Nude Sunbathers

Now that I’ve got your attention, I can relate our last few days.

Many cruising guidebooks tell of folks who futz with one thing or another endlessly, always preparing for the day they will set sail but never leaving port. We didn’t want that to happen to us, so we called “time out” on problems so we could get out of Dodge.

Of course, it wasn’t quite that immediate. We still had to return to Ellos from Mother-in-Law Cove for our final visit with Roland and one more trip to HR Parts. To make things interesting, we plotted a course outside the protective islands, a route we thought very daring given our level of familiarity with the boat. A 25-knot easterly breeze took us rapidly out of the cove into the archipelago. Soon, we entered open ocean. It was do or die as we set the sails for a beam reach on a southerly course. We were reefed pretty good to keep the boat level. Turning east, Jocelyn focused on the chartplotter as we navigated through the final maze of rocky islands guarding Hallberg-Rassy harbor.

Finally back, we tested our neophyte docking skills in the stiff breeze. Not once, not twice, but three times did the wind push us short of the dock. We were somewhat self-conscious given our audience of boatyard workers and other new HR owners. It didn’t help that right as we were fumbling, a much larger HR62 steamed into the harbor, pirouetted, and docked in a small berth near ours. While our trials were embarrassing, I reasoned they were better than smashing into the dock and promised myself I would practice maneuvers later outside the harbor using a harmless buoy as a pretend dock. So far, docking and anchoring are proving far more challenging than sailing.

We soon discovered that our British friends had returned with some shake down experience as well. It seems some of their navigation instruments weren’t behaving properly and required attention. We used the opportunity to regroup over cocktails in the evening sun.

Next morning bright and early (Friday, June 26th), I dropped in on Roland to ask him about a range of things, from windlass fuses and engine alarms to proper battery charging and the price of diesel in Norway. Once our conference concluded, Jocelyn joined me for a walk along the harbor promenade to Vickie’s. There, we collected the outstanding items on our parts order and chatted about desirable anchorages on the way to the Norwegian border. One more grocery stop and we were ready to depart.

Back on the boat, we plotted another course outside the protective islands and across 10 miles of ocean to Smogen, a very popular Swedish seaside resort town to the north. Once past Smogen, we would rejoin the inside passage through Sote Canal and further north. Vickie had shown us two favorable anchorages to choose from depending upon how far we felt like going.

It was 2 p.m. by the time we disembarked. The breeze pushed off the land, a bit gustier than yesterday, and certainly as strong, perhaps stronger. Sure enough, by the time we reached open ocean, the wind was easterly at 25 knots, gusting to 30. We again found ourselves well reefed with less than one-quarter of sail unfurled, still making seven knots. Windleblo performed marvelously, not once overreacting, so much so that Jocelyn seemed relaxed, mostly. This was the kind of sailing the boat was built for, and she did not disappoint. We made it across the 10 miles to Smogen in less than two hours and found ourselves back on the inland passage again.

Because the twisty, turny route through the islands required heading close to the wind, I fired up the engine and motorsailed the next 15 miles or so. The sails had to be fully furled through the Sote Canal as motoring at five knots was prescribed. Halfway through the canal, we encountered a low bridge and sounded our air horn, two longs and a short, to signal the attendant to raise the bridge. It turned out the bridge was rotated instead of drawn, but the effect was the same. We throttled through.

Through the canal, we motored onward, the freshening breeze in our teeth. Eventually, we approached the first anchorage Vickie had recommended. Entering it, we spied an unoccupied mooring ball. Advised by an occupant of one of the other balls that it was up for grabs, we tied on. Not only did the mooring help us feel more secure in the strong wind, its use allowed us to avoid a test of our anchoring skills (one we will inevitably face sooner than later.) Parched from the sun, we cooled off – me in the sea, Jocelyn in the shower – before quaffing Pripps lager as pizza baked in the oven.

On Saturday, June 27th, we arose around 8 and asked ourselves, “why move?” Our “to do” list looked pretty long, and the Norwegian Customs office in Frederikstad wouldn’t be open until Monday morning, so what was the hurry? Besides, the immediate surroundings looked pretty inviting. A sandy beach beckoned on the nearest island, and an interesting little fishing harbor opposite the cove called for exploration. After enjoying a breakfast of scrambled eggs and fried potatoes washed down by tea and juice, we set ourselves to the accumulated punch list, reasoning as Type A folks do that we must work before we play.

