18 August: Honey Week
The beautiful archipelago of Stockholm (as seen from Eknö)
“The kids haven’t called yet. I’m sure they said they would. At least after two days.” I couldn’t hide that I really wondered how they were and I was sure Karolina felt the same. I continued without waiting for an answer. “It’s now four days since we left them. Four days!”.

Karolina and I had become childless. For en entire week. A “honey-week”! We had been cruising around the archipelago for a couple of weeks. At first with Jessica and Jonathan, and now without. The latter felt very unusual.

Last Tuesday, we had approached the island of Lökholmen close to Sandhamn in the Stockholm archipelago with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Jessica and Jonathan were to be on their first camp ever, dinghy sailing for a week, sharing the days with 71 other equally excited children and 25 or so camp leaders.
Jessica and Karolina at the KSSS sailing camp on Lökholmen
Dinghies waiting to be sailed.
The welcome was hearty. The camp leaders, marginally older than teen-agers themselves, must have remembered how it felt to join the camp for the first time. Mature as they were at the same time, they took care of the arriving children, showed them to their dormitories and helped them to feel comfortable during these critical first hours. At noon sharp, a canon was fired and the flag was hoisted. The sailing camp had commenced. A last hug and all parents were to leave the island.

That’s the last we saw of them. I am sure I reminded them to call us in a couple of days, but maybe it was overheard. When we left, I had found the camp rules adequate, namely that the children could call their parents, but the parents could not call their kids. Now, I don’t know about that any longer…
Jessica, not too fond about shooting canons
Possibly these camps are just as useful for us parents as for the children. Living without our wild crew needs some more practice if we ever are to become used to it one day. We tried our best to fill our days: I washed the hull from the dinghy, polished and waxed the sides of the coach roof, polished the stainless steel to remove some stains of rust, which were asking for attention ever since the tropics. The following day, we took apart all six winches, cleaned and greased them, which took the entire day. We were quite exhausted.
Regina at anchor at Bullanö
Strangely enough, we did not feel hysterical. We just had an abundance of time and energy, which we normally spent on Jessica and Jonathan. Reading became a new experience, for example. I mean: reading with no interruption. We went for long walks ashore, opened a bottle of wine and had ample of time for each other. It felt like holidays!

Since the day we left the kids and became just the two of us, Regina had grown considerably. At least four feet, I reckoned! She suddenly felt so spacious! No fighting about whose turn it was on the head. So little dishes to clean. Everything tidy and neat onboard. And so much space to move around! A great boat for two!

What a difference a couple of children make. But better a crowded 40 foot boat than a spacious one without them, I’d say. Possibly, I might take back that last statement, when they’re onboard again, but no doubt, it felt empty. Anyway, the quietness was wonderful for a change. Karolina and I suddenly had ample time for each other and for the boat.

At the same time, we tried to imagine what Jessica and Jonathan were doing during the days, further to sailing, obviously. Were they sitting at a camp-fire, singing songs and falling in platonic love with other participants? No they are too young for that. I was 14, when it happened to me. Ops! I forgot! Jessica is already 13!
A sailing boat gliding through the archipelago.
With so much time, and no real destination, we spent some time together with IMARI as well. Remember the story on my uncle Lasse in Vega No 7 IMARI who introduced me to sailing some 30 years ago? He was out in his Vega in the archipelago and we decided to share some anchorages together.
My uncle is always up to teaching bends and knots or to show impossible passages through the archipelago, and this time was no exception. Sailing the fairways?! Anyone can do that! Lasse had much better ideas, finding a personal way through rocks and islets. With a Vega’s draught of 1.2m, this may be a sport, but to sail with Regina in the same waters is more like a challenge. Lasse piloted us into the most remote creeks far out in the outer archipelago. Obviously, local knowledge is key in these rocky waters but luckily this is nothing my uncle Lasse lacks. Having sailed in the archipelago for well over half a century, he knows the most remote anchorages as others know their wallet.
My uncle Lasse sailing his Albin Vega No 7 Imari since 1968.
He sailed in first with IMARI to show the way, which was only a little consolidation considering Regina’s draught of 2 m. But we managed, also thanks to excellent charts by Lars Granath. These are privately published charts sold separately as “specials” over certain island groups in the archipelago but are also included in the newest C-map-, Garmin- and Navionics-charts. However, using these in the plotter is almost cheating.

