunshine and the peace of being right on the ocean's edge. Which reminds me of a joke I told Lars-Göran this afternoon:

What lies at the bottom of the ocean and twitches?
A nervous wreck.

He threw a sponge at me. I wonder why?

Don't you dare! Don't even think about it! I see those rainclouds.




Just keep them away as we want to sail.

I am sick of waiting out bad weather. We have spent time at Ängholmen where it rained. No photos because of bad light.

We then went in the rain to Nynäshamn where it rained again. Ditto about photos.

We then went in the rain to Soviken - where it rained. Sorry, no photos.

Then on to Oxelösund...... yep, you guessed it - where it rained.

Are you recognising a pattern here at all?

It's cold, wet and windy and I'm tired of it, so get your act together and give us some sunshine! And warm breezes. Note I said breeze and not hurricane.

And while I'm in a grumpy, complaining mood, can someone please explain these to me?




What in God's name possesses people to go around with plastic rabbit hutches on their feet? If I see another pair of these shoes this summer I am going to vomit.

Beam me up, Scotty! I want to go home!

What a fun but exhausting few days we have had. It all began on Saturday evening as we were sipping wine by candlelight (no, not from any romantic inclinations, just hoping the flame would warm the boat up a bit) and chatting about what to do next. I was flipping through some guide books trying to drum up a bit of enthusiasm for a visit to one of the many islands around here. Because I am a serial chatterbox I was reading out the good parts to my dear long-suffering husband and amid all of the rambling I happened to mention that I'd read a bit about the Tall Ships in the newspaper.

Perhaps I ought to clarify just how I came to have a newspaper in the middle of the archipelago with no shops for miles around. An enterprising marina at Dalarö has started a service that they literally call "the bun boat" (bullbåtar). These powerboats go around daily to many of the most popular nature harbours and approach the boats moored there offering fresh bread, milk, danish pastries, ice cream, strawberries, cream, lollies and the daily paper. As you can see here....




We are usually okay for most things on the boat, though sometimes I weaken and buy some calorie-laden, but utterly irresistible danish pastries and the newspaper. Especially if it is on the weekend, as often the weekend newspapers have a lot of interesting cultural and literary liftouts and magazine sections. So on Saturday, I had bought one and spent an enjoyable time reading through it and catching up with world news.

Anyway, I said that I'd read the 118 boats were to leave Stockholm on Monday morning, holding a parade of honour out to Sandhamn (the Cowes of Sweden) where they would begin the next leg to Szczecin in Poland. "Are you sure?" Lars-Göran asked "Was it definitely Sandham?" He wanted to see where I'd read it and would you believe that I couldn't find it! Murphy's Law at its best once again. However, I am a stubborn person and I re-scoured every section of the damn paper again and finally found the few lines I needed.

"You do realise that there are only two possible routes out of Stockholm to Sandhamn for big boats" he said, "and they converge here" pointing to a place on the chart just a couple of nautical miles south of where we were. I didn't know that, but naturally I didn't let my ignorance show and just nodded in what I hoped was a wise, all-knowing fashion. He thought we could move the boat on Sunday, mooring close to that point, then watch the passing parade. He assured me that the forecast was for rain overnight and in the morning, but a fine day afterwards and fine again on Monday. Quite why he believed that the Swedish meteorological service should get this right when they are so often wrong is a complete mystery to me.




As it turned out, the forecast was partly right in that it rained during the night and for part of the morning. But as soon as the rain stopped, Lars-Göran decided that it was over for the day and that we could take off for a look around this group of islands and find a new place to stay for the night. I was a little more sceptical, looking at the dark clouds massed on the horizon, so I agreed, but only if we all wore oilskins and wellies. Which was just as well, because not ten minutes after we left our bay, the rain began to pelt down torrentially for the next hour. And no, it was not a light, gentle sprinkling shower, but the full monty with the rain smashing against the boat like gobbets of wet, cold lead.

AAAArrrrrggggghhhhhh.......

Famous last words, indeed.

You know, I just can't get over the run of bad weather we have been experiencing this summer. Those low pressure systems are hugging the Swedish coast more determinedly than the Ancient Mariner's bloody albatross. We sat huddled under our umbrellas in near zero visibility and tried to make light of the situation. The only other possible alternative was to cry and I was already wet enough. Instead we looked at the passing islands and hoped that the brisk wind would bring us swiftly to an ideal mooring place.




