I had met Wilhelm the previous summer at his holiday ‘hytte’ (cabin) on the shoreline of one of the many islands near Kragerø. He had mentioned that it was his ambition to cruise ‘Blunderbus’ – the Wayfarer he had bought from the renowned UK cruisers, Roger and Diane Aps – along the west coast of Norway, just below the Arctic Circle (see cruise overview above, or click here for the full-size version). It was an area he had briefly visited on a cruise to Iceland in a yacht, and had always vowed to return to explore it in greater depth. I had readily offered to crew for him. Being Wayfarer International Secretary, I obviously felt it was my obligation to do so!!

Wilhelm had been impressed with the Harken jib furling system I had on my boat when he had visited me in the Spring, and I had brought along the same system for Blunderbus. As it was a very long drive to our destination, however, Wilhelm had decided not to spend time fitting this on the boat before our departure, and we headed straight off to Brønnøysund from the coach terminus. Wilhelm was determined not to waste any time in getting our Norwegian cruise started.

On the road beyond Trondheim around 30 minutes past midnight, with the sun about to dip below horizon
and the mist from the valley we are about to descend into, just showing above the tree line.

We didn’t reach Brønnøysund until late in the afternoon, where we first stocked up with food from the local supermarket before finding the marina to launch the boat.

Wilhelm (red jacket) prepares to load all the gear for our two-week trip after launching Blunderbus at the marina.
The view is looking north into the direction we are about to sail.

 

Wilhelm holding the outboard - all other items of gear used on the trip are laid out on the pontoon.
(Picture taken after our  return).

All our gear stowed immediately prior to our departure. The red and black crash hat was in fact
worn only once during the trip - on our only day’s sailing into a strong headwind.

Wilhelm considers whether his newly painted and varnished boat will be secure. It is near to low tide,
and he is concerned that the sharp stones and shells up to the high water mark could puncture the inflatable rollers.

A grassy area slightly sheltered by a bank and well above the high water mark made a good place to pitch our tents. Normally it doesn’t take long for the local mosquito population to hunt down any juicy, fair-skinned English quarry. However, I had not forgotten the nuisance they had been in Nova Scotia and had brought along some Canadian Deet Extra, which seemed to do an excellent job in keeping the Norwegian variety at bay.

Wilhelm’s tent on a grassy area kept well shorn by wild sheep. The position was sheltered by a bank, from which the photo was taken. In the background is the mountain range on the mainland, with many peaks above the cloud line.

Wilhelm cooked a light meal on his newly bought and highly efficient multi-fuel burner, whilst I used my GPS to note our exact position, and put in waypoints for the next day’s trip to Vega. We both felt well satisfied to be starting out on our sail around the area and to have the feeling of freedom that being away from civilisation brings.

Day 2: Vagøya to Vega

The next morning was fine and warm, though a little cloudy. We packed the boat rather more efficiently than we had the previous evening when setting off had been more important than worrying too much about stowage. We were away by 1130, hardly an early start by normal cruising standards, but we were sailing with the inclination to gain the most pleasure and enjoyment from the trip, rather than to try to sail as many miles as possible. We also had the advantage of having no particular time by which we had to arrive at our destination before darkness.

Winds were generally light and variable for another five-mile sail - this one to Vega. We started and finished by motor sailing, whilst enjoying a pleasant following breeze during the mid-part of the day’s cruise. Rounding the southwest tip of the island, we investigated the first cove, only for Wilhelm to decide that it would be too rocky at low tide.

Vega landfall: Wilhelm has dropped a stern anchor and secured the bow to a rock ashore.
Though the strength of the tide wasn’t as great as that around the UK, there was still a rise and fall of about a meter.

 

With very little breeze in the lee of the mountains, we motored round the next headland to find what appeared to be a sandy beach with a grassy area beyond, that looked ideal for camping (to the right of the centre of the picture).

A little further along the rocky shoreline at the next inlet, a welcoming sandy beach appeared, and we made our way into a much more suitable landing place. We rolled Blunderbus up to the high water mark. Wilhelm had seen this done for the first time at the UK Cruising Conference the previous Spring, and had bought some inflatable rollers especially for this trip. He was still a little surprised at how easily only two people could perform the task. The shallow gradient made this possible without the need for any winch system. Rolling the boat beyond the tide-line removed any concerns about anchors holding, the wind changing direction, or the boat grounding at low tide.

