The passage
Kalmar - Bergkvara
Kalmar. Monday, 15 May 2023. Day one. Up at 8.30am. Breakfast at McDonald’s, then provisions for the passage: water, noodles, bread, jam, energy bars and other snacks. Setting up the safety harness took a long time. As we left, I couldn’t get my head round reversing with a tiller. Then it clicked: the tiller points where the stern will go, and I needed much more speed than I’d thought to get steerage.
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Setting up the safety harness took a long time. As we left, I couldn’t get my head round reversing with a tiller. Then it clicked: the tiller points where the stern will go, and I needed much more speed than I’d thought to get steerage.
Right beside the marina, we came alongside twice without difficulty: for fuel and a pump-out. We didn’t get to sea until 3.20pm, heading for Kristianopel. Hoisting the main was awkward, but the jib alone gave us 6.1–6.7 knots.
The wind died. We motored for several hours, put the kettle on for tea and fish cup soup, and spread shrimp cream cheese on toast.
Dusk was falling, and the destination was more than two hours away. We diverted to the camping village of Bergkvara, where you moor bow-to with the stern secured to a buoy. But the bow kept blowing off, turning us parallel to the shore. Nearly ten attempts and one bump against the pier later, we managed. Secured at 9.30pm.
The marina was so deserted it lacked only tumbleweed. On about my fifth attempt, I reached the manager by phone. He said the access cards for the facilities were in a box by the door.
20.1 nautical miles in six hours: https://boating.page.link/1TfLNQYKo925dvSe9
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Passage weather
The passage
Before Sandhamn
Bergkvara. Tuesday, 16 May 2023. Day two. Up at 8.30am. We cooked pasta with bolognese sauce in the campsite kitchen, then waited until reception opened at ten to pay. There’s coffee inside. Wi-Fi password: JTTRT4Y2. We left at eleven. For the first couple of hours, a moderate breeze let us sail. Then it died and the engine purred into life. About an hour later, the wind began building again, and the sail started working. It kept building.
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For the first couple of hours, a moderate breeze let us sail. Then it died and the engine purred into life. About an hour later, the wind began building again, and the sail started working. It kept building. I reefed the jib, but even then we reached 8.4 knots. Waves were 1–1.5m high, with whitecaps all around and spray blowing off many of the crests. Land was eight nautical miles away, and the wind wouldn’t let us head towards it: either back the way we’d come or out to sea.
I started the engine, took down the sail, and set the autopilot into the wind towards shore. For the next three hours, we sat in silence, heads down to lessen the motion. Every 15 minutes, my watch timer made us look up and check our surroundings. At one point, my phone’s GPS stopped working. The coast was still out of sight. Thankfully, a forced restart fixed it.
My whole body rebelled against being aboard. Bashing into the wind, I hated sailing and couldn’t understand why I’d bought a boat. Stepping ashore at the nearest marina, Sandhamn, I wanted to fall to my knees and kiss the ground. My feelings escaped in a groan of happiness. I felt renewed, reborn. We bought doner meat at the supermarket, heated it in a frying pan and ate it with bread. I’ll remember that sweet, tangy flavour for the rest of my life.
30 nautical miles in eight hours.
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Passage weather
The passage
Sandhamn - Karlskrona
Sandhamn. Wednesday, 17 May 2023. Day three. Up at 8.30am. The same forecast as yesterday: gusts to 35 knots. We decided to wait until evening. We walked round the village, which continues on the opposite shore. There’s also a path to a birdwatching station through a stony landscape straight out of Diablo III’s Fields of Misery. Supermarket ribs for lunch. We went through the cemetery into the local church.
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We walked round the village, which continues on the opposite shore. There’s also a path to a birdwatching station through a stony landscape straight out of Diablo III’s Fields of Misery. Supermarket ribs for lunch. We went through the cemetery into the local church. Lyosha knows a lot about religion and told me some interesting things about the place. It felt welcoming.
At five, we left alongside our neighbours flying German and British flags.
