I'm pushing off tomorrow to face the cold winds of Valhalla on a run south to Ireland and Wales. Forecasts look reasonable and I should be drinking a Felinfoel within two weeks. I'll post again from Wales with some pictures and clips of the sail down. Check back in two weeks ... or so.
hwyl!,
Simon
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Friday, August 29, 2008
a rough night
The low pressure system I'm planning to hop a ride south on has been playing up. Last night it blew a steady 40 knots with gust 60+. Despite being in a sheltered harbour Ara' Deg groaned and heeled all night just from the force of the wind against mast and rigging.
The flag got ripped off. The pole snapped. Luckily it remained in the cockpit so Y Ddraig Coch will fly again!
Still planning an a Sunday departure as by then the winds will have decreased and veered to the east. At least according to the latest forecast.
It's then going to a game of strategy mixed with some luck as I weave my way down between constantly shifting low pressure systems. The journey should take between 10 and 20 days, depending on my fortune. Let's say 15 then.
The flag got ripped off. The pole snapped. Luckily it remained in the cockpit so Y Ddraig Coch will fly again!
Still planning an a Sunday departure as by then the winds will have decreased and veered to the east. At least according to the latest forecast.
It's then going to a game of strategy mixed with some luck as I weave my way down between constantly shifting low pressure systems. The journey should take between 10 and 20 days, depending on my fortune. Let's say 15 then.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
waiting on weather
An American sail boat arrived shortly after the Belgians and Bismark II left. When I came back from the library yesterday it had departed and I was the only sail boat left in the harbour. But before night fell it was back! I guess it stuck it nose out and realized the winds were from the south.
This morning I dragged myself out of bed and looked around. Two more sail boats have arrived. A wooden 50 ft + wooden gaff rig from France “Nortre Dame des Flots” that I had seen previously seen tied up at the yacht club in Reykjavik. Another sail boat from England (home port Plymouth) has arrived. After a summer of sailing around Iceland they are getting ready for the voyage home.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I keep an eye on the larger picture by downloading weather files and forecasts from www.grib.us. It’s a free service and you can get a 7 day forecast displaying wind speeds and directions in 3 hour intervals anywhere in the world.
Up here in the far north it works like this:
Low pressure systems, like giant cartwheels a thousand miles or more across, roam from west to east in an erratic fashion. The cartwheels always spin in an anticlockwise motion. The trick is to get on these global merry-go-rounds at the right time and ride them as far as you can to your destination.
I’m waiting for the centre of a giant low pressure system to move south and east of us so I can jump on it for a ride south. Everyday I check the forecasts religiously. Current forecasts suggest a Sunday departure. But it could be sooner if the low pressure system decides to pick up its pace.
Once off, my goal is to go directly south so as to avoid headwinds from the next approaching low pressure system. One I get below, say, 55 degrees N, I should be able to rely on westerlies (or to put it another way, the bottom of the low pressure systems) to take me to Ireland and Wales.
On land one wants to know from weather forecasts how warm, cold, sunny, cloudy, rainy, it’s going to be. When sailing long distance these concerns are of little consequence. The only thing that really matters is wind speed and direction.
At the bottom of the blog I’ve posted a chart that shows how the wind system should look like midnight tonight. The red boat is my current location. The black dots connected by lines is the projected course of the center of the low pressure system. Each dot resents 24 hours of movement.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I’ve always had an interest in languages. Icelandic is an old Norse tongue as spoken by the Vikings over a thousand years ago. But all the Germanic languages (including English) sound similar to the ear. ‘Got tag’ they say for ‘good day’. ‘Thanks’ is simply ‘tak’. They say ‘sex’ for ‘six’. I wonder what they say for ‘sex’. Six?
Speaking of language and literature, I’m reading, for the second time, a book I bought just before I left Wales. It’s called Gwylliaid Glyndwr (The Glyndwr Bandits) published by Y Lolfa. It’s one of the funniest and most enjoyable books I’ve read for a long time. The story revolves around the theft of the Pennal Letter from the National Library of Wales in Aberystwyth and includes collaborators from Manchester, thugs from London, the French Secret Service, Welsh bureaucratic buffoons, as well as an odd assortment of slightly mad Welsh nationalists.
If there is anyone back home who reads this blog and can read Welsh (two people come to mind) who might be interested just say and I’ll pass it on to you once I’m back on Welsh soil.
