TO ICELAND WITH BELVEDERE

Maureen Tetley

(John Bockstoce's 60ft motor-sailer Belvedere was conceived with high latitudes in mind, so it was only natural that her homeward passage from Scotland to the United States should be via the glacier route).

Saturday 26 June -- Largs Marina, Scotland

We arrive at Glasgow at 2215. After a quick taxi trip over the hill we find Belvedere and are given a huge welcome from John (JRB), Andy, Peter, Sam and John (Towers). Big nightcap and then to bed.

Sunday 27 June -- The Crinan Canal

Wake to the sound of the engine. We leave Largs Marina at 0600 for the Crinan Canal having decided to avoid the Mull of Kintyre. I just turn over in my bunk, and after a further sleep and unpacking emerge to find us nearly to the top of Loch Fyne, almost engaging the Canal. The lock-keeper only answers an English approach (by Jem), and we advance as the lock opens. It looks amazingly tight but we fit and the crew is well drilled: JRB does the bow and boat hook, Jem the stern, the boys hand ropes and open and close locks, Andy steers and I tend fenders. We enter at Ardrishaig, pass a bridge, three locks, another bridge, then rapidly up four more locks till we reach the top at Cairnbaan (Whitecairn) 68 feet above sea level, where the lock-keeper is a beautiful brunette who rushes to and fro on a bicycle, stirring the crew into further energy.

The descent is spectacular -- stunning views unfold over to the Sound of Jura and we pause for the night at Bellanoch as the basin at the foot is full. What a beautiful, peaceful place and wonderful weather -- aren't we lucky? Jem and I walk on to see if there's anywhere else to tie up as our pontoon berth says `Reserved', but nobody answers the RT and we find nowhere else, so there we stay. The flora is considerable -- iris, marguerite, vetch, cow parsley, wild strawberry, Queen Anne's lace, campion, heather, thyme, and ferns in profusion. A quiet evening with delicious pre-prandials including quails eggs, venison stew, asparagus and new potatoes; then port and bed.

Monday 28 June -- Back to the Sea

The engine wakes me again at 0730 and we leave to continue our passage to the sea at 0759. The Canal gets narrower still as we near Crinan, and we fend off the banks which spill leaves and branches on deck. Then through the sea lock at 0859 where we dump rubbish, telephone ahead to Tobermory for a mooring, and gaze in wonder at the beautiful boats in the dock -- Cairean, a varnished ketch, and a tiny yawl.

Then out into Loch Crinan, stowing fenders, protective sheets and warps, and with Duntrune Castle to starboard and Jura's Paps ahead, we press on north towards the Sound of Luing past the dreaded Corywrecken. It looks innocuous enough on this beautiful day but there is menace in the tidal whorls, and breakers can be seen on the skyline between the headlands. Luing is exciting too as we squeeze between Fladda and Dubh Sgeir and their hidden attendants, fighting the heavy set to starboard. A seal surfaces and jellyfish slop past. Distant islands seem to float on air. We leave Bono Rock to port (it's really called Bogha Nuadh) and inch to starboard. Now we are in the Firth of Lorne, and as Jura fades into the distance the Firth opens before us, the scenery ever more spectacular. I read the Clyde Cruising Club crib, wishing we had time to dally at the Pool of Otters and other wonderful anchorages. Duart Castle commands the turn into the Sound of Mull: we pass Lady Rock to starboard where McLean of Duart left his wife on a rising tide to be rescued (in time) by her father's Campbell men.

We motor on through the Sound of Mull, madly cooking pizzas which have got somewhat wet in the icebox, and arrive at Tobermory at 1430, picking up the outer RNLI mooring which invites us to contribute £5 -- jolly cheap at the price. The dinghy is lowered and JRB, Jem and I go ashore for lemonade, Pimms, papers, ice and telephone calls. Jem contacts the RNLI Coxswain, David Mckie, who will come for a drink with his wife at 1800. On our return the stove (lit by Andy for tonight's roast beef and Yorkshire pudding) has heated the cabin magically, so I quickly manufacture a lemon cake -- whereupon the stove dies. The evening is a mammoth effort on everyone's part to get the food cooked, but we eventually eat at 2100 -- beef wonderful, Y/pud a disaster!

