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Adventures in the Oslo Fjord

Judy Lomax

Awarded the Grace Cup

Leg One: daughter and granddaughters - 19 to 26 July It was, Emily had decided, high time for Freya (4) and Vida (nearly 3) to be introduced to life afloat on Cloud Walker in Norway, which at the end of July was, like England, in the grip of a long heat wave, with sea temperatures between 20 and 25ºC. An extra bonus for them, and for their parents and grandmother, was that their 14-year-old cousin Eliza and her friend Martha were also in the crew. Emily had shown Freya and Vida our family film of her Atlantic crossing with us when she was five, so they knew about wearing boat coats on deck and in the dinghy.

On their first two days afloat we made gentle hops of no more than four miles at a time under jib or engine between island anchorages at Middagsbukta and Hestagabukta, with time at each for fun on shore, in the dinghy and in the water, and one mainland marina stop at Vollen for diesel and ice cream.

Before venturing any further down the fjord, it was time for a mini meet to celebrate the 12th birthday of my youngest Norwegian grandson, Daniel, with his parents’ Zenith and Cloud Walker rafted up on CW’s anchor. There was pizza for the young, and the traditional Norwegian speciality of prawns, mayonnaise and white bread for the adults, all followed by cake.

We had to run the engine in the morning to get enough power to raise the anchor and ‘do a Rikki’, motoring astern in a tight circle with the anchor just under the surface to clear it of mud. I was relieved that an earlier problem with the gears sticking ahead had been sorted out by my son, Alistair, and friends a few weeks earlier. Although the engine now went into forward and reverse gear, it was taking several attempts, going in and out of gear, to raise the revs.

It was time for a longer voyage: 9nm south from the islands at the top of the inner Oslo Fjord to

Freya (above) & Vida (below)

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Cloud WalkerFirst 345

Oslo

Inner Oslo Fjord

Outer Oslo Fjord

Middagsbukta Hestagabukta

Leangbukta

Håøya

Dragsund

Vollen

SandspollenOscarsborg

Son

Horten Marina

Drøbaksund

Bolærne Arch

Tønsberg

Bastøy

Åsgårdstrand

Fredrikstad

Vasskalven

59N

11E

Hvaler

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Håøya, a N-S island in the middle of the fjord just before it narrowed into a sound down to the outer fjord. In brilliant, hot, cloudless sun, accuracy and closeness to the wind, as we tacked down the fjord, varied with the experience of the helmsperson. Eliza was a natural. Martha had never sailed before, but gradually gained confidence. Freya and Vida helped their parents. The wind flopped as we came into the shelter of Håøya in time for a lunch stop on a summer pontoon across the mouth of Dragsund, an inlet on the west side of the island. Lunch stretched into a lazy, hot, sunny afternoon, with much rowing, swimming and relaxing on hot, dry rocks.

By the time we left, after difficulty getting into gear and raising the revs, the wind was 20-22kts on the nose as we motored the final 3nm to overnight anchorage in Sandspollen, a favourite spot in a spacious pool below steep rock faces to the south and almost surrounded by woods. We were wondering whether we were a bit too close to a larger, posher yacht when the owner dinghied over to tell us that he was leaving at 0400, and that his anchor was under CW. We moved. Several other yachts also left in the early hours, to beat the southerly wind south.

The wind dropped overnight to a flat calm, warm and overcast at first, then again sunny and hot, ideal for exploring paths through the woods, and swimming or rowing to a little beach under the trees. We were all back on board for lunch, after much cavorting in the sand and in the shallows by Freya and Vida, and from a beach diving board by Richard, Eliza and Martha.

Raising the anchor in the afternoon was delayed by somehow jamming the chain in the winch. By the time Richard and I had managed to free it, the wind was frisky between the bottom corner of Håøya and our overnight stop at Oscarsborg less than a mile away. Our approach to the only easily accessible berth alongside, theoretically reserved for boats of 40ft up, was not helped by a gusty 20-22kt wind and spasmodic and erratic engine revs. As I gave instructions for tying up, I thought I heard a helpful motorboat owner with a crew of four parrots ask who was in charge, and said firmly, and a bit rudely, ‘I am’. In fact, Richard later told me that what he had actually said was, rather more flatteringly, ‘I know who is in charge here!’

Oscarsborg marina, with showers and a café, is on the northern of two

Cloud Walker

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linked islands, Nordre and Sondre Kaholmen, which until 2003 were military. It was from the fortress on S. Kaholmen that the first German battleship to attempt to reach Oslo in April 1940 was sunk by a torpedo, delaying Germany’s invasion of

Norway for long enough for the Norwegian king and government to escape to Britain. The fortress is now a tourist attraction with public access to gun emplacements and a museum, and an annual outdoor week-long opera production at the end of August (Aida in 2019).