The aim was to motor to Karlskrona. The navigation was astonishingly intricate: narrow, winding fairways, crossing a cable ferry route, and even half a mile on a back transit — looking astern as you go ahead, keeping two marks vertically aligned. The wind indicator pointed straight over the bow throughout. For the final hour, the sun hung above the horizon, blinding us while we froze.
The town was a lovely, lively little St Petersburg. We had pizza, but it wasn’t enough. Back aboard, we made a vegetable salad and had cold cuts with flatbreads.
15.3 miles in four hours: https://boating.page.link/9YcTChQxN6e5XKBCA
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Passage weather
The passage
Hanyo Island
Karlskrona. Thursday, 18 May 2023. Lyosha wanted to buy a pillow and headphones and have breakfast in a café. We went into town, but it seemed deserted. Germany had a public holiday for a religious festival; presumably Sweden did too. European holidays are curious: nobody leaves home and, as a rule, only the grocery shop by the station is open. Finding anything else is a stroke of luck. We were lucky: a doner shop opened at ten, and we ate there.
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Gusts to 15 knots were forecast. I prepared the reefs. We cast off at eleven, stopped for fuel and added 12 litres of diesel to fill the tank. Out of town by noon.
It took an hour and a half to clear the archipelago. I hoisted the sails and set course for Hanö. We spent the next six hours close-hauled. The island appeared on the horizon from about 20 miles away, becoming more beautiful as we approached. At eight, we passed the breakwaters. To my surprise, the marina wasn’t empty for once — quite the opposite. About ten boats flew German flags. We somehow squeezed onto the end of a pier, our shore-power lead only just reaching. Arriving late left little time to explore, but the sunset views were extraordinary.
For dinner, I finished the sausage and bread, warmed in the microwave. Meanwhile, I checked the forecast on windy.com — so accurate that I’d bought a Premium subscription — marinas on navily.com and distances in navionics. Then it dawned on me. I went to tell my crewmate something important, but he was already asleep.
34 nautical miles in seven and a half hours: https://boating.page.link/EtDD61Npu4GuSsD68
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Passage weather
The passage
Hanyo - Gislevs-Lege
Hanö. Friday, 19 May 2023. Up at 5.50am. Lyosha and I had already agreed to leave earlier so we could explore each evening’s destination. The constant motion, cold and damp were also making him ill, and his winter sleeping bag wasn’t warm enough. But I had bad news. On Tuesday, we’d sailed into a cold front. Behind it comes cool weather and a light breeze, as we’d seen over the past two days. A warm front often catches up with it.
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But I had bad news. On Tuesday, we’d sailed into a cold front. Behind it comes cool weather and a light breeze, as we’d seen over the past two days. A warm front often catches up with it. From tomorrow and throughout the following week, rain and gusts to 25 knots were forecast. Today, we had to cover as much ground as we physically could, or risk getting stuck somewhere for a week.
Washed and fed on flatbread with jam, we left the island at eight. Almost no wind. We motored into it for the first six hours. Then I hoisted the sails and altered onto a deep broad reach, gaining a knot and a half.
Partway through, the chartplotter sounded a critical battery warning: 11.7V. I panicked: without the autopilot, I couldn’t handle the sails alone. I switched off every electrical load, started the engine, increased the revs and connected the domestic battery to the starter battery. Nothing helped. A couple of minutes later, the charge recovered. That evening, I discovered the bilge pump no longer worked. For the next few days, I bailed with a cut-open plastic bottle.
At 9.30pm, we berthed at the yacht club marina in Gislövs läge, near Trelleborg. The worst stop of the trip. A smell of manure. Opaque water. The electricity tripped every half-hour. Vandal-proof toilets like those on aircraft. A group of young people sat noisily on the terrace of the closed café.
79.7 miles in fourteen hours.
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Passage weather
The passage
To Denmark: Gedser
Gislövs läge. Saturday, 20 May 2023. I made noodles and wandered round the marina with my bowl, asking neighbours whether there was a local service that could repair the pump. Unfortunately, there wasn’t. Back aboard, my crewmate said he’d reached his limit. His first sailing experience had been dreadful: cold, damp, endless motion and cramped space. On top of that, long passages and a worsening cold. No chance to use the loo properly or explore a town.
