In this publication9 photos · 1 video
The Big Bang
Heligoland belonged to Britain in the nineteenth century as a naval base. In 1890, it was exchanged for German African colonies. A naval fortress in the Second World War; afterwards, the British tried to erase its defences. In 1947, 6,700 tonnes of explosives went into the rock. Operation Big Bang, Europe’s largest non-nuclear explosion. The island survived, leaving enormous craters on the plateau.
The North Sea’s red jewel
Straight after berthing, anticlockwise exploration. First, sandy beach and immense red-sandstone wall. Shoes off, as usual. People searching for something. I asked a woman: unique red flint. Gold fever caught us, eyes constantly on the ground.
Steps at the beach’s end led to green hills and a path. Ten minutes later, the northern tip and 47m sea stack Lange Anna, ‘Tall Anna’. Heligoland’s symbol, loved by tourists and birds.
One of northern Europe’s important migrant-bird sites: hundreds of thousands stop in autumn between Siberia and Africa. Even August buzzed with life. Gannet colonies on the west coast: large birds, up to 100km/h in flight and forty-metre dives for fish. So many, you could reach out and touch them.
The town
Beyond the lighthouse, narrow streets and northern German houses. Quiet, broken only by gulls and surf. Cars banned by law. Then endless shops and restaurants. Duty-free Heligoland: prices nineteen per cent lower, with ferries still bringing Hamburg visitors for alcohol and cigarettes.
A schoolgirl sold red-flint stones by the road, alone but determined. My feet stopped of their own accord; a minute later, a three-euro stone was in my pocket.
Düne
A five-minute evening ferry to Düne, the neighbouring sandy island that constantly changes shape. No permanent residents, only beaches, cafés and parasol hire. An unexpected encounter ended the walk: seals resting on the beach, lazily watching without moving. A rare closeness to wildlife that makes falling in love with the place inevitable.
An unpleasant surprise
A little fuck-up too. I often use foot warmers on passages. One tore while berthing, scattering sand-like contents on deck. Seemed trivial. Later, rust stains appeared: the ‘sand’ was iron powder, immediately ingrained in the paint. Water wouldn’t shift it. A job for Kiel.
#passage
Heligoland belonged to Britain in the nineteenth century as a naval base. In 1890, it was exchanged for German African colonies. A naval fortress in the Second World War; afterwards, the British tried to erase its defences. In 1947, 6,700 tonnes of explosives went into the rock. Operation Big Bang, Europe’s largest non-nuclear explosion. The island survived, leaving enormous craters on the plateau.
The North Sea’s red jewel
Straight after berthing, anticlockwise exploration. First, sandy beach and immense red-sandstone wall. Shoes off, as usual. People searching for something. I asked a woman: unique red flint. Gold fever caught us, eyes constantly on the ground.
Steps at the beach’s end led to green hills and a path. Ten minutes later, the northern tip and 47m sea stack Lange Anna, ‘Tall Anna’. Heligoland’s symbol, loved by tourists and birds.
One of northern Europe’s important migrant-bird sites: hundreds of thousands stop in autumn between Siberia and Africa. Even August buzzed with life. Gannet colonies on the west coast: large birds, up to 100km/h in flight and forty-metre dives for fish. So many, you could reach out and touch them.
The town
Beyond the lighthouse, narrow streets and northern German houses. Quiet, broken only by gulls and surf. Cars banned by law. Then endless shops and restaurants. Duty-free Heligoland: prices nineteen per cent lower, with ferries still bringing Hamburg visitors for alcohol and cigarettes.
A schoolgirl sold red-flint stones by the road, alone but determined. My feet stopped of their own accord; a minute later, a three-euro stone was in my pocket.
Düne
A five-minute evening ferry to Düne, the neighbouring sandy island that constantly changes shape. No permanent residents, only beaches, cafés and parasol hire. An unexpected encounter ended the walk: seals resting on the beach, lazily watching without moving. A rare closeness to wildlife that makes falling in love with the place inevitable.
An unpleasant surprise
A little fuck-up too. I often use foot warmers on passages. One tore while berthing, scattering sand-like contents on deck. Seemed trivial. Later, rust stains appeared: the ‘sand’ was iron powder, immediately ingrained in the paint. Water wouldn’t shift it. A job for Kiel.
#passage
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