Usually, we waited until after breakfast before getting underway, but the forecasted northwesterly winds were only supposed to last a while before turning directly westerly. Since we needed to go west to return to Rostock, we had to take advantage of the wind before it basically stopped us in our watery tracks.
So, on our last day, we set sale at 8am before breakfast.
As we neared Warnemünde, we saw the familiar green lighthouse, the tall Hotel Neptun and the distinctive curved roof of the Teepott Warnemünde restaurant.
Motoring up the Warnow river, we passed shipyards with huge pillars mostly likely destined to be giant wind turbine towers. I spoke with the captain and his first mate, who both were against wind turbines located in the seas. I asked them what their objections were.
They explained that these wind turbines have a lifespan of about 10-20 years. When they wear out, the turbines are removed, but the towers are left standing. Since they are often in international waters, no one feels responsible to remove or recycle them, and the remain, becoming useless obstacles and possible dangers to oceangoing traffic.
We passed massive cruise ships, and a sailing ship named the “J.R. Tolkien”
Finally, we found our mooring. When we had departed from Rostock, the docks and river were crowded with yachts and sailing vessels visiting for the “Hansa Fest.” It looked pretty subdued in comparison.
We tied up, unloaded our baggage and the not insubstantial amount of leftover food. And we said our goodbyes.
Postscript: It took at least a week before I didn’t feel the earth rocking and swaying beneath my feet. It was especially bad at night or in enclosed areas. I’d walk and feel like I was crossing a floating dock. One evening I was sitting in a restaurant and looking up, fully expected the lights hanging from the ceiling to start swinging.
The Abel Tasman will sail again next year, this time from Poland to Eckernförde, Germany. As tempting as it is to join the crew again, I suspect this will be my last voyage for now.
After a couple days on Hiddensee, the captain recommended we sail part way to Rostock and anchor offshore again. Although we’d had light and favorable winds today, he was doubtful about the winds on our final push back to Rostock. So we sailed 32 nautical miles west and anchored near Prerow Beach, around the corner from Wustrow, where we’d anchored the first night of our voyage.
Dinner was a delicious leg of lamb, potatoes, and sauerkraut.
Although I knew most of the passengers from last year’s voyage, I got to know several of them much more this year.
Annie and I had a really nice discussion with passenger who “sells trains” for his work. Really. A recent contract for a sale of trains in Middle East including building many modern trains, including high-speed trains in the desert. The biggest technical challenges will be for the high-speed trains to contend with desert winds, heat, and sand.
Fellow passengers enjoying one of our last sunsets on board
They do do business in the U.S. There is a large manufacturing plant on the West Coast, which uses all U.S. made parts and materials, which is great. On the other hand, he says that U.S. manufacturing requirements for trains are completely different, requiring unique all-steel construction and heavier-than-necessary gauges of steel. In his opinion, this greatly increases the cost and weight with no improvement in safety or efficiency. But trains are trains, and the more of them in service (instead of cars) will lessen the impact on the environment and increase overall safety.
Our friend told us about another friend of his who works in traffic safety. That guy and his small team can produce mathematical analyses about the safest roads and how to design roads, streets, signage, etc., to reduce risk. When his son asked him what he does for work, he answered, “I help save lives.” He was able to mathematically calculate the hundreds of thousands of lives his work saves every year.
Leg of lamb dinnerAnnie demonstrates how she sharpens a knife
After hearing about Annie’s work preparing meals for cancer patients, our friend wished aloud that he could tell his sons how many lives he saves through his work. He knows trains are safer, more efficient, and produce less pollution – even though he calls trains “19th century technology” – so the calculation is possible. In any case, he both loves and is proud of his work.
For our last dinner together, we were blessed with a beautiful sunset and calm seas and winds, perfect for group photos.
Vitte, Hiddensee Island, Germany Saturday, August 17, 2024, 6:30am
This was the next to last day we were aboard the Abel Tasman. The following day we would be returning to Rostock to disembark from our weeklong voyage around the Baltic. Our fate was literally tied to the weather, taking us up to Denmark and back to the northeastern coast of Germany.