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Back aboard, my crewmate said he’d reached his limit. His first sailing experience had been dreadful: cold, damp, endless motion and cramped space. On top of that, long passages and a worsening cold. No chance to use the loo properly or explore a town. He’d help me fuel up here, but after that I was on my own.
After fuelling, the plan was simple: reach Denmark’s southernmost point. A following wind, 16 knots gusting 24. I clipped on to both sides of the boat, hoisted the sail and set off. Large ferries and cargo ships crossed my route. Ten miles off Sweden, my phone lost reception. Seeing Denmark’s rocky coast and watching it pass was a joy. A little later, an enormous offshore wind farm appeared. The turbines stretched to the horizon, with no end in sight.
That evening, I came alongside in Gedser. I realised sailing gloves protect not only against rope burns but against the wind too. Face cream was no longer helping: my skin peeled and bled, and my nose looked like a tortoise shell. I managed to buy a Coke at a restaurant as it closed, satisfying both thirst and a need for sugar. Shower. Collapsed into bed.
69.3 miles in eleven hours: https://boating.page.link/QPZFnB14eJGP4ML66
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Passage weather
The passage
Last miles to Am Stau
Gedser. Sunday, 21 May 2023. I was too tired to want to leave, but tomorrow’s forecast promised gusts to 29 knots. Today’s 25 seemed positively kind. Overcast sky. Humming masts. An oppressive atmosphere. Fuelled by instant noodles, I cast off. The wind pinned us against the pier, so I needed some throttle to get clear. I surfed down waves all the way. Many had whitecaps, with crests above my head.
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Fuelled by instant noodles, I cast off. The wind pinned us against the pier, so I needed some throttle to get clear.
I surfed down waves all the way. Many had whitecaps, with crests above my head. Each swung the yacht sideways by nearly 40 degrees, and the autopilot corrected with almost as much swing the other way. From outside, we must have looked drunk, zigzagging along. I’d prepared the second reef in advance. Speed kept varying between five and ten knots.
It was frightening. I clipped on with two safety tethers. After a few hours, though, I realised the situation was steady and the boat was behaving well.
Every 15 minutes, a timer prompted me to check our course, sail trim and the plentiful traffic around us. Then I dozed until the next alarm.
At nine in the evening, I berthed in Lübeck. Lyosha met me, having come home by FlixBus yesterday and had a good sleep. He collected his bag; I stayed aboard. After a proper rest, I got the marina facilities keys from the harbourmaster, had breakfast in a café, packed, and waited for my wife.
59.8 miles in ten hours: https://boating.page.link/6yzkBe22u8BVE44s7
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Passage weather
Afterword
After the first stage
The whole journey took exactly seven days: Kalmar – Bergkvara – Sandhamn – Karlskrona – Hanö – Gislövs läge – Gedser – Lübeck. Three countries, seven marinas, eleven berthings — alongside, at finger pontoons, between piles and to buoys — and three fuel stops. Three passages over 60 miles; 308 nautical miles in all, 130 of them single-handed. Sixty-two hours underway and continuously on watch. Conditions: Beaufort force 4–7, mostly 5–6.
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The whole journey took exactly seven days: Kalmar – Bergkvara – Sandhamn – Karlskrona – Hanö – Gislövs läge – Gedser – Lübeck. Three countries, seven marinas, eleven berthings — alongside, at finger pontoons, between piles and to buoys — and three fuel stops. Three passages over 60 miles; 308 nautical miles in all, 130 of them single-handed. Sixty-two hours underway and continuously on watch. Conditions: Beaufort force 4–7, mostly 5–6.
The hardest passage was on day three, when the wind was close to force 8.
The loveliest was the reward the following day: sunset among the islands and wild landscapes.
The most beautiful place: Hanö.
The least pleasant: Gislövs läge.
On arrival, I was exhausted, elated, fulfilled — and wondering why I needed any of it. I left the yacht alone for several weeks.
Now, two months later, I remember the trip with extraordinary warmth and a little shiver of excitement. I’d even like to do it again. Every fear came from a lack of experience. Now the miles in my logbook have doubled, and so has my experience. The adventure was absolutely worth it.
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