Well past the hazardous underwater rocks, we anchored in shallow and tight waters leaving just enough of it under our keel as well as horizontally. It was not solely for space reason we were both hanging onto the same hook. Socializing as if living on a hull each of a catamaran was a good make-up for our childless being. We sure had a lot of fun.
Regina and Imari anchored side by side in a narrow anchorage studded with rocks.
The views out here in the very outpost of the Stockholm archipelago are spectacular. Small rocklike islets just above the water surface everywhere (and no less of them barely under the surface). It is said that Stora Nassa, where we were, is the only place in the Stockholm archipelago, where you can see the sun setting into the sea. For the Swedish east coast this might be something worth pointing out, but for any west-coast sailor this is rather a matter of course.

Anyway, there is no point arguing west against east. Better to enjoy the open views found here in the outer archipelago. Somehow, it actually resembles of the west coast in a way, with the absence of trees and the excess of rocks. Very beautiful indeed!
Some waters in between islands are so shallow that you actually can wade across.
Leon guarding the barbecue with Regina and Imari anchored in the background (with three feet of water under the keel).
Further out to north-east comes the Sea of Åland, which is not much wider than stretching just beyond the horizon. Behind it, the islands of Åland act as a bridge over to the Finnish archipelago, which is at least as large as its Swedish equivalent.

I like Åland. With Jessica and Jonathan still onboard, we visited this charming island group, squeezed in between the two countries of Sweden and Finland. Åland has always been going its own way, seeking independence, trying to keep its sovereignty. It hasn’t always been easy and a lot of diplomacy has certainly been involved during the years. Throughout history, Ålanders must have felt like a pawn in the game, played by its strong neighbours.
Today, Åland belongs to Finland, but enjoys a very independent status. They speak Swedish and are culturally very close to Sweden. No wonder! Until 1809, it actually belonged to the Swedish Kingdom with relative independence already at that time. After 1809, Sweden was forced to relinquish Finland and Åland to Russia. When the Russian Empire began to fall apart in 1917, Åland saw its chance. Backed by a mass petition signed by an overwhelming majority of the local adult population, they had a secret meeting, where they decided to seek reunification with their Swedish motherland. In December of the same year, Finland declared itself an independent republic, but was not prepared to meet the Ålanders’ demands. Instead, they offered a form of internal self-government. Ålandic representatives rejected the initiative and it became a question for the League of Nations.
Jonathan, Karolina and Jessica on a pontoon in Degerby, Åland and Regina in the background.

In 1921, the League’s Council presented a compromise, offering something to each of the three parties to the conflict, Finland, Sweden and Åland, resulting in the Autonomy Act a year later. Åland became demilitarised, received an own self-government under Finland and a special “Right of Domicile”. I think this is a very interesting model and an example of a successful solution to a minority conflict, possibly applicable also to other, similar, situations in the world.
Degerby, Åland
One interesting consequence of the autonomy is the fact that Åland very well belongs to the European Union (EU), but with a special protocol stating that Åland is to be regarded as a “third territory with respect to indirect taxation”. How Åland could negotiate to stand outside the EU tax union remains a mystery, but the result is big business for Åland. The waters between Sweden and Åland are “tax free” and hence calling into Åland turns a voyage into a tax-free-trip with all the business that goes with it.
A short stop-over on Åland has now become almost compulsory for all the ferries passing these waters. This little stop, merely long enough for any odd passenger to jump off or to jump onboard, turns the ferry-link into a tax haven for liqueur shoppers. The ship owners operate cruise vessels rather than ferries for this reason and make their money through onboard sales. For Åland as an independent island, this is certainly no bad business, either.
Do you remember what five short blows in the horn means? Motor vessels give way for sailing boats, don't they?!
Well, we did also stop over on Åland on our way from the High Coast to the Stockholm archipelago, but not for the shopping reason, I can add. However, we could observe the ongoing commerce from our cockpit in the marina of Mariehamn. Huge cruise ships were calling in at a regular pace several times a day. Sometimes, as many as four ferries seemed to be queuing up, taking turns to make the necessary stop-over in busy Mariehamn before continuing on their never ending pendulum voyages between Finland and Sweden.

