The trip was easily the most amazing experience of my life.
I learned a lot, and it greatly increased my love of sailing.
The biggest highlights for me were sailing along the massive cliffs of Boeray, listening to the cries of gannets and sqas and the sound of waves breaking along the cliffs, and seeing the sweeping green hills of the Faroe Islands break off into jagged rocks that clawed the sky; but also just sitting on deck with a cup of tea after a hard sail and watching the sun set.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
From Paul Turci - Brooklyn, New York.
I completed the voyage from Iceland to Ireland aboard the sailing vessel Teddy. Looking back, I find it is a difficult task to describe the voyage in brief fashion and convey a true sense of the experiences we had on sea and land. Maybe Oliver’s short movies will provide the most accurate perspective, but then again, maybe not. People rarely see things with the same perspective. Three words come to mind that describe some of the experience: gratitude, unexpected and prehistoric.
Unexpected
18 July 2009. Fuglafjord, Faroe Islands. Teddy is tied up to an industrial pier in a small town. Oliver has been rattling pots and pans in an attempt to wake us. Soon we are having our first cup of morning coffee. Out of the blue, Captain Nick declares, “We must leave now.” We were hoping to walk into town and buy food (anything loaded with protein). Ian and Gaelan jumped up onto the pier and said they would go to the store and return in 20 minutes. There was something odd about Nick’s sudden urgency – beyond grumpy. As Oliver and I tried to debate this strategy of a rapid departure, Nick went down below, and a moment later we felt the rumble of Teddy’s engine starting. It’s safe to say that everyone except Nick was in a state of disbelief, listening to the engine idle. However, we all knew the debate was over. Nick directed Ian and Gaelan to untie the dock lines, and in three minutes we were underway heading south for St. Kilda. About an hour later, I was in the cabin when I felt the boat turning to starboard. I continued rummaging through the galley to find protein in some form other than butter. Then I heard the sound of the sails being taken down. I went up on deck to investigate. Oliver was steering and Nick and Ian were tying down the sails. Our new course was bringing us into another harbor. “That makes two surprises today, and we’ve only been up for three hours,” I remarked to no one in particular. An hour later we were underway again, with a fresh supply of bacon, chicken, ground beef, cream and milk. Now we could leave the Faroe Islands. However, three hours after leaving, we were in rough weather. Maybe one more night in the Faroes would be nice after all. We thought we would try to seek refuge on Sandoy, the southern-most of the islands, and we changed course. After a few hours of pounding into a parade of ugly waves and force 7 winds, we realized that we had been pushed too far south to reach our goal. Again, Captain Nick made a declaration: “we will be safer at sea.” Ian and I looked at each other for an instant. At that moment, we shared the same perspective – that of people who sail boats smaller than 25 feet and generally heed a small-craft advisory. Then, the third surprise came. Without a word or any effort of thinking, Ian and I came to the same conclusion: Nick’s perspective was the only one that mattered, and he had the advantage of being correct – in theory. Silently, I turned the wheel to bring Teddy to a compass heading of 150, and Ian adjusted the sails for our new course – safety would be the water between us and St. Kilda - 300 miles of ocean.
Prehistoric
From the southwest, we approached the island of Vagar in the Faroe Islands. We were treated to the awesome sight of jagged mountains rising from the sea. As we sailed closer, we were all hypnotized by this one mountain, pyramid shaped, standing alone, piercing the surface of the sea. The mountain itself was so steep that it seemed impossible for anyone to even attempt to walk upon it. It was covered with patches of lush, green grass. The peak, high above, was hidden in the clouds, and it seemed that we were seeing a place that no human had ever touched, a mountain formed just yesterday, a million years ago.
Gratitude
To Captain Nick, for sharing his boat and his knowledge of sailing the ocean, for voicing his doubts, and for guiding us with confidence. Cheers to Nick most of all, for coming up with the idea for the voyage, and making it happen. To Oliver, for cleaning up the stew in the sink that first night at sea, for making meals in the rolling and pitching and bobbing galley, for making noise with pots and pans in the morning to wake me up (it didn’t work on anyone else), for the laughter from an unending stream of jokes, for never being too tired to do the difficult tasks, and for taking the time to make short movies with your unique comments. To Ian for always being on the bow when the sails needed changing in rough seas, for fixing just about everything that needed fixing and then some that didn’t, for the hand drawn pictures, for getting Nick to stop for supplies before we left the Faroes, and for sharing the most positive outlook on the world. To Gaelan for contributions to the unending stream of jokes, for taking the bet and being dive-bombed by hawks on St. Kilda, for being the only 13 year-old on the voyage, and for never complaining, even when we made you drink beer. To Usha, for letting the two men in your life go to sea as never before. To Sean, for keeping abreast of our progress and feeding us the weather forecast when possible. To all those citizens in Clifden who brought tears to my eyes with their warm welcome home at Clifden Harbor on 29 July. To the North Atlantic Ocean, for all the waves and wind, especially off the west coast of Ireland.
Cheers!
