DAY 2 (Part 1): Weaving through the Archipelago
Waking up to the sun dancing through the birch leaves
Route: Stora Blotholmen Island → Ålandet Island
DATE: Sunday, 25th August 2019
Number of blisters: 13
“Waking up looking up into the trees and the sky above feels like a dream.
As I gently opened my eyes to the morning sunlight, I realised where I was and smiled.
“I could feel my soul dancing on the inside, eager to go. In contrast, my aching body was aching body nuzzling deeper into the pillow-like moss on the forest floor, enjoying the rest and longing for this moment never to end.”
Resting, recuperating, and day-dreaming about the day ahead, I found myself staring up into the morning sky, becoming lost as I watched the birch leaves rustling in the breeze above me. Sleeping out under the stars feels like home.
It’s good to be back, I’m finally doing it, I thought to myself. I’m doing my thing.
As the leaves danced in the golden morning sunlight and the smell of birch and pine rode with the softness of the breeze. Nothing but the soothing sound of the water lapping over a small pebbled shore, the gentle wind, and the birds around me, this is bliss. My belly rumbled like a monster, breaking the peace and silence of the island.
Ouch!
As I became more awake my awareness turned to the heavy, lead-like feeling in my limbs. Wow, my body ached. Reminding myself and making a mental note, that this is why people ‘train’ for sport. On the other hand, I feel grateful that I’m doing it anyway! This trip is about having fun, not about setting any records! I’ll go at my own pace. My belly rumbles again, louder than before. Embarrassingly loud. I wonder if the locals heard that from the mainland. Time to eat.
One of the best things about adventures, is that I can eat as much as I like! And whatever I like, guilt-free. Time to indulge! One high-calorie porridge and triple-rations hot chocolate coming right up!
A ‘bucket-load’ of brekkie and hot chocolate!
The Island
The island itself was no more than 30 meters (98 feet) across, the tiny strip of ‘beach’ I’ve found to tuck Saga in for the night was less than 2 meters (7 feet) long. I slept 5 meters (16 feet) away from her in a forest clearing amongst the trees.
Despite being small in size, this island was abundant with natural resources. Wood to make a small fire and rocks to warm beside it. Birch leaves and spruce pines for soap and moss for a sponge, even some sand to exfoliate with, #wildernessluxuries, and blueberry for breakfast in the morning (my all-time favourite!)
Plan ‘A’
Yesterday, I didn’t get as far as I’d hoped to. Plan A was pretty ambitious, I’ll admit. I set out to row out to the farthest island (or “rock” is probably a more appropriate description) in the archipelago, I would camp there and then wake up early for the open crossing, and row across the Baltic Sea and into the first island of Finland.
Secretly I’d hoped to get to the rock ready to row across on Monday - the weather looked perfect! It would be the safest and most comfortable day to cross in weeks. You couldn’t ask for more perfect conditions than low swell, moderate sunshine, and, my favourite, a tailwind.
I dreamed of such a crossing, and that dream had pushed me through the full 8 hours of rowing yesterday.
Looking at my speed, my progress and the route that lies ahead, I would need to row double today to make it to ‘the rock’ before Monday. I thought to myself it’s simply not feasible. I want to be in peak condition for the crossing, and not stretch myself that much on the second day.
“There’s a small window on Tuesday where a crossing could be possible. Not ideal, but still, possible. I will aim for that! If I don’t make it to the rock by tomorrow, I could be stranded for days and run out of food before I can cross.”
Knowing that today and tomorrow’s progress will be critical, I jump into Saga the rowboat, and set off...
Self - care 101
Gripping the oars and taking my first stroke of the day I set off. It was the first time this trip I experienced the fire shooting through my hands and fingers. Releasing the oars and turning my palms upwards I realize 13 brand new blisters staring back up at me.
15 mins later, with my new set of fully taped and padded palms and fingers, I glide off, through the stillness of the calm morning water. Leaving nothing but an elegant trail of perfectly placed ripples where my oars touched the water.
Puddles! Any good flat water rower will tell you the importance of good puddles. Not to mention, the joy of the trail of patterns they make on the water as you pass by.
Weaving through the islands
Like a pond skater gliding across a giant pond, I felt like I was in my element this morning.
“It was like something deep within me was telling me that being here in this moment, rowing, is exactly what I needed to do. Rowing is so much more than a hobby, it’s a passion, it’s a part of me. ”
Chuffed with my choice of route, I found myself weaving through the small, overgrown, wild islands and away from the shipping lane with bigger waves. I glided on, rowing further along my route. This shortcut has turned out to be a total success. Perhaps I will make the crossing after all!
The cool morning air and calmness of the water is a soothing relief from yesterday's scorching sunshine and the never-ending frenzy of other boats on the water.