Tuesday 29 June -- Highlands and Islands

The engine rumbles at 0630 and we are off by O7OO -- a murky day with misty rain, but it brightens past the Point of Ardnamurchan and the mainsail is hoisted -- but no, the wind dies, and we motor on. This time Muck, Rhum and Eigg are invisible in the mist, we pass quietly into the Sound of Sleat (Slate) and I steer for a while. By 1315 we are through Kyle Rhea, eating our lunch the while, then past Kyle of Lochalsh where all is busy and a new bridge is being constructed.

We've decided to go to Portree tonight instead of Acharsaid Mhor, so we aim into the Sound of Raasay where the scenery becomes magical with the mountains shrouded in mist. We pass south of Longay, skirt Scalpay and through Caol Mhor into the Sound. The floor of the narrows is dramatic and a beautiful house (Ardhursh?) peeps out of Churchtown Bay. Towering cliffs with huge dark caves at their feet protect the entrance to Portree. We turn at the spit and tie up to a Highlands & Islands Development Board mooring which says 15 tons (we are 60!), but the harbour master has assured us that it's alright. Then ashore for essential stores and a quick look round Portree -- a less sophisticated and more genuine version of Tobermory, and prettier. Back home, John climbs the cliff to take photos while we write postcards, then supper, Topgun on the video and bed, while the boys do the post run and paint the town red.

Wednesday 30 June -- the Outer Hebrides

At 0700 the engine starts: we wake and exchange Anniversary Presents. We leave at 0730 on a cold, rainy morning with the clouds embracing the towering mountains of Skye. No wind: we motor along the dramatic coastline, appreciating the precise symbols of the Old Man of Storr and the waterfalls which tumble down the steep cliffs. Wildlife is seen in plenty -- guillemots, razor bills, puffins, terns, plus a pilot whale and dolphins.

As we clear the Sound and come onto course for Stornaway the Outer Hebrides appear in the distance and the clouds are left behind. We thread through some busy fishing boats with their attendant gulls: progress is peaceful and I read up all about the Faeroes and their customs and make tuna fish bakes for lunch. Stornaway is an easy harbour to enter with hazards clearly marked, and after consultation with the port we berth alongside the quay beyond the ferries. Lots of springs, fenders and boards are arranged to allow for the tide drop off the jetty, and then we go ashore -- JRB to communicate with customs and sign Belvedere out of the UK, and us to shop. Despite the CCC predictions that all is shut on Wednesdays many shops are open, but I have missed the only two-way bus to Cullanin stones. Jem and I meet up with Angus McLeod, the deputy harbour master and hon secretary of the lifeboat. He kindly shows us the historic station, and comes back to drink with Jem on board while Andy and I explore the gardens of Lewis Castle. These were skillfully laid out by an earlier owner's wife who planted many trees -- the only ones on the island. Back home we dine and down some delicious anniversary champagne thoughtfully provided by JRB and toasted by all.

Thursday 1 July -- On Passage

The engine starts at 0530 and we are off at 0600. It looks murky, with the wind in the south-east. We turn north on leaving the harbour and immediately experience the discomfort of the seas. Belvedere rolls like a pig, and only after a series of crashes do we hoist the jib and then the mainsail to quell the movement. This is better, and we zoom along the bare grey coast of North Lewis giving the dreaded Butt a wide berth. Eventually Rona and Sula Skeir show us their grey rumps and we pass between -- what lonely sad islands they are -- gannet chicks are caught on Sula Skeir, dried and eaten. Angus McLeod told us how the lifeboat had to rescue a foraging party which got marooned there for some time, a horrid episode.

