DARTMOUTH TO DARTMOUTH

(VIA THE CRINAN, CALEDONIAN AND KIEL CANALS)

Lester Smith

After completing a 12,000 mile Atlantic circuit in 1992 I had promised Heidi, my sole mate and crew, that in 1993 we would only take a gentle and leisurely cruise. However, during the dark winter evenings I read about the midnight sun, the endless sunny days in Norway and Scandinavia, the timeless beauty of the West Coast of Scotland, and then adding a little spice about the Loch Ness monster, cashmeres, whisky and haggis, suddenly it was all planned. We would circumnavigate England via Ireland and Scotland, pass through the Crinan and Caledonian canals, cross the North Sea to Bergen in Norway, work our way south through the islands and fjords of Norway, call at the Hallberg Rassy yard in Sweden, then visit Denmark and Germany, and home to England via the Kiel canal and maybe Holland. It didn't quite work out like that, but almost.

Our magic carpet is Tatsu, a Hallberg Rassy 352, and winter maintenance included a complete renewal of standing rigging and the addition of SSB radio and weatherfax. After last minute panic to complete these jobs we were ready to leave Dartmouth on 22 May. The weather was very unsettled as we day sailed down to Falmouth calling in at Newton Ferrers and Fowey. After an attempt to round Lands End, when the Navtex gave early warning of a depression approaching faster than predicted we ducked back into Penzance and waited for a week for the gales to cease.

As soon as the dock gate opened on 3 June we motored in very light winds towards Lands End. The engine was to keep thumping away for the next fifty hours. In mainly calm seas, poor visibility and no wind we crossed the Bristol Channel and continued up the Irish Sea. At one point Tatsu was shadowed by a warship which turned out to be a British Customs and Excise patrol boat. Using a loud hailer they asked for our details and destination. We later saw the same boat in Campbeltown and they checked us again between Portland Bill and Dartmouth on our return passage. Radio silence was observed to conceal their presence from other ships.

After calling into the well organised marina at Bangor in Northern Ireland we actually sailed across the North Channel to Campbeltown, our first taste of Scotland. Memories of this friendly little town include the hundreds of oyster catchers with their chicks on the foreshore, a bottle of malt for sale at £678, and a vacant but seagull-covered pontoon with a notice saying `Sorry, pontoon full'.

In mist and rain, with glimpses of magnificent scenery, we continued up the Clyde to Largs Marina where I had arranged for a new Mastercard to be forwarded, having sat on and broken its predecessor in Fowey. On the following morning the harbour master assured us that the 35 knot wind creating white water in the marina was the normal local wind funnelling from the Great Glen and that there would be light winds a mile offshore. He was wrong. We found ourselves running into the Kyles of Bute in winds gusting to 40 knots and torrential rain. This narrow passage is apparently very lovely, but having no local knowledge we decided to chicken out and sail around the southern end of Bute into Lower Loch Fyne. The rain cleared to reveal magnificent scenery with endless ranges of low mountains, many covered in rhododendrons stretching down to the water's edge. A couple of days exploring the picturesque fishing harbour of Tarbert and its surrounding countryside and it was time to move on.

The Crinan Canal is only 9 miles long and has fifteen locks. It was built 200 years ago as a short cut across the Mull of Kintyre, but now has little commercial traffic. The canal passes through forests and mountains and gave the ocean-going Tatsu a new concept of boating. The first sea lock is at Adrisaig just up the coast from Tarbert. Here we were approached by Robin, who described himself as a canal pilot and offered to work the unmanned locks and bridges for us for £25. This we gladly accepted, and did not regret it. We spent a night moored up beside the towpath surrounded by rhododendron covered countryside, but the smell of our anti-mosquito coils burning in the saloon together with the breakfast kippers remained with us for some time.

