Rocks

First attempt to foray out with Pat's foot in plaster. Executed a textbook exit, and topped up with diesel, just to get some practice. Light breeze gave us a little lift up under the Öland bridge, until it died. We decided to head for Borgholm.  On the water we found sheets of dying green algae. At one stage it was like sailing through pea soup.

Öland is one the main holiday islands, and, on arrival we were accosted by a couple of kids in a Dory saying that the harbour was closed due to the Swedish Sailing Championships.

After further incoherent exchanges, we ascertained that only the inner harbour was closed, so we picked up a mooring in the outer harbour. The place was heaving with strong manly,and not so manly, sailing types, and girls in Bikinis. (Oh, and hordes of tourists). It was a bit like Bognor Regis on a bad day. Pat was rather taken by the strong silent type in the harbour office. I got a crick in my neck when I sat up too quickly to look at a boat load of Swedish female racers..... After no wind all day, it promptly blew up at sunset, so midnight found much yottie activity setting up lines and fenders.

Left Borgholm fairly early (but not until the bread rolls had arrived). Another slow float towards Oskarshamn. We wanted to try out our first natural harbour as opposed to marina. (The east coast is littered with these 'rock pools' where you can lie in comparative safety, out of the elements. We picked Tväggesholmen, near the picturesque holiday village of Figeholm, which had a marina as a back-up in case we couldn't get in.  Figeholm is at the top of its own little archipelago, and the rock pool was about half way in. So we picked up the marks, headed for the pool and - crash!

Now there are two ways into this rock pool. The proper way (in the book) looked narrow, however the chart indicated that there was more room in the other entrance, although it was guarded by a submerged rock. Yes - you guessed it - we hit it. We hurriedly backed off, bottled out, and headed for the marina at Figeholm. In retrospect, we did a couple of things wrong. I was misled by both the chart and the electronic plotter, both of which indicated things were OK. I also ignored (Pat didn't) the evidence of the depth sounder, which showed decreasing depth - in future,we will know better. The rock in question is charted at 1.7 meters, which is precisely our depth, and we think we sort of bounced over the top - but a shock nevertheless.

Talking to some locals later, this sort of happening seems to be not an uncommon experience, as the charts are not necessarily as accurate as you might think. Even I know not to rely on electronics. This sort of navigation has to be accurate to about 20 yards (preferably less)- which is more than GPS will give you.

Oh, and one boat at Figeholm had a parrot on board - just right for Pat's wooden leg!

Lovely day, light winds, so we decided to have another go at getting into a nature harbour. After some discussion over a bottle of wine with the friendly swedes in the boat next door, we headed for Älö, a small island not far from Blankaholm, on the way to Vastervik, our next major stop. The entrance to this one was narrow, but fairly straight forward, with only 2 submerged rocks (!). This time things were fine. We did have one tricky moment. After largely ignoring the depth sounder the first time, we decided that this time if it went below a certain value (3m) we would stop, as the chart said 3.5m was the minimum depth the entrance would ever be. Sure enough, it bottomed out at 2.8...

We left Alfred and Hilkka (and Smilla the dog) in Idö and made for Vastervik and civilisation - despite their warnings. Vastervik turned out to be everything they said it wasn't - something of a disapointment. The town was absolutely heaving with people, rather a shock after the quiet of the islands. The town was also full of motorbikes. Apparently there was a huge biker rally taking place at nearby Gransö castle, and the day was spent listening to the bikers zooming up and down. The event culminated in a biker cavalcade on the Sunday - with apparently over 500 bikes. I didn't count them but it took 15 minutes for them to go past.

The weather looked to take a turn for the worse on Monday so rather than sit in the islands (we're a little cautious with Pat's leg in plaster), we went to Loftahammar. This is a yachting centre at the head of a five-mile long fjiord. Loftahammar itself lies in a pool accessed by the tiniest of channels - the red and green bouys are only just wider than the boat! The place however, was blissfully quieter than Vastervik, and we laid there while the rain went over.

We then set off in earnest to find some more harbours, and joined the great North Route... We poked our nose into Batsviken, and popped into Fyrudden, which Alfred had warned us wasn't much (right there too). We eventually spent the night - alone - in a small pool behind Kättilö.

It's strange, but we just come into harbours and put the hook down. Many locals do much the same, but there is always someone who makes a performance of it. One joined us in Kättilö, tied up to the rocks, then changed his mind and tried to anchor in the pool, tried it twice then gave up and left - odd.

In Fyrudden, Pat bought a 'solar shower'. (In essence a black bag you fill with water). It works! The fun of showering on deck is hugely increased by the knowledge that you don't have to clean the shower out afterwards - just chuck a bucket of water on the deck!

In the morning - so still you can see your reflections on the water - we went round to have a look at Gubbö Kupa, from where you are supposed to be able to get a fine view across the archipelago. We toyed with going to Harstena (the mecca which everyone goes to), but decided to give it a miss - it was going to be busy, and we like the quiet spots. Instead,  after lunch we had a slow sail north towards Arko. We eventually stopped in a pool in Strysö -  (again accompanied by a local who tried three locations, gave up and went away)