WHITE NIGHTS AND THE OPERA -- PART II

Tony Vasey

(The concluding part of Tony Vasey's account of cruising the Eastern Baltic aboard Shiant in the summer of 1992).

After `the girls' had left, Jill and I had three weeks to ourselves before our next deadline so were in no hurry to leave the peace of the Finnish lakes. To the south east of Savonlinna the topography changes to a series of glacial ridges with deep narrow leads between, occasionally joined by cross passes which allow one to dodge around as the wind serves. We spent a wonderful day in a fresh breeze which funnelled through the islands, beating up a wide lead and running down a narrow one, squeezing through a cross pass where the wind fluked, laying us flat then leaving us becalmed -- just sailing for the sheer joy of it. That night we poked into a tight uncharted hole and let go in 2m with the merganzers fishing the shore line and not a ripple on the water, tired but happy that we should be privileged to share such delight.

With time on our hands we wandered south, rarely using the engine but making surprisingly fast passages in the flat water. Shiant had been in since mid May but the fresh water had left her as clean as the day she was launched. When I am punching a heavy sea, with Shiant shouldering her way confidently through, it I flex my waning muscles and tell myself that this is what I most enjoy. But after a season in sheltered water I know now that there is no greater delight than sitting down to lee with a flat sea in a light breeze just free, sailing on the woollies at almost the speed of the true wind. It is incredible how, once in the groove, even a heavy boat will cream along in a light breeze when there is no sea to slow her.

The whole of the Saimaa lake system drains through the River Vuoksi at Imatra into Lake Ladoga over the Russian border. Here there is a large hydro station, with excess water diverted through a gorge where the sluices are opened daily as a tourist attraction. Thousands of tons of water are let down, filling the valley with a boiling cataract so finely judged that it washes round the feet of spectators on the viewing gallery where moments before they were high above the dry floor.

With the jostling weekend crowd coming up the canal we had been glad of the extra hands in the locks, and were concerned that it might be difficult for just the two of us going down. We needn't have worried -- we had it entirely to ourselves. The great locks, capable of taking 2,000 ton vessels, opened at our approach and silently closed behind us without delay. We were lowered gently into the dripping cavern, the deepest being 13m, with so little turbulence that we hardly needed to moor. The road bridge opened and we slid out with a cheery wave from the operator high above in his air-conditioned cabin. Thus in half the time it had taken us to ascend we arrived back at Brusnitchnoe, ready for the Russian pilot.

It was a dreary morning threatening rain so he chose to lead from the only other yacht, a motor vessel capable of much greater speed than us. Within an hour they were out of sight, so once clear of the narrow river we put on canvas in a rising southerly and a clearing sky. At the customs post we were once more badgered by the liquor touts, and succumbed to their blandishments to the extent of a bottle of `genuine Russian vodka'. It was, and much enjoyed, especially at a price of US$5, a fifth of its price in Helsinki.

The wind backed, giving us a fast reach along the fairway to the customs post at Santio. We were at great pains to pass between the frontier buoys as we had heard of a skater who was fined 1,000 Finmarks for going the wrong side of the marks on the ice. After clearance the wind suddenly shifted to the west and piped up, providing a hard beat before we found shelter for the night.

We anchored off the island of Kuorsalo and were surprised to find a large, crude Russian yacht in the bay. In the morning we were about to row over for a gam when they fired up their ancient engine, completely enveloping themselves in smoke. With much loud argument which, despite the language, was clearly getting heated, they man-hauled what I expected to be a massive anchor. It broke surface to reveal a Danforth style hook of about 25 lb that I wouldn't have been happy with as a picnic anchor. It was now blowing full gale and forecast to continue so we had a day of make and mend, with a run ashore among the many old wooden houses that bore witness to a once sizeable community but now were only summer homes with most already deserted in early August.