After a superb seafood lunch at the Crinan Hotel the tide was right for us to move on, so we dropped down through the last two locks into the magical waters of the West Coast, Again new experiences in adjusting to pilotage with fast moving tides, high and low islands overlapping each other with no open sea in sight, and the mountainous mainland inset with deep lochs.

First we negotiated Dorus Mor, a passage where the tide can run at up to 8 knots, stopped overnight at Croabh Haven Marina and then to another notorious passage, Cuan Sound, Local Scots had recommended a delightful anchorage with the wonderful name of Puilladobhrain on the island of Seil. Apparently it is usually packed with yachts but happily we found it deserted, probably as a result of the continuous poor weather. In an eerie atmosphere of mist and flat water we motored along grey coasts to Adrantive Bay, where the kindly boatyard manager lent us a fast launch to visit the bustling town of Oban half a mile across the water. Surprisingly, Oban has no facilities for yachts. Here we bought more thick sweaters and ran into fellow 0CC members John and Betty Edwards aboard Moondrift, a Moody 34, also bound for Norway. We continued to Dunstaffnich in company, then again under power to Fort William, arriving at the sea lock for the Caledonian Canal in torrential rain and 3O knots of wind which had appeared from nowhere.

At 0800 on l9 June we started the long haul up the flight of eight locks known as `Jacob's Staircase'. The lock keeper was rather scratchy at first on finding that there were only two of us on board to manoeuvre and handle the lines, but after watching us run around like rabbits he became friendly and chatty, helping after the first lock.

About a third of the Caledonian Canal is a man-made cut, linking a series of five natural lochs, including Loch Ness, and crossing the Highlands of Scotland through the Great Glen from Fort William to Inverness. The highest point is 33m above sea level and the Canal runs about fifty miles from coast to coast. It passes through magnificent scenery varying from towering mountains with snow-filled gulleys to wooded hillsides and ruined castles steeped in history. There are surprisingly few stopping places for yachts, partly because of the deep water and partly through restrictions by conservationists. As we approached Loch Ness we became increasingly irritated / amused by novices in charter boats, both power and sail. Whilst quietly moored to a landing stage at Invergary Castle there was a bang and we found a 28ft charter sailing cruiser with six large people on board crashing alongside with no fenders or lines in sight. After making appropriate suggestions we discovered that the boat was chartered by a butcher from Kent, who had a couple of hours of sailing instruction and then arranged for four Austrian farmers (who had never sailed before and could not speak English) to sail with him and his large wife for a week. The following day we helped pull the wife out of the canal whilst waiting for a lock to open.

British Waterways have provided a very convenient little marina in the basin above the sealock at Inverness. From there we hired a car for a couple of days and explored more of the highlands and glens plus a few of the cashmere and whisky stores. I serviced the engine after 122 hours running since Dartmouth! Again we were stormbound and it was a full week before we could set out for Norway, complete with a stock of Aberdeen Angus steak and haggis. Unfortunately our stock of wine was not as extensive as it should have been and later this was to cause severe withdrawal symptoms.

It proved to have been worth waiting for a good forecast as the North Sea crossing was without incident and in reasonable conditions. Of course we didn't see the midnight sun as we were not far enough north, but it remained light throughout the two nights of the passage, not only because of the numerous rigs with their bright lights and belching flames. After fifty-nine hours, mostly under sail and logging 362 miles, we found a snug anchorage just inside Kors Fjord. The following morning we motored 22 miles up to Bergen, arriving there on 1 July.

The Norwegian coast offers equally spectacular though completely different scenery to the west coast of Scotland, This part of Norway has dramatic, steep, sheer cliffs often capped by dark green forests and in the far distance can be seen ranges of snow-capped mountains. Nestling in wooded valleys are neat waterfront summer houses with integral or adjoining boat stores, each with a small crane. We were surprised by the number of beautifully maintained classic wooden yachts, many of them Colin Archers, but even more popular are weekender motor boats used for visiting the often uninhabited islands amongst the fjords. However, compared with the English Channel area there were very few private boats.