Sunrise anchored off the northern tip of Hiddensee
I love this time of day. Barely anyone was stirring and the only sounds in the harbor were the literal early birds.
We’ve been here at Hiddensee Island for a couple days. Day before last we sailed south from Klintholm, Denmark and anchored off the north tip of this island.
Hiddensee is a narrow strip of an island running north to south and just west of the big German island of Rügen. I visited both during my time here in 1989. It is home to a big natural preserve, and I have vague memories and a couple black and white photos walking on this island and listening to a biologist talk about the avian wildlife here.
Originally, Hiddensee was a summer vacation site for powerful people in the party and government of East Germany, both for its beauty and its location. Any places near the former East German border were usually reserved for the “150% believers” in the former regime since they were less likely to try to escape – and more likely to report any others they saw attempting to do so. I was told there is a graveyard on at least one Danish island dedicated to former East Germans who tried to cross the Baltic to escape and perished.
These days, Germans from all over come to vacation, enjoying the car-free (except for maybe a repairman, fire engines, and a local bus) and protected island. People walk up and down the island, ride rented bikes or enjoy renting horse-drawn carriages. It is so small that finding a berth big enough for our ship. The captain said he’d called the harbormaster at Kloster, the nicest town on the island, and the latter was totally stressed out. Asked when we might find a berth, the beleaguered harbormaster grumbled, “next year!”
So, we anchored off the northern tip of the island, enjoying calm waters and almost no wind, and at night we could see Hiddensee’s northernmost lighthouse blink every 8 seconds. Before going to bed, I finally was able to play a game of Skat. After a couple small errors, my memory and skills returned (after years of neglect), and I handily won the game.
The Dornbusch lighthouse by day and at twilight
The previous day’s sail was thankfully smooth. We expected light winds, and after motoring for an hour, favorable winds pushed us to a respectable and consistent 7 knots – but gratefully with only tiny swells, maybe 1-2 feet high. All those people (including myself), who had suffered the previous two days, watched at first with skepticism and trepidation, waiting for the winds and waves to grow. But despite our decent speed, waves never came, and we made great time returning to German waters.
The small Danish flag flown high up next to the main mast was exchanged for a German one – it is customary to fly the flag of the country you are visiting. The large, main flag flown from the stern of the ship remains the flag of The Netherlands, the home of the ship. However, our flag has faded in the elements and the bottom wide blue strip has turned a very dark slate gray which has confused a few onlookers who have asked where we are from.
Enjoying smooth sailing to Hiddensee
Yesterday morning, having found no harbor on Hiddensee that could accommodate us, we motored just a little over an hour to the southern port of Neuendorf (“new village”). We anchored offshore, and one of the deckhands taxied us to the harbor, racing over the water in the dinghy. At times it felt like the only part of the boat that was touching water was the outboard motor’s propeller. I held fast to a rope and to my hat as we made our quick transit to shore.
We were told that Kloster, the northern most town was the nicest to see, 7 km away. Our ship would be mooring in the evening at Vitte, which was just a little closer at 5 km. One could rent a bike, but it would have to be returned to Neuendorf. There was a ferry, and a local bus, which was loading just as we got to land. Our captain had told us about horse-drawn carriages on the island, which sounded great, but we learned those were only available in Vitte and Kloster – and probably needed to be ordered ahead of time.
By the time we figured out a) the bus and ferry schedule, b) where to buy tickets for either (bus tickets bought on board, ferry tickets bought at a small office), both had departed, and we’d have to wait over an hour for the next ride.
Thatched roof houses in Neuendorf
So we walked around Neuendorf, then west over the narrow island, admiring the beautiful, thatched roofs and long green fields, and passed by a regular stream of rented bicycles. Thirsty, we found a little café and purchased some mineral water and a piece of raspberry meringue cake. After leisurely consuming our beverages and cake, we slowly made our way back to Neuendorf for the next ferry.
