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A warning
On 3 July, the storm with winds of 35 knots and more that had kept us in Hamburgsund for the previous couple of days was supposed to end after 14:00. We were finishing work and preparing to leave.
As I readied the boat, I got talking to our neighbour. He gently pointed out that it was still blowing hard at sea. I shrugged: the forecast had it dropping to 18–26 knots.
He said there could be big waves between the rocks on the way out of Hamburgsund, but it would be calmer further out in open water. I'd seen about two metres in the forecast and simply thanked him.
For some reason the conversation wouldn't end. It was clear he was trying to tell me something without lecturing me.
Eventually he gave up:
‘If I were you, I wouldn't go anywhere today.’
I replied that 18 knots and two-metre waves sounded quite manageable. Besides, I really didn't want to pay another €50 for the night.
We smiled and wished each other luck.
Exactly where I didn't want to go
Between the rocks it was calm, with almost no wind. I'd begun to think our neighbour had simply been overcautious.
Before the next turn, a narrow gap appeared to starboard, with waves crashing against the rocks. A thought flashed through my mind:
‘Please, not that way.’
A hundred metres later, Navionics told me to turn precisely that way.
Rocks protruded on both sides. Waves smashed against them, throwing foam high into the air. I had to keep roughly in the middle of the passage and head straight into the approaching seas.
They looked nothing like the forecast two metres.
Every few seconds the depth sounder jumped from about 10 metres to 18 and back again. The boat climbed, her bow pointed at the sky for a while, then we dropped. Every cycle tightened my chest.
More than anything, I wanted to turn round.
But I wanted even less to be beam-on to those waves.
So I held our course, repeating our neighbour's words to myself: big waves first, then smaller ones.
In my memory that passage lasted about an hour. The Navionics track insists it was ten minutes. We haven't reached an agreement on that.
Nothing but waves and sky
It did get easier further out. But I soon noticed something else: whenever the route approached shallow water, the waves grew higher and steeper again. I had to rework the route as we went, avoiding the shallower patches.
Once we had about 50 metres beneath the keel, the sea eased noticeably.
After roughly an hour I began to get used to it. The boat felt steady. The waves reached about boom height. In the troughs there was nothing to see but water. On each crest, the shore, breaking surf and navigation marks appeared for a few seconds. Then there were only waves and sky again.
At some point I even began to enjoy it.
Failure
Then the autopilot slowly pushed the tiller hard to starboard, then hard to port, and switched off.
That was it.
Nastya and I began taking ten-minute turns at the tiller. After a few changes it was clear we couldn't keep that up for another five hours.
During my ten-minute breaks I considered the nearest places of refuge. I chose Malmön. It was relatively close, but above all we'd been there a couple of weeks earlier and knew the approach. I really didn't want to deal with a heavy sea, hand-steering and an unfamiliar marina all at once.
For the next two hours we changed over every ten minutes and gradually made our way to the familiar pier.
As soon as we were tied up, I went looking for the fault. If the ST2000+ itself had died, I had no idea where I'd quickly find a replacement.
Fortunately, the culprit was a fuse.
There was an 8-amp fuse in the circuit instead of the 12-amp one recommended for the ST2000+. Apparently several hours of constant work in a heavy sea had finished it off.
I fitted a new fuse.
The autopilot gave a short beep.
I think that was the loveliest sound of the entire day.
#passage
On 3 July, the storm with winds of 35 knots and more that had kept us in Hamburgsund for the previous couple of days was supposed to end after 14:00. We were finishing work and preparing to leave.
As I readied the boat, I got talking to our neighbour. He gently pointed out that it was still blowing hard at sea. I shrugged: the forecast had it dropping to 18–26 knots.
He said there could be big waves between the rocks on the way out of Hamburgsund, but it would be calmer further out in open water. I'd seen about two metres in the forecast and simply thanked him.
For some reason the conversation wouldn't end. It was clear he was trying to tell me something without lecturing me.
Eventually he gave up:
‘If I were you, I wouldn't go anywhere today.’
I replied that 18 knots and two-metre waves sounded quite manageable. Besides, I really didn't want to pay another €50 for the night.
We smiled and wished each other luck.
Exactly where I didn't want to go
Between the rocks it was calm, with almost no wind. I'd begun to think our neighbour had simply been overcautious.
Before the next turn, a narrow gap appeared to starboard, with waves crashing against the rocks. A thought flashed through my mind:
‘Please, not that way.’
A hundred metres later, Navionics told me to turn precisely that way.
Rocks protruded on both sides. Waves smashed against them, throwing foam high into the air. I had to keep roughly in the middle of the passage and head straight into the approaching seas.
They looked nothing like the forecast two metres.
Every few seconds the depth sounder jumped from about 10 metres to 18 and back again. The boat climbed, her bow pointed at the sky for a while, then we dropped. Every cycle tightened my chest.
More than anything, I wanted to turn round.
But I wanted even less to be beam-on to those waves.
So I held our course, repeating our neighbour's words to myself: big waves first, then smaller ones.
In my memory that passage lasted about an hour. The Navionics track insists it was ten minutes. We haven't reached an agreement on that.
Nothing but waves and sky
It did get easier further out. But I soon noticed something else: whenever the route approached shallow water, the waves grew higher and steeper again. I had to rework the route as we went, avoiding the shallower patches.
Once we had about 50 metres beneath the keel, the sea eased noticeably.
After roughly an hour I began to get used to it. The boat felt steady. The waves reached about boom height. In the troughs there was nothing to see but water. On each crest, the shore, breaking surf and navigation marks appeared for a few seconds. Then there were only waves and sky again.
At some point I even began to enjoy it.
Failure
Then the autopilot slowly pushed the tiller hard to starboard, then hard to port, and switched off.
That was it.
Nastya and I began taking ten-minute turns at the tiller. After a few changes it was clear we couldn't keep that up for another five hours.
During my ten-minute breaks I considered the nearest places of refuge. I chose Malmön. It was relatively close, but above all we'd been there a couple of weeks earlier and knew the approach. I really didn't want to deal with a heavy sea, hand-steering and an unfamiliar marina all at once.
For the next two hours we changed over every ten minutes and gradually made our way to the familiar pier.
As soon as we were tied up, I went looking for the fault. If the ST2000+ itself had died, I had no idea where I'd quickly find a replacement.
Fortunately, the culprit was a fuse.
There was an 8-amp fuse in the circuit instead of the 12-amp one recommended for the ST2000+. Apparently several hours of constant work in a heavy sea had finished it off.
I fitted a new fuse.
The autopilot gave a short beep.
I think that was the loveliest sound of the entire day.
#passage
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