The next stage of our journey was to be from Bergen southwards to Stavanger, through the fjords and islands of this exciting archipelago. We saw no other British yachts in Bergen apart from our friends on Moondrift, who arrived as we were leaving having come via the Shetland and Orkney islands. Fortunately we met OCC members Bill and Pam Kellett, who recognised our burgee and who were preparing detailed reports of harbours and anchorages for the Cruising Club of America. They kindly gave us detailed advice on places to visit during our passage to the south of Norway.

Over the next week we covered 142 miles, day sailing in a constantly varying combination of wind, torrential rain, fog and brilliant sunshine. At Kuiturdvich it was the last day of the National Optimist Championships and we found ourselves surrounded by 120 small sailors as we entered the yacht club marina. We approached Godoysund in minimal visibility and gale force winds but found a sheltered mooring on the landing stage of an exclusive hotel in beautiful forested surroundings. At Fjellberg, after a tricky narrow entrance between two islands, the mountainous setting of a tiny village with landing quay was breath-taking, an impression reinforced when a fisherman whose catch we had admired presented us with a whole cod which Heidi then filetted and skinned. From here a short passage on the open sea to the island of Espaevar, where we stopped for a day to enjoy Heidi's birthday in sunshine amidst very peaceful and picturesque surroundings. We then sailed to Skudeneshavn, an old, traditional, Norwegian fishing port with many period timber houses. Half a mile from the entrance, in visibility of less than 50m, we were carefully shadowing a local boat when a gaff-rigged British yacht appeared out of the fog, her crew shouting `Do you know where we are?'. I suggested he follow us into Skudeneshavn, where we all arrived safely soon after. From there we made a fast passage over to Stavanger and, when the town centre pontoons became untenable in strong winds, moved over to the yacht club. There members have marina facilities at what to us is a nominal annual cost, all done on a cooperative, work and cost sharing basis as in so many of the clubs in Scandinavia and North Germany.

Sailing south from Stavanger to southern Norway there are several areas where the chart warns of `dangerous waves'. We did not see any, but these shoal areas extend well offshore and are particularly dangerous in strong wind against current situations. Again meeting Moondrift we left Stavanger in company on 14 July, stopping at Egersund overnight and then sailing on to the quite delightful land-locked anchorage at Rasvag on the island of Hidra. From there Tatsu made a longer passage, much of it under spinnaker (first time out of the bag this year), to Kristiansand on the south coast.

Kristiansand marks the entry into another archipelago with the exceedingly popular passage between small islands known as the `Blindleia'. This is certainly very pretty, with a narrow channel winding between low wooded islands, the waterways fronted with expensive summer houses and lawned gardens. It was a nautical version of a slow-moving traffic jam through the stock broker belt. However we found an unspoilt and peaceful anchorage near the eastern exit, and spent a day there preparing ourselves for crossing the Skagerrak.

The Hallberg Rassy yard were now on their annual holiday, I discovered by means of a link call. We were running late on our schedule so decided `not to do Sweden this year'. Instead we sailed for Denmark.

An overnight passage of 115 miles took us to Saeby. We left with lots of wind and a double-reefed mainsail and arrived in flat seas. As we approached the Danish coast we were surprised to see dozens of fishing boats in an area marked on our chart as `no anchoring or fishing permitted'.

Denmark is a complete contrast to Norway. The landscape is generally flat and low-lying, with cultivated fields and meadows. Towns and villages are neat and orderly, many of the homes looking like well-painted dolls' houses. The harbours were tightly packed with cruising yachts from Sweden, Germany and Norway as well as local boats, particularly as everyone takes their holiday in July. We learned a lot about rafting-up and mooring bow to the quay between wooden posts, and discovered why Tatsu has rubbing strakes.

