Almost half a year at sea!
Here's a little recap of our voyage so far, after more than 160 days underway.
EXPERIENCES
It’s Sunday, 25 October, and autumn has settled in here in Les Sables-d’Olonne, France. Storm Austen has raged past with strong winds, rain and big waves out in the Bay of Biscay. The clocks have gone back to winter time, and we’ve been sailing for over 160 days. In less than a month, we’ll have been travelling for a full six months! We would never have believed that a year ago!
Since arriving in Denmark, we had been moving at a high pace, but over the last few weeks we’ve slowed down considerably. Our bodies told us they needed a break, so we’ve had some longer stops and taken it one day at a time. It’s easy to keep chasing the next stop and forget to enjoy the place you’ve just arrived at.
Waiting for a weather window
We left Norway later than planned, and so we’ve been late in the season and have met a fair bit of rough weather in the North Sea and the English Channel. The Bay of Biscay is a chapter of its own that we haven’t yet completed, and the autumn storms are lining up there.
Now we’ve been lying in Les Sables-d’Olonne longer than planned due to illness and bad weather. We hope to set sail soon for our next stop, which will hopefully be La Rochelle. Whether the plan holds or has to change remains to be seen. After all, plans are written in sand at low tide.
Fair winds,
Morten, Lisbeth, Oliver & Lille ⛵
We left our home port of Sortland on 12 May in pouring rain, with fresh snow on the mountaintops. We had no plans other than to sail south towards warmer waters. “We’ll make plans as we go,” we agreed, and that has worked well. When you set out on a journey like this, it’s not just the two of us who decide what the week looks like. That is mostly decided by the weather and the boat.
In some places we’ve stayed longer than intended, and in others we’d have loved to stay longer. The reasons have ranged from weather and boat trouble to illness. And that’s how it almost has to be when you move your home down the Norwegian coast and on along Europe’s Atlantic coast.
After a little over five months, we’re left with many wonderful experiences and memories, but also a handful of lows and bad experiences. That’s life, and when you choose a lifestyle like ours, the highs and lows tend to be amplified. But one thing is certain: we don’t regret for a second that we cast off the lines and set out.
When things break
After two wonderful summer seasons aboard, with a lot of maintenance and upgrades done along the way since we bought Escape, we were fully aware that there was still plenty to do, and the boat was packed with parts and materials for projects when we cast off. Still, we weren’t quite prepared for the first challenges to arrive before the first week was over. An oil leak in Trollfjorden and a broken chartplotter halfway across the Vestfjord were definitely not on the to-do list, but we got through it. The same goes for problems with the engine’s heat exchanger and the headsail furler.
Lately, play in the rudder has given us headaches, and the toilet has some days when it seems to have a life of its own, in addition to a water leak or two. That’s what it’s like to set off on a long voyage with an older sailboat. It’s not a question of if things break, but when and what. And when something does happen, you simply have to make the best of the situation with what you have on hand.
The people along the way
Some of the biggest highlights of the trip so far have been the people we’ve met. Chance encounters with wonderful new people who share our interest and who are happy to share their knowledge and help out. Some we’ve met several times and still keep in touch with, others only for a few hours in the same harbour.
If we hadn’t met Trond and his wife on Chrisantri in Eivindvik, and later again in Tananger and Egersund, we might never have gone to Rasvåg on Hidra. And then we wouldn’t have met the couple who recommended we contact Andersen Yachting in Kristiansand, where we got help with the headsail furler in the middle of the Norwegian summer holidays. On a small islet outside Lillesand, an experienced sailing couple invited us over for boat talk and Irish coffee. It was the best we’ve ever tasted, and we came away with lots of tips for the sailing ahead. In Skagen, we met Linda, Vegard and their dogs on Wilmus, and we’ve really appreciated being able to sail part of the stretch together, all the way from Skagen to Concarneau. Now we’re on opposite sides of the Bay of Biscay, but we’re staying in touch and will surely meet again, even if none of us knows when.
We’ll never forget the welcome in Blankenberge, Belgium. We arrived after our longest passage so far, and after dark. As we swept the spotlight around looking for a free berth, three or four men came to help us with our lines and hand us access cards for the shower block. It was ten o’clock on a Sunday night. That welcome alone made us decide to stay a few days. The harbour master was the friendliest we’ve met, and we got to know two other sailing couples with whom we swapped experiences and good stories.
The small moments
When we think back on the last five months, it’s rarely the big plans or the miles covered that come to mind first. It’s the small moments. The sun rising over the horizon after our first night passage. Two sparrows deciding to hitch a ride for a short stretch, and a cat doing everything possible to catch them. Dolphins swimming alongside the boat, and schools of tuna making the sea boil.
Little sleep and tired bodies are quickly forgotten with a good sailing breeze and calm seas. Then we’re having the time of our lives. The same goes for the small pleasures ashore, like the delightful greengrocer in Dieppe, or a washing machine included in the harbour fee, a luxury that’s few and far between.
Then there are the moments we’d rather have been without, but which come with the territory. The error message on the navigation system at the most critical point of the approach to Norderney, with heavy seas and wind. The time we were in the wrong place crossing the entrance to Rotterdam, where the pilot was thankfully very kind and we apologised as much as we could. And the times the weather changes during a passage without being forecast, when you quickly feel small in the face of nature’s forces.
It’s these small moments, often in challenging and stressful situations, that we truly remember, and that make us grow. The more nautical miles we put behind us, the more humbled we are that we get to live this life, and the more we realise how little we actually need to be happy.