By next morning the wind had moderated sufficiently to allow a quick dash north to Hamina, an attractive fortified town with most of the city walls still intact. We found the new guest harbour completely deserted and rather soulless, so moved across to the yacht club on an island. Again it was a charming old Russian-style wooden building, and again we were made most welcome at a nominal price. I had had intermittent tooth ache for some time and now it was severe enough to demand attention. A five mile bicycle ride took me to a teaching hospital where lack of a common language resulted in much drilling and filling without anaesthetic, but since it was free I couldn't grumble.

The blow had lasted three days but we wanted to press on. It was right across the line of boats and as usual we were moored bows-on, so as soon as we let go we were down on top of our neighbour. After much struggling by ourselves the club launch plucked us out whilst many hands kept the bow up to windward. The only damage was to our pride, but it made us realize that middle-aged cruising has its limits in a 14 ton boat.

We tore down through the harbour, but once clear of shelter it was back up to full gale. A couple of tacks were enough to tell us it was too much, so we bore away through the islands for Nuokko where we knew there was a real hurricane hole. Other boats had obviously had the same idea, as all evening they straggled in until there were upwards of a dozen, all moored Baltic-style with bows to the shore. We swung in a pool shown to be unencumbered on the chart, but it wasn't. In the morning whilst manoeuvring to get the anchor out we struck our first, and I can now say our only, rock. We came off alright, but even at 2 knots it was a sickening jar.

The wind was down to westerly F4, a lovely whole sail beat. By lunch we were off Kaunissaari, said by the pilot book to be most attractive but to have only 1.5m in the approach. The glass was well down and the book is always pessimistic, isn't it? We bore away boldly for the entrance, where there wasn't room to turn round between the marks, so we were committed. The depth sounder got down to the advertised depth, but since we didn't touch I guess we were going too fast and anyway we were standing on tip toes. What we hadn't counted on was the Sunday crowd -- when we got inside it was completely full and the area shown as suitable for anchoring had weed on the surface and bare rocks abounded. We gingerly extricated ourselves under engine and retreated for a lunch at sea.

All day we beat on until by evening we were able to bear away for Lovisa at the head of a five mile estuary. The pilot book was confusing, but seemed to suggest that there was 2m at a guest dock just south of the main marina, with considerably less beyond. Once again we were on tip toes, but we made it to lie alongside by ourselves. The sailing season was drawing to a close for the locals and certainly for those visitors who had to return home to the west but, paradoxically, this day we saw more foreign boats, Swedes excepted, than we had all season east of Helsinki -- three. We passed a Dutchman off the entrance but he beat on west, Wappen von Hamburg, a lovely old Abeking and Rasmussen 150 square metre came in from St Petersburg, and then the first French boat we had seen all summer sailed in. By Baltic standards quite an international gathering.

Once again we were made most welcome by the young harbour mistress, who assured us there was enough water to continue to the main marina. There we enjoyed all facilities -- water and electricity on the dock, showers and loos ashore, washing and drying machines, an ironing board and even a television to watch whilst the washing went round -- all for £4 a day for any size of boat. We could have stayed the whole season for £80.

Lovisa is a pleasant little town with good shops and an Alko. In Finland all alcoholic drinks are sold through state outlets at exorbitant prices. Scotch costs £30 a bottle, so the only drink we afforded was plonk at £4 a bottle. Thus modestly victualled we put to sea in a light south-easter and sailed the torturous inner passage to the Pellinki archipelago. There we shot the narrow entrance of Byo lagoon and carried our way into the circular basin. The island had been bought by the NJK but they had not been able to get permission to build shore premises so sold it on, leaving their buoys behind. We managed to pick one up under sail, but since these were hanging limp in the utter calm and peace this was more by luck than judgement.