The nearly silent electric Hiddensee ferry
We purchased tickets (at the correct location) and waited on a bench for the ferry. I glanced at my watch and noted that the ferry was due in a few minutes, but I saw no ferry and heard nothing. I wondered if it was late, and I got up and walked to the pier, only to see the large ferry less than a minute away silently coasting to its destination. Only when it applied a reverse thrust to slow down was there any sound. It clearly has an electric motor because the typical regular rumble and rhythmic thrum of a diesel was completely absent. We boarded and enjoyed a quiet, smooth, 45-minute ride north to Kloster.
Kloster is indeed picturesque. We walked by some beautiful large, thatched buildings.
Minutes from the harbor we saw a gorgeous, large, timbered building, built in 1909, with the troubling-for-English-speakers-name, the Hitthim Hotel and Restaurant. We were getting hungry, so we sat down and enjoyed a big lunch of farfalle pasta with spinach and salmon in a cream sauce, and chicken with mushrooms and cheese with fried potatoes and speck (bacon). The meal cost nearly what we would pay in the U.S., which means it was expensive. Most meals we’ve enjoyed have been a third to half what we pay at home. Although the ice cream dishes looked sizable and delicious, we opted to walk a bit and to maybe pick up some later.
We strolled through Kloster, admiring the old buildings, many with thatched roofs. Along the main path that runs the length of the island you see many little serve-yourself stands selling painted stones and shells, homemade jams, fruit, simple jewelry, cards, and more. They may be no bigger than one to two feet square with a little container into which to drop your coins. We saw a couple of these at Klintholm, Denmark, but we probably spied at least a dozen here on Hiddensee during our afternoon walk.
We found a little shop selling homemade ice cream, which we of course had to buy. Still hoping to maybe find a horse carriage, we began to see piles of horse “exhaust” here and there on the path as well as empty parking spots reserved for the carriages. We saw a few carriages during our walk but no place obviously to reserve one. So we walked the 2 km path to Vitte.
To our right was a strip of land sometimes wide enough for homes, sometimes only a narrow sandy berm. Climbing up the dune, we took a brief glance at the ocean to the west, a rough chop with wind and waves and a long row of large rocks to protect against the seas. To the left, we saw verdant green fields. Here and there you’d see a small collection of horses, sometimes hear a bleating sheep, and birds landing and snatching grub. It is so relaxing to hear no automobiles or other man-made noises!
We avoided grass during our walk as ticks are pretty common. A couple people have had to remove these tiny annoyances. Fortunately, Lyme Disease is still mostly common in southern Germany, though climate change has broadened its dreaded reach in every direction. The captain had a special kit with a tool to remove the buggers and wipes to sterilize the bite, and then someone brought out a cool short wand with a metallic tip. This “Biteaway” device is pressed against the bite after the bug is removed and a brief, intense spot of heat is applied, just less than would burn the skin. The heat neutralizes the proteins injected by mosquitoes and other insects reducing the symptoms and limiting the risk. I suspect these devices are not available in the U.S. and I plan to buy one to bring home.
Note: I was able to find these for sale online in the U.S, which I immediately purchased
As we approached Vitte, we began to see shops, little art galleries, and more self-serve tables. We admired some drawings and paintings, then spied a tiny shop selling amber jewelry. I marveled at the prices, which I estimated to be at least half of what I would expect anywhere else, especially on a small island frequented by summer vacationers. A beautiful necklace was acquired, and after paying, the owner, who I suspect makes the jewelry, handed me a thin, short, leather thong with small amber beads affixed to each end. It was about 10” long. I couldn’t understand what he explained it was for until someone else said “für Bücher!” (“for books”), and then I realized it was a bookmark. He insisted on giving it to me for free, and after inserting it into a small envelope along with his business card, we happily departed.
Our ship was supposed to arrive and dock around 6pm. Although no regular berth was available that would fit the Abel Tasman, we were allowed to dock after the last ferry left so long as we left before the first ferry in the morning.
