This Part 2 of my 7-part sailing series. Click here to see a list of the series posts.
Sailing, Sailing
Each day after breakfast, the captain would gather us and show us where we were, and what the forecast was — specifically, the wind strength and direction. He would then tell us which destinations he thought were reachable and offer his recommendation. He loves sailing the Baltic Sea and is familiar with many of the ports, so we always accepted his recommendation.

Originally, we had hoped to circumnavigate the Danish island of Fyn, which is right in the middle of Denmark. But that trip would require favorable winds, and we were to learn that the winds don’t always heed the forecast.

Instead, we sailed around the southern side of Fyn, visiting several quaint small ports and islands in the area. Heading into port, we’d lower and secure sails, and the captain fired up the 318hp diesel motor to bring us into dock. The following morning we’d motor out of port before hoisting sails and catching the wind.

The first two days were lovely and sunny, with mild winds. Our big ship cruised smoothly along at about 4-8 knots.
Day 1: Sailing to Maasholm

Our first day we headed north, sailing about 5 hours and 38km/23 miles to the German port of Maasholm. So small was the port that three tall ships had to tie up side by side like a whale sandwich.

The captain pointed out some Dutch flat-bottomed sailing ships. They are easily recognized by the large leeboards, or pivoting keels. Like a centerboard, the keel can be hiked up in shallow waters. Raised, it looks a wing affixed to the side of the hull.

Walking around the historic fishing town, I admired the lovely, thatched roofs and found a cute little bakery. Despite the excellent breakfast I knew was waiting for me on board, I couldn’t resist buying a couple of sweet baked goods.

Day 2 we continued northward. I asked to take the wheel, and the captain immediately turned it over to me.

Steering a 132-foot-long, 21-foot-wide sailing ship takes quite some getting used to. Imagine steering a semi-truck with at least two trailers. Every time you turn the wheel even slightly, it takes about 30 seconds before the truck starts to turn. By then, you are already turning the wheel back, anticipating an overcorrection.
So you turn left, and 30 seconds later the ship starts turning, and you are already turning the wheel right to prevent the ship from turning too far to the left. Then repeat on the opposite side. It is like steering a whale along a never-ending slow-motion serpentine course.
We made decent progress most of the morning, but the wind was weak and not in a favorable direction. Finally, the wind died down. I then decided to ask for something else I really wanted to do: to climb the mast.

Again, the captain readily agreed, and within minutes I was in a full harness, clipped in, and scaling the rope ladder up the main mast, which is about 29 meters/95 feet tall.
The rope ladder consisted of two taut steel cables with rope rungs strung between them. The higher I climbed, the narrower the two cables became, to the point that the rope rungs were maybe 5 inches wide.
It was strenuous, and I was huffing and puffing by the time I reached the steel crossbeam, upon which I sat for a moment, taking in the beautiful panorama before coming down.
Once I was down, several of my companions decided to follow in my vertical footsteps, taking advantage of the calm waters, blue skies, and beautiful views.
The captain also decided this would be a good time to do a man-overboard drill, which turned out to be a good exercise because everything went wrong. A floating ring was thrown overboard, a warning bell sounded, and all the passengers assembled. I was assigned to keep an eye on the ring (the “man overboard”) while the captain, a couple passengers, and a crew were supposed to rescue the ring.

First, as the inflatable dinghy was lowered with one of the crew in it, the small boat suddenly dropped one side, spilling the gas canister overboard and nearly sending the crew member swimming. The boat was lowered onto the water and righted itself, but the gas can promptly disappeared under the boat, and although our forward movement was slow, the crew couldn’t pull it back out. After several machinations, the gas can was finally dislodged by pushing an oar under the dinghy. By this time, the captain was certain that the gas was fouled with water, so the dinghy couldn’t be motored to rescue the ring that was slowly shrinking in the distance.
That meant we’d have to steer the whole 132-foot ship close to the ring and let the crew in the dinghy use a long gaff to get it. Even on smooth water with almost no wind, motoring a 132-foot ship close enough to a floating ring is like trying to park an elephant between motorcycles, and it took a couple circles to finally complete the task.

After a close inspection, it was determined that the initial spill of the dinghy was caused by one small bolt that completely broke and dumped one side of the boat.

The winds never came back, so we opted to motor over to the small Danish island of Lyø, completing a trip of about 55km/34 miles.

Walking the island we admired many more old buildings with thatched roofs, farms and fields, and an ancient windmill with no sails. We saw large jackrabbits chasing each other, domesticated ducks, and raptors patrolling the skies.

We encountered the neolithic Klokkenstenen (“Bell Stone”), dating back to the 4th millennium BC. These boulders were stacked in such a way that striking the Bell Stone with a hand-held stone sounds remarkably like a tolling bell.


Click here to continue to Part 3
Sailing the Baltic 7-Part Series:
Part 1: Introduction
Part 2: Getting Underway
Part 3: Flying Sails, Flying Cards
Part 4: A Lecture and New Speed Record
Part 5: Avernakø and the Captain’s Dinner
Part 6: Sønderborg, Another Talk, and Back To Germany
Part 7: Disembarking and Postlude






















