The northern island has marked trails through steep woods and several sandy beaches. The big girls swam while Emily, Richard and the little girls explored and found an idyllic little beach cove, which we visited again for a morning swim in the sun - surprisingly, as it faces north - before an afternoon run under jib north to Leangbukta in the afternoon.

Back at Jane and Rikki’s new turf-roofed log house at Trollkleiva, high in the woods and rocks a few miles inshore of the Oslo Fjord, I asked Freya and Vida whether they would like to come sailing on Cloud Walker again. Their answer was a joint enthusiastic, ‘Yes! - but next time for longer.’ Their peaceful introduction to life afloat had been a successful adventure.

After they departed I spent another night at Trollkleiva, where Luna, a nine-week-old Alaskan husky/Norwegian moose hound, arrived under a full moon.

Leg Two: son and grandsons - 27 July to 2 AugustAlistair’s pre-booked week as skipper on Cloud Walker started with another two-boat supper, rafted up not far from the marina. Alistair, Suzanne, Jamie (13), Reuben (7) and I enjoyed a good following wind down to Sandspollen next day in time for lunch and swimming before motoring to neighbouring Sætre for huge ice creams, then going ashore for a night at Trollkleiva in anticipation of bad weather. The ferociously heavy rain which duly arrived was good for the parched turf of the roof.

The weather had abated by the following afternoon, and Daniel took my place on CW for a couple of days. We swapped places again in the marina in Horten on the west side of Oslo Fjord south of Drøbaksund. After a brief, marina supper-stop in rain and thunder four miles south at Åsgårdstrand, CW continued in the rain a few miles south to Jenseskjær, an anchorage recommended by Tom Cunliffe (RCC). We anchored in 4m between Vestre

Oscarsborg beach

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(west) and Midtre (mid) Bolærne in the dark in a thunderstorm. The three islands of the Bolærne archipelago were until 2003 military and are now part of

a national park, with marked trails, restored meadows and old houses, as well as military remains. Østre (east) Bolærne has a small marina.

To satisfy Alistair’s appetite for proper sailing, we had a brisk beat out into the open fjord, and a gentler reach back, then stayed a second night, sheltered from the strong southerlies of the forecast. On the west side of the middle island, Reuben and Suzanne offered their feet to be nibbled by tiny crabs in a rock pool. Small low roses were in bloom along the foreshore, interspersed with great piles of oyster shells. Near the east coast, the

remains of a WW2 prison camp built by Russian prisoners, many of whom died during its construction, were a depressing reminder of wartime misery.

With neither time nor weather to venture into the wilder islands further south, we motored in calm sun north of islets and skerries, dawdled across lagoon-like Træla into the narrow marked canal to Tønsberg, Norway’s oldest town, and tied up on the waiting berth below a new block of up-market flats. While we waited for the midday opening of Tønsberg’s two lifting bridges, Reuben was hoisted in the bosun’s chair on the main halyard and swung from side to side below the cross trees by Jamie.

Tønsberg’s smart marina, on the far side of the town beyond the bridges, provided ice cream, and a shower block. After Al and Suzanne with the boys

Alistair and partner, Suzanne

Grandsons - Jamie, Daniel & Reuben

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had inspected replica Viking ships, to avoid an expensive marina night or a wait for the 1800 bridge opening, we continued for 15nm, west of the island of Tjøme, east through Sundene sound between Tjøme and the larger island of Nøtterøy. Sheltered mini-sounds then took us south to the rocky west shore of Vasskalven, an island of rock and private, summer cabins whose owners are mostly related to each other and to the original islanders. Rikki’s sister Ann Karina, who was staying in a cabin with friends before joining me on CW for the weekend, was waiting on shore.

With no sheltered anchorage or harbour, and 22kts of southerly wind up the sound, Jamie did a brilliant pick-up of the buoy we were borrowing for the night. It was good to be on a strong mooring during an increasingly wild (but dry) night with no shelter, alarmingly close to a ridge of whale-shaped rock. In the morning Ann Karina ferried Alistair and family across to an inshore island linked by bridge to the mainland so that they could catch a bus and train to Torp for a Ryanair flight home.

Leg Three: ladies’ weekend - 4 & 5 August Next day’s weather was perfect when my oldest daughter, Jane, joined Ann Karina and me in Vasskalven for a relaxing ladies’ weekend of gentle, sunny sailing. After an afternoon run under jib up sounds between islands, we were looking forward to a walk ashore as we turned the corner at the top of Vestre and Midtre Bolærne. The jib was furled and the engine on, ready to approach the anchorage, but it was again proving difficult to get into gear. The usual trick of alternating forward, neutral and reverse gears failed to provide any propulsion. Consultation by mobile with Rikki confirmed that we must have lost the prop.

