What a fun but exhausting few days we have had. It all began on Saturday evening as we were sipping wine by candlelight (no, not from any romantic inclinations, just hoping the flame would warm the boat up a bit) and chatting about what to do next. I was flipping through some guide books trying to drum up a bit of enthusiasm for a visit to one of the many islands around here. Because I am a serial chatterbox I was reading out the good parts to my dear long-suffering husband and amid all of the rambling I happened to mention that I'd read a bit about the Tall Ships in the newspaper.

Perhaps I ought to clarify just how I came to have a newspaper in the middle of the archipelago with no shops for miles around. An enterprising marina at Dalarö has started a service that they literally call "the bun boat" (bullbåtar). These powerboats go around daily to many of the most popular nature harbours and approach the boats moored there offering fresh bread, milk, danish pastries, ice cream, strawberries, cream, lollies and the daily paper. As you can see here....




We are usually okay for most things on the boat, though sometimes I weaken and buy some calorie-laden, but utterly irresistible danish pastries and the newspaper. Especially if it is on the weekend, as often the weekend newspapers have a lot of interesting cultural and literary liftouts and magazine sections. So on Saturday, I had bought one and spent an enjoyable time reading through it and catching up with world news.

Anyway, I said that I'd read the 118 boats were to leave Stockholm on Monday morning, holding a parade of honour out to Sandhamn (the Cowes of Sweden) where they would begin the next leg to Szczecin in Poland. "Are you sure?" Lars-Göran asked "Was it definitely Sandham?" He wanted to see where I'd read it and would you believe that I couldn't find it! Murphy's Law at its best once again. However, I am a stubborn person and I re-scoured every section of the damn paper again and finally found the few lines I needed.

"You do realise that there are only two possible routes out of Stockholm to Sandhamn for big boats" he said, "and they converge here" pointing to a place on the chart just a couple of nautical miles south of where we were. I didn't know that, but naturally I didn't let my ignorance show and just nodded in what I hoped was a wise, all-knowing fashion. He thought we could move the boat on Sunday, mooring close to that point, then watch the passing parade. He assured me that the forecast was for rain overnight and in the morning, but a fine day afterwards and fine again on Monday. Quite why he believed that the Swedish meteorological service should get this right when they are so often wrong is a complete mystery to me.




As it turned out, the forecast was partly right in that it rained during the night and for part of the morning. But as soon as the rain stopped, Lars-Göran decided that it was over for the day and that we could take off for a look around this group of islands and find a new place to stay for the night. I was a little more sceptical, looking at the dark clouds massed on the horizon, so I agreed, but only if we all wore oilskins and wellies. Which was just as well, because not ten minutes after we left our bay, the rain began to pelt down torrentially for the next hour. And no, it was not a light, gentle sprinkling shower, but the full monty with the rain smashing against the boat like gobbets of wet, cold lead.

AAAArrrrrggggghhhhhh.......

Famous last words, indeed.

You know, I just can't get over the run of bad weather we have been experiencing this summer. Those low pressure systems are hugging the Swedish coast more determinedly than the Ancient Mariner's bloody albatross. We sat huddled under our umbrellas in near zero visibility and tried to make light of the situation. The only other possible alternative was to cry and I was already wet enough. Instead we looked at the passing islands and hoped that the brisk wind would bring us swiftly to an ideal mooring place.




We thought about several places, but eventually settled on Gällnö as both an interesting place to visit and close enough to the action. According to the harbour books, it is an oddly shaped island with about 30 permanent inhabitants. The landscape is a mixture of thick pine forests, cultivated farmlands and many small bays. It sounded just the kind of place where we would enjoy spending a lazy Sunday. So we zigzagged through various islands in the rain, deciding on a bay on the western side of the Gällnö, just near Hemfladen and overlooking a pretty little skerry.




It's interesting that we have normally shunned this central part of the archipelago with its forest clad islands. To our eyes, from out on the water, the landscape looked a little dark, closed-in, boring and "safe" compared to the stark, bare and open rocks of the outer islands. However, this year we have realised that that only holds true in stable weather. In the wet, gusty conditions we have had this summer, the outer archipelago has been a struggle and now we are more concerned that we find somewhere calm and safe to anchor.

The bay we chose was quite shallow, so we didn't need to lay out too much anchor chain. Which was just as well, as there seemed to be a jam in the system somewhere. When cursing and brute force had no impact, we went down to the forepeak, took apart the bed, opened the anchor box and found this:




It's quite a mess, isn't it? A tangle rather reminiscent of the Gordian Knot, though I fear it will take something more than Alexander's sword to fix it. Hmmm... maybe later. By now the promised sunshine appeared, everything started to dry off and we thought we'd grab the chance to take the dinghy around to visit the main village nearby and walk around a little of this island.

Lars-Göran was in quite a hurry, urging us into the boat and quickly motoring to the pier. I was wondering quite what the rush was all about, but that mystery was solved as we tied up and I spotted the little waving clown by the landing. What else could cause him to break into a run but icecream!