Sitting on a bench at the harbor, other passengers showed up and sat to wait with us. We watched ferries come and go, and we photographed a little fishing boat named, “Rambo” come in and tie up.
After the last ferry departed, our ship lumbered into the small harbor, and gently brushed up to and secured against the dock. Curious vacationers came up to take a closer look, and a family with small eager children were invited on board for a brief tour.
The Abel Tasman, led by the dinghy, lumbers into the harbor of Vitte
A German lady standing near me was admiring the ship and taking pictures. I smiled and indicated I was a passenger, and she started enthusiastically asking me questions. She complimented me on my German, which I appreciate but always am surprised by, and asked me how I learned to speak it. She was surprised to learn I studied a semester in the former East Germany. She was from Chemnitz, near Leipzig and Dresden, which I visited for a day back in 1989 when it was still called Karl Marx Stadt.
One of my only pictures from Karl Marx Stadt (in 1989), now named Chemnitz
Waiting for dinner, Simon, Ingo, Antje and I sat down and played Doppelkopf (aka “Doko”). I’d only played a couple hands so far on this cruise and was glad to get in several good hands of this very complicated German card game. Through a combination of good partners and excellent cards dealt me, I walked away with by far the most points before we had to break for dinner. No doubt had we played more hands my score would have eventually been eclipsed.
Annie turned in early, and I stayed up in the galley, hopeful to find others with whom to play Skat or Doppelkopf. Both complicated German card games, I learned Skat in my high school German language class and played it constantly the year I studied abroad (35 years ago). Doppelkopf (or “Doko”), which is twice as complicated, I learned aboard the Abel Tasman last year, and much to the amazement of my fellows, got to the level where I was able to hold my own.
A rousing game of Doppelkopf
There are many rules and variations to Doppelkopf. Here are a couple websites with instructions in English:
Although the rules are dizzyingly complex with countless variations, I love this game. One unique aspect of Doppelkopf is that you play with partners, but you don’t know who your partner is until well into the game! In regular play, whichever two players hold a Queen of Clubs (there are two in the deck) will play as partners against the other two. So, you have to guess who your partner is until each queen is eventually revealed.
I know no one in the U.S. who plays Doppelkopf. The only Skat players I know are a few who studied German.
Another hand of Doppelkopf
Here are couple websites with instructions for Skat in English.
Alas, the only people not already engaged in either game or chess didn’t know how to play, so we played a hilarious and simple game which so far lacks a name. I call it the Das Lügenspiel, (“the lying game”). I believe Robert learned it while studying in Singapore.
Basically, there are just enough cards to have threes-of-a-kind for each player, plus one Ace (e.g. 3 players, 10 cards). Cards shuffled and dealt, all players will have three cards, except one will have four.
You take turns asking the previous person for a specific card. They can give you any card, claim they don’t have one, etc. If you don’t trust the first card they offer you, you can ask for a second, or even a third. You have to take the third one.
Play continues until one person has a three-of-a-kind and no extra cards. Whoever is stuck with the Ace in their hand loses. Watching people’s faces as they try to determine whether they are being lied to is hilarious.
Playing the “lying game”
After several hands of the lying game, we played Oh Hell, which I think they knew as the “Wizard Game.” I was losing most of the game, only to squeak by and come in second by the end of the game. I suspect Annie would have wiped us all out.
The sun has now risen, and the harbor is awakening to the sounds of fisherman spraying down their decks and readying their crafts.
A severe muscle spasm in my right calf woke me early this morning. I get these occasionally after a strenuous hike or a lot of walking in bare feet. It’s a wonder I haven’t had one earlier. I cursed myself for having allowed myself to become dehydrated and/or not taking my calcium earlier. Oh well.
Sitting or standing, I feel the craft slightly bob and tip, although my eyes tell me the ship is stable. If the ship is actually moving, it is doing so much slower than my feet and butt would have me believe.
Our small cabin is pretty warm and humid.
