DAY 1: Setting off to row across the Baltic Sea. Today it begins.
Looking out across the water, Stockholm
Route: Djurgården, Stockholm → Stora Blotholmen island
DATE: Saturday, 24th August 2019
“The midday sun shone and the water was deceptively calm in the sheltered harbour of Djurgården. I couldn’t wait to get started.”
With the kit, drybags and safety equipment laid out on the grass, I did a quick scan and mental checklist - everything I needed to survive for life on the water was laid out in front of me. I have the bare minimum essentials and it looks good to go!
Once the boat is in the water, I systematically pack away each item in a strategic location for easy access into the two ends of this little boat. Thinking about what I might need and in what situation, and how accessible it needs to be. I’ll be sleeping on remote islands the whole way across, so I have basic, lightweight camping kit, a tiny Jetboil stove, enough food for 2 weeks, and enough water for the first 5 days. I’ll refill from freshwater island puddles or civilisation I find along the way.
Most importantly of all, I have a whole bag of snacks and a cheeky last minute packet of ginger biscuits in a pocket by my feet in easy reach from the rowing seat ;-p
Committed
With one foot in the water and one in the boat, I pointed Saga’s bow towards the channel and gently glided her away from the reed-covered bank.
As the shore crew began shrinking smaller and smaller into the distance until out of sight, I realised I’m committed. This is me. Out here on my own. With this small badass vagabond row boat for company.
“When I’m finally out on the water, I feel partly like I’m in heaven to be back rowing again, and partly apprehensive as to what lies ahead. Am I truly prepared?”
Only one way to find out!
Stepping into Saga the Vagabond row boat for the first time.
Saga, the Vagabond row boat
It’s my first time rowing Saga, so the next few days I’ll be getting to know her. I hope we’ll become good friends! For now, it’s like two strangers becoming acquainted. It’s clunky, unfamiliar and I’m playing it safe.
Secretly, I’m reminding myself how to row again. There’s about 30% that comes naturally, and 70% which is technique. Painstakingly refined technique, that comes from daily training and years of practice. And I’ve lost that.
I’ve coached other rowers and rowing teams before. My sister (who knows much more about rowing mastery) taught me a lot of what she knows. It’s all in my brain. Somewhere. I just need to find it.
For now, this technique is good enough, and it’s moving me forward (or backward if you like, since I’m facing the other way in a row-boat), and it’s fast enough to make good progress along my route.
Finding my way. . .
The navigation here is a complex minefield of islands, with many different routes and channels I could follow, some lead through to the other side, some lead to shallow water and submerged rocks. I need to get it right. It’s hard to map read while towing with a sliding seat, so I memorise it. The contours, the bearings, the channels, the shipping lanes. I’m following a pirate map in my head, and intermittently checking the ‘real’ map to be sure I get it right.
Navigating through the islands, channels and shipping lanes
Navigating this many channels whilst facing backwards is new to me. Saga and I are not yet at a point where we’re relying on trust.
Uh-Oh!
I feel sick.
Eek - time for those ginger biscuits - my secret sea sickness antidote!
Within 45 mins of rowing I’m surrounded by 100’s of other boats.
I’m being shaken around by waves coming in every direction, as what seems like, every boat in Stockholm is out on the water today, taking advantage of the brilliant Saturday afternoon sunshine and 30 degrees heat. Stockholm’s shipping lanes are suddenly the busiest place to be. And I need to be in them. At least for now.
Feeling concerned, I row on, churned up water all around me, waves bouncing off islands, then returning to collide into each other.
Sea-sickness has always been my weakness. And on a solo row, I won’t make it on my own if this lasts. After a week of planning, 45 minutes in the whole row feels in jeopardy.
Time to summon everything I’ve got. Adrenaline and fear are on board this boat with me now, so I summon logic and calmness to join me too. To counteract them, and make the ride more fun.
The stronger the feeling of seasickness within me, the more mind tools and techniques I draw upon. Rowing on, I reassure myself I know how to psychologically channel those feelings into motivation, drive and determination. I remind myself of the times I’ve overcome seasickness before. On the Pacific Ocean, for example, I sang Disney songs to myself for 3 days! So rather than tensing up and resisting, I let my body move and flow with the chaotic movements of the water.