Unexpected
18 July 2009. Fuglafjord, Faroe Islands. Teddy is tied up to an industrial pier in a small town. Oliver has been rattling pots and pans in an attempt to wake us. Soon we are having our first cup of morning coffee. Out of the blue, Captain Nick declares, “We must leave now.” We were hoping to walk into town and buy food (anything loaded with protein). Ian and Gaelan jumped up onto the pier and said they would go to the store and return in 20 minutes. There was something odd about Nick’s sudden urgency – beyond grumpy. As Oliver and I tried to debate this strategy of a rapid departure, Nick went down below, and a moment later we felt the rumble of Teddy’s engine starting. It’s safe to say that everyone except Nick was in a state of disbelief, listening to the engine idle. However, we all knew the debate was over. Nick directed Ian and Gaelan to untie the dock lines, and in three minutes we were underway heading south for St. Kilda. About an hour later, I was in the cabin when I felt the boat turning to starboard. I continued rummaging through the galley to find protein in some form other than butter. Then I heard the sound of the sails being taken down. I went up on deck to investigate. Oliver was steering and Nick and Ian were tying down the sails. Our new course was bringing us into another harbor. “That makes two surprises today, and we’ve only been up for three hours,” I remarked to no one in particular. An hour later we were underway again, with a fresh supply of bacon, chicken, ground beef, cream and milk. Now we could leave the Faroe Islands. However, three hours after leaving, we were in rough weather. Maybe one more night in the Faroes would be nice after all. We thought we would try to seek refuge on Sandoy, the southern-most of the islands, and we changed course. After a few hours of pounding into a parade of ugly waves and force 7 winds, we realized that we had been pushed too far south to reach our goal. Again, Captain Nick made a declaration: “we will be safer at sea.” Ian and I looked at each other for an instant. At that moment, we shared the same perspective – that of people who sail boats smaller than 25 feet and generally heed a small-craft advisory. Then, the third surprise came. Without a word or any effort of thinking, Ian and I came to the same conclusion: Nick’s perspective was the only one that mattered, and he had the advantage of being correct – in theory. Silently, I turned the wheel to bring Teddy to a compass heading of 150, and Ian adjusted the sails for our new course – safety would be the water between us and St. Kilda - 300 miles of ocean.
Prehistoric
From the southwest, we approached the island of Vagar in the Faroe Islands. We were treated to the awesome sight of jagged mountains rising from the sea. As we sailed closer, we were all hypnotized by this one mountain, pyramid shaped, standing alone, piercing the surface of the sea. The mountain itself was so steep that it seemed impossible for anyone to even attempt to walk upon it. It was covered with patches of lush, green grass. The peak, high above, was hidden in the clouds, and it seemed that we were seeing a place that no human had ever touched, a mountain formed just yesterday, a million years ago.
Gratitude
To Captain Nick, for sharing his boat and his knowledge of sailing the ocean, for voicing his doubts, and for guiding us with confidence. Cheers to Nick most of all, for coming up with the idea for the voyage, and making it happen. To Oliver, for cleaning up the stew in the sink that first night at sea, for making meals in the rolling and pitching and bobbing galley, for making noise with pots and pans in the morning to wake me up (it didn’t work on anyone else), for the laughter from an unending stream of jokes, for never being too tired to do the difficult tasks, and for taking the time to make short movies with your unique comments. To Ian for always being on the bow when the sails needed changing in rough seas, for fixing just about everything that needed fixing and then some that didn’t, for the hand drawn pictures, for getting Nick to stop for supplies before we left the Faroes, and for sharing the most positive outlook on the world. To Gaelan for contributions to the unending stream of jokes, for taking the bet and being dive-bombed by hawks on St. Kilda, for being the only 13 year-old on the voyage, and for never complaining, even when we made you drink beer. To Usha, for letting the two men in your life go to sea as never before. To Sean, for keeping abreast of our progress and feeding us the weather forecast when possible. To all those citizens in Clifden who brought tears to my eyes with their warm welcome home at Clifden Harbor on 29 July. To the North Atlantic Ocean, for all the waves and wind, especially off the west coast of Ireland.
Cheers!
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
From Nick Kats
The Trip was splendid.
Sailing to Iceland developed my confidence as an offshore sailor. Connemara is a rockbound coast with few markers & harbours, and the weather is often intense. My land-bound instincts as a coastal sailor were inappropriate. I needed to learn to enjoy being offshore, and to see the sea as a refuge.
The changing of the nights was neat. We left Clifden shortly after the summer solstice, when the Irish night is 4 hours long and star visibility is poor. With a northing of 2 degrees of latitude a day, the nights rapidly shortened. From the Faroes on there was no night. How small the globe seemed to be! The return trip began well after the solstice. Darkness reappeared much sooner as we went south, and became satisfyingly black. There were 2 nights rich in stars off St. Kilda.
It was a pleasure to learn from an experienced crew. Eric put a reef line on the mainsail and showed me how to reef rapidly. Jan worked out practical setups with the sheets and blocks. Oliver demonstrated the shocking effectiveness of motor-sailing against gale, tide & cross chop rounding Achill Head.
I am now thinking in terms of longer trips. A week at sea gives a range of a thousand miles. This opens a world rich in possibilities. The north offers wilderness and small communities of people. We’ll go north next year.
Sailing to Iceland developed my confidence as an offshore sailor. Connemara is a rockbound coast with few markers & harbours, and the weather is often intense. My land-bound instincts as a coastal sailor were inappropriate. I needed to learn to enjoy being offshore, and to see the sea as a refuge.
The changing of the nights was neat. We left Clifden shortly after the summer solstice, when the Irish night is 4 hours long and star visibility is poor. With a northing of 2 degrees of latitude a day, the nights rapidly shortened. From the Faroes on there was no night. How small the globe seemed to be! The return trip began well after the solstice. Darkness reappeared much sooner as we went south, and became satisfyingly black. There were 2 nights rich in stars off St. Kilda.
It was a pleasure to learn from an experienced crew. Eric put a reef line on the mainsail and showed me how to reef rapidly. Jan worked out practical setups with the sheets and blocks. Oliver demonstrated the shocking effectiveness of motor-sailing against gale, tide & cross chop rounding Achill Head.
I am now thinking in terms of longer trips. A week at sea gives a range of a thousand miles. This opens a world rich in possibilities. The north offers wilderness and small communities of people. We’ll go north next year.
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