Honestly, sometimes it's like going out with a toddler when it comes to shops selling ice-cream. He can't bear to go past without sampling its wares. How he stays so rake thin, I'll never know. Of course, he claims he wants to get ME an icecream, even though he knows I don't like them and rarely eat them.

The big rush was all in vain, though, as the shop was shut. They had a few Sunday papers outside and you could take one and leave the money in a tin on top. I love this sense of trust and while I marvelled at it when I saw the bakery in Harstena offering the same service, this is a little more surprising as we are but a 30 minute ferry ride from Stockholm!

The walk up through the village and out along the island pathways proved to be lovely. For a while, the only sound we heard other than our own footsteps was that of the birds in the trees, the cows in the fields and the wind in the grass.




The silence is a surprise when you read that the name of the island came from an Icelandic word gjallr, meaning a loud noise. Several hundred years ago when the place was named, it was not a single island, but rather numerous small islets. Land rising has joined them all now, but then the water between all of the rocks and skerries was filled with reefs and breakers which would rumble and roar in stormy weather. But today it is calm, sunny and above all quiet.

All around us lay pasture land, hay meadows and tiny patches of tilled land surrounded by thick forests. Those few cows, untrammeled by fences, leisurely grazed while the hay lay drying in the sun in big hay ricks.




With the beautiful summer light, it is almost a Monet-like scene, though I do have to admit that these traditional hay ricks really crack me up as they look like great hairy yaks wandering across the fields. Well, maybe not yaks as I don't really know what one looks like, but some kind of animal anyway.




Soon we left the bright, golden fields and made our way into the cool, shaded forest. It really is a whole other world in here with such intense greens in contrast to the bleached yellows in the pastures. The path winds through the shrubs, it is damp and cool and our footsteps are muffled by the thick undergrowth. Sometimes a raindrop falls from a leaf onto us and we are surrounded by absolute silence. Suddenly I think I hear the sound of a woodpecker. I stop and listen carefully. No. Nothing. So we move on. I love walking through the forest as there is always something interesting to see. We came across an enchanted, atmospheric little place with a wooden gate leading to who knows where. In an instant, I was immediately transported into a Hans Christian Andersen fairy story.




And as if to keep in that magical theme, a short time later we came across a big patch of bluebells. I carefully blocked my ears and walked around them so as not to tempt fate and bring out the fairies. My gran used to fill me her tales full of rich European folklore. Another tale she told me of times past, was that forests were quite forbidding places and among the things people believed was that bluebells rang out to summon fairies to their gatherings. Alas, any human who heard a bluebell ring would die. Better to be safe, I thought.




We had another feast of forest fruits as we rambled along. My intrepid husband found yet more berries and in a section adjacent to a sunny field, we struck gold in the form of cherry trees. I was ecstatic and swooped on the trees like a flock of wild birds, gorging myself on the luscious summer fruit. A freshly picked cherry is summer itself.




We moved on and the forest soon grew thicker shutting out most of the light, but we didn't mind. After the morning's rain everything was a fresh, fragrant shade of green. Suddenly, as we rounded a bend and we started to wonder just how far this path would take us, it began to get brighter. The forest started to thin out and we could hear the sound of water lapping against stone. Within a couple of minutes, we found ourselves in a bay full of yachts. A careful look around showed us that we were facing the island of Hjälmö and that we had looked at this bay earlier in the day from the boat.




(As an aside, I have no idea what is going on with the woman on the rocks in her Bergmanesque pose of utter despair. Though given the weather lately, I'd also be considering ending it all.)

We walked back via the fields towards the little village and on the way, we passed a field where we stopped for a while to watch a cat busy stalking a couple of cheeky magpies. We had Lambi with us, who was obliviously sniffing at the grass near the edge of the paddock. The cat swung around and threw us a really black look as though to say "Go away. You are cramping my style. And take that revolting, white fluffy thing with you!" God, I just love cat attitude.




It's lovely here and I guess to most people it would seem to be a tourist's paradise. But there are relatively few tourists to be seen in these islands even at the height of summer. It is true there are many red summer cottages and in July the waters teem with sailing boats, but there is still a sense of being "away from it all". There are no chartered buses full of sweaty tourists, no pubs, cafés or ghastly souvenir stands. The Swedes are far too protective of their island heritage to let it be spoiled by mass tourism. And I am really grateful for that.




Gällnö is very well preserved and gives you a glimpse of how the archipelago looked in the older times. The landscape is kept open by farming and grazing and life continues here at much the same relaxed pace as it did formerly. It's so good to find a place with real atmosphere and with most of its original buildings still intact and in such good repair. Most houses and barns here are built in a typical archipelago way - the red wooden houses with white edging and surrounded by fragrant lilac or bird cherry bushes. Down by the tiny harbour is the only settlement with the old boat houses. Due to its living agriculture, I think this island is one of Stockholm archipelago's best preserved cultural landscapes, with its pastures, fields, forests and the beautiful smooth rocks on the shore.