Hwyl nawr,
Simon
This morning I dragged myself out of bed and looked around. Two more sail boats have arrived. A wooden 50 ft + wooden gaff rig from France “Nortre Dame des Flots” that I had seen previously seen tied up at the yacht club in Reykjavik. Another sail boat from England (home port Plymouth) has arrived. After a summer of sailing around Iceland they are getting ready for the voyage home.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I keep an eye on the larger picture by downloading weather files and forecasts from www.grib.us. It’s a free service and you can get a 7 day forecast displaying wind speeds and directions in 3 hour intervals anywhere in the world.
Up here in the far north it works like this:
Low pressure systems, like giant cartwheels a thousand miles or more across, roam from west to east in an erratic fashion. The cartwheels always spin in an anticlockwise motion. The trick is to get on these global merry-go-rounds at the right time and ride them as far as you can to your destination.
I’m waiting for the centre of a giant low pressure system to move south and east of us so I can jump on it for a ride south. Everyday I check the forecasts religiously. Current forecasts suggest a Sunday departure. But it could be sooner if the low pressure system decides to pick up its pace.
Once off, my goal is to go directly south so as to avoid headwinds from the next approaching low pressure system. One I get below, say, 55 degrees N, I should be able to rely on westerlies (or to put it another way, the bottom of the low pressure systems) to take me to Ireland and Wales.
On land one wants to know from weather forecasts how warm, cold, sunny, cloudy, rainy, it’s going to be. When sailing long distance these concerns are of little consequence. The only thing that really matters is wind speed and direction.
At the bottom of the blog I’ve posted a chart that shows how the wind system should look like midnight tonight. The red boat is my current location. The black dots connected by lines is the projected course of the center of the low pressure system. Each dot resents 24 hours of movement.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I’ve always had an interest in languages. Icelandic is an old Norse tongue as spoken by the Vikings over a thousand years ago. But all the Germanic languages (including English) sound similar to the ear. ‘Got tag’ they say for ‘good day’. ‘Thanks’ is simply ‘tak’. They say ‘sex’ for ‘six’. I wonder what they say for ‘sex’. Six?
Speaking of language and literature, I’m reading, for the second time, a book I bought just before I left Wales. It’s called Gwylliaid Glyndwr (The Glyndwr Bandits) published by Y Lolfa. It’s one of the funniest and most enjoyable books I’ve read for a long time. The story revolves around the theft of the Pennal Letter from the National Library of Wales in Aberystwyth and includes collaborators from Manchester, thugs from London, the French Secret Service, Welsh bureaucratic buffoons, as well as an odd assortment of slightly mad Welsh nationalists.
If there is anyone back home who reads this blog and can read Welsh (two people come to mind) who might be interested just say and I’ll pass it on to you once I’m back on Welsh soil.
Hwyl nawr,
Simon
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
holding my cards
Every day I check the longterm weather forecasts as if my life depended on it. Maybe it does.
The Belgians sailed off this morning - but they're headed west over the top of Scotland and down the east coast on Britain. So sailing today makes sense.
I'm headed south, possibly down the west coast of Ireland so I wait for more favorable conditions.
The German in his 25 ton steal monster (which I've nicknamed "Bismark II") is heading out for the Mediterranean later today. I told him he'd be better waiting a few days but he set on today and that's that. He seems enthusiastic but not too bright.
An American boat just sailed in to take the place the Belgians had vacated. I'll have to call by to what's up.
All for now,
Simon
The Belgians sailed off this morning - but they're headed west over the top of Scotland and down the east coast on Britain. So sailing today makes sense.
I'm headed south, possibly down the west coast of Ireland so I wait for more favorable conditions.
The German in his 25 ton steal monster (which I've nicknamed "Bismark II") is heading out for the Mediterranean later today. I told him he'd be better waiting a few days but he set on today and that's that. He seems enthusiastic but not too bright.
An American boat just sailed in to take the place the Belgians had vacated. I'll have to call by to what's up.
All for now,
Simon
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Rubbish quality but not squished!
Below is a few clips I took with my digital camera sailing from Noddy Bay, Newfoundland to Reykjavik, Iceland. 22 days condensed into 2 minutes. At least this time it isn't squished like the last attempt.
When I sailed in to Vestmannaeyjar here on Wednesday it was warm and sunny - really delightful. But then the honeymoon came to and end. It's been overcast and raining these past 3 days. I guess it's getting me acclimatized for Wales.