As the wind has risen and veered west we can at last use the sails to the full. Belvedere zings along at 7-8-9 knots, occasionally surfing. No one feels madly well, and poor Pete is very ill. Sam recovers after a short bout. The watch system is in place. Fog is encountered in the early morning, then huge cliffs emerge out of the murk and we are in sight of the southern tip of Suderoi Island by 0800.

Friday 2 July - The Faeroes

Entering the neat harbour is tense, as Jem has difficulty picking out the leading lights and we have to do a three point turn between large ships. But all is well in the end and we make fast in the middle of the town of Tveraa at 1215. Then police, harbour officials and customs (vanish alcohol!) are cleared, and we can enter the town legally. It is very Danish, with tidy red green and black corrugated iron roofs and is dominated by the church. Few speak English, but the chemist, post office and supermarket are all helpful: we find postcards and stamps -- a Faeroese speciality -- and shop -- gloves and warm socks as it is freezing -- plus usual groceries. Greens are like gold-dust here and the miserable cauliflowers are exorbitant.

JRB has by this time consulted local opinion about the tides, which have a fearsome reputation in the CCC manual and Admiralty Pilot. He has bought the local manual with korts based on moon's meridian (very complicated) and their vivid snakes and ladders in violent red and green technicolor illustrate graphically the perils to come. We study it, and compare the Admiralty Pilot which has a tidal atlas, and decide on tomorrow's departure time. Then a hairwash for me while JRB repels local revellers and it's supper. film and bed -- long lie in tomorrow.

Saturday 3 July -- whirlpools and Demuns

I wake at 0900 to silence above and below: the stove has gone out but there is enough hot water to make tea. Jem showers and hairwashes too so we are both clean. We finalize departure plans as everyone emerges from sleep -- brunch is the order of the day after tidying and reorganization of cupboards and stowing in safer places. We go onto GMT and depart at 1300 with three short blasts, avoiding a hardy water skier. We motor out in calm air admiring the stunning scenery of sheer cliffs topped with brilliant green slopes. The Demuns appear, and we are soon made brutally aware of the power of the tide: we catch a `bobber' with an unbuoyed end and have to cut it clear from the propeller. Then suddenly while we are thus engaged (JRB having observed a rough horizon) we are in a whirlpool: Belvedere rolls to starboard 45, then port 36°, and everything tips over -- including the boxes in the saloon which have not been out ever before! We thought we were avoiding the ladders, but have been swept to port right into one.

Demun Fjord is well named. Andy struggles with the wheel as the crew pile on deck in a calmer patch to launch a steadying mainsail. We are being swirled along (12 knots over ground, speed through water 5), the Demuns reduce onto the horizon, we flash past Skuo and Sanda looms. The islands have primeval shapes; bluff ends rear into the sky and a tiny farm clings to the edge of a precipice -- how do you get to it? Sheep graze peacefully on slopes which resemble the Eiger in grass. Then past Hesto's long shape to Kolter whose summit, Hammer (1566ft), soars into the mist. Between Dalsnipen and Troldkonefinger we enter the fjord, still being whipped along. There is a sheen on the upper slopes which might almost be snow as Vestmannasund winds on. We go over the cables and under the wires, and pass the ferry heading towards a queue of traffic on Vaago. Then into the snug anchorage of Vestmanna where we fit neatly between a fishing boat, kindly moved for us, and a laid-up deep sea trawler. The wind now whistles overhead but we are still and warm. What a place and what a race to cope with these fjords and tides.

Sunday 4 July -- Independence Day

Another late morning, and we rise to find Andy already launching the bunting so carefully prepared in Demun Fjord. The weather projections are for north-westerly Force 6 or more, not ideal for Iceland but a window may appear by Tuesday so perhaps we will stay awhile. Showers are frequent here, and I dash forth to view the shopping facilities and the pretty church recommended in the guide book. Here I am welcomed with open arms, and a spontaneous recital of Abide with me really boosts my expectations of the hazards to come. We all return to the boat for the midday salute, which reverberates around the harbour. Then more walks to view the surrounding hills, take photographs and telephone from the Shell station. Buses go from the local ferry terminal to Torshavn, and the ferry goes to Vaaga and the airfield -- apparently the main activities of Yestmanna, as no fishing boats seem to go out or in. The evening is spent basting the lamb and its etceteras, then once again to bed, the flags having been doused and returned to their holders.

