Eel is one of the smaller and prettier boats in the RCC but one of the larger in the DCA: she’s a heavy, rather tender open boat, double-ended and lug-rigged. My cruising grounds are limited to sheltered waters served by direct ferry routes. So after two years using Tor Line to Gothenburg, I decided to try Fred Olsen Bergen Line and explore the West Coast of Norway. The Berner family, who came to watch the Boat Race as they had promised (see 1981 Journal), offered to meet me off the ferry and provide a home base in Stavanger.

As the ferry door opened I saw their son, Jo Jo, waiting with a friend immediately outside. They towed Eel straight through customs (“Stavanger is a no-problem town”) and she was in the water half an hour after leaving the ferry. Berner hospitality tempted me into spending a whole day putting her together, so I only left Stavanger on July 4th. I sailed NE into the islands past the ill-fated Alexander Kjaelland rig, still capsized, and four enormous laid-up oil tankers. The wind blew up in the evening and headed me. As usual, I had forgotten how to sail her to windward, how early you have to reef and put on oilskins. But at least she doesn’t leak as badly when beating, thanks to four new floors fitted last winter. After a quiet night at Langoy, I had a frustrating day beating down the Skudenes Fjord. Eel never goes very fast to windward, but she makes very little progress into a leftover sea. I spent an hour beating out of the anchorage by the monastery on Klosterøy; but after rowing for a time, the wind filled in from WSW. I reached Kopervik before the shops shut and spent the night in the FPI anchorage at Dragoysvik. I got my tides wrong through the narrows at Haugesund. There was an eddy to carry me through the bridge, but I spent nearly an hour rowing the remaining quarter mile. I anchored for a rest, then watered ship at Haugesund and spent that night inside Stolsholm, a small island sheltering me from the open sea. The breakers murmured gently all night.

Another sunny windless spell of almost two days was broken suddenly by a fast moving front. I put up my new trysail to wait for it, but this was too much for her. While I was studying the chart a gust caught me unprepared and put her gunwale under briefly. I ran down to Hatlevik kicking myself for not choosing a refuge anchorage until I needed it. The wind settled to N5-6, rather too much for me alone, so I was glad to reach Kviturspollen, headquarters of Bergen YC, after two days on the wind. The wind blew itself out by morning, and I had to row in a flat calm and strong sun to catch my tide through the Vatlestraumen. A light breeze carried me the last few miles into Bergen to moor beyond a fine but decaying square-rigger, Statsraad Lehmukuhl.

After a day sightseeing in Bergen, I went to meet my crew off the ferry. Steve came with me last year but could only spare me ten days this time, so I was determined to make some progress. As we left Bergen the wind was gusting so strongly that we had to stop in a convenient bay until it settled to a steady S5-6 Then under trysail and jib we ran to Alversund, a pleasant wooden sound full of old summer residences. The morning was calm, so we rowed up the Radsundet in drizzle. After lunch we had the rare but still unwelcome experience of being surrounded by motorboats. To escape them, we explored the Kalvs Sund, discovering how misleading the chart can be in trying to mark rocks in confined spaces. W of Bakoy we found the eddies predicted by the FPI, but now we had a strong tail wind to carry us over the three knot tide. As the wind was blowing up, we found our way into a very pleasant and deserted anchorage N of Ulvøy. On our run ashore we found orchids and lots of bilberries. I was up at 0345 next morning to reef the tent. Reefing while in a secure anchorage is one of dinghy cruising’s unique pleasures.

Next day was wet, the dramatic scenery all shrouded in low cloud, and visibility often down to a mile or less. We carried our fair wind 25 miles across the mouth of the Sogne Fjord before we decided we were too cold to continue. In the morning it was still drizzling, so we had one of the longest and most circular conversations of the cruise about how we should get up, but weren’t going to. At least the drizzle had stopped by the time we left, but oilskins had to stay on for warmth. We reefed as we approached the mountainous island of Alden, and it duly produced some fierce squalls. Then, to avoid some swell, we took an unmarked channel inside the skerries to Stavenes. We reached Florø that day, the only place we were asked for harbour dues. We spent the night in the islands opposite.

The forecast S7 materialised in the middle of the following day, and we had to run into a little bay for shelter. We had to move across the bay at 0500 when the wind changed, so we got away late in the morning. We thought the Frøysjøen in fI was best described as Wagnerian; it went on a very long time without getting anywhere. But we eventually reached Hornelen, the precipitous mountain at the E end of Bremanger, which produced a few gusts out of a flat calm. Once clear of the mountain we had a nice little beat with an unexpected fair tide. Next day the sun made its single appearance of Steve’s holiday, so we stopped to air bedding. For the first time I swam in sight of snow, just long enough to clean the topsides. The wind turned SW that night, ideal for rounding Statt, the mountainous promontory which was the first hurdle on my route. First we had to spend the morning ringing DFDS to book Steve’s passage home. We rang them in Oslo, Newcastle and at two numbers in London. We eventually got an answer out of their Bergen office after three hours.

