Baltic odyssey in a dinghy
Sam Griffiths and his dad camp out under the stars in a 12ft dinghy to enjoy the delights of an historic German waterway
A father and son camp out under the stars on an historic German waterway
When 10th century chronicler Abraham ben Jacob visited Haithabu (Hedeby) near the southern end of the Jutland Peninsula, he described it as ‘a very large city at the very end of the world’s ocean.’
The settlement became a trading centre at the head of the narrow, navigable inlet known as the Schlei. It was a convenient base where goods and possibly small Viking ships could be pulled on a corduroy road (timber track) overland for an almost uninterrupted seaway between the Baltic and the North Sea, avoiding a dangerous and time-consuming circumnavigation of Jutland.
Re-enacting this famous route on our 12ft plywood dinghy was something I’d dreamed of for a long time, and in November 2019 the idea came to fruition when I flew over to a birthday party in nearby Schleswig and was able to visit the excellent museum in Haithabu.
Over the winter I planned a week-long journey that would start at the entrance to the Schlei, involve a pick up near Haithabu, before trailing to the Treene river, which we would then take to Tonning and (fingers crossed) sail to my wife’s family island home on Fohr.
It was carefully considered, elaborate and, as it turned out, completely impossible! At first COVID seemed to be the spoiler but, by late July 2020, lockdown was over, to be replaced by that other stubborn adversary; a consistent westerly.
The ambitious voyage had always been dependent on an easterly, and so I ditched the romantic idea of one continuous journey east to west and decided to go with the now decidedly strong 20-knot westerly.
Late one evening in July, my dad and I trailed Pigeonneau (Pig for short), our Morbic 12 dinghy, into position just east of Haithabu. Blessed with the use of a VW camper, we were able to park at Fahrdorf, one of the many beautiful little harbours on the Schlei’s southern shore and quietly pop up the roof in the dark.
We woke early in order to pretend we hadn’t camped, and to slip Pig in the water before the wind became unmanageable. We were going to attempt to sail the whole of the Schlei (around 20 miles) in one day.
A wet affair
Free of the burden of our camping kit, we reefed the main which, along with the handkerchief-sized jib, was plenty, and rocketed off east. We made quick progress to Louisenlund, a small boarding school on the south shore, inspired by the famous German educator Kurt Hahn.
We came alongside, and were rewarded with a brisk stretch of our legs around the tranquil campus. Back on board, we now had to reach across to the narrow entrance guarded by the stunning little town of Missunde.
This proved to be a wet affair with waves crashing over the bows, as we struggled to find the narrow entrance. What’s more, trying to tack (definitely not gybe!) would lead to certain capsize unless we pushed right into the far shore in order to find a little shelter to force Pig round. Task achieved we surfed, funnelling through the entrance as if on a theme park ride, before rounding the corner to emerge in to a tranquil bay with so little wind the boat even tried to spin its way dangerously – in an act of senselessness – into another quaint little marina with
‘At first COVID was the spoiler, but with lockdown over it was replaced by that other stubborn adversary: a consistent westerly’
wooden boats galore. The Germans see this thin stretch of water as ‘Little England’ and there is no doubt that it’s a pastoral delight.
Most villages are full of (decently priced) holiday homes, with A-frame houses dotted around the foreshore, but there were also vast stretches of fields and woodland without a soul in sight; we really were in some sort of sailing heaven!
But the increasing wind was enough to fix the mind as we rounded another corner to be faced with a long straight section of the fjord, knowing that the further we went, the greater the wind speed and fetch would be.
Dad let the main fully out as we powered along while I sat on the centreboard, frantically balancing the boat. This was similar to our sailing in the East Frisians the summer before, but this time we knew the water would not disappear and we could also easily swim ashore!
Once or twice we nearly broached and so it was with no little relief that we nudged into a bay just short of the lifting bridge at Lubbe, wondering how on earth we were supposed to get through.
As we tacked to and fro, yachts (under engine) lining up on either side, we almost ended up embarrassingly trapped in irons; we had one final tack to make it out and just managed to skulk round before hearing the bells of the bridge and scooting under, almost certain we would be arrested!
Solitary Strandkorp
Such was the drama, and indeed our pace, we decided to nip ashore for our sandwich lunch in a wonderfully warm, solitary Strandkorp.
Casting off, our post-lunch lull was not shared by the weather, as again, by the end of the next long patch of water without a bend we were surfing at considerable speeds, motor boats coming by just to check were weren’t completely mad, one even asking how we were staying upright!
We carried on to Maasholm at the entrance to the Baltic. By now 3pm, time was on our side, but the elements were not, the wind now coming in huge gusts as we entered the marina in search of the (promised) slip. Spotting the slip a little too late, we slammed over the tiller, but she wouldn’t come round. The bow sprit impaled the high concrete wall as we careered all over the place, eventually dropping the sails and paddling ashore feeling somewhat chastened. A taxi took us back to the camper and trailer where we celebrated our return with a refreshing dip in the brackish water.
We headed back to Maasholm to retrieve Pig then rewarded ourselves with a lovely supper in the local fish restaurant before driving the length of the Schlei for a third time in search of Hollingstedt on the River Treene. By now it was nearly 11pm, but our luck continued as we hunted for a camping spot for the night, eventually finding a perfect little track in the dark to pop up the roof tent and get our heads down.
Up early, there was now daylight to inspect our grassy slip, used by canoeists rather than hairy Vikings. That said, just as we struggled down the bank, as if from nowhere, a large body builder of a man was able to help us lift Pig into the Treene and off we went to the sea on Leg 2 of our journey.