From Saeby we motored 69 miles through calm shallow waters to the large marina at Grenaa, and from there had a hectic sail to Ebeltoft culminating in a 6 mile beat into gale force winds which created nasty short, steep seas. On entering the yacht harbour at Ebeltoft we had a most unpleasant experience. With wind gusting to over 40 knots we gently had laid alongside a friendly Swedish boat when a rude, large, loud German from an inner boat insisted that we move as his fenders and warps could not take the strain. As we started to cast off a 45ft steel yacht came alongside us at high speed, and then seeing the situation carried on past, fortunately only doing minor damage to Tatsu as he hit us. He then tried to turn in the very restricted inner section of the harbour and was promptly blown aground. We had no alternative but to follow him into this area, where I could not force the bow through the eye of the wind and remained stern-to for half an hour waiting for a lull. Eventually it came and we managed a three-point turn and steamed out of the yacht harbour, later finding a more comfortable berth in the adjacent fishing harbour. There we lay alongside a German family who couldn't have been kinder.

From Ebeltoft we had a fast reach to Samsoe and spent two days exploring this lovely nature reserve island on our bicycles, in brilliant sunshine and in company with the German family whom we had met earlier. Setting sail and once again picking up a Navtex gale warning, we ended up spending a couple of days in Ballen waiting for the depression to pass. From there we had an eleven hour run through the Middle Belt, passing under an incredibly long bridge under construction and anchoring off Troensoe in Svendborg Sound, then on to Aeroskoeping, a picturesque tourist-orientated former fishing village.

On 31 July we arrived at the British Kiel Yacht Club, cleaned the yellow Baltic algae off the hull, enjoyed the duty free bar and organised duty free stores for our departure from northern Germany.

The Kiel Canal -- or to be correct the Nord-Ostsee-Kanal -- was a simple and rather boring passage after the narrow Scottish cuts. The only locks are at each end and these are enormous with separate chambers for large commercial shipping and for yachts. The adjacent countryside is mainly pasture beyond the high banks. Stopping overnight half way along at Rendsburg, a period town full of character with excellent markets and shops, we locked out of the canal the following afternoon just before high water. In company with ten other yachts we motored down the Elbe estuary to Cuxhaven, keeping inshore of the channel buoys. Here, in the friendly sailing club marina, we waited for four days as yet another gale passed through before making a dash for the island of Helgoland.

This proved to be a mistake, and for six days and nights we felt trapped in this hostile corner of northern Europe, A succession of fronts advancing from the west battered the island of Helgoland. These were reinforced by fierce tidal streams which created a pincer movement between the treacherous sand banks and shallow channels of the Friesian and Danish coasts. To complete our escape, we would have to cross a minefield formed by the convergence of major shipping lanes with their separation zones and constant flow of international traffic serving the North Sea and Baltic ports. It was just bad luck that Heidi and I had chosen the worst summer weather for some years to cruise Norway and Denmark. Now we were anxious to return to our home.

This tiny island had been a German naval base during the war and consequently the RAF had tried to bomb it out of the sea. Although Heidi is German I was a little apprehensive on going ashore, but need not have worried. The astute local business people were very friendly, having created a thriving tax-free shopping and holiday centre. During the summer months over 6000 tourists visit the island every day. Standing on a quay in wind and rain we watched these hordes arriving wearing flimsy plastic raincoats, obviously bought in despair on the ferries at the last moment.

The spacious harbour is classified as a `refuge for shipping' and not as a yacht harbour. The facilities for yachts are limited, and although it is possible to anchor in the outer harbour the majority of boats raft up alongside pontoons attached to the inner quay wall. After cunning manoeuvres by our friendly Dutch and German neighbours, Tatsu ended up as the innermost boat in a raft of twelve, on a lee shore in winds of up to Force 10. Fortunately we are well equipped with anchors, warps and fenders. Sheltering on the opposite wall was a menacing grey `E' boat manned by the German Frontier Police. We were told that it patrolled the traffic lanes and was quick to pounce on any ship or yacht breaking the international or local collision regulations.

