In this publication9 photos · 1 video
26 July 2026.
We tried three berths in Bogø. At each one the depth sounder showed about 1.8 metres. I didn't fancy leaving twenty centimetres beneath the keel.
Only when we went alongside the town quay did I see 2.1 metres.
Half a metre was more like it.
Bogø
Beside the quay is the Danish-Italian bakery Bogø Brød, run by an Italian who moved to the island. It's one of Bogø's main attractions. I'd been missing that sort of place since Copenhagen's Lille Bakery; this filled the gap. Both the pastries and the pizza were beyond praise.
In the centre of the island there's a settlement with a windmill, church and beautiful cemetery. In the east there's a small wood, and in it a stone. Its inscription tells how, about two hundred years ago, the islanders bought the island from the Danish Crown and freed themselves from serfdom. The money came from the forest: they felled and sold almost all of it, leaving the very patch where the stone now stands. The marks on the stone look like runes, but they're bomærker: the family marks of those who contributed to the purchase.
At the edge of the wood stands a box that looks like a beehive. Inside are jars of local honey and a request to leave the money if you take one.
Across the sound is Stubbekøbing: a ferry for 55 kroner, a motorcycle museum with about a hundred and fifty machines, including a replica of the very first one, and cutaway engines.
And so a couple of days on Bogø slipped by.
Vejrø
On 28 July we headed for Vejrø. Another recommendation from Grigory.
The island is privately owned and has effectively become a small resort. A berth cost about €50. After Oslo, Hamburgsund and Göteborg, that price barely raised an eyebrow.
Everything was immaculately maintained, though. Hot showers without a meter, a washing machine and tumble dryer, and firewood and charcoal laid out by the shore.
We arrived late. I gathered some wood, revived a fire someone had left smouldering, and sat by the water for a long time beneath a bright moon.
One of those rare occasions when a place someone recommended to me becomes somewhere I'd happily recommend to anyone.
The last passage
On the morning of 30 July we set off towards Kiel.
It was hot and sunny. Everything went perfectly normally until Langeland, where the ST2000+ suddenly stopped holding a proper course.
The unit was new, so I considered everything except the hardware. Then I touched the casing and burnt my hand. Beneath the cover, which I'd removed, the plastic had warped slightly: it had become seriously hot.
I'd fitted a protective cover I'd bought to keep spray off. It had never occurred to me that it might also prevent heat escaping. I removed it and let the autopilot cool while I hand-steered. After a while it started working again as though nothing had happened. Without the cover, the problem didn't recur.
My conclusion in hindsight: in hot weather this unit needs shade and airflow rather than wrapping up. Save the cover for rain and spray. And remember that overheating can look like an electronics fault.
Kiel
Fifty days after leaving, I saw the familiar shores again.
We'd covered 900 nautical miles. Of those fifty days, twenty-five had been passage days. Denmark, Norway, Sweden, the Kattegat, the Skagerrak, skerries, night watches, repairs, storms and a great many marinas.
I looked at Kiel and couldn't work out which of two things was real: the familiar city around me, or the previous two months.
For the first few days I felt slightly out of step with my own life.
Then it became stranger still. A week had passed, and I still didn't need to check the forecast, prepare the boat or leave for the next marina in the evening. Nothing at home rocked. It was too quiet. The bed felt unusually large. My sleep was out of rhythm.
But gradually it passed, and those two months settled into experience and memory.
#passage
We tried three berths in Bogø. At each one the depth sounder showed about 1.8 metres. I didn't fancy leaving twenty centimetres beneath the keel.
Only when we went alongside the town quay did I see 2.1 metres.
Half a metre was more like it.
Bogø
Beside the quay is the Danish-Italian bakery Bogø Brød, run by an Italian who moved to the island. It's one of Bogø's main attractions. I'd been missing that sort of place since Copenhagen's Lille Bakery; this filled the gap. Both the pastries and the pizza were beyond praise.
In the centre of the island there's a settlement with a windmill, church and beautiful cemetery. In the east there's a small wood, and in it a stone. Its inscription tells how, about two hundred years ago, the islanders bought the island from the Danish Crown and freed themselves from serfdom. The money came from the forest: they felled and sold almost all of it, leaving the very patch where the stone now stands. The marks on the stone look like runes, but they're bomærker: the family marks of those who contributed to the purchase.
At the edge of the wood stands a box that looks like a beehive. Inside are jars of local honey and a request to leave the money if you take one.
Across the sound is Stubbekøbing: a ferry for 55 kroner, a motorcycle museum with about a hundred and fifty machines, including a replica of the very first one, and cutaway engines.
And so a couple of days on Bogø slipped by.
Vejrø
On 28 July we headed for Vejrø. Another recommendation from Grigory.
The island is privately owned and has effectively become a small resort. A berth cost about €50. After Oslo, Hamburgsund and Göteborg, that price barely raised an eyebrow.
Everything was immaculately maintained, though. Hot showers without a meter, a washing machine and tumble dryer, and firewood and charcoal laid out by the shore.
We arrived late. I gathered some wood, revived a fire someone had left smouldering, and sat by the water for a long time beneath a bright moon.
One of those rare occasions when a place someone recommended to me becomes somewhere I'd happily recommend to anyone.
The last passage
On the morning of 30 July we set off towards Kiel.
It was hot and sunny. Everything went perfectly normally until Langeland, where the ST2000+ suddenly stopped holding a proper course.
The unit was new, so I considered everything except the hardware. Then I touched the casing and burnt my hand. Beneath the cover, which I'd removed, the plastic had warped slightly: it had become seriously hot.
I'd fitted a protective cover I'd bought to keep spray off. It had never occurred to me that it might also prevent heat escaping. I removed it and let the autopilot cool while I hand-steered. After a while it started working again as though nothing had happened. Without the cover, the problem didn't recur.
My conclusion in hindsight: in hot weather this unit needs shade and airflow rather than wrapping up. Save the cover for rain and spray. And remember that overheating can look like an electronics fault.
Kiel
Fifty days after leaving, I saw the familiar shores again.
We'd covered 900 nautical miles. Of those fifty days, twenty-five had been passage days. Denmark, Norway, Sweden, the Kattegat, the Skagerrak, skerries, night watches, repairs, storms and a great many marinas.
I looked at Kiel and couldn't work out which of two things was real: the familiar city around me, or the previous two months.
For the first few days I felt slightly out of step with my own life.
Then it became stranger still. A week had passed, and I still didn't need to check the forecast, prepare the boat or leave for the next marina in the evening. Nothing at home rocked. It was too quiet. The bed felt unusually large. My sleep was out of rhythm.
But gradually it passed, and those two months settled into experience and memory.
#passage
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