Fuh-wha???

Leaving Bergen and Norway
[Kyle]We left Bergen in the bright dawn of midnight. Our route took us in light tailwinds along a pretty path that meandered through rocky islands for about twenty miles before we met the open sea. Once we got there and turned on our course to Inverness, the wind increased and we started moving fast. As we sailed out of the protection of the last island, the seas picked up dramatically. Within about five minutes, we went from flat water to 3 meter seas that rolled us uncomfortably as they broke on the beam, slewing us sideways. Based on our original forecast, I thought it would be necessary to head a little south of a direct course to keep from getting the full brunt of the strong winds and waves but we found we could actually keep to our course and keep moving fast.

About a third of the way across, a predicted change in the wind from northerly to southerly arrived so we tacked and slowly started getting pushed north of our course toward the northwest. The wind died and then came up again several times all while staying southwest and pushing us further northwest. {Maryanne: all typical sailing frustrations!}

In the middle of the night during one particular lull, we passed close by an oil rig, BP Harding well 93b. I can’t say it looks like a nice place to work, way out there in the middle of nowhere. That place is all business. I saw lots of rusty metal doors and the innards of machinery they didn’t need to cover, but no windows, no outdoor break area, no signs of life at all. I was glad to keep sailing by.

My original plan with regard to the period of southwest winds was to slowly head northwest until a frontal system brought in strong north winds that we could ride into Inverness. It turned out we were going a little faster than I had originally expected so while we were still about nine hours from the forecast wind shift, we came within sight of Fair Isle, itself about three hours off, and made the decision that it would be better to wait out the wind shift there than at sea and put into harbor.

I would have loved to stay longer, but we needed to catch the northerly winds as soon as they came. The forecast called for the winds to increase as far as Beaufort force 9 (41 to 47 knots - pretty appalling weather) within a day or so afterward, worse in the north and east. We needed to catch the winds while they were still a reasonable strength and use them to get south and west where they wouldn’t be so bad. A delay would mean we would be trapped for days and Fair Isle’s harbor is dangerously exposed toward the north.

I had intended to at least get out and have a look at the Puffins, but by the time we got done securing Footprint for the short night, we were pretty bushed. The wind was now swinging through west and was starting to blow pretty hard. Any reasonable Puffin would have been well buried in their burrow, so we decided to go for a couple of hours of sleep instead {after a quick call to UK immigration to let them know we'd arrived}.


Following procedures after arriving in Fair Isle, UK
We left just after Midnight. As soon as we were out of the harbor and made the turn southwest, we were grabbed by the wind and shoved smartly toward Inverness, enjoying the relative comfort of a fast downwind sail.

We made it the 150 miles to Inverness just after Midnight the next day and tied up to the piling at the Clachnaharry Sea Lock. Even though we were only a few hundred miles south of Norway and the Shetlands, the night was noticeably darker. We actually had to break out our headlamps while we tied up to see what we were doing.

Once again we crashed for a short sleep (too short), needing to be ready for an 8am opening.

Bergen

Footprint docked at the wall in Bergen
[Kyle]We arrived into the city center harbour and managed to squeeze in along the quay at a spot just big enough for Footprint that had been rejected by others. We were right along the Bryggen, the old, medieval district. (Bryggen is Norwegian for wharf). We secured everything, answering questions from passersby as we did, and then headed out for our usual – getting to the top of the highest nearby hill for a view.

Instead of the usual routine of hiking up the nearest unimproved trail with Maryanne carrying my cinder block so that I have something to sit on at the top as I enjoy the view, we paid 35 Kroner to take the Fløibanen – the Funicular – to the top of Mount Fløyen. We then had an ice cream from the shop up top and had a nice stroll down to the city center, first through the park, then on winding residential roads with pretty houses that reminded me very much of Lombard St. in San Francisco.



A ride up the hill, to viewpoints, restaurants, fun and games

And a very pleasant stroll down, that's more like a "nice walk"!
Maryanne was a completely different person on the walk. Usually, as she’s pulling herself up over a ledge panting, she says things like “oh God …it goes on forever!” And, “I’m startin’ to ‘ate this bloody mountain!” This time, on a downhill stroll on a nice, wide path, she was downright chirpy, saying hi to everything. “Hello, birds! …Hello trees! …Hello flowers! …Hello bits of rubbish!” She was practically skipping! I know there must be some sort of lesson I could learn from this, but, for the life of me, I can’t possibly think of what it must be.