All the portholes in our cabins are sealed. So, the only air in and out of our tiny rooms comes through the door. With stronger winds, portholes on the downwind side of the ship often dip below the water’s surface. Indeed, during the rougher parts of the previous two day’s journeys, those portholes looked like the doors of front-loading washing machines.
Each cabin has a sink and tiny shower and without ventilation the rooms can get pretty humid. Each door has a little hook to allow you to secure the door open a couple of inches which we do almost round the clock. Sometimes, if it gets too stuffy, I’ll get up and quickly open and nearly close my door, fanning the air and bringing in some from the hall and hopefully down the stairs from outside.
I climbed the tight spiral staircase up to the galley to stretch out, open the windows and enjoy some fresh, cool air.
It was quiet save for the birds greeting each other and seeking their morning food as well as the constant low hum of the refrigerator fans.
Quiet Klintholm harbor in the early morning
Last night at dinner we sat next to the captain and his first mate, Stein, who is his son. Bespectacled, his ruddy face daily splashed with sun and battered by wind sports a thick and closely cropped silver beard and mustache with splashes of light copper. His hair is curly and light copper only beginning to grey in front of his ears. I guess him to be around 50, but he is probably closer to 60. His son has similar hair and blue eyes, with a pointed nose, narrow pointed chin and a ready grin.
Sitting with the captain and his first mate and son, Stein
The whole crew is Dutch. The captain and son both speak excellent English and German. Crewmember “Moss” struggles with German so mostly communicates in heavily accented English. The daughter, when we see her, also prefers English. Since 95% of the people on board are German speakers, that’s what the captain speaks. But sitting next to us, I spoke with him in English, and he replied in turn fluently.
I had so many questions, I felt a little bad about preventing him from enjoying his meal, but he seemed happy to talk. His first time on a sailboat was around 3 months. His son was on a sailboat before he was born, and the captain got to see both his kids take their first steps aboard a sailing vessel. His wife does like to sail but suffers seasickness and therefore manages the not insignificant amount of computer and paperwork it takes to manage a large sailing vessel, its trips, and all the passengers.
The captain with his son and daughter
Both his kids are part of his crew on this voyage. We haven’t seen much of his daughter, who looks to be a recent high school graduate. She mostly stays inside at the bridge, venturing out to help to throw and secure ropes when we are mooring in port.
The third, “Moss,” is a young, energetic man who looks like a college-age surfer with a small man-bun. Moss was the one who climbed the mast while we were sailing at a decent clip through medium swells to secure the ropes for the aquatic swing we enjoyed a few days ago. Remembering how even the smallest movements on deck are magnified once you are 90 feet up the mast, those of us who had climbed to that height marveled how unflappable he was to scale the swinging rope ladder, straddle the crossbeam, and complete his task with aplomb. I asked Stein if he had drawn the short straw and had to do the task, but he answered, no, Moss had volunteered.
Moss and Alex lifting the gangplank. The captain’s daughter can be seen on the leftMoss climbing the main mast under full sail and high seas to secure the rope for the water swing
The captain started sailing as a full-time profession around age 30. Before, he sold wholesale vegetables at auction and was doing okay. But inevitably, his industry consolidated more and more, and as firms got bigger and fewer, he had to fire good people. He’d see his former colleagues later in the grocery store, struggling, and he felt responsible and terrible about it.
He turned to captain for-rent sailing and has never looked back. He loves it. I believe he said he’s owned the Abel Tasman for 16 years.
There’s no shortage of work. During the winter, there is a lot of upkeep and maintenance to do. They completely remodeled the galley, repositioning the bar and making more efficient use of the space. That left him too tired to sail at the beginning of the season. So, he’s really happy to be back in the captain’s chair for our voyage.
Relaxing in the remodeled galley
The Abel Tasman sails the entire Baltic Sea and the rougher North Sea as far north as Bergen, Norway, the British Isles, and south to Brest, France. He’s never sailed her to Iceland or to the Caribbean. He could, but it would be expensive, and the required time would eat into his passenger sailing season.