For yachts, it is not possible to buy tax-free onboard their own boats, but, of course, there is a work-around also for yachties. You see, if you really need to stock up your own boat, it is good to know that the harbour fee does not only include free WiFi, water and electricity, but also a free roundtrip to Sweden by ferry! Just in case you are low on “supplies”. I say, tax rules can have a strange influence on people’s behaviour!
The "Ferry Ballet" of Mariehamn, Åland
Åland is otherwise a fantastic archipelago by its own. Its history dates back all the way to times when there were merely any islands at all between Sweden and Finland and the archipelago was not invented, yet. Instead, there was a big sea called the Littorina Sea. At that time, the water submerged almost all the islands of today, which were still to rise after the ice age. This prehistoric water stretched essentially islandless from Sweden to Finland with just the mainland of Åland as an intermediate terra firma sticking out above the surface already during the stone age. How people during these pre-historic years could make it to this small island in the centre of the Littorina Sea is still to be solved. They could not have been walking on ice, obviously, since the climate at that time was as tempered as the Mediterranean area is today. At the same time, today’s scientists are hesitant to believe that they could have built boats seaworthy enough to make it all the way to the island of Åland. Were the Scandinavians of the stone age possibly much better seaman and more skilled boat builders than we know of today?
The marine history of Åland continues into our days with the proud islanders controlling a considerable tonnage, sailing the seven seas of the world. There are many wealthy ship-owners living on Åland, but you could never tell, strolling through the streets of Mariehamn. Behaving modestly is a virtue on Åland. You may be rich, but never wasteful. You may own a fortune, but it must not be seen from the outside. To re-invest your capital into your company for the well-being of the entire island is imposed by tradition.

Shining in resplendent glamour, on the other hand, were all the sailing vessels participating in this year’s Tall Ships Race making an intermediate stop on Åland on their leg from Finland to Stockholm. I better do not speculate if thirsty seaman possibly were behind the decision to include this stop-over?
Strolling along the quays admiring the ships and their crew was tremendous, especially since we were allowed onboard on some of the vessels. We could feel the atmosphere of sailing ships still as active as in past times.

While I admired the beautifully kept sailing ships, Karolina seemed to take an equal interest in studying the young seamen onboard. The parade of sailing ships consisted not only of shining brass, obviously, but just as well of noble cadets from around the world. On the Mexican naval sail training vessel “Cuauhtemoc”, for instance, every girl and woman was personally helped onboard by a handsome young man in marine uniform. Politely, he took each female hand and gave the ladies a firm support (as well as a twinkling eye, I bet), helping them taking the ridiculously short step down from the gangway onto the ship’s deck. I am sure this impressed one or the other female visitor, not used to the same kindness by their humdrum husbands.
The Mexican navy sail training vessel "Cuauhtemoc"
Apparently, also Karolina seemed to appreciate this noble kindness, as a change for the usual jumping onboard Regina with no other support than our rickety bow-ladder. Jessica, on the other hand, lowered her eyes when her hand was taken, shy, not quite understanding the real meaning of being helped onboard by a mariner. Apparently, she still had much to learn.