The next morning, we were up bright and early in order to get to the police station to clear out of Norway with Immigration. Like a trip to the Department of Motor Vehicles, the whole thing only took about five minutes, but not until taking a number and waiting behind a hundred other people doing more lengthy things like applying for residency and work permits. We sat forever in a poorly lit hallway staring at the number display, each other and the ceiling tiles until we had every smudge on the floor and walls memorized before our number was finally called and we were released.

With that complete, we decided to do something a bit more interesting and took a very well done guided tour of Bryggen. Bryggen was the original part of town built starting in 1140, and subsequently owned by Hanseatic merchants from Germany who, after the plague had decimated the Bergen population, were brought in to keep commerce moving. They built a series of long, tenement houses, through which goods gradually moved from the sea front offices to the back, passing through various hands, before being sent out. Each long house formed a communal, male only dwelling for workers and managers of a particular absentee owner.




Bryggan inside and out - old original style wooden buildings and newer stone, fire-safer affairs
Over the years, large sections of Bryggen burned down and were rebuilt again. Policies were put in place that restricted cooking and light from the entire building and confined them to a stone cooking and eating hall at the back, making for what must have been terrible, bleak winters living in the main house.

Buildings were also required to be constructed a certain distance apart at ground level in order to create a fire break. Owners and managers quickly got around this by building eaves and awnings so that adjacent buildings practically overlap each other. We noticed overhead sprinklers in every room that we saw, but all of this densely packed wood must still give modern fire marshals nightmares. It’s easy to see how the whole district went up at once.

The current crop of buildings was rebuilt to their original plans after a massive fire in 1704. Since then, subsidence and the explosion of one nearby munitions ship in WWII has caused the buildings to sink and lean heavily on one another, giving them a certain funhouse quality. Our guide insisted on several occasions that the latest subsidence was caused by fresh water intrusion into the original wooden pilings when the Radisson Hotel at the edge of the site was excavated, once fresh water enters the wood it has started to rot, while the salt water intrusion actually helped to preserve the sunken wood. Radisson, they’re the baddies.

At the end of the block, restoration of the foundation of one of the houses is being accomplished by jacking up the entire building about a meter with jacks through-bolted to the walls and then redoing the foundation underneath using traditional materials and methods. It looks like a pretty daunting job.

We went to the local library to use their wifi so that we could download the latest weather file. We found the best (actually, only) window for departure for the passage back to Inverness was later that night. We took our time getting back, making a point of meandering through the parks and streets along the way before grabbing a few hours sleep and setting off for Scotland.

[Maryanne]Despite our very short stay in Bergen, we did manage to walk around much of the city, and get lost enough times to find ourselves away from the main tourist areas. It was exquisite, and despite being the 2nd largest city in Norway, had a lovely small feel (somewhat like Edinburgh). We really enjoyed it, and regretted the weather was pushing us away - we'd have loved to explore the excellent art galleries and museums. Each of the neighborhoods we passed were made up of picture postcard streets, you couldn't help but imagining living there and life being just wonderful.

Being on a boat, and tied up so close to the main tourist scenes, makes us too a tourist attraction. Often people come up to talk to us as we've just arrived somewhere and are (trying to be) focused on securing the boat for an extended stay, but we always try and be friendly and answer questions. The American flag gets us extra attention. I was busy one evening filling water tanks when a friendly drunk bombarded me with questions; I was a bit nervous about just how friendly to be. All the time I was fending off his amorous suggestions, I could just see Kyle in the cabin hiding from view of my new "friend" and laughing at the predicament I'd found myself in... Hmmmm Some hero!



Scenes from Bergen City

That’s more like it!

Goodbye Skjerjehamn, Hello Bergen
[Kyle]The weather had cleared overnight and the wind had died down to a more sensible level. We woke to a bright, sunny day in Skjerjehamn. The large crew of Svanhind was busy preparing to return the ship to her home port of Florø, to the north. Once they saw us up and about, several of them came over to talk to us about our travels and to tell us about theirs aboard the ship.

As soon as we pulled out of the marina for our trip south, we hoisted the mainsail, unrolled the screacher and sailed the whole way to Bergen. We sailed down the narrow channels between rocky islands. We sailed across fjords and gaps where the North Sea swell reached us. We sailed under bridges and through deep valleys. Some the sail was really fast, some of it was drifting through wind shadows with the sails just hanging there but all of it was downwind in bright sunshine. It sure helped make up for the day before.

We arrived at the Vågen in Bergen just as a cruise ship was spinning around to leave. Its passengers were all out on deck snapping pictures and waving at anything nearby. Once they ware out of the way, we went into the harbor, looking for a place to top up our fuel and water. We found the station, but there was a sign saying it was Stengt on Sunday – Closed. Maryanne had me drop her off anyway and quickly surmised that, even though the station was closed, the pumps still worked as long as a credit card was used. That was nice. It saved us making a stop on the way out.