Gradually the sea sickness subsides.
“I’ve got this”, I tell myself.
”I’ve got this.”
A floating circus
“As I row on the sun beams down scattering golden rays across the islands and bounces off the choppy water, creating blinding stars and glistening constantly. I’m squinting to see - my eyes wrinkled like a pirate’s. Yet I’m in heaven to be out here feeling the warm sunshine on my face.”
Grateful for the wind to keep me cool enough to row, I realise my pale English skin is probably at great risk of sunburn. It’s been 3 hours already.
I stop,
Eat,
and plaster myself in cautionary suncream.
This weather is sublime. I’m not used to this and I love it. Apparently the rest of Sweden thinks so too, and it seems every boat that exists is out on the water today!
—> Sailing boats and beautiful Swedish yachts - anyone into yachting will know they make the most beautiful boats up here.
—> Streamers
—> Motorboats
—> A old wooden pirate ship or two, and
—> Giant cruise ships, 14 stories high!
It’s boat-watching paradise! And all too often I have to stop rowing completely to let my jaw drop and my eyes jump out of my head as I watch yet another beautiful boat go by.
Funny thing is. They seem to be having the same response to me. A jaw-dropping - ‘what is that girl doing out here in a little row boat’ - expression.
There’s a shortcut for smaller boats through the narrow channel of Vaxholm, and I’m not the only one who wants to take this route. As the channel approaches the main shipping lane becomes increasingly crowded. I feel like I’m a small part of a floating circus with 100’s of other boats trying to squeeze through one narrow gap.
Vaxholm Fort
5 hours in. . .
“Whoa! That was intense.”
The narrowest channel yet. With more than 200 boats passing through in different directions. Plus 2 car ferries going across. All of us squeezing between the mainland and an impressive castle fort which consumes the whole island, it’s walls right up to the water's edge.
Getting through Vaxholm, with nothing but a couple of small oars is my biggest achievement of the day so far. Once I’m away from the chaos I turn into a quiet idyllic channel past some postcard painted wooden houses and stop to rest.
Do you remember the Shreddies advert from the 90’s? “Hunger Strikes' ' ... as soon as I stopped it hit me. I felt way, way hungrier than I could imagine. Jumping into this adventure with limited training means my body is burning vast amounts of calories which it’s not used to.
Time to eat, grabbing what I can, I surprised myself with how much I can consume in record time.
For the first time since setting off, I stop and reflect on the magnitude of what I’m doing. It’s sunk in and getting real now. Already in the first 5 hours of my journey, I feel like I’ve experienced more adventure than I usually would in months. Now that the adrenaline and sea-sickness has worn off, I’m settling into this. A rush of freedom and independence comes over me, as I start looking at potential islands to camp on.
A few quick navigation checks later, and I head on with a quiet playful excitement brewing deep within me of the adventures yet to come.
Rowing into the evening
Further out from land now and leaving some of the yachts and smaller boats behind, it’s late in the day and most boats have gone home. The giant cruisers coming in from Finland are all that remain.
The islands in this part are tall and hiding cruisers from diverging shipping lanes from my view. As the sound wraps around the islands too, trying to hear one coming downwind from me is hopeless.
They’re travelling faster out here, and there’s not much distance between the islands.
Rowing with my eyes wide and my strategy brain very much engaged, I reach fast as I spot the nose of each cruiser pop out from behind the islands, preempting which way it will turn, which shipping lane it will join, and calculating whether I’ll be safe, or need to sprint row to the best position to avoid the wash. And more importantly, avoid being squashed.
This has become a constant game that I play. Like a game of cat and mouse, but the cats are more than 1000 times bigger.
‘Home’
I’m glad to reach the island.
This is where I’ll camp tonight.
Happy. Setting foot on land after 8 hours of rowing.
After the last 3 hours of cruise ship dodging. And 8 hours of rowing which my body was not ready for. I’m done.
More food. More food again. Yoga and bed.
“The stars in the jet-black night sky fade away as my heavy eyelids close softly and my head sinks into my improvised puffer-jacket-pillow. This is ‘home’.”