Today, by contrast, is remote and I have this stunning wilderness almost all to myself. In 2 hours of rowing, I only saw one other human. An old man with kind, weathered eyes in a rustic wooden rowing boat. Both him and the boat had aged well and were going strong. We smiled at each other - a mutual acknowledgment - a shared passion of the utter bliss of rowing on mornings like these. That twinkle in our eyes which says we are in utter heaven. As we glide past, rowing away from each other in opposite directions.
Passing Islands
Helicopter search and rescue
Several blissful hours later...
“The helicopter hovered low overhead. Rescue boats began to surround me.”
What’s going on? You know that awkward moment when a stranger waves at you and you look behind to see who they’re waving at and there’s no-one else behind you. I did that. Only to find no-one else there.
I have a SPOT tracker safety device with me which has a button I can press if I’m in trouble. It will automatically trigger a call to the emergency services. Growing up without technology like this it still blows my mind how much safer things are today.
I grabbed the tracker, to check that I hadn't accidentally set off a distress signal. Nothing. Just the simple location tracking light flashing as normal. No accidental distress signal. They’re not here looking for me. Phew!
Spot Tracker
But who? Apart from the old man there’s no one else here - I hope he’s ok.
Feeling nosey and curious, I turn my VHF radio to full volume to listen out for any search and rescue chat over the radio. Again, nothing.
Unlike most other countries, Swedish sailors seem to use their mobile phones rather than VHF radio. They have extremely good coverage, and I have a suspicion that everyone seems to know everyone here. Which luckily for me made it so much easier to track down the right kind of people who would know where to find a row boat, kit, sponsors, and a training team, in the space of a few days.
Scanning, searching every beach, pontoon and cove, all seven of the search and rescue boats and the helicopter swept through the landscape of waterspace and islands.
“I’m impressed. The organization and responsiveness of this Swedish Coast Guard (the Kustbevakningen) makes me feel really safe out here.”
For the next few hours, I kept an eye out for anything unusual as I rowed, and accepted that I probably won’t find out the story behind all these rescue boats on a peaceful Sunday morning. Perhaps they’re training - just in case they’re not, I make a little wish in my mind that everyone is safe. Imagining any lost people being rescued and returned to safety. And I row on, exploring my way past new islands, enjoying the peaceful waterways of this idyllic Swedish Sunday.
Running the Gauntlet
Before long I was back in the main shipping lane.
Giant yellow car ferries steamed across the channel. Swedish-ly efficient in their turnaround time. With a continuous flow of cars, the ferry docks then simultaneously unloads and loads cars before setting off from the dock again in record time, a matter of seconds or a couple of minutes after arriving. On the map, it looks like a continuous road. In reality, there are ferries shuttling traffic across the water.
They’re wide, there’s 2 of them going back and forth. They are fast, many times faster than me and this teeny tiny rowboat. The distance I need to safely cross seems daunting and big. Although Saga and I are getting better at rowing together, we haven’t tested race pace yet.
Now’s the time!
We started lining ourselves up, trying to guess where the yellow giant will pass about 100 meters (328 feet) out from the shore. Getting close enough to make the sprint crossing shorter but not too close that the yellow giant runs me over.
“My oars are poised ready to go, as I bob around in position, waiting. The moment the yellow giant flies past Saga’s bow, I heave on the oars and start sprinting.”
Riding up into the wake of these big boats. Sending power down through my legs hinging on the sliding seat and utilizing my body weight to leaver the oars against the water and the waves. Finding a rhythm and building speed, I reach my race pace. Sending every ounce of power I have down through the oars. Saga lifts through the waves, like someone pressed a big red turbo-charge button. This rowboat races well. She’s quicker than I imagined and handling the rougher water easily in her stride, this moment, is what she was built for. With everything aligned, it feels like the boat and I are one creature. The oars are an extension of my arms, the hull an extension of my legs. Moving together. Seamlessly, powerfully, and in a way where everything just ‘flows’. It’s moments like this which give me that buzz and remind me just how much I love rowing.
The car ferry roars to a halt with its stern engines on full throttle and the sound of creaking metal from the giant beast fills the air. It won’t be long before this yellow giant turns - I have to get out of her path, fast! Reaching the halfway point, I turn up my ‘engines’. Just in case, and partly for fun - Saga flys!
Making it across, I lift the oars just off the water and glide for a satisfyingly long time before I stop. Then bobbing like a duck as I watch the car ferry pass, totally oblivious to my little fight across it’s path. Like a mouse running in front of an elephant, relieved it didn’t get squashed.
In the flow!
From this point forward, I’d remembered how to row. Found my flow and built my confidence. It’s been a long time since I raced, but regatta race rowing is something my subconscious muscle-memory will never forget. Apart from one training session with SPIF Roddförening, a local Swedish team, it’s been almost 5 years since I was in a row boat. And now I’m back, it feels like yesterday.
It’s been a great day so far today, and a long, mostly peaceful row, giving me so much time to think and reflect. I pass the time, looking back over my life, and looking forward to what might be next.