A great day sailing

[Maryanne]P.S. Congratulations all of our regular readers - you've just completed post number 400!!!

Skjerjehamn

[Maryanne]We forgot to mention exactly just how remote Finnaboten is... It is a small pocket at the end of the fjord, entered via a narrow pinch in the main fjord. Surrounded by large and steep hills, and with the entrance offset, it appears as a solitary lake in the mountains. We told you it is difficult for larger boats to get in (shallow draft and low power cables) - but we didn't explain that there is also no road. There is not even any mobile phone service; it’s a real get-away-from-it-all kind of place! Everything has to arrive by boat, and the fjord ices up over winter - so then the only way in is by foot over some pretty big peaks or by hovercraft (the one they are designing and building themselves)!

Apart from the outstanding beauty, the next best thing was the welcome we received at Finnabotn; even the Estonian chef took time out to chat with us, and welcome us to visit his home town in Estonia any time, we are embarrassed by the kindnesses offered here.

Our day of forecast rain was welcomed as time to catch up on some relaxation (and rest our weary muscles), and as Kyle mentioned in our previous blog we finished our last evening with a wonderful meal cooked by Alexander the chef, from a beautifully decorated table with a view of Footprint.

Given it's remoteness (and no roads or ferry stop), only very few foreigners get to visit, but apparently Americans form their biggest count! Again (given the remoteness), the residents have to be pretty resourceful people. They keep goats, and own/run several businesses including the guest house, all while re-building their house (after a fire in 2009 destroyed the 1617 farm house). Amazingly they still find time to spend with all their guests, and when there are no guests they relish the quite time together in such a spectacular location.

All Norwegians seem to be very much more in touch with nature than most westerners. It is normal for people to go (often as a family) gathering wild berries, nuts, and mushrooms; and such outings can be for several days with camping as they move from site to site. Everyone seems to be able to fish (including elderly ladies and kids barely able to walk). We were advised that mackerel were an easy catch at Finnabotn; Kyle tried (in the rain), but the mackerel are still there for the kids and elderly to catch. I’m feeling very much like a useless city girl, I need to learn this stuff!


A lazy, rainy day - the rest much appreciated, fishing: not so good!
[Kyle]The morning we left Finnabotn, the rain had finally stopped and a low scud layer of clouds was hanging near the tops of the cliffs, making the place look dark and ominous. The high cliffs meant there wasn’t a breath of wind on the fjord and we were able to cast off with a gentle push against the dock that sent Footprint slowly out into safe water. No fancy maneuvering required.

We knew it wasn’t going to last. Our forecast was for winds in the mid twenties blowing in from the north – perpendicular to Sognefjorden. The high mountains on either side would block a wind from the north, but all of that air has to go somewhere. I was hoping that there would be just enough east in the wind that the path of least resistance would be to run down the fjord toward the west with us. No such luck. We motored out of Finnafjorden and ran smack into a 25 knot headwind and steep two-foot chop. The chop was just the right size for us to come off of a wave and slam to a stop on the face of the next one. It was a miserable way to spend the day. Half a dozen times in a wide spot, the wind would come just enough from the side that we thought it would be worth putting some sail up. We’d go through the whole routine, have ten minutes of good sailing, and then the wind would shift dead ahead or die or both.

In the end we gave up and resigned ourselves to a day of misery like monkeys in the rain. I found myself counting the seconds until we would round a bend and have a chance to turn another 15 degrees off the wind.

After what seemed like an eternity, we finally turned south out of the Sognefjord and had the wind at our backs. The speed shot up, the slamming stopped and suddenly it was a nice day to be out on a boat again apart from being a little windy and cold. We left the towering cliffs of the fjord behind and entered protected channels bounded by islets of granite. This part of Norway looks a lot like the Maine coast.

I had originally planned to stop at Leirvik, our first stop in Norway, on the way to Bergen but decided to use the north wind to our advantage and get in a little extra distance, thus making our next day more reasonable. We decided to pull in at Skjerjehamn . When we made landfall in Norway, we found ourselves sailing neck and neck with a Norwegian boat that pulled in there to keep from being passed. For the way south, it seemed nice and was at about the right distance.

We pulled into the marina and immediately found ourselves trapped. The wind was so high from astern that we had to use a LOT of power to stop and back our way away from the rocks at the other end and up to the dock. It was very tense but we did our best to appear nonchalant for the crowd of people watching our approach. It turns out there was a large wedding in progress as well as a corporate barbecue so we had lots of witnesses.