We got away at midday and set a course for Statt. There was a large swell from the NW, and a following sea from the SW. Both seas were reflected off the cliffs and marched a mile out to sea, producing unpredictable and very steep waves. As it was impossible to put her stern to every wave, we picked up a lot of water. I was busy steering, so Steve had to pump, read the chart and take photos for me. It was only after the fourth photo that he admitted he was about to be sick. We headed inside the lighthouse on the island of Buhl to get some shelter so I could check the chart. The waves were worse closer in and we didn’t get much shelter, but I did have time to check the entrance to Stattvaagen. We turned the corner putting both swells (NW and SW) on the quarter at which she rolled wildly. When Statt sheltered us from the swell, it gave us squalls instead. We dropped the main and ran slowly into Stattvaagen, now a perfectly sheltered refuge. We went for a long walk and returned to find Eel aground, as we hadn’t pulled her far enough off the beach. We took the opportunity to scrub out the bilges removing most of my supper from two nights before (rice in a clinker dinghy is not a good idea).

Next day the squalls were worse and the sea just outside was horrible. But once a little offshore, the squalls were almost enjoyable. We spent the rest of the time looking for puffins: we saw about ten looking even more ridiculous than in photos. When we reached shelter, the main excitement was spotting an unmarked varde (cairn or daymark) which started moving and turned into a very old-fashioned submarine. We had to hurry on to Aalesund to put Steve on the steamer home. I had to wait a weekend to buy charts and food. Meanwhile I was reduced to eating lentil soup, accompanied by raw cabbage and chutney!

With new charts, a light breeze carried me as far as Hellandshamn. The scenery in the Romsdalsfjord is magnificent, but I enjoyed it from a distance, cutting across to the old fishing station at Bjørnsund. After examining all the information I had (including CC Lynam’s directions in Blue Dragon II to the North Cape (1913) p80, which are still useful), I set out to tackle Hustadvika “the most ticklish passage we have ever made”, as Lynam described it (p79). I think Eel is happier in a mass of “islets, perches, beacons and breakers” (p80) than out at sea. So, though it was blowing W5, I covered the first part of the passage without difficulty and anchored in the crowded fishing harbour at Haugneset. The morning was misty and I had to wait for visibility to improve to 1½ miles or so. At Kvitholmen LH the weather was so fine that I decided to stay outside the large island of Averøya, saving 8½ miles. It also meant finding the fishing station at Langoy, which is more interesting (if less attractive) because fish is still processed there.

I rowed through the mist to Kristiansund in pursuit of a packet of suet. Suet is vital in producing good duffs, to encourage and reward a good day’s run. It is unobtainable in Norway, so Steve had left with instructions to send a packet poste restante to Kristiansund. I left instructions there to send it on to Trondheim, but I never got it and was reduced to using margarine. Suetless, I rowed from Kristiansund to Tustna to explore the islands there. Next morning I broke the main halyard tensioning it, and dropped the yard on my head. After re-splicing and re-reeving it, I carried the lightest of breezes across the Trondheimsleia, stopping for a swim halfway.

Then I entered the Smøla archipelago. Chart no. 40, a new one (1980), is of a kind that fascinates me. It shows about a hundred square miles of islands, islets and rocks which surround the large, low island of Smøla. There are so many islands important enough to have names that there’s a list of nearly a hundred at the side of the chart, identified by initials. I entered by a marked passage. Only three miles later did I realise that, while the line showing the route continued on, it simply described a path through unmarked, submerged rocks. Luckily the rocks mostly showed up as patches of seaweed on the surface. Next day it blew from the NE, dead on the nose. I spent seven hours on the gunwale juggling with tiller, sheet and chart, beating up narrow channels from the W to the NE corner of the island. I spent both nights on Smøla behind islands called Steinsøya.

The wind stayed NE and I spent four days messing about north of Hitteren. The first day I had to wait for a bank to open, the second I wasted in an unintended jaunt up a fjord. I quote my log: “At this point I had a brainstorm; I hadn’t got chart 39, so I assumed Dolmo, an island 4 miles away, extends to Stamnes, the last point on my chart. I was wrong, but it took me to the end of the fjord to find out there was no way through.” Luckily it was a soldier’s wind. That evening I tried my first suetless duff which turned out solid and uncooked. I only realised when I put the flour away that I’d never got out the baking powder. I then spilt the cocoa powder while heating the milk. I mopped up the cocoa just in time for the milk to boil over. Not a good day.

When I eventually found Dolmo, I also found a 3 or 4 knot tide running through the narrows inside it. I tried rowing through. One oar, which had already developed a creak and a bend, gave a crack and started waggling. I took off the leather and put a nine inch whipping over three longitudinal cracks. The oar remained just usable for the rest of the cruise, though two of the cracks had worked their way right through the oar by the time I got it home. After testing my handiwork against a much-reduced tide, there was just enough wind to take me into a superb anchorage on the E end of Dolmo, a secret water full of deep, sandy-bottomed pools and pretty islands with two narrow entrances. Supper had to wait till I’d explored.