At last a window was opening in the weather pattern. The 0900 forecast was for the wind to shift from west to north-west Force 5-6, decreasing and becoming light southerly in the evening. A dozen yachts decided to go for it and head for Holland, or at the least for Norderney. Perhaps, as it was Friday the 13th, we should have known better.

A well spaced out convoy set out, most of us motor-sailing, forcing our passage through the short, steep, confused seas towards the shipping lanes. For the first time in over 30,000 miles Heidi felt desperately sea-sick and retired below.

We crossed the deep-water approach route to the Elbe, and then the Jade approach with its separation zone, having to tack twice to be sure of passing astern of freighters. At one point I saw the patrol boat in the distance and it was obvious that they were monitoring the movements of all vessels. Eventually we entered the traffic lane, although for once there were no ships in sight. I continued motor-sailing in order to cross as quickly as possible and close the Friesian coast where the tide would soon turn against us. There was a German yacht about a mile ahead and a Dutch yacht a couple of miles astern, both on similar courses to Tatsu. Suddenly I noticed clouds of spray created by a powerful boat approaching from the port side and against the traffic flow. Yes, it was the German Frontier Police patrol boat bearing down on us at about 30 knots. Using a loud hailer they ordered us to slow down and reduce sail, and a boarding party then approached in their inflatable. I told Heidi to remain below in the hope that the language difficulties would prevent too many arguments.

A polite young officer with reasonable English informed me that he had been watching us on radar and that we were in contravention of International Collision Regulation lOc in not crossing the shipping lane at right angles.* I replied that I was crossing the lane with my boat at right angles to the nonexistent traffic flow, but the ebbing tide was giving us a considerable lift to the west which would show as my track on the radar. He appeared to be embarrassed, but insisted that as we were not crossing at right angles I must pay a fine of DM 320.00 I refused and informed him that I had no cash in any currency. He radioed his superior and said that this was a difficult case as the English yachtsman had no money. The officer told him to remove equipment to the required value, if necessary!

I had no option but to give in, and offered an English cheque which he accepted having converted the fine to £129.67. After asking for our registration document and my certificate of competence he filled in various forms and gave me a copy. By the time the Frontier Police left we were in very shallow water, but the wind had eased and I tacked out towards the traffic lane.

Later the wind backed to the south and, sailing peacefully along the coast, we checked the notice served on us. We found that the section relating to the offence committed had not been filled in. By then we were in Dutch waters, so I radioed my bank via Portishead and stopped the cheque. On our return to England I wrote to the German authorities setting out my position, since when the cheque has been returned `with kind regards'. Perhaps the German bark was worse than its bite!

From Helgoland, Tatsu made a thirty hour passage of 174 miles along the coast of Germany and Holland, mainly under sail and, after the first seven hours, inshore of the shipping lanes with steady offshore winds. We then picked up a fog warning and decided to go into Oudeschild on the island of Texel, where we spent a day exploring a small part of Holland on our bicycles.

We set off across the North Sea with a good forecast, soon picked up fair winds, and after a fifty-eight hour passage logging 328 miles reached Hamble Point Marina where we were delighted to meet old friends. We then called into Lymington, after which fourteen hours of solid motoring brought us back to Dartmouth. The last few hours of the passage were under clear skies, but with towering black clouds and lightning to both north and south. In the early hours of 22 August, after three months and 2528 miles, we were glad to be home.

* The actual wording of Rule 10c as given in Reeds Nautical Almanac 1992 is: `A vessel shall so far as practicable avoid crossing traffic lanes, but if obliged to do so shall cross on a heading as nearly as practicable at right angles to the general direction of traffic flow'. The explanatory notes add: `...it is essential to present a full profile to traffic in the lane, ie. the vessel's fore and aft line should be as near to a right angle to the lane as possible -- not her track across the lane'. The point is illustrated by a very clear sketch...