Day 3: Vega

 

Wilhelm’s ambition for the trip was to climb as many mountains of his very beautiful and wonderfully rugged country as was possible during the trip. Next morning therefore, we hiked off on an intermittently marked track which Wilhelm expected to lead us to the high ridge of the mountain on the south shore of the island.

After a 1½ hour walk, during which we had ascended to the lower foothills, the track appeared to drop back down toward the coast – a route that quite appealed to me as I remember, since my legs were beginning to tire from the constant climbing. Wilhelm decided at this point, that it would be better to continue upwards, and join the trail at a higher point. Feeling that I would hold Wilhelm back if I ventured further, I suggested he continue alone, and watched him disappear into the distance, like a mountain gazelle released from a cage.

I was happy to sit and relax for a while. Although the sky was somewhat grey and overcast, the views over the sea were still spectacular, with a cluster of small islands immediately offshore, most only a meter or two above the sea until they finally disappeared from view, and there was nothing but the vastness of the North Sea beyond.

Looking out to the North Sea, or is it the Atlantic Ocean this far north?
The photo makes the day seem more overcast than it actually was.
The group of the small islands in the far distance could easily have been mistaken for a school of whales.

Having taken my fill of the beauty and peacefulness before me, I wandered back to our camp at a leisurely pace, stopping quite frequently to take in the views at the top of any vantage point, and to pick wild blueberries and the local moltebær. These are considered to be quite a delicacy in Norway, and have an appearance similar to raspberries, with an orangy flavour. They were certainly very refreshing, once I had acquired a taste for them.

Wilhelm returned a little after 1700, just as I was beginning to wonder at what point I should raise the alarm for his non-return, especially as he had been confident that he would return in time to sail to a more northerly point on the island. He mentioned that he had signed a book, kept in a waterproof metal box at the top of each mountain, where climbers could record their success. He had been sorry that I had been unable to add my name, but from his description of the climb, I knew that I had made the right decision to stop where I did.

I had already packed most of the gear, so we were able to get away by 1830. We beat our way past the nearby island of Söla, whose tall crumbling peak certainly looked as though it would erode away into the sea a lot more quickly than the one on Vega. Though the light remained excellent, the wind died as the evening wore on. We therefore re-fitted the outboard and motored around the northwestern point of the island to the fishing port of Kirkroy. Initially, Wilhelm had been reluctant to have an ‘iron topsail’ permanently spoiling the look of his beautiful wooden Wayfarer, but from this point onwards, it stayed on the outboard bracket for the rest of the trip. However, when the slightest of breezes picked up as we entered the sheltered harbour, Wilhelm made an excellent tactical move in switching the engine off and lifting it out of the water. The local fishermen were more than impressed by us sailing into the harbour on a mere zephyr of wind.

It seemed strange to hear people still working, banging away with a hammer at gone 2200 in the evening. It was still light enough to work, but one would have thought that the youngsters would nonetheless need to be in bed and asleep. Asking where we might camp for the night, we were directed onwards to the settlement of Nes, which was at the other end of the inlet, which was open at both ends, but protected along its length by an island. The wind had dropped to virtually nothing, but it was just sufficient for us to glide downwind on the still waters to a fishing boat jetty with a floating pontoon, where we tied up.

Nes. The Wayfarer is tied up to a jetty just beyond the row of fishing sheds on the left. Nes was the largest
of the naturally sheltered harbours we visited, and the whole area was well used, mostly by fishing vessels.

Wilhelm tries to get his newly bought stove working in order to cook our evening meal.
Even at 2330, there was still plenty of natural light to work by.

In Nes, we were welcomed with a warmth that I have experienced many times on sailing into a small harbour, where seafaring folk appreciate the seamanship required by small open-boat sailing, and we were told it would be no problem to pitch our tents on a nearby grassy area. It was midnight by the time Wilhelm had prepared the meal. His expensive multi-fuel burner had malfunctioned, and he had had to resort to his Trangia, which he had fortunately brought along as a back-up. We finally got into our sleeping bags for the night after 0030, as the sun was just beginning to start its dip below the horizon.