In the morning I discovered that Robert (my twin) had already been waiting a day in Trondheim. I left a message telling him to meet me at Knarlag Sund, but he took a further 36 hours to reach me. It took us another three days to get within range of Trondheim, light, windless, overcast days, punctuated only by seeing porpoises, a femboring (30ft Norwegian open boat) and two impressive sunsets. It was blowing f7 or 8 on the morning of 9th August. So, after a very hard row upwind to the quay (the oar protesting violently), I took a ferry into Trondheim, which berthed just astern of Morning Watch RTYC. I had noticed her name figuring prominently in FPI, so after shopping I introduced myself to her owner, John Marriner. Over tea, he introduced me to Johan Helgesen, who, as I left, offered to try to find me somewhere to lay up Eel. I had only met him half an hour before! Since rounding Statt, my plans had been fluid. This finally decided me to push north as far as possible. Luckily my insurance company did not demur at this, but extended my cover to 67½°N over the telephone. If I’d asked for cover to 91°N, I’m not sure they would have objected!

With renewed enthusiasm, we rowed most of the way out of the Trondheim Fjord. I went ashore at Brekstad to buy the charts the Trondheim shops had sold out of, and caught up Robert further west. Carrying our tide north, we rowed into the Flatø islands. This anchorage was used by Lynam, but it was already uncomfortable. The wind was fair and increasing rapidly, so we decided to go on, and had a fast, wet sail to Dybfest, a tiny crowded fishing harbour. Here we stayed galebound for three days, doing little but eat, read and sleep under a reefed tent. Surprisingly, we only had one argument after I had to go wading in a heavy shower. We had been trying to set up a pulley system to allow us to go ashore and leave her. It was never very effective.

Luckily the wind stayed fair when it moderated, and we covered 161½ miles in the next five days. At Lysøysund, with typical kindness, a couple whisked me off to the petrol station to buy paraffin, and on my return got the shop reopened for me. Meanwhile a fisherman had told Robert of a good anchorage at the fishing station at Kynnero, and we sailed there direct. We took an unmarked channel south of Almenningen where there was just enough swell to show up most of the rocks we could hit. The fishing station was lovely: a few warehouses among bare, reddish islands, with an intricate channel leading to a good Eel anchorage. Robert put me ashore to take photos of Eel, looking very businesslike in f5 with a reef tucked in. A good day was celebrated by a large duff.

We called briefly at Bessaker, sleepy on a Sunday morning, then carried our fair wind north through Folla, the third and last open sea hurdle of the cruise. The onshore wind was quite strong, and I misunderstood Robert’s instructions. We almost went the wrong side of a white light, but luckily I had time to check the chart. Once back in shelter, we had a good fast sail through the charming islands south of the Folden Fjord. We used another lovely anchorage, this one deserted and right on the edge of the islands. I went ashore to watch distant islets floating in a glorious sunset.

We crossed the Folden Fjord using a transit of an island on a point twenty miles away. This took us accurately inside a reef to the Grinna LH. It was a hard wet sail, fetching or close reaching into a sea, and it showed up my oilskins which are now porous after three good seasons’ wear. August 17th was the best of the cruise for distance and speed, 40½ miles at almost 5 knots. We also passed Torghatten, the mountain with a hole in it. In our chosen anchorage we found a large old Norland open boat which the owners had rowed out for a picnic. Our fair winds deserted us next day off Tjøtta, and we had to row to the nearest point against the ebb. I floundered through a peat bog to find the shop closed, but luckily, after I’d phoned home my position, the shopkeeper opened up for me.

It was blowing E6 next morning. Under trysail and reefed jib we reached down the leeward side of Alsten below the Seven Sister, seven impressive peaks each about 1000 metres high. Though we were downwind of them, the wind mostly swept round the north of the island, turning it into a dead beat. But occasionally the mountains would produce a fierce squall from abeam lasting anything from a few seconds to a few minutes. We did try setting the mainsail, but found ourselves between a trawler and a ferry, pinned down by a squall and unable to move, so we went most of the time undercanvassed. The squalls hit her when she was almost stationary, so we had to let sheets fly. Even when she got moving, both of us were sitting her out to balance a meagre 45 sq ft of sail. It took us 4½ hrs to beat the last 3 miles into Sandnessjøen.

We had a relaxed light day sailing to the Risvaer islands, a Clay discovery, used by Fubbs in 1980. Then we had a final 40 miles sail to finish the cruise. With SW5-6 behind us in sheltered water, we covered 6.2 miles in one hour, surfing occasionally from one wave onto the next. After reefing, we crossed the Arctic Circle at midday. Later, the cloud cleared to give us our first glimpse of the Svartisen glacier. Next day we had to row to the glacier and back without a breath of wind. We were luckier than Morning Sky (Journal 1981) in having a Russian cruise ship to show us where to head for. We anchored one side of a milky torrent of glacier water pouring into the fjord. Crossing a rickety bridge, we scrambled up to the glacier, which was a colour I’ve never seen before, a translucent light blue, deep and vivid.

We waited a day in the rain at Halsa while Johan Helgesen did a final round of telephone calls for us. The Torrissen family’s salmon farm was just round the corner, and he persuaded them to let me store Eel in their laying-up shed for the winter. And she’s there now, waiting to explore the Lofotens in 1983.

p.s. The suet was returned at the beginning of October. It has not been wasted.