We thought about several places, but eventually settled on Gällnö as both an interesting place to visit and close enough to the action. According to the harbour books, it is an oddly shaped island with about 30 permanent inhabitants. The landscape is a mixture of thick pine forests, cultivated farmlands and many small bays. It sounded just the kind of place where we would enjoy spending a lazy Sunday. So we zigzagged through various islands in the rain, deciding on a bay on the western side of the Gällnö, just near Hemfladen and overlooking a pretty little skerry.




It's interesting that we have normally shunned this central part of the archipelago with its forest clad islands. To our eyes, from out on the water, the landscape looked a little dark, closed-in, boring and "safe" compared to the stark, bare and open rocks of the outer islands. However, this year we have realised that that only holds true in stable weather. In the wet, gusty conditions we have had this summer, the outer archipelago has been a struggle and now we are more concerned that we find somewhere calm and safe to anchor.

The bay we chose was quite shallow, so we didn't need to lay out too much anchor chain. Which was just as well, as there seemed to be a jam in the system somewhere. When cursing and brute force had no impact, we went down to the forepeak, took apart the bed, opened the anchor box and found this:




It's quite a mess, isn't it? A tangle rather reminiscent of the Gordian Knot, though I fear it will take something more than Alexander's sword to fix it. Hmmm... maybe later. By now the promised sunshine appeared, everything started to dry off and we thought we'd grab the chance to take the dinghy around to visit the main village nearby and walk around a little of this island.

Lars-Göran was in quite a hurry, urging us into the boat and quickly motoring to the pier. I was wondering quite what the rush was all about, but that mystery was solved as we tied up and I spotted the little waving clown by the landing. What else could cause him to break into a run but icecream!




Honestly, sometimes it's like going out with a toddler when it comes to shops selling ice-cream. He can't bear to go past without sampling its wares. How he stays so rake thin, I'll never know. Of course, he claims he wants to get ME an icecream, even though he knows I don't like them and rarely eat them.

The big rush was all in vain, though, as the shop was shut. They had a few Sunday papers outside and you could take one and leave the money in a tin on top. I love this sense of trust and while I marvelled at it when I saw the bakery in Harstena offering the same service, this is a little more surprising as we are but a 30 minute ferry ride from Stockholm!

The walk up through the village and out along the island pathways proved to be lovely. For a while, the only sound we heard other than our own footsteps was that of the birds in the trees, the cows in the fields and the wind in the grass.




The silence is a surprise when you read that the name of the island came from an Icelandic word gjallr, meaning a loud noise. Several hundred years ago when the place was named, it was not a single island, but rather numerous small islets. Land rising has joined them all now, but then the water between all of the rocks and skerries was filled with reefs and breakers which would rumble and roar in stormy weather. But today it is calm, sunny and above all quiet.

All around us lay pasture land, hay meadows and tiny patches of tilled land surrounded by thick forests. Those few cows, untrammeled by fences, leisurely grazed while the hay lay drying in the sun in big hay ricks.




With the beautiful summer light, it is almost a Monet-like scene, though I do have to admit that these traditional hay ricks really crack me up as they look like great hairy yaks wandering across the fields. Well, maybe not yaks as I don't really know what one looks like, but some kind of animal anyway.




Soon we left the bright, golden fields and made our way into the cool, shaded forest. It really is a whole other world in here with such intense greens in contrast to the bleached yellows in the pastures. The path winds through the shrubs, it is damp and cool and our footsteps are muffled by the thick undergrowth. Sometimes a raindrop falls from a leaf onto us and we are surrounded by absolute silence. Suddenly I think I hear the sound of a woodpecker. I stop and listen carefully. No. Nothing. So we move on. I love walking through the forest as there is always something interesting to see. We came across an enchanted, atmospheric little place with a wooden gate leading to who knows where. In an instant, I was immediately transported into a Hans Christian Andersen fairy story.




And as if to keep in that magical theme, a short time later we came across a big patch of bluebells. I carefully blocked my ears and walked around them so as not to tempt fate and bring out the fairies. My gran used to fill me her tales full of rich European folklore. Another tale she told me of times past, was that forests were quite forbidding places and among the things people believed was that