We had forty miles to go back to Helsinki, so when we got a forecast of south-easterly F5 becoming westerly F8 we decided to make a dash whilst the going was good. All day we reached along in fine style until, at about 1800 when we were negotiating a narrow pass, we were caught by a change that could not be explained in meteorological terms. In the space of half an hour the wind went from south-east F5 to westerly F8, exactly as forecast but with such violence that we were caught grossly overcanvassed in very confined waters. We pulled down two reefs and shaped a course for Kajholmen, another NJK island about two miles to windward which offered shelter to non-members in distress. There was so much spray that we found it difficult to read the chart with specs on and even more difficult to see the marks. It took half an hour to reach shelter, and when we were on a buoy in the bay we still had 35 knots on the anemometer. A kindly member beckoned us alongside the jetty, saying he had watched our approach from the comfort of the sauna and had stoked it in anticipation of our needs.

Sauna (the definite article is dropped as a sign of reverence) is a Finnish way of life. They have one at home, they have one in their cottage, and if their boat is large enough, they have one there as well. It is usual in canal locks to turn off your engine as otherwise the air becomes heavy with exhaust fumes in the confined damp space. On one occasion I was looking askance at a boat ahead of me belching black when the owner, recognizing my concern, apologized that his sauna tended to smoke when first fired up. We even saw a sauna tent on the beach, double skinned and powered by a paraffin heater. The occupants steeped inside till well done, then dived into the sea before again zipping themselves back inside. We had successfully avoided such torture so far but our friends invitation brooked no refusal. Jill admitted to never having had sauna and my experience was limited so we were well instructed before entering the hallowed portals. It seemed tolerable at first, so on the principle that if it isn't hurting it isn't doing you any good, I drizzled a little water on the stones. There was no noticeable change so I threw on half a bucket. The temperature soared, driving us out to the washroom where we doused ourselves with cold water as instructed. The gale still raged outside so any thought of diving into the sea was dismissed with a clear conscience.

Having come from nowhere the gale continued for 36 hours, so it was the second morning before we got away for a chilly whole sail beat back to the capital. Although only mid-August Helsinki had a distinctly autumnal air. Leaves swirled down the boulevards and swallows were gathering on the wires. We even met a friend who had laid up for the winter, but we still had a long itinerary before we could put Shiant to bed.

As a schoolgirl Jill had corresponded with a Finnish pen friend but they had never met. With perseverance Jill had tracked her down so now, forty years on, they had arranged a rendezvous. Vuokko came aboard at the NJK, and we were glad of the light airs when we left on this, her first-ever sailing experience. We showed her the delight of lovely unspoilt anchorages only an hour from the teeming capital. She loved it, and didn't turn a hair next day when we were hit by a violent thunderstorm which sent us scudding through the crowded harbour.

On 16th August Jill's cousin Clare joined us with actor husband Jeffry Wickham. Apart from acting he is a Russian interpreter so we had enlisted them for our planned sortie to St Petersburg. We had three days before our visas were valid so dawdled through the islands back to Kotka to show them the Czar's fishing lodge, a delightful little place that makes you feel he must have been a homely fellow at heart. Whilst there the wind came in easterly with rain, but before we left it started to back and by the time we were at Haapasaari, where we checked out at dusk, it was well free and piping up.

As we surged across the frontier at 8 knots it was unclear what route we were allowed to follow in Russian waters, so we kept well to the north of the busy shipping lane, clearly delineated by the stream of traffic. I was off watch when we were suddenly illuminated by a blinding searchlight from a patrol craft which closed in, firing off Verey cartridges. I tried them on VHF channel 16, but no reply. They came closer sounding a siren, then hailed us shouting `Channel One Zero' on which they asked "Sprechen sie Deutch?". "Jah, aber my freund sprecht better Ruski", I allowed. Then ensued a lengthy conversation with appalling RT discipline on both sides, Jeffry through ignorance and they through force of habit. There were no callsigns or names, just a series of peremptory questions. Where were we going? Did we have visas? Who had invited us? Which yacht club were we visiting? Then they hauled off a bit and went silent, doubtless consulting higher authority. After a while they simply told us to carry on and disappeared into the night.