Abel Tasman masts sandwiched between two neighboring sailing vessels
Harbor fees are also much more expensive depending on the location. In Germany, it can cost just $100 or so to moor for a night. Farther north in Scandinavia, that cost can rise two to four times as much. In the Caribbean, it can cost $1000.
Asked what the most difficult part of the job is, he answered, the people, both crew and passengers. The crew has long hours, and regulations require them to take turns covering all those hours. Also, it takes years of study and pricy licensing to become a mariner. His son has completed his studies and licensing, and is an officer on a container ship when not first mate on his father’s schooner. It sounds like Moss is pretty close to that level as well. Good crew are hard to find and they can be lured away by other higher-paying ships.
The captain and deck hand, Moss
Passengers are mostly okay, but of course there are some who expect or demand services the crew cannot provide. There is, of course, no way to control the wind and seas. As I guessed, the captain could see yesterday how many people were suffering discomfort during the rough seas and fired up the diesel to shorten the time it took to get to Klintholm.
Post-breakfast briefing with the captain
Asked about the precision parking job last night, the captain revealed a funny story. He had called the Klintholm harbormaster ahead to make sure we had a large enough spot to moor. When we got there, he saw that the luxury German yacht in front of our space was about 3 meters back into our space. When asked, the owner said he couldn’t possibly move it forward because of the wind (which was of course nonsense).
Our 133-foot ship parked very close to a German luxury yacht
Okay, our captain replied, and as previously described, slowly and carefully started to guide our schooner into the tight spot. When the yacht owner saw our massive stern towering at least three meters over his and moving ever closer, miracle of miracles, he was suddenly able to move his craft forward the requested three meters.
Note how close our bowsprit is to the sailing vessel on the left
The captain laughed and said there are other such shenanigans with yacht owners. For example, he always has the right to tie up side-by-side with a yacht if there is nowhere else to moor. He can do so, safely, but I’d worry such a large ship next to my priceless vessel could risk a scratch or worse due to overnight winds or current. Also, when tied side by side, passengers of one craft are allowed to cross their neighbor’s ship in order to get to shore. That’s happened to us already on this trip and did last year several times.
Nevertheless, yacht owners sometimes will refuse to move to make room for the Abel Tasman. When that happens, he simply says, okay, I’ll tie up next to you – but just know that I am carrying about 30 passengers. Suddenly, the yacht owners change their mind. The thought of all those people tramping across their precious craft seems to provide an irrefutable argument and they move their yacht.
A picture from last year showing our ship tied between two others
Klintholmhavn, Møn Island, Denmark, 7:45pm, Wednesday, Aug 14
The captain reviews our location and the forecast, providing us with possible destinations
After a nice breakfast, the captain gathered us for our morning discussion about today’s destination. Although Annie and I were pulling for Copenhagen, the captain worried that if we went as far north as that or to Malmø, we might not have favorable winds for the southward trip back to Rostock. We’d potentially have to burn a lot of diesel, which is both expensive and the antithesis to the joy of sailing. His suggestion was Klimtholm, which was just a third of the distance of our prior day’s rough trip.
Now a couple German words:
Ostsee – literally “East Sea,” known in English as the Baltic Sea
As I explained in the previous post, the Baltic is relatively shallow, a lot being just between 5 and 15 meters (16-50 feet). The good news is that means the water is generally warmer and the waves smaller. The bad news is that the waves can come much closer together, and today was rough. Frank, who has sailed the Ostsee 4 times, said these were the biggest waves he’d experienced.
To my untrained eyes, they seemed not that big, maybe just 6-8 foot swells. But because they came so close together, our 40.5 meter (133 foot) craft bounced and crashed through them repeatedly, making our ride even rougher, though thankfully shorter than yesterday’s. Not thankfully for several passengers, who alternated between sitting outside, breathing fresh air and focusing on the horizon, or curling up on the padded benches inside, attempting to sleep through the tumult.