Monday morning, we woke to sunshine (does a happy dance) and set off early to catch a good spot from which to view the passing boat parade. It was very busy out on the water, with everyone having the same idea. We had thought to head for Sollenkroka, but guessed from the sheer amount of boat traffic and people lining the shore that it would be bedlam there. I was really surprised at how many people turned out to farewell the fleet. It seemed that every summer house along the shore was having a party with people outside ready to wave and every cliff top vantage point was crammed with well wishers. I swear that nearly all of Stockholm must be here today.




We finally found an opening on a small island facing the route and sailed in. Several others were in the same place, but had chosen to tie up to land and take their deck chairs over to the other side to watch from the shore. That sounded like too much work, so we anchored where we could get a view without having to leave the comforts of our own boat.




We then set about waiting impatiently for the fleet to reach us. The Tall Ships' Race is the biggest annual event for large sailing vessels in the world. It is a combination of sailing races between selected ports and festivals while in the ports. Now in its 51st year, the event brings together some of the biggest sailing ships in the world. This year the event is being held between four Baltic ports.

The ships left Århus in Denmark on July 9th, and headed for Kotka in Finland. They arrived in Stockholm on Friday, and today they are headed to Szczecin in Poland. You can see the route on this map:




This is not the first time that the race has visited Stockholm. The last times they were here was in 2000 and in 1997. Lars-Göran went out in his boat with his brother and nephews right into the heart of the city to see it all. But back then it was glorious summer weather. Built as it is on islands, totally surrounded by water, Stockholm is a perfect port for such a visit.



The elegance of the old sailing ships would complement the beautiful old architecture. Stockholm is also a fantastic place for them to come, because they can moor right in the middle of the old city. In many other places, they have to moor outside of the city centre, which is not as good.




This was a highly anticipated visit and apparently the ships were given a great welcome. I read that the Mexican ship Cuauhtémoc sailed into Stockholm with all of the crew giving a traditional salute by standing in the rigging (as you can see in this photo from the daily Dagens Nyheter). With at least half of the ships’ crew members being aged between 15 and 25, all I can say is that they must be fit. The wind is quite brisk today, so I doubt there will be any showing off like that.

Just as we were beginning to give up hope of seeing anything, the first boats came into view - and what an amazing sight they were.




The Tall ships help keep alive the history of ocean navigation. Today, ships such as these call to mind images of merchant ships from long ago and pirates in their heyday during the eighteenth century. It was wonderful to watch them glide through the water, accompanied by a flotilla of small craft. It's staggering to think that there are over 100 ships taking place in the parade. How amazing that people care enough to restore these wonderful ships and keep the romance of sailing alive. You can see photos of some of the other boats at Tugboatlars

We were particularly interested in seeing some of the bigger boats and were rewarded with first the Polish boat Dar Mlodziezy.




At at 108m she is enormous. A little later we saw the 1920's Russian barque Kruzenhstern (at 113m long) emerge from behind the islands and sail into view, followed by the biggest boat in the fleet - Sedov, which at 117m is also the largest sailing ship in the world. The ship, a sail training barque owned by the University of Murmansk, was built in 1920 and can accommodate a staggering 320 people.




By now we were eager to be out there ourselves and as the Sedov passed, we took up anchor and headed out into the fairway to join in the crush of boats accompanying the fleet. It was really turbulent in the water, with cross seas caused by the hundreds of propellers churning up the sea. It was crowded, crazy and bumpy but the atmosphere was tremendous and it was a privilege to travel along with these lovely old ships.

At one stage, I did a double take when I saw the boat next to us. We both thought that it might be Mejt, a very well known sailing boat that once belonged to the Swedish painter Anders Zorn.




He sailed around these waters and used the boat as a floating studio. Apparently a later owner of the boat (also a Swedish artist) secretly burned the boat as it was allowed to get into such poor condition. He had a replica secretly built that he now tries to pass off as the original. But no-one is fooled. As it turned out, this was not Mejt but one of her sister boats. Still a beautiful old wooden archipelago cruiser.




We wound our way down towards Sandhamn. Along the way we passed Sollenkroka where we had thought to moor and it was indeed as crowded as Show Bag Alley on the first day of the Royal Show, so it was just as well we didn't try and squeeze in there. I still can't get over how many people are here. We so enjoyed being a part of the parade, but we did not want to go into Sandhamn, which would no doubt resemble the first day of the post-Christmas sales. Instead we said farewell to the ships near Stavsnäs and as they headed east, we turned south to look for a harbour for the night.




A couple of hours later, we wearily anchored at Munkö in a quiet and pretty little bay and talked about what it was like to be among all of that history. One of the most amazing things I'll remember about this day is being at sea right in the middle of it all. The Tall ships surrounding us making us feel as though we are in an old naval battle, or part of King Gustav II Adolf's fleet heading off to the Thirty Year War.