Here’s some examples from the current list:

• Research EPIRB operation
• Find out rearming kit order numbers for PFDs
• Rearm PFDs
• Vacuum/Dust Cabin
• Tune in Stockholm Radio weather forecast on VHF Ch. 23 at 2000
• Check ditch bag contents vs. recommendations
• Research windlass lubrication procedure
• Study owner’s manuals
• Explore island (requires dinghy launch)
• Research equipment registration requirements
• Tighten, lock lifelines
• Make hold storage chart
• Confirm location of manual bilge pump and emergency tiller
• Research bow thruster manual for maximum operating time
• Plot course to Frederikstad
• Get handheld VHF radios checked out
• Develop guest orientation
• Tighten outboard caddy
• Write blog entry

And so forth. (You get the idea…there is no end to the things you need to do on a boat.)

I spent the morning accomplishing a sufficient number of these chores to feel good about having some fun. We ate a lunch of bread, ham, cheese, and fruit before deploying the dinghy for our shore excursion. Launching the dinghy involves untying the deck lashings, attaching the spare halyard, winching the dinghy up, and then guiding it over the lifelines and lowering it into the water. Once launched, her painter is secured to the amidships cleat such that her stern aligns with the outboard hoist. The outboard is then raised from its bracket on the stern rail, the hoisting arm pivoted over the dinghy transom, and the outboard lowered into place. Oars are then set in the oarlocks, and any gear (e.g., PFDs, water) is brought on board. The final step is to connect the fuel tube, prime it, and start the engine. These steps are reversed to stow the dinghy.

We motored around in the dinghy a little bit, and then landed on the sandy beach. We decided to stretch our legs. Our hike started along the perimeter, but we soon headed for higher ground. The islands in this part of the world are granite outcrops with scrubby vegetation. Rock hopping is often required, though we eventually found a beaten path, which aided our progress considerably. On the island’s highest point, we found a curious pile of mid-sized rounded boulders forming a huge mound with two depressions toward the center. To make this mound, we guessed at least 300,000 rocks must have been carried from down below. (Can you guess how many jellybeans are in a glass jar?) We were left to wonder why anyone had gone to all the trouble. After leaving the high ground, we descended toward the water on the far side of the island. That’s when we encountered the nude sunbathers.

Now certainly this was no big deal. Here we were in Scandinavia, and everyone knows Europeans have different values about nudity. So our first encounter with public nudity was to be anticipated. And this wasn’t even that public, being on the far side of the island and all. The couple was in a very discreet little shelf in the rocks, sunning themselves a few meters from the water. A motorboat was moored not far away, their obvious means of arrival. It was a man and a woman lying side-by-side enjoying the warm sunshine.

When we first noticed them, we were about 40 meters away. Both appeared to be fit, well proportioned, and blonde, the epitome of Swedish stock. Being a healthy, red-blooded American male, my gaze naturally gravitated toward the female sunbather. Respecting their privacy, I resisted the urge to stare. My reaction time must not have been satisfactory from Jocelyn’s point of view, as she instructed me to avert my eyes. I offered to her that my interest was strictly anthropological, but she didn’t seem to buy that. We proceeded along, and soon the couple was out of view.

Perhaps this is as good a time as any to address the question in some follower’s minds about how Jocelyn and I are getting along. Before our departure, we received a fair amount of ribbing from (hopefully) good-natured friends about how our new lifestyle might affect our relationship. I guess the common assumption is that cruising couples fall apart as a result of so much time together. Indeed, many books written about cruising address the topic, particularly those authored by women. As one example, Beth Leonard, a well-respected author of books and articles on cruising, writes that she makes a habit of taking separate vacations away from her shipmate and husband, Evans Starzinger, whenever they break from full-time circumnavigating. Perhaps the issue arises because many women are led to cruising by their husbands. If it were up to them alone, they never would have chosen such a lifestyle. I guess you’d have to say Jocelyn and I fit this mold fairly well.

Given this, perhaps it’s not unreasonable to wonder about matters of the heart. All I can tell you is that so far we are having a ball. Perhaps I should let Jocelyn speak for herself (it’s time for you to make a blog entry, dear), but from my perspective things are going swimmingly. Sure, there was the time Jocelyn nearly came unglued when the boat heeled a bit in the 30-knot wind, but I reefed in and Windleblo flattened quickly. And when we were both tired after wrestling incessantly with the outboard caddy in the hot sun, she got short with me. And then of course there was the slightly longer than appropriate gaze at the nude Swedish female sunbather. But these incidents are of little consequence in the larger context our fabulous experiences together and the caring way we treat each other most of the time.

We celebrate our 24th wedding anniversary Monday. We’ve resolved to treat ourselves to a romantic dinner at Frederikstad restaurant Monday evening. Our lifelong love affair goes on.