I was doing fine, until…
Sich übergeben – literally “to give oneself over,” the polite/medical term for throwing up
[like in English, there are countless slang terms in German for this mostly involuntary reflex]
I was wandering around the ship, going downstairs to fetch a jacket or cap, upstairs to offer seasickness medication, etc. Then I had to go to the bathroom. The onboard bathrooms are remarkably clean. But inside the cramped room with all walls and no window, the rolling, roiling seas provided a stirring and unsettling argument against my equilibrium. Moments later, I rushed to a sink, none too soon, returning to sender a generously prepared breakfast.
The crew, sympathetic and apologetic for a second day of discomfort for many, added diesel power to the sail power to hasten us more smoothly to our berth tonight.
Klintholmhavn is a tiny harbor, and as we lumbered toward the entrance, a large, dual-hulled ship plowed past us. I really couldn’t imagine how we were going to maneuver in this harbor, even without the other boat traffic. Indeed, one deck hand lowered the dinghy into the water and motored around to the bow, helping guide the front of the ship like a little tug boat.
Stein looking for our “parking spot”Stein using the dinghy to help tugboat-maneuver our large ship in the small space
So short was our berth that another deckhand clamored to the front of the bowsprit, which cleared a dockside streetlamp by mere feet. The dinghy, usually suspended at the stern, remained in the water, tied to the side of the ship as I think it would not fit between our stern and the next ship behind us!
Safely moored. Note the lamp post near the bow on the left
As our hulking mass inched its way into the tight berth, an old dude on ground was motioning with his hands and in German and English urged us to move our ship forward. There were indeed, several meters in front of our bow before a perpendicular wall. Mind you, this was likely a visiting vacationer, not a mariner or local familiar with the harbor. Indeed, after we were securely moored, another sailing ship, similar in size to ours, parked along that perpendicular wall, mere feet in front of our ship. Annie had to laugh. It seems like there is always some guy everywhere in the world, trying to help you park, despite having little actual clue what is needed or possible.
Uh, oh. Here comes another large ship that needs to moor right in front of us!
Once moored, Annie and I quickly disembarked, happy to feel solid ground beneath our feet. Admittedly, it still felt like the ground was moving as I walked, and I could hear Carol King singing “I feel the earth move under my feet” for at least 10 minutes.
We walked a small circle through Klintholm, passing a couple small restaurants, a market, and a little outdoor food court.
License plates revealed summer vacationers from Germany, Denmark, Italy, Belgium, Sweden, Czech Republic, and more, and we passed a couple camping sites for tents and RVers.
A little self-serve table selling fresh figs, plums, and homemade jam
We returned to the food court, and although we have dinner coming, we had both skipped lunch (and I had sent my breakfast back) so we sat down and had one of the best fish and chips we’ve had in years. Annie made a point to thank the owner.
We had a long, windy sail from Wustrow, Germany to Rødvig, Denmark, longer than any one day trip on last year’s voyage. Winds were favorable, but port side waves made the ride a little rough for those with sensitive constitutions.
The Baltic Sea is relatively shallow, much of it only 5 – 15 meters (16-50 feet) deep. That means the waves are smaller, but closer together.
One of the crew climbed the mast while the great ship pitched and swayed through the water and attached a rope a cross beam near the top of the main mast. On the bottom they attached a small chair. With the ship keeling over to the port side, a person could sit in the chair and skim the waves.
We’d sit in the chair and swing out over the water rushing past us, swinging forward and backward and side to side, as the roiling water and swells would sometimes splash and crash into us. The 40.5-meter-long (133-foot) ship was doing about eight knots, which seemed very fast from the chair.
Stein takes the first test ride in the chairSimon steadies himself on the wet, slanted floorSimon goes for a swingKeira takes the plungeRobert splashes through the waves
It looked really cold and I was trepidatious before initially springing out over the side. I was substantially larger and heavier than the previous folks, but the captain assured me the crossbeam should be able to support 200kg. Yes, but what about the knot, I wondered.
