North Sea Crossing Report

Most sailors would admit that the notion of a North Sea crossing evokes feelings of fear and dread, with nightmares of tempestuous seas and storm tossed boats making for restless nights leading up to the passage. And so it was with us. Many anxious moments crept into our consciousness as the time to shove off approached.

But in the end, for us these fears were unfounded. On the whole, our passage was comfortable, even enjoyable, I dare say.

Yes, there was seasickness to contend with. And yes, there was the small matter of sending the skipper overboard mid-passage to clear a line fouled on the rudder. These and more offered challenges aplenty. But none negated the joy we experienced during the crossing nor the pride and satisfaction we felt upon its completion.

Martin and Chris arrived from the Stavanger airport around Noon on Thursday, July 7^th. After they settled in, we took a look at the weather forecasting websites, which continued to reveal conditions favorable for the crossing through the next 48 hours. After that, the wind speed and direction around our final destination would deteriorate. That left us with a choice – leave immediately and extend the crossing through two nights, or wait until early Friday to leave and risk hitting the poorer conditions at the end of the passage.

We opted to leave Thursday afternoon, but instead of heading directly to the Shetlands, we elected to hop over to Kvitsoy Island, only ten miles off the Norwegian coast for dinner and some rest. We would then embark for Lerwick with the dawn.

Jocelyn had decided to take a plane and a ferry to the Shetlands, leaving the crossing to Martin, Chris, and me. After bidding her adieu, we left Tananger in a following 20 knot breeze for the 10 mile sail to Kvitsoy Island.

In Kvitsoy, we encountered the crew of another Hallberg-Rassy also headed for Lerwick with whom we swapped weather information and promised to look for each other in Lerwick. After a meal of pork chops, potatoes, and salad, we slept for six hours, and departed Kvitsoy at 0500 hours under a gentle southeasterly breeze. Soon thereafter, we deployed the gennaker, which allowed us to maintain a reasonable pace of around six knots.

As the morning wore on, the winds slowly increased to the mid-teens, still out of the southeast. But even so, with our destination dead downwind, heading straight for it would mean a slow crossing. It became apparent that in order to maintain decent boat speed, we would need to head off the wind by at least 40 degrees. The wind was forecast to back to the east as the crossing progressed, so we chose first to set Windleblo on a port tack, then jibe to a starboard tack and reach directly toward Lerwick.

After a long initial broad reach of some 50 miles under gennaker, our cross track error was nearing 30 miles. So we resolved to jibe the boat and reduce the distance from our intended track. We executed the gennaker jibe very well and continued on a starboard tack broad reach for some 20 miles.

We then decided to repeat the maneuver, in part to prepare for the backing winds, and in part because the new angle over the waves and swell made for a less comfortable ride. But this time, all did not go well.

As we were jibing the gennaker, the starboard sheet drooped into the water as it was coming around the forestay. Before we could react, it was swept aft and got fouled on something underneath the boat. No amount of tugging would free it.

We had six or so knots of way on at that point, even with the main sheet fully hauled in. We snuffed the gennaker and furled the mainsail to slow the boat and tried again to retrieve the line. Still, it would not break free.

There was no option but to go over the side to have a look and if possible work the line free from whatever it was caught on. I donned my wetsuit, hood, and booties as protection from the cold North Sea waters, tied a line around my waist, and descended off the aft swim step ladder.

Once in the water, I took a deep breath and dove underneath the boat. Immediately, I could see through clean, clear water what the problem was. The line was wrapped twice around the rudder and had gotten pinched between the rudder post and blade. It took four dives and some care to avoid getting knocked about by the rolling boat, but I was able to work the line free. Chris then pulled it up on deck.

With this annoyance remedied, we unfurled the mainsail and resumed sailing. The wind had increased to 18 knots or so, so for now we elected to keep the gennaker in its sock.

Before long, the wind had eased back to 15 knots and we wondered whether we should redeploy the gennaker. Perhaps we were a bit rattled by our mid-passage mishap, but we did not hesitate to heed Chris’s reminder of the old sailor’s adage, “before increasing sail, have a cup of tea and think about it,” which is the companion to the commonly recognized assertion that “if you think it’s time to reduce sail, you probably already should have.”

The winds remained stable at under 15 knots during tea, so we went ahead and redeployed the gennaker on a port tack, sending us further and further south of our intended track. Inch by inch, the sun got lower in the sky as low clouds came and went. Before sunset, we sighted a couple of North Sea oil platforms a few miles to the north. Around 2000 hours, I reheated the delicious beef stew Jocelyn had cooked for us.

We had decided on a watch schedule for the night. We would each take a two hour watch beginning at 2200 hours. I would take the first watch, Martin the second, and Chris the 0200 to 0400 watch. I went below after dinner to rest for an hour or so before my watch started. Chris offered to cover watch duties between 2100 and 2200.

When relieving Chris just before 2200, I found that the wind had eased to around 10 knots. Though prudence suggested we lose the gennaker for the solo dark hours, we decided to keep it pulling us forward, for without it we knew our boat speed would drop from six to four knots. The risk, of course, was that the wind would increase suddenly during the night while only one person was on deck to adjust sail in the dark. We chose to accept the risk.

The night watches were uneventful, though we had to dodge the occasional vessel running to and from the oil platforms. At nearly 60 degrees latitude, darkness never fully came, so our decision to keep the gennaker in service proved reasonable.

By morning, the wind had eased further to five to seven knots, still out of the southeast. Our boat speed had slowed to around five knots. We snuffed the gennaker, partially furled the mainsail, and fired up the iron sail. With no point of sail to maintain, we pointed the boat right towards our destination. Eighty miles and just over ten hours later, we arrived in Lerwick. Jocelyn, John Allan, and the crew of Sophia comprised our welcoming party.

In the end, the log showed our voyage had covered 228 miles. We were now in the land of dongles and fobs, both of which I will define in a future blog entry.