We stormed onwards, with the wind continuing to back and freshen until by Kronstadt we were goose-winged in a westerly F6. The whole of the Bay of Leningrad has been cut off by huge earth bunds stretching five miles out from either shore, leaving just a narrow dredged channel which passes right through the naval harbour. There, amongst countless rusting naval hulks, Jeffry recognized with nostalgia the cruiser on which he had been interpreter during the infamous Commander Crabb incident. Now that peace has broken out they have no future.

We sailed right through the three miles of St Petersburg harbour, dousing just short of the customs quay -- 100 miles from Haapasaari in 15 hours. The inevitable scruffy soldier turned up asking for cigarettes which we promised on production of a customs officer. He arrived shortly and cleared us politely with the admonition that we must not buy caviar or electric samovars but since none of us had a taste for either we did not feel unduly inhibited. Our invitation was to visit the Central Yacht Club, but since that was some two hours north and required a pilot we opted for the Naval YC just round the corner from the customs jetty. We arrived to find the commodore, resplendent in uniform, waiting for us with four lesser officials on a rickety wooden pontoon to which we were beckoned. Jeffry quickly engaged them in friendly banter and in no time we were made to feel thoroughly welcome.

The club comprised a few wooden floats with about a dozen small yachts tied bows on. We were put alongside next to a 50ft galleass and another smaller boat, both looking ripe for a film set. It turned out that they were two of a series of replica boats made at Petrozavodsk, the capital of Karelia on Lake Onega, by a group of enthusiasts calling themselves the `Polar Odyssey'. I quote the words of Victor Dmitriev, their leader, "Polar Odyssey was also the name of my first ship. Together with my associates we decided to revive the golden age of humankind, when the sea and the land caravans connected people for the sake of peace and kindness. We decided to travel on the ships of the ancient types around the world and created the shipbuilding company `Karelie TAMP' for this reason. We sailed through two dozen seas of the three oceans and together with you we want to continue the search for our common happy future". Romantic stuff you might say, but they have accomplished some remarkable voyages, including round Spitsbergen and Norway under squares'ls and without engine.

The Naval is the nearest of the three yacht clubs to the city but is still some four miles out of town. Jill and I broke out the bicycles, whilst Clare and Jeffry boarded one of the many decrepit trams. I was not sure who was the most intrepid as they lurched off in a shower of sparks on tram lines that occasionally bridged large pot holes with no support, across which we had to carry our bikes. St Petersburg was once an incredible city of beautiful buildings, but when one sees the one-time opulence through the now decaying exterior you can understand that revolution was inevitable. It was good to see that the dove of peace had been restored to the dome of St Isaac's cathedral -- the previous atheistic regime had replaced it with a pendulum. The magnificent church is now a museum where once it housed up to 14,000 worshippers. We climbed to the dome up rusting ladders which must give jitters to the more litigious western tourist and were rewarded by a splendid view across the city. Then we shackled our bikes to the gates of the Hermitage and joined the throng through the literally miles of galleries. It is interesting to see how the common man reveres the bourgeois past -- apparently a member of the Romanof family recently returning from exile was greeted with adulation.

We had changed £20 at the official rate and received nearly 6,000 roubles (at today's rate it would have been 12,000) when only two years ago it was officially 1:1. Public transport was one rouble anywhere in the city so we could do a lot of travelling before we ran out of money. There was a great deal of hydrofoil traffic on the river, so we took one to the Summer Palace at Petrodvorets across the bay. Being a Saturday we had to pay a premium which brought the cost of the half hour journey to 11 pence, 7 pence on a weekday, for a journey twice as far as Southampton to the Isle of Wight.