A German sailboat came in yesterday and snuggled up to the Belgian one. We are all waiting, as sailors have done for hundreds of years, for fair winds to take us to our destinations. I will probably be pushing off this Tuesday, 26 August, but weather forecasting is a fickle and unreliable science bordering on the occult. So we'll have to see how things stand on Monday. If I can get a few days of brisk northerlies I'm considering running down the west coast of Ireland and come in from underneath. We'll see how things go...
until later,
Simon
When I sailed in to Vestmannaeyjar here on Wednesday it was warm and sunny - really delightful. But then the honeymoon came to and end. It's been overcast and raining these past 3 days. I guess it's getting me acclimatized for Wales.
A German sailboat came in yesterday and snuggled up to the Belgian one. We are all waiting, as sailors have done for hundreds of years, for fair winds to take us to our destinations. I will probably be pushing off this Tuesday, 26 August, but weather forecasting is a fickle and unreliable science bordering on the occult. So we'll have to see how things stand on Monday. If I can get a few days of brisk northerlies I'm considering running down the west coast of Ireland and come in from underneath. We'll see how things go...
until later,
Simon
Friday, August 22, 2008
Vestmannaeyjar
Vestmannaeyjar, also referred to in English as the Westman Islands, are a part of a still active submarine volcanic system some 20 miles off the SW coast of Iceland. The latest addition, Surtsey (named after the evil spirit, Surtur), surfaced in in the mid-sixties. The last major eruption occurred here on the only inhabited island, Heimaey, in 1973, where a third of the town was buried under lava flows.
The island group was named after an Irish Worker's Collective, otherwise known as group of thralls, or slaves, who were put to death by one of the original Norse settlers, Ingolfur, in 874. He claimed they murdered his half-brother Hjorleifur. I'm not sure if they got a fair trial or not, but either way, it's just as well I'm sailing under the Welsh flag, not the Irish one.
The islands rise straight out of the sea in huge towering columns of rock. Sailing around here is like being in a surrealistic science-fiction move. But it's real enough.
Heimaey is a busy fishing port but also a tourist destination for mainland Icelanders.The views are stunning. I'll take a few pictures.
A small community, Heimaey has a different feel and character than the bright lights of Reykjavik. On entering the harbour I was soon directed to a secure berth by a village elder. Shortly after the Postmaster General drove down to the wharf to greet me and share some local knowledge.
At the local cafe I met local girl Sega who had recently met and fallen in love with an Englishman. He was back in England preparing a sailboat. They were planning to sail together to South Africa in the autumn. She showed me a picture of the boat, named Cariad. I told her it meant 'love' in Welsh and she swooned at the knowledge, eager to tell her beau this new revelation.
There's one other sailing boat from Belgium here. A crew of two men, they too are waiting for favourable winds to sail back home having cruised Greenland earlier this summer.
I'm keeping a watchful eye on the playful dance between high and low pressure systems as they roll across the North Atlantic. I may be here for a few days yet waiting for a spell of favourable winds. But I can't wait too long or risk the wrath of autumn gales and fearsome seas.
Until later,
Simon
The island group was named after an Irish Worker's Collective, otherwise known as group of thralls, or slaves, who were put to death by one of the original Norse settlers, Ingolfur, in 874. He claimed they murdered his half-brother Hjorleifur. I'm not sure if they got a fair trial or not, but either way, it's just as well I'm sailing under the Welsh flag, not the Irish one.
The islands rise straight out of the sea in huge towering columns of rock. Sailing around here is like being in a surrealistic science-fiction move. But it's real enough.
Heimaey is a busy fishing port but also a tourist destination for mainland Icelanders.The views are stunning. I'll take a few pictures.
A small community, Heimaey has a different feel and character than the bright lights of Reykjavik. On entering the harbour I was soon directed to a secure berth by a village elder. Shortly after the Postmaster General drove down to the wharf to greet me and share some local knowledge.
At the local cafe I met local girl Sega who had recently met and fallen in love with an Englishman. He was back in England preparing a sailboat. They were planning to sail together to South Africa in the autumn. She showed me a picture of the boat, named Cariad. I told her it meant 'love' in Welsh and she swooned at the knowledge, eager to tell her beau this new revelation.
There's one other sailing boat from Belgium here. A crew of two men, they too are waiting for favourable winds to sail back home having cruised Greenland earlier this summer.