Monday 5 July -- shore leave

We are late again arising, but there is no point in hurrying as all weather forecasts seem to concur in discouraging leaving port. We decide to wait another day and Jem, John and I to go by bus to Torshavn. We have to hurry to the bus depot, but the 40 kroner trip is worth it and spectacular in scenic value -- two long tunnels and lots of cliffs and waterfalls. Torshavn seems a pleasant little port -- quaint might describe it -- and the old buildings clustering round the harbour are picturesque in red and black. We lunch at the Hestla Hotel and try to find an English/USA paper: we are sent to the new shopping complex, SMS -- no, everything but. Then we go to the Foyovar hotel, which is on a crag one mile out of town, a long hike among the sheep and ponies. No newspapers there, so we return downtown in the inevitable rain, look round the harbour and shops and rejoin John (who has attended the laundrette) for the bus home. It is really pelting now, and we get even wetter back at Vestmanna as we fail to realize that this bus goes to our dock. The evening is spent watching the burns turn into white water and after supper an excellent film, The Taking of Pelham l23. It pours all night and I can hear the wind from my bunk. Let us hope for better tomorrow.

Tuesday 6 July -- Heading north

Morning comes grey and misty with cloud down on the hills. We are up late again to find the rain has virtually stopped -- just an occasional drizzle. Weather maps and tidal charts are consulted, and we finally decide to try and take advantage of a possible window by leaving around 1200. Intense preparations begin, stowing and tidying, posting letters and last shopping, and our decision is confirmed as sensible by a German yacht just in from Iceland who have had a reasonable trip. The wind is still north-west Force 5-6 though, so it will be a beat as out we go on time, motor-sailing and clinging to the northern shore of the sund to gain advantage of the tidal eddy there. The cliffs rise majestically straight from the sea, and white horses tear down the middle of the fjord marking the division of the tidal race. Then we press out into the gloom as the cliffs on either side disappear into cloud. Mykanes appears to the south and fades again, the wind rises to 30 knots and watch mode comes into force -- Jem and John 0000-0400 and 1200-1600, Andy and Peter 0400-0800 and 1600-2000, and JRB and Sam 0800-1200 and 2000-0000. I float!

Wednesday 7 July -- Iceland at last

The wind reduces towards evening and at 0200 I smell diesel and fear the stove has gone out -- true. John endeavours to light it, but it is not working properly. However they do manage to launch the genoa and when the main is freed the speed soars to 7 knots. The stove is refilled and relit on Andy's watch and the second genoa flown for a short time before the wind dies. A whale with a large black dorsal fin is seen on Jem's watch, but only one ship, a beam trawler. As I make cottage pie the wind veers as forecast, necessitating much rerigging of sails as we have three up. The evening passes with preparations for our landfall, which should be during Jem's next watch on Thursday 8 July. Darkness is minimal now and I can see huge looming mountains topped with snow out of my porthole. I rise to see us entering Seydhisfjordhur between Skalanes and Boganes. The sloping sides of the fjord are more gradual than the Faeroes, though the mountains behind are higher.

The cold hits us as we lower the mainsail. We slip on up the magnificent fjord, passing the Brimnes light and searching for the dangerous wreck mentioned in the Admiralty Pilot and marked on the chart by a buoy, but it is not visible and we head towards the Esso quay on the south-east shore, securing alongside at 0445 well away from the ferry terminal -- just as well as the ferry from Torshavn arrives shortly after we do. This keeps customs busy for a while, then they come to us. The officer is very charming and thorough and there are lots of forms to sigh. He tells us that the wreck is 40 fathoms deep and no danger to anyone except trawlers with gear down. It was a large Norwegian supply vessel sunk by German bombs during the war. Everything is available in town including laundry, telephones and saunas, and as the forecast is for strong northerly winds for the next thirty-six hours even the fishermen are staying put.

