TAINUI IN RUSSIA
A MULTINATIONAL CREW MADE UP OF PIERHEAD JUMPERS, FAMILY AND FRIENDS MAKE AN EVENTFUL VOYAGE FROM NORWAY TO THE BLACK SEA VIA ARCTIC RUSSIA
When the Great Seamanship series was planned back in 2004 it was about giant waves, dismastings, amazing rescues and the like. Research, however, led me into a wonderland of nautical literature with so much to give that discounting it for lack of stormy seas would have been a lost opportunity. Over the years, the result has been a mix of inspiring accounts, some in line with the original brief, others diverging, but all with tales to tell and lessons to be learned.
This month’s article falls into the latter category, because the actual sailing only occurs at the beginning and end of the voyage. The fact those miles are logged off Arctic Russia and through the Sea of Azov is almost by the bye.
The book in question is Sailing through Russia by John Vallentine and Maxine Maters. In 2013, with crew comprised of a rich variety of pier-head jumpers, friends and family, they take Vallentine’s Formosa 46 Tainui from northern Norway to the Black Sea via the inland waterways of Russia. Tainui is the first western yacht to achieve this under her own colours. The Volga leads them far east of Moscow and, despite having their mast on deck for most of the time, the trip remains a captivating adventure. I read the book at a sitting and was very late to bed.
Most of John’s and Maxine’s book appeared first on Vallentine’s blog, but it is now beautifully presented and bound, with noble images. It is half pilot book, half cruising yarn, with both authors and some of the occasional crew contributing to the narrative.
Maxine signed on via a crewing website. She and her skipper considered the risks associated with this and decided to go for it anyway. Her expertise on Russia and its language proved critical to the success of the enterprise. Vallentine is a semi-retired doctor from Australia with a dry, Aussie humour which he really needs, as one crazy nonsense after another gets in his way. He is an unsung hero of ocean sailing.
INTO THE WHITE SEA: John
We have 18 hours to go until Archangel’sk, gods willing, and should take our pilot on board tomorrow. The pilot is one of the many bureaucratic burdens we are having to put up with. Reporting in to the Navy and the Russian coastguard every six hours or so by radio, to operators who have no English and are generally unwilling to respond to our calls, has been wearisome.
It has been gloves, beanies, scarves, and three-layer thermals cold. It’s 2°C with wind chill. The Barents Sea is a lonely, grey place and it is good to be into the White Sea. Exactly the same view from the balcony, but psychologically a relief. It has been a long trip from Norway, made worse for me by low-grade, non-vomiting seasickness. Miss Perfect does not suffer from that vile malady, needless to say. Winds on the nose and slow progress.
Maxine had been terrific on navigation and radio communications and is eternally enthusiastic and cheerful. On board she is a bloke, really, and a good one. This afternoon I hove to to reef the main and then flopped into the cockpit for a rest. Up came Max rugged up to the nines with a bottle of Jacob’s Creek chardonnay under one arm and two glasses in the other hand. A delight, until she started complaining that Tainui’s toilet compartments don’t have under-floor heating.
Still, in bright sun the seas now sparkle and the whitecaps are dancing. It is good to be here.
SOLOVETSKIY ARRIVAL: Crewman Pasha
We came to the Solovetskiy Islands and enter Blagopoluchnaya Bay. The great walls and domes of the Solovetskiy Monastery are slowly rising from the fog.
Oh, these walls could tell a lot. About builders who hand-laid huge stones in the 14th Century. About the spiritual leaders of the Russian people who lived here. About the heroism of monks who defended the monastery against attack of Norwegian and English fleets in the 18th Century. About human injustice and cruelty in the 20th Century, when the monastery was turned into a political prison.
But now we want just to sleep. All around is quiet, no person, no sound, only the silent stones of the monastery are watching us.
Finally going to bed, but woken after half an hour by the sound of screams from the wharf. The local guard had slept through our arrival, and now has threats and promises the arrival of a commercial vessel, to which this place belongs. He whines that he is responsible for this place and he would be fired if his boss sees us. OK, we understand. Going elsewhere.