I'm keeping a watchful eye on the playful dance between high and low pressure systems as they roll across the North Atlantic. I may be here for a few days yet waiting for a spell of favourable winds. But I can't wait too long or risk the wrath of autumn gales and fearsome seas.
Until later,
Simon
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Staying cool in Reykjavik
I haven't really warmed to Reykjavik. Like most “capital” towns and cities (Cardiff comes to mind) it suffers from an overinflated sense of self importance. Perhaps it's simply trying too hard to be “cosmopolitan” in this rugged northern outpost of civilization. It a place to 'be seen' rather than just 'be'.
Not that Reykjavik is devoid of charm. Far from it. But I don't think it'll be placed high on my list of places to return to soon.
My previous association with this town was that it hosted the remarkable meeting of Cold War leaders, Regan and Gorbachev. I wonder what they thought of the place. Perhaps I should give Gorby a call to see if he concurs with me.
...................................................................................................................................................................
I explained to the Customs officers who came to visit me that a factor compelling me to sail here was the results of a study I heard on the BBC last winter. The study measured the 'happiness levels' of nations. Iceland came out as 2nd happiest nation on the planet. Yes, the officers knew of the study. But they sadly informed me that that study was relevant for last year only. With the recent devaluation in their currency, the kroner, their standing in world happiness levels had sunk considerably. Perhaps money can't buy happiness, but it seems loosing it can take it away.
................................................................................................................................................................
I'm looking forward to visiting a few of the smaller ports on the SW coast of Iceland before heading south for a 500 miles crossing to the outer western isles of Scotland. It's the small outposts that are usually more fun to visit and spend time in. There you're not just another 'face in the crowd' - you're the 'new kid on the block'. People tend to be more interesting. and interested in you.
My last port of call will probably be the port of Vestmannaeyjar on the off lying island of Heimaey, where there was a volcanic eruption in 1973, making the island considerably larger and burying a section of the town under volcanic ash. They call it the Pompey of the North and visitors are welcome to help out in the excavations of buried houses. No skeletons though – everyone was evacuated in time. Velkomin til Vestmannaejar – grab a shovel!
...................................................................................................................................................................
I put together a few brief video clips of my sail up here from Newfoundland and uploaded them to youtube.com – but they came out squished like the last one! Back to the drawing boards. If I can get it sorted before I leave Reykjavik I'll post a link on this blog.
A special hello to Ann, Molly, Melanie, Emma, Karen, Soffi, Harmony, Val, Juliet, Angie, Marlene, Denise, Wendy, Suzanne, Tina, Rosemary, Milly, Gwen, Zoey, Jenny, Claudette, ... and Mandy
till later,
Simon
Not that Reykjavik is devoid of charm. Far from it. But I don't think it'll be placed high on my list of places to return to soon.
My previous association with this town was that it hosted the remarkable meeting of Cold War leaders, Regan and Gorbachev. I wonder what they thought of the place. Perhaps I should give Gorby a call to see if he concurs with me.
...................................................................................................................................................................
I explained to the Customs officers who came to visit me that a factor compelling me to sail here was the results of a study I heard on the BBC last winter. The study measured the 'happiness levels' of nations. Iceland came out as 2nd happiest nation on the planet. Yes, the officers knew of the study. But they sadly informed me that that study was relevant for last year only. With the recent devaluation in their currency, the kroner, their standing in world happiness levels had sunk considerably. Perhaps money can't buy happiness, but it seems loosing it can take it away.
................................................................................................................................................................
I'm looking forward to visiting a few of the smaller ports on the SW coast of Iceland before heading south for a 500 miles crossing to the outer western isles of Scotland. It's the small outposts that are usually more fun to visit and spend time in. There you're not just another 'face in the crowd' - you're the 'new kid on the block'. People tend to be more interesting. and interested in you.
My last port of call will probably be the port of Vestmannaeyjar on the off lying island of Heimaey, where there was a volcanic eruption in 1973, making the island considerably larger and burying a section of the town under volcanic ash. They call it the Pompey of the North and visitors are welcome to help out in the excavations of buried houses. No skeletons though – everyone was evacuated in time. Velkomin til Vestmannaejar – grab a shovel!
...................................................................................................................................................................
I put together a few brief video clips of my sail up here from Newfoundland and uploaded them to youtube.com – but they came out squished like the last one! Back to the drawing boards. If I can get it sorted before I leave Reykjavik I'll post a link on this blog.