Petrodvorets marked the limit of the German advance on Leningrad and they left the palace devastated but, paradoxically, the previous regime spent millions on its restoration so that now it demonstrates once more the excesses of the past. A thousand acres of parkland housed dozens of intricate fountains but the famous cascade was empty, the ambitious rebuild of two years ago having, in common with all other public projects, run out of money. Even the majestic Nevsky Prospect, the showpiece of the old city, and half repaired was now abandoned with not even the man-hole covers replaced.

We had struck up a friendship with the young crew of San Sophia, the 50ft galleass, and on our last evening they insisted that we should dine aboard their vessel Russian-style. They were as good as their word, producing a delicious meal with lashings of vodka. They managed to invent the most ridiculous toasts to prolong the evening but we could not keep up with their drinking prowess and had to excuse ourselves at midnight.

We left after just four days with a forecast from the navy of moderate northers, but we had motored beyond Kronstadt before we got enough wind to fill the sails. Then it came as advertised so we were soon bowling along through the dozens of ships in the waiting area, not noticeably changed since our arrival. Jeffry translated the Russian charts on which we were navigating as saying that there was a large prohibited area on our track, so when we were again approached by a patrol craft we were half expecting some hard words. Instead we got a cheery wave and a thumbs up from the crew. By dark the wind had freshened and backed again so we were once more goose-winged but this time sailing west.

Decca is most unreliable in this part of the Baltic, there being only two slaves and these very much in line from our position. There are also magnetic anomalies to compound the difficulties, so when one of the major lights didn't show I was quite concerned. I handed over to Jill at midnight and she held on for an hour before switching on the radar. There was the lighthouse, three miles ahead, unlit. The wind continued to freshen, so rather than make a night approach into the dangers surrounding Haapasaari we hove-to and waited for light. It is surprising how quickly the nights draw in at these latitudes -- we were now experiencing eight hours of darkness when a month previously we hardly had any. Dawn showed us to be only a few miles off the approach so we let fly and reached swiftly up the fairway.

The coastguard were surprisingly disinterested in the unlit island, not even taking an official note. They did, however, warn us that the wind was expected to go west and rise to full gale so we took their offer to shelter behind their jetty for 24 hours. Haapasaari is a delightful little island but was now almost deserted. In Finland school starts again in mid-August so all the summer cottages were shut for the winter. The island is almost split in two by a large bay, but the natural entrance was not wide enough and has been blasted out to about 20 feet wide with 2m depth. I was amused to note the permanent fenders on the rock walls in the pass.

The promised gale came and went leaving us a pleasant F4 on the nose. We were not aware that folks at home were experiencing an early monsoon, but if it is any consolation the gales that swept Britain in August continued to the Baltic unabated giving us very changeable weather. However, it didn't matter as we could pick our days and usually find somewhere to go with a free wind. Thus we wandered back to Helsinki for the fifth time, and were pleased to see the Union Jack run up on our approach to the NJK and to be welcomed back as though we were coming home.

Before leaving for St Petersburg I had applied to customs for permission to leave Shiant for the winter, but was now told that it was not possible without paying import duty. After much bicycling between offices in pouring rain I got audience with the deputy head of the customs board. With a little prompting I agreed that Shiant would need some repairs after her arduous season, and was told that so long as I could provide a bond for 22 percent of her value I would be allowed to import her to be worked on for up to a year. Having settled on an insultingly low value for her I had a fax on his desk from my bank in ten minutes committing 50,000FM (£6,500) should I fail to re-export her within the year.

The wind was still a fresh westerly but forecast to go into the east so, since the yard in which we had arranged to leave Shiant was 30 miles east, we left without delay. It took just over four hours to reach the estuary south of Porvoo, and once in the lee of the islands we had enough shelter to dry our light-weather canvas. In lovely clear evening air we hung out each sail in turn and doused the last right off the town quay. Next morning, 1st September, we bagged the lot crisp and dry and motored the seven miles to the yard at Emasalo with bare spars and the temperature in the 80s, there to leave our faithful Shiant for the long cold winter.

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