Blunderbus is tied up to jetty on far side of the water with Wilhelm’s red tent just visible against a shed on far left.
Above the moored fishing boat you can just see the crumbling peaks of the mountain on the small island of Söla.

Day 4: Vega to Hysvær

We made a late start the next day, not setting out until past 1500. A leisurely morning stroll around the immediate area included a visit to the local shop to replenish our food stocks. Winds were very light when we set off, but Wilhelm was determined to maintain his sailing reputation with the local fishermen, and patiently tacked his way out of the harbour entrance. We did, however, need to resort to the motor whilst weaving our way through the islands beyond, as these tended to block what little wind there was.

Once into more open water, we had an easy sail to Hysvær, a group of over 50 small islands, a few of which are permanently inhabited. Wilhelm spotted a floating pontoon as we approached one of two islands with obvious signs of habitation. His unusual (for me anyway) bigger boat technique always came to the fore whenever we approached any jetty: He asked for the fenders to be put out. Every dinghy sailor I know always sails straight up to any landing place, and only sorts out the fenders and rope to tie up once berthed. I have to admit that Wilhelm’s approach was the more seamanlike though.

Hysvær. All the gear which has been unpacked from the front locker has been placed in a line along the edge of the jetty, with the hatch lid at the front, resting on the first item. Wilhelm was quite amazed at how much I was able to pack into this space!

As luck would have it, we happened to land at a pontoon belonging to Øystestein Ludvigen who had been the subject of a Norwegian TV series entitled A year in the Life, which showed the variety of things he did to make a living on the island. These included fishing, keeping wild sheep, and collecting eider duck down. Wilhelm had already explained to me how Øystestein had been very enterprising, using his ingenuity and many reclaimed materials to build a restaurant and a small heated open-air bathing pool.         

Walking up over the brow of a hill along a short grassy path, we came to his house where Øystestein was on the roof with a high-pressure hose, cleaning lichen off the roof so that the rainwater collected could be used for drinking purposes.

Wilhelm talks to Snoøfridd on the decking outside the newly built restaurant. Much of the platform was made up
from pieces of timber washed up on the shores of the islands, some of the supporting sections being quite massive.

Both Øystestein and his wife, Snoøfridd, though seemingly always busy, were happy to entertain Wilhelm and me with stories of their life on the island. Whilst I was unable to understand anything being said, I could immediately recognise the energy of a person who was obviously so at home in his environment. I looked around the very impressive restaurant he had built to cater to the various visitors who now came to the island. Though it was difficult to see how regular visitors would arrive in any great number, as there is no regular ferry. Not that catering for any group was ever going to be easy, with no running fresh water or mains electricity. But Øystestein just seemed to look on any such difficulties as mere challenges to be overcome by one means or another.

Øystestein and Snoøfridd invited us to share a simple meal with them, after which they promised to take us out in their 6-meter aluminium motor boat to show us the natural beauty of the area. Øystestein finally stopped working at nearly 2200, after which we all retreated to the restaurant for a drink. The restaurant had apparently been open for the past three months. The eating area was indeed nicely finished and very tastefully fitted out in a sea fishing theme, with nets draped from the wooden rafters. However, with no running water in the washrooms, and with the kitchen still being fitted out, it was just as well they didn’t have to satisfy any of the normal catering regulations – not that any visitors would particularly concern themselves with such things. The hospitality and the excellent ‘home cooking’ on offer could not be surpassed.

Øystestein and Wilhelm chatted for some time, and it was nearly midnight when we set off on the promised boat tour around the nearby islands. I was soon lost in the maze of channels between the islands, many of which were quite narrow and/or shallow. There was still considerable bird life to be seen even at this late hour, the highlight being two sea eagles soaring away to another island as we approached. Øystestein, still in working mode, stopped on a couple of the islands to check traps.

It was 0100 before I finally climbed into bed that night, grateful that Snoøfridd had offered me a dormitory bunk to sleep in – which proved rather more comfortable than my camp bed on the boat!