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A voyage through the Skagerrak. Part 11. The first week of remote work
After work
After three nights in Strömstad the storm ended, and the real test of my plan began.
At 16:00 I closed the laptop, cast off and we headed for Havstenssund. Just 13 nautical miles, almost entirely under engine into the wind.
North-western Sweden was stunning. You can spend hours winding between rocky islands and skerries, constantly changing course and studying the next passage, which a minute earlier wasn't visible at all.
In Havstenssund we berthed alongside by a small fishing village. I'd have liked to stay longer, but another spell of strong wind was on its way, so there wasn't much room to relax the schedule.
Walking along the pier that evening, I noticed a splash. Then another. Fish were jumping clear of the water every few minutes.
I went back to the boat for my spinning rod and began casting a lure from the pier in the glow left by the setting sun. Twice I lifted a small herring, about twenty centimetres long, out of the water, and both times it came off almost immediately. The hook was probably too big. Still, it was the first fish I'd managed to get airborne in about twenty years. Let's call it a partial success.
The engine had also clocked up about 80 hours since I'd fitted the new propeller shaft seal. I added a little grease and entered the maintenance in the logbook.
€110 for a good view
The next day, after work, we cast off again and headed for Hamburgsund.
The village sits in a narrow sound between rocky shores. It feels unusual: seagoing yachts, salt water and granite all around, yet the harbour itself feels more like a river.
We were going to wait out another storm here. Only all the visitor berths were full.
I spotted a completely empty pontoon by a restaurant and assumed sailors were avoiding the awkward arrangement with a stern mooring buoy.
Once €110 had left my card, it became apparent there might be another explanation. More expensive than a berth in central Oslo. Payment was through Dockspot. The spot itself was lovely, though.
Sea fire
Out at sea I'd noticed long brownish-red streaks on the surface a few times. In the marinas they gathered by the shore, looking more like dirt or an algal bloom.
That evening it began to drizzle.
I went outside and saw each raindrop flash blue for an instant as it struck the water beside the boat. A glowing ring spread from it, then another drop fell, and another. Within seconds the whole surface in front of me had become a tiny cosmic scene.
That was my first sight of mareld, Sweden's ‘sea fire’.
I stood in the rain watching the water for quite a while. Sometimes plankton and bad weather are all you need for a good evening's entertainment.
The next day I took a ride on the local cable ferry. As it set off and slowed down, the steel cable tightened and rose out of the water in places. Afterwards I was particularly reluctant to imagine my own yacht directly above it at the wrong moment.
Week one
And so the first week of remote work slowly came to an end.
Before starting the experiment, I'd worried about a rather mundane issue. In many marinas you have to leave your visitor berth around noon or pay for another night. I physically couldn't leave at twelve, because I'd be at my laptop until four or five.
It made for an odd way of travelling: work from the cabin in the morning, close the laptop in the afternoon, move 10–20 miles, berth somewhere new in the evening, then open the same laptop again the next morning.
During that first week, not one harbourmaster asked me to leave before the end of my working day or charged me an extra night for those few additional hours.
So, for now, the plan was working.
I also bought Coca-Cola-flavoured dates. If you come across them in Northern Europe, get some. This has nothing to do with working remotely on a yacht, but useful information doesn't always have to be about boats.
#passage
After work
After three nights in Strömstad the storm ended, and the real test of my plan began.
At 16:00 I closed the laptop, cast off and we headed for Havstenssund. Just 13 nautical miles, almost entirely under engine into the wind.
North-western Sweden was stunning. You can spend hours winding between rocky islands and skerries, constantly changing course and studying the next passage, which a minute earlier wasn't visible at all.
In Havstenssund we berthed alongside by a small fishing village. I'd have liked to stay longer, but another spell of strong wind was on its way, so there wasn't much room to relax the schedule.
Walking along the pier that evening, I noticed a splash. Then another. Fish were jumping clear of the water every few minutes.
I went back to the boat for my spinning rod and began casting a lure from the pier in the glow left by the setting sun. Twice I lifted a small herring, about twenty centimetres long, out of the water, and both times it came off almost immediately. The hook was probably too big. Still, it was the first fish I'd managed to get airborne in about twenty years. Let's call it a partial success.
The engine had also clocked up about 80 hours since I'd fitted the new propeller shaft seal. I added a little grease and entered the maintenance in the logbook.
€110 for a good view
The next day, after work, we cast off again and headed for Hamburgsund.
The village sits in a narrow sound between rocky shores. It feels unusual: seagoing yachts, salt water and granite all around, yet the harbour itself feels more like a river.
We were going to wait out another storm here. Only all the visitor berths were full.
I spotted a completely empty pontoon by a restaurant and assumed sailors were avoiding the awkward arrangement with a stern mooring buoy.
Once €110 had left my card, it became apparent there might be another explanation. More expensive than a berth in central Oslo. Payment was through Dockspot. The spot itself was lovely, though.
Sea fire
Out at sea I'd noticed long brownish-red streaks on the surface a few times. In the marinas they gathered by the shore, looking more like dirt or an algal bloom.
That evening it began to drizzle.
I went outside and saw each raindrop flash blue for an instant as it struck the water beside the boat. A glowing ring spread from it, then another drop fell, and another. Within seconds the whole surface in front of me had become a tiny cosmic scene.
That was my first sight of mareld, Sweden's ‘sea fire’.
I stood in the rain watching the water for quite a while. Sometimes plankton and bad weather are all you need for a good evening's entertainment.
The next day I took a ride on the local cable ferry. As it set off and slowed down, the steel cable tightened and rose out of the water in places. Afterwards I was particularly reluctant to imagine my own yacht directly above it at the wrong moment.
Week one
And so the first week of remote work slowly came to an end.
Before starting the experiment, I'd worried about a rather mundane issue. In many marinas you have to leave your visitor berth around noon or pay for another night. I physically couldn't leave at twelve, because I'd be at my laptop until four or five.
It made for an odd way of travelling: work from the cabin in the morning, close the laptop in the afternoon, move 10–20 miles, berth somewhere new in the evening, then open the same laptop again the next morning.
During that first week, not one harbourmaster asked me to leave before the end of my working day or charged me an extra night for those few additional hours.
So, for now, the plan was working.
I also bought Coca-Cola-flavoured dates. If you come across them in Northern Europe, get some. This has nothing to do with working remotely on a yacht, but useful information doesn't always have to be about boats.
#passage
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