It pours with rain as we explore the town and continues all through dinner, but then pauses for a short time -- enough to take a stroll up the fish piers, past the fish factory and to Shell corner. The waterfalls are impressive, as are the moss and flowers by the wayside. Then home to a film and bed.

Friday 9 July -- Seydhisfjordhur

We are late waking again, and the news is that this weather may last till Monday or beyond and Jem and I must find another way to Reykavik to catch our plane home. It takes us most of the morning to find the tourist office, which has just shut for lunch, so we while away an hour at the Hotel Snaefell (50O kroner for a small beer and a coffee!). Then back to find that we can fly or bus but will have to leave Seydhisfjordhur at 0900 on Monday to catch a bus or plane at Egilstadur. Such decisions cannot be taken yet, and on our return we find all the young have gone walking up the waterfalls on the north side of the fjord. We concoct dinner -- Carbonara alla Belvedere -- and Petr Christianson comes to interview JRB on whaling (JRB is supposed to be lecturing in Reykavik on Wednesday, but it looks increasingly doubtful whether we/they will get there). All return eventually after mountain climbing, saunas and hot pots, and we fall into bed lulled by the wonderful music of the Cotton Wood Club movie. The wind is now rising and beginning to howl again.

Saturday 10 July -- the waterfalls fly upwards!

I am woken by waves crashing over my porthole -- the wind has risen further and the fenders are being squashed. As I see 45 knots on the anemometer I feel I had better wake Andy, but Sam -- who has been living it up in the town until 0400 -- appears and reassures me that I have not woken the boat in vain. Then all is action. We are really crunching the quay in a 40 knot gale and must lay out an anchor from the Zodiac to relieve pressure on the boat and the fenders, which have done sterling work. Sam, Pete and John, dressed for the Arctic, are launched in the Zodiac, and the anchor is supported into the sea controlled by a yellow buoy in the dinghy. Amazingly the dinghy can haul out the anchor, and at the second attempt it settles deeply in the right place. This relieves the pressure on the fenders and everyone pours below for hot rum toddies, soup and garlic bread. We watch in awe as the anchor takes the strain while the gusts rise to 50 knots. Waves beat on Belvedere, spume flies across the fjord and the waterfalls fly upwards. Later we take a walk (hard work), JRB gives his interview to Petr Christiansson and I cook and clear up.

Sunday 11 July -- we leave Belvedere

We wake late as usual to the same pounding wind and spray. JRB comes back on board to tell us that his contacts have advised him not to go to sea until 0600 on Monday so we had better find other accommodation for the night. By catching a bus to Egilstadir at 1445 we can get to Akureyri tonight, and that seems better than staying here in the Hotel Snaefell or at another hotel in Egilstadir. The kind girl in the bar offers to run us plus luggage to the bus, so back we stagger (in 50 knot breeze) to pack and prepare. We eat our last clam chowder and make sad farewells, feeling we have left Belvedere in the lurch. JRB is not pleased but says they can manage.

Thanks to Elisabet we catch the bus to Egilstadir and thence to Akureyri. It is luxurious with lots of stops, and despite the foul weather we see some impressive geysers at Mvatin. After a comfortable night at the Hotel Odal we bus again to Reykavik, arriving in time for sightseeing and another relaxing night at the Holt Hotel.

Tuesday 13 July

We go on a Blue Lagoon tour and view Hafnafjordhur, Blaa Lagon (too cold for swimming), Grindavik and the bird cliffs. Then to the Hotel Flug in Keflavik as we must start early (0600) for our flight. Our morning call is from JRB announcing Belvedere's arrival below us in Keflavik -- incredibly they have made it and we have missed the best sail of the entire trip!