‘The back-breaking work of boat retrieval began as we used a towing rope to bring Pig out from where we’d only recently launched her’
Or so we thought. In fact, after a few hundred metres the river bent right to the west and we were buffeted by the ever increasing westerly, just like the day before, but we were now against it. XC Weather App told us this, of course, but we thought the river current would be enough. It wasn’t, and even ferocious rowing got us nowhere.
Terrific shower storms scudded through, to the extent we had to hide under the sail. After an hour and half’s miserable rowing, a pause in the rain allowed us to take an early, soggy lunch.
With another day of decent wind from the west it was now obvious that we had to start at the North Sea end and work our way upriver. This still seemed counterintuitive, but the fact that we sailed back to Hollingstedt under jib alone in 25 minutes confirmed that this was a meadow river with only the tiniest of currents.
And so, the back-breaking work of boat retrieval began as we used a towing rope to bring Pig out from where we had only recently launched her, tied everything down and headed off for Friedrichstadt, further inland than Tonning as at this stage were keen to still sail our long route to Fohr and were running out of time.
After driving around the stunning, cobbled streets of this ‘mini Amsterdam’ we managed to find a tiny sailing club with just the slip we needed. However, there was the ubiquitous bolted barrier. Just as we were about to give up, as luck would have it a father and daughter were just locking up for the day; totally bemused by our eccentric journey, they were quick to take our r10 and watched us head off under jib alone (the main and boom having been left with the camper and trailer).
Now 6pm, the day had been rescued as we felt every inch like Vikings. We steamed upriver with our tan sail aloft and the next three and a half hours were the highlight of the trip. We had seamless sailing and rowing and dropped the mast (with the jib still on) under a couple of low bridges.
As darkness fell, we pulled in round a bend and set up the tents behind a dyke, and had our usual supper – a Pot Noodle, an apple and a cup of tea – in the dark. Having unexpectedly come so far that evening, Tuesday morning in the fading wind was somewhat of an anticlimax. Indeed, we reached Hollingstedt by midday.
However, this did give me the chance to continue my marathon training as I ran 24km back along some delightful cycle paths to collect the camper and trailer. Dad took the opportunity to tidy up Pig and I was back three hours later.
So practised at recovery were we, Pig was out in minutes, and we followed with a swim in the fresh water of the Treene.
Viking museum
Next we had a quick tour round the tiny Viking museum. It was amazing to see how utterly dependent these grand traders were on rivers, even a small one like this.
However, historians are now almost certain that the Vikings did not portage their boats between the Schlei and Treene (as they did elsewhere, especially on Russian rivers), rather they used carts along tracks.
Somewhat exhausted, it was certainly time for a sugary bun and a coffee at a café and a chance to catch our breath and plan the final few days.
The forecast promised a day of no
wind followed by quite a strong southeasterly. It just didn’t seem possible to make the journey round the headland of St Peter-Ording in time, and besides we had achieved our main aim of traversing the peninsular, ‘Viking style’.
The islands we really wanted to visit on our way to Fohr were Pellworm and Hooge and so it seemed sensible to stay close to the ferry base of Dagebull and launch from Schluttsiel – so off we drove.
Our night in the camper in the harbour had been louder than expected due to the active fishing fleet, but a hot sun greeted us as we took the ebbing tide out west. What little wind there was quickly died and a mirror-like surface ensured the islands blurred into one.
Pulling in to Grode, we were able to have a quick scamper around in order to climb a dyke to see our destination of Pellworm. We set off for a long old row, only to find that we were quickly in knee deep water!
The chart showed this long patch of shallows, but there’s nothing like experiencing the reality of it: how much more of the ebb was there to run? Does this stretch only get covered for a couple of hours a day before you have to start pulling the boat?
Retreat to deeper water
It soon became clear that we needed to retreat back into the deeper channel that ran all the way to the safety of Hooge to avoid being cooked alive on the sands!
The blistering heat and challenge of identifying the numbered buoys ensured
that it took at least an hour of frantic and nerve-wracking rowing over the shallowest sandbanks before we found ourselves back into deep water.
Hooge itself is a ‘Watt Insel’, meaning that it does not have any beach as such – high water comes right up to the dyke that surrounds it. This posed us a problem; we could either enter the harbour as would a yacht, but then we would have to dry out in very squelchy mud, or we could pull in just to the left of the entrance and see how far we could get Pig up the boulders.
For now though, after four hours of rowing in the heat, we’d had enough and knowing the tide had another hour or so to ebb, we just pulled in, left her and went for our usual run ashore, relieved that (car-free) Hooge is a significantly smaller island to run around than Pellworm!
Searching for a bathing spot afterwards was somewhat hazardous; a sea of mud and sharp shells hampered our efforts to get clean, and yet, still fuelled with endorphins – that wonderful free drug – we were swiftly into our dry, if rather smelly clothes.
A quaint little thatched restaurant served us yet more fish outside in the evening sun, this time surrounded by a scene of utmost beauty: cottages, cows and a few tourists on bicycles.
A slow walk back to Pig saw that indeed she did need pulling up yet further, but with the heavy mast and all the kit out she proved manoeuvrable when rolled over our dry bags. We pitched our tents one last time, keen to wake early and head off before the wind got too strong and the water disappeared again.
Our final leg was another adventurous sail with one reef in as we looked to take a shortcut at near high water past Langeness. Alas, even then it was extremely shallow, and we bumped along with the wind behind us for 20 minutes. It wasn’t pretty, but it was faster and used the Morbic 12’s advantages to their max.
Powering up the home-straight to Utersum on Fohr, our local beach, was another of those warm feelings that make the tiring nature and ever-changing plans that come with dinghy cruising all worth it in the end. What’s more, we were greeted on arrival with somewhat more affection than I’m sure the Vikings used to get!