We managed to get Footprint going the right way and gently nudged her up into a corner under the protection of the tall ship Svanhind looking as if we were real sailors. Whew.

Skjerjahamn has been completely renovated by a former fisherman to beautiful condition. The craftsmanship was truly remarkable. The office was done up like an old General Store, the showers were the cleanest I’ve seen and came with a four inch thick solid wood door that felt like it belonged on a safe. The banquet and guest facilities are all done in marvelous smelling cedar and they’ve even got cedar-heated hot tubs, which were being used by the wedding party but which still smelled good nonetheless.


Scenes from the journey to, and arriving at Skjerjehamn
Statue of King Olaf just off to the right
Skjerjemamn is also home to an enormous statue of the previous King, Olaf. The story goes that it had been planned to be placed in Oslo, but the deciding committee couldn’t agree on what to do with it. Skjerjehamn then stepped in and managed to convince the artist that they had a location worthy of his work, so here King Olaf now stands.

Finnabotn

Great day sailing (again) in the Norwegian Fjords
[Kyle]We woke up to a beautiful sunny day in Balestrand. It was, in fact, the first day that I can remember in a very long time that we didn’t need to fire up the heater in the morning. Instead, it was actually warm enough that we opened the hatches. Tourists were all milling about waiting for their ferries. The park adjacent was beginning to fill up with sunbathers and kids throwing a ball around. We took a couple more showers each just to make sure we were feeling fresh and clean and to get our money’s worth.

We left in a happy mood, waving our goodbyes to the people on the quay in return to theirs. People like waving at boats. It wasn’t long before we were gliding downwind close to the shore under full mainsail. We turned a corner, unrolled the genoa and really picked up some speed.

It was a great sail, but we were going too fast. Our destination at Finnabotn in Finnafjord has the unfortunate combination of a shallow entrance right at the same spot as low power lines. The bottom wasn’t too much of a concern for us as we could pull everything up, but the power lines were, so I wanted to be sure to enter at dead low tide just to be safe.

I decided rather than reduce sail and slow down, we would use the extra time to explore Arnafjorden, our backup if we got to Finnafjorden’s power lines and decided we didn’t like it. {Maryanne: if anyone else is planning to sail here, and we recommend it, the chart shows two cables (side by side), one at 14m and one 17m - it was the 14m cables we were concerned about - but it turned out they didn't exist. The only overhead cables we found were one set and clearly marked at 17m}

Arnafjorden is gorgeous. At the head of the fjord, the water widens into a very large bay ringed on all sides by steep mountains towering above freshly painted villages. Down the sides of the rock faces, waterfalls plunged seaward. It was a wonderful place. We very nearly chickened out of going into the Finnafjord and anchored right there (for those of you wondering, the –en suffix means “the” in Norwegian, so “the Finnafjord” and “Finnafjorden” are interchangeable). We didn’t anchor because the depth in the Arnafjord anchorage is pretty high, meaning a lot of work, while Finnabotn has a dock, which would make going ashore much easier. I also figured the power line/shallow entrance combination would keep the place relatively uninhabited and pristine. I wanted to see that.

The appointed time came, so we made our way to the Finnafjord, where we made it under the power lines by a meter or so in 1.8 meters of water. The Fjord passes by the village of Nuasttangen at the power lines and then takes a right into steep mountains. Around the corner, the fjord becomes primeval. Giant gray cliffs tower over the tiny blue fjord, leaving very little room for sky. For even greater effect, six or seven huge, thundering waterfalls roar down the cliffs, their noise echoing back and forth through the valley.

At the base of it all, balanced on a steep hill, was Finnabotn, which is not a village but a single farm of seven buildings, including a very nice restaurant and guest house. We tied up to their dock and were met by Engebrigt Findebotten, the owner of the farm. He was very nice and told us once we were done tying up, to come up and say hello.

We met his wife, Turid, another woman Lisbeth, Turid’s Aunt, their chef Alexander, originally from Estonia, and their dog Brutus. We also caught a glimpse of their parrot (name so far unknown). They have a full-flighted Greenwing Macaw that has the run of the fjord. {Maryanne:For those of you who know Kyle, you can imagine how at home he felt about now}. Ingebrigt explained that the parrot won’t fly over water or high enough to get out, so he is essentially trapped in the world’s biggest parrot cage. He also has a proper cage that he can return to if it’s cold or if he wants some human company to impress with his Norwegian. A fjord with a resident talking parrot, I love it!