Next followed a lady, who happily and affectionately offered her sweet hand to the good-looking guard. It was obvious that she was taking an apparent pleasure in holding his hand a couple of more seconds than actually necessary for the short step. Her husband followed in her wake. Obviously, he misunderstood the entire procedure of getting onboard, mistaking the close contact between his wife and the host for a greeting. Presumptuously, he grabbed the hand of the surprised cadet and shook it heartily. Looking up into the tall rigging, he stepped onboard as if he owned the entire vessel taking very little notice of his new friend, the cadet. I could see some ladies giggling behind him as well as some very embarrassing looks by his wife.
Our good friend Bosse, Jonathan and Karolina admiring the well polished binnacle.
Even without the luck to be in Mariehamn during Tall Ships Race, it is almost as enjoyable to visit the vessel Pommern. This four masted tall sailing ship is stationary moored in the harbour and hence did not participate in the race and will never do so. Nevertheless, being a museum vessel is not bad either, especially since it is so well done. She is one of the very last ships, which did not even have an engine at all, hence using solely sails as propulsion. In the beginning of last century, she made frequent round-trips to Australia, trading grain. The Pommern is well worth seeing and we enjoyed a full afternoon onboard with the children, learning a lot from times never to return again.
In the Captain's Cabin onboard the four-masted steel sailing vessel Pommern.
Before leaving Åland completely, we stopped at Rödhamn as well. Here, they didn’t have a museum vessel, but another type of outdated machinery, which they had turned it into a small museum: The old radio signal station.
The shocking issue was just that we now felt being part of a testimony of ancient days. We could still remember using radio beacons in the beginning of our sailing carriers. My own childhood and youth is apparently old enough to be displayed in a museum! I’m not that old! Or am I?
The radio signal station on Rödhamn, now turned into a museum.
I remember so well the radio signals being transmitted for navigation. Obviously, this was during the pre-GPS-era. And if you have sailed without a GPS as well, I can add that this was even before DECCA. Hardly recognizable by today’s youth, I can confess that when I started sailing, this was really high-tech!
Jonathan and Jessica thought it all looked like stone age. “Why did they need an entire house including two diesel engines to transmit some signals, Dad?”. “What is in all these grey cupboards, Daddy?”. I couldn’t answer their questions and just stared at all the heavy breakers and huge instruments. It really looked more like they were transmitting to the moon.

Onboard our 21 foot Albin Viggen Celicia, our radio direction finders was called the Seafix and consisted of a relatively small but boxy transistor receiver. On its top, it had a bearing compass and on the side facing me it had a wheel to tune in the frequency. Through the earphones came morse-signals.
The radio beacon transmitter taking up an entire room
One of the two diesel engines still working like a clock providing the necessary energy
When you finally had found and tuned in the correct radio beacon, it was time to take a bearing. You had to be quick to identify the morse-code before taking the actual bearing. When the sound was minimal, you knew you were pointing towards the transmitter. This was not easy, since often it disappeared completely, and you didn’t quite know if it fell silent because 1. It had stopped transmitting (again), 2. You had touched the frequency selector and it was not tuned in correctly, 3. The connector to the batteries had gone loose again, 4. You had touched the volume control or finally 5. You were actually pointing exactly towards the beacon in question.

Now the radio beacon on Rödhamn was more sophisticated than that, actually. It sent its signals not omnidirectional but unidirectional. The beam transmissions sent out an “A” (. - ) if you were sailing too far to one side of the fairway and an “N” (- . ) if you were too far on the opposite side. If you were exactly correct (and received an “A” and an “N” simultaneously), it became a long tone. Now you knew you were heading the right way and could continue straight up towards the radio transmitter, but hopefully not too far onto the rocks it was placed upon. To give an indication of how far you were still away from the transmitting island, they had built a blowing foghorn as well. The louder, the closer you were. It goes without saying that the precision was not that good, and it was understandable that the era of radio leading beacons soon were outranged by other means of navigation.

No radio beacons, but our desire to see our children again, lead us back to the sailing camp on Lökholmen, where we were to fetch Jessica and Jonathan after a week at the camp. They looked really happy! The camp had been one long success. They said they had been far too busy and had had much too much fun to even think of calling their parents during the week.

Jessica was proud that she had come second (“almost first”, as she put it) in the regatta “Round Lökholmen” and Jonathan got a personal price for the “best sailor” with the motivation that he always had a “go” in his boat.

Apparently they needed a shower (“But Mommy, we have capsized several times and got rinsed all right”) and some good nights of sleep.

We have become a complete crew onboard again.
Breakfast on Rödhamn: The weather forecast written on the bag with fresh bread

Following some shots taken in the archipelago of Stockholm:
Eknö
An early morning in the archipelago
Bullanö
Lonely sailing boat in the morning mist.
It's wonderful to observe sea eagles in the archipelago again. They were almost exterminated here some years ago.