I strapped in and with little hesitation stepped overboard. It wasn’t cold, and like everyone else who tried it, I was all smiles and laughter as soon as I literally hit the water.
The ship really was keeling over
That evening was our turn to make dinner. Annie planned to make pizza and Caprese salad. She was feeling a little bit unsettled after the rough sail, but quickly recovered once we were safely moored in the harbor. Many people stepped up to volunteer with prep, slicing vegetables and cheese. I grated what was probably about 7-8 lbs. of cheese.
Tessa helps with the potatoesBengt helping with the Caprese salad
Annie had prepared the pizza dough the night prior. Watching how fast 7.5 kg (16.5 lbs.) of potatoes had been devoured during a previous meal, she decided to make a lot of dough. She used 3 kg (6.6 lbs.) of flour, and we had a bit of a challenge finding room in the onboard refrigerator for all the resulting dough to proof overnight.
She spread out the dough on seven sheets and quickly assembled the pizzas with all the previously prepared ingredients. The small kitchen on the ship was equipped with an efficient oven that could do three big pizzas at a time.
The crowd ate it all up! By the time the last pizza was delivered, a tiny bit of the salad was left, thoughtfully reserved by one of our friends to ensure we would have some to eat along with leftover pizza. People were happily stuffed by the time we came upstairs to have our meal, and Annie received a well-deserved rousing applause from the satiated diners.
Caprese Salad – there was barely any left for us
Not sure where we are bound for today. Annie and I of course would love to go to Copenhagen, but it sounds like the majority are not interested in that since most have been there many times. We’ll see.
We came aboard and slept Sunday night in Rostock, Germany. All our food was delivered the next morning, which took a while to inventory and find places to store in the fridges and dry storage containers.
Loading our food in Rostock (note the delivery truck in the background)
Winds were light and unfavorable, so we motored up the Warnow river to Warnemünde, and then northeast to Wustrow, anchoring offshore. A few of us were taxied in a dinghy to shore to stroll the beach and a little of the coastal town during sunset. The sunset was gorgeous!
Stein quickly motors us to shoreThe beach at WustrowOur first look at thatched roofsAbel Tasman in the sunset
Far from big cities, the sky was dark and perfect for stargazing. Staying up late, we saw several great meteors from the Perseid shower and a constant string of satellites crisscrossing the Milky Way. A dull light grey haze on the horizon I assumed to be glare from city lights. But photographs taken revealed brilliant colors our eyes could not perceive of the Aurora Borealis.
Our masts reach for the Milky WayAurora Borealis, which to my eyes looked like a gray haze on the horizon
Most of us sailed last year and have been quick studies learning/relearning the sails and lines. We hoisted and set sails like experienced hands under the supervision of the crew. I spent an hour or two on the wheel on the first day.
Identifying and naming the sales drawn in chalkHoisting the main sailTaking the wheel
Like last year, I took advantage of the light winds and smooth seas to scale the 95-foot mast. Several followed me to the dizzying height.
This year’s crew was all Dutch captained by the ship’s owner. Most spoke German, though a couple prefer English. Everyone on board, passenger and crew spoke English and readily used it when desired. I translated as much as I could on the fly.
I went sailing again on the Abel Tasman, a 111 year old, 133-foot long, twin masted Dutch schooner.
I wrote a 7-part blog series about my voyage last year. We all had such a good time, we urged our host to do it again. So, my friend, Frank, indulged us and organized another trip.
Last year we had 17 passengers. This year, all but one returned, and our numbers swelled to 22 as partners, children, and a few new friends joined us.
I was especially excited since this year the Abel Tasman would be departing from Rostock, a former East German city I had studied in 35 years ago before the fall of the Berlin Wall. I have a blog devoted to memories from that extraordinary experience. This would be my first time returning to that city.
Starting with several emails I wrote during the trip, I have edited, expanded, and added photographs to create this blog series.
Blatant Calm 