Even though it was fairly late in the day, I indicated that I was keen to hike up to one of the viewpoints in the fjord. It was finally forecast to begin raining the next day and I didn’t want to be climbing in it. Ingebrigt gave us detailed directions, wished us well and we were off. We climbed for about 45 minutes and lost the trail in thick undergrowth. It was clear that the trail didn’t get a lot of use. I suspect that Ingebrigt, who it turns out was born here (the farm has been in his family for over 400 years), was the one who used the trails most often. Ingebrigt is a real Action Man who, even though he seems about ten years older than I am, seems like he could throw me over a shoulder and still climb the trail in half the time that I could while carrying nothing.

[Maryanne] I'm still not sure how I let Kyle talk me into these hikes. I'm always up for a nice amble through the wild flowers, but we seem to end up reaching some dramatic peak and really paying for the hike physically. This climb was not too demanding physically (certainly not an easy one either), but emotionally I was tightly strung the whole time. The path was difficult to keep track of (so I was worrying about getting lost), the undergrowth so thick it was hard to tell if we were treading on solid ground, boulders, or a void in the rocks (so I was nervous of one of us breaking an ankle and what then?). Luckily we didn't have to worry about it getting dark. I was exhausted by the time we made it to the top, and the climb down was just as unnerving as the one up. I was very glad to reach the boat, and happier still to realize that this is probably our last big hike in Norway... (Shhh, don't tell Kyle or he'll have me up another darn mountain).

[Kyle]We returned to the farm to make sure we had the right directions and were assured we were on the right trail. Just keep following the river, we were told, and the trail would become more apparent further on. We went back up and this time pressed on at the same spot. The trail eventually did become more apparent, but it wasn’t nice. It was heavily overgrown and very, very steep, requiring us to pull ourselves up with our hands in many places. We kept losing the trail. We would both stop and look around before one of us noticed a branch that had been sawed through or one of the far too infrequent trail markers; a 3” disc of wood on a string (a bit of wood in a tree, not so easy to spot), before pressing on through the thick growth.

The trail occasionally emerged from the dark forest onto a steeply slanting boulder, giving us a view of the entire valley and reminding us why we were putting ourselves through this. We also came close to one of the many booming waterfalls as it crashed by, making it necessary to shout to each other to be heard.




Finnaboten - a hidden treasure that few see

We climbed for 2½ hours before emerging at the top of the tree line to stunning views. The trail then climbed further up a rather scary and slightly unstable rock fall to the top, where we were rewarded with aerial views of the fjord and tiny Footprint below. {Maryanne: Kyle has a sadistic pleasure of climbing high enough so Footprint can be blotted out from view by your little finger at full arm's length - very high! And I'm daft enough to keep following him.. Fool me twice, eh?}


Finnaboten - View from atop
Then came the equally daunting task of making our way back down. Even though we were so sick of that stinking trail by then and wanted nothing more than to be done with it, we had to make a point of taking the way down almost as slowly as we went up. The super-steep trail and the uneven ground meant we were constantly in danger of falling or twisting an ankle. There was also the constant stress about losing the trail or trying to regain the trail lost. It was a small victory every time we passed something we recognized from the way up as we spent most of our time pretty unsure whether we were on the trail or not.

We arrived back at the farm at 11:30pm pretty glad to have that whole mess over with. Ingebrigt and Turin were still up (worrying over us, how embarrassing for us, and kind of them), so we chatted for a bit about the trail, the views and the farm. He said he was going to wait another half an hour and release the dog. “The dog will always find you, no matter where you are in the fjord. If you are off the trail, he will push on you until you are back on the trail, and then lead you down.” he said.

Good trick! We should have taken the dog with us the first time. We’d have been back an hour earlier.

They bid us goodnight and we returned to Footprint for a long sleep. I cracked the hatch above the bed so I could listen to the waterfalls as we dozed off. We weren’t up the next day until almost Noon.

We emerged a couple hours later, made our way up to the lounge, and spent the rest of the day enjoying a long meandering conversation with Turid accompanied by Alexander’s wonderful hospitality.

We were asked if we were staying for dinner. One look at the menu revealed that it was a tad out of our price range but we thought we'd just treat it as a special occasion and go for it. Alexander had made me the nicest mocha and Maryanne the nicest Indian Chai we’d had in a very long time and I was sure the rest of the meal would be as delicious. We didn’t have much cash so we asked if they took credit cards. “Sure, we do”, came the response. “as long as it’s not American.” Ooh, awkward {I think Turid was joking with us, I don't thing they currently take any credit cards yet, they're working on that}. Turid waved away our concerns and assured us that whatever we could come up with would be fine and told us to enjoy ourselves. I was relieved she did it in a nice Norwegian way and not the scary New Jersey way. You know: “How much you got?”