A special hello to Ann, Molly, Melanie, Emma, Karen, Soffi, Harmony, Val, Juliet, Angie, Marlene, Denise, Wendy, Suzanne, Tina, Rosemary, Milly, Gwen, Zoey, Jenny, Claudette, ... and Mandy
till later,
Simon
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Life so far in Iceland
So here I am in Reykjavik – a town not even the size of Swansea where over half the population of the Icelandic nation resides.
And the others .. are they ‘tourists? I don’t think that is the right label. Only adventurers, romantics, poets, and other oddballs and misfits would come to an isolated island in the far north where a summer day of 15 C is considered pleasantly warm. Hardly a holiday – unless you like relaxing in a refrigerator while all your friends are getting a tan in the sun back home.
Me? I spent this past winter in a tropical hothouse were 30+ C was the norm, every day. I was due for a change in climate.
So who are the Icelanders? They’re the bunch of misfits that sailed from Norway a thousand years ago and settled this barren outpost. And a thousand years of inbreeding is quite evident. Light blue eyes, blonde hair, and a sligtly pudgy physic is the norm. Yes, they all look related to each other. And they are.
So we’re all misfits here. Old misfits and some newer arrivals just passing through.
Icelanders are typical Northern Europeans. – crusty on the outside but quite warm and friendly once conversation is initiated and contact is made.
People like to drink here despite a social stigma attached to alcohol. Beer was only legalized 30 years ago and there is a radio station broadcast here (in American English) of testimonials by reformed alcoholics – 24 hours a day! I’m looking forward to this weekend.as Reykjavik has quite a party reputation. Hope I survive it.
Language: Islandic is an old Norse language. Basically Viking tongue.. But English is the second language and virtually everybody can speak it. And speak it very well. Better than most of the working class English I dare say.
Whale watching tours is big here – despite the fact that Iceland is one of the few nations that still hunt whales. But I was assured by one whale watching tour guide that only 40 some Minke whales out of a population of some 60.000 are killed each year so its not to worry.
Think I’ll hang out here for a few more days before heading around the South-West coast to my last port of call before pushing off to Scotland.
Until later,
Simon
P.S. Made a short video clip of my trip here - will post it soon.
Hello from Reykjavik
After three weeks and a day I arrived in Reykjavik, Iceland on Wednesday 13 August. I have to admit, it was the longest and hardest sea voyage I have ever undertaken.
Had the winds followed their normal patterns I should have arrived here a week earlier in good health. But that was not to be.
After the first week of light winds and sunshine the party came to an end. The headwinds began. They blew with very little interruption for two weeks, defying wind pilots compiled on observations taken for over a hundred years over for that time and location.
I went over every possible cause and came up with only one reasonable explanation: I was cursed. The gods, for whatever reason, had decided to throw a wobbly in my life (not the first time I might add).
I must have sailed well over two thousand miles tacking back and forth, bashing against and wind and current to get here. Every day I would tell myself that it could not go on forever and tomorrow it would turn around. But that day never came (till yesterday when I was within a hundred miles of Iceland).
At times my spirits were in a dark hole. The cold and lack of sunshine didn't help. On a few occasions I almost packed it in, tucked my tail between my legs, and veered off to Scotland instead.
But there's something inside me, an awkward contrary creature perhaps, that fights all the harder when fate lines up against me. So I defied the gods (as usual) and slogged on.
Reykjavik is a very funny place. More later.
Had the winds followed their normal patterns I should have arrived here a week earlier in good health. But that was not to be.
After the first week of light winds and sunshine the party came to an end. The headwinds began. They blew with very little interruption for two weeks, defying wind pilots compiled on observations taken for over a hundred years over for that time and location.
I went over every possible cause and came up with only one reasonable explanation: I was cursed. The gods, for whatever reason, had decided to throw a wobbly in my life (not the first time I might add).
I must have sailed well over two thousand miles tacking back and forth, bashing against and wind and current to get here. Every day I would tell myself that it could not go on forever and tomorrow it would turn around. But that day never came (till yesterday when I was within a hundred miles of Iceland).
At times my spirits were in a dark hole. The cold and lack of sunshine didn't help. On a few occasions I almost packed it in, tucked my tail between my legs, and veered off to Scotland instead.
But there's something inside me, an awkward contrary creature perhaps, that fights all the harder when fate lines up against me. So I defied the gods (as usual) and slogged on.
Reykjavik is a very funny place. More later.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