We were in no imminent danger so long as we could sail clear of a well-marked reef north of the islands, preferably without the hassle of hoisting the main - not a problem with a decreasing southerly. The only log entry for the rest of the weekend ends, ‘Discussion what to do. Decided to sail back to base,’ which was 35nm to the north. That decision made, the conditions were gentle enough for the g&t and salmon supper we had planned to enjoy at anchor. Progress was slow but initially easy and in the right direction. Maintaining any forward momentum became increasingly difficult as the sun sank then dropped along with the wind, until for a while we were doing no more than drifting.

Then a threatened northerly kicked in, and kicked, and kicked. To maintain steerage we needed the mainsail as we tacked up the confines of the sound below Drøbak. As the wind increased, sometimes topping 30kts, we soon needed the third reef in the main, as well as the first and second. Only two reefs had been rigged at the start of the summer as I was sure I wouldn’t be sailing in reefing weather. Jane did a heroic job on the final reef. It was a long, slow slog, each tack making little progress. Oh for self-tailing winches.

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At last we were into the wider waters of the inner fjord, as dawn then daylight reluctantly returned. This just left the problem of how to make our way under sail round several twists and turns into CW’s marina berth next to Zenith. Rikki came nobly to the rescue, hitching a lift out of the marina with a south bound motorboat and making a terrifying (almost disastrous) leap aboard CW. Then, as we entered the marina with just a tiny bit of jib, he enlisted a tow from another motorboat. We three women were exceedingly relieved to have ended our unplanned and mostly unpleasant 22-hour, 35nm, return to base.

It was Sunday, nothing could be done immediately about replacing the propeller. On Monday Rikki arranged a lift-out and fitted a new propeller, extra firmly with a stainless steel spline. My insurance paid for all except the usual excess and £25 for the spline, assumed to have been faulty as there seemed no other reason for the propeller to have fallen off.

Leg Four: grandson and granddaughter-in-law - 11 & 12 August Cloud Walker was my oldest grandson, Robin’s, brief first command as a newly qualified Merchant Navy Officer, with his wife Sarah as crew for a few days, while I stayed ashore to spend time at Jane’s with David’s nephew, Steve, his wife and two sons, for whom Norway was the last stop on their way home to the UK from Canada and Iceland.

The day before I joined them, Robin and Sarah had made a fast passage (‘Brilliant sailing close to the wind with perhaps too much sail up’) to Fredrikstad at the junction of three rivers, one to the west, one to the east, and one to the north, at the top of Kråkerøy, the largest of the Hvaler islands.

It was obvious that we would not be going anywhere, as a forecast seriously strong southerly was already gathering strength. I hoped the fenders would hold out against the force of wind pinning us against parkland on the eastern edge of town. We might have had better shelter alongside in the town, but moving seemed a worse choice than doubling up on all our lines and using every possible fender. By the evening we felt confident enough that CW was safe to go ashore for Sarah’s father’s birthday supper. At Strømtangen, 5nm south-west at the entry to Hvaler, 60kts of wind were registered.

Relief! L to R - Ann Karina, Jane, Judy

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One of the joys of sailing in Norway is usually that there is no need to get up at an unearthly hour to catch or beat the tide, which in the Oslo Fjord is negligible. To catch the gentler weather forecast for the early morning, Robin and I set our mobile phone alarms for 0400 next day. It was still dark as we undid all the doubled lines, then motored south into an easy wind through the Østerelva down the island’s east coast.

Our ploy worked, and by 0600 we had eased our way through a complex but well-marked shortcut and had cleared the island’s southern tip before the wind rose to 18-20kts as we sailed hard and fast across the more open water to round Strømtangen. This brought Sarah out of the fore cabin, and

out of the port aft cabin came her brother, Matthias, who had joined us after their father’s birthday meal. Once round Strømtangen, the wind eased, and we enjoyed a perfect passage inside the Sondre and Nordre Missingen islets and skerries, then a gentle reach north under full sail. Our goose-wing at four to five knots through Drøbaksund was the opposite of the previous weekend’s tough, tense beat. By the time we anchored at 1605 in Sandspollen,

we had clocked up 137nm since our dawn start.

Next day’s log was short and to the point:0800 JL up. Ensign.1120 Sarah up.1130 Robin up.1230 Matthias up.1250 Anchor up.1310 Full sail up. NW Tacking up W side of Håøya. 1500 Tacked out of way of cruise ship. 1515 Wind flopped. Jib in. Motor sailing. Warm. Sun.1700 Robin motoring into Leangbukta.

Robin, Sarah and the joy of brisk sailing

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Leg Five: three old ladies - 16 to 24 August The total age of the three of us on the final leg was 238. Although I was the oldest by several years, both my sister, Sally, and Maggie (daughter of Archie Black, who introduced David and me to the RCC and was one of the founders of the Pilotage Foundation) had also passed their three score years and ten. Our plan was to have a sedate and leisurely few days pottering south under jib; Sally and I had decided the summer before that the mainsail was a superfluous hassle. Then we would make our equally gentle and ladylike way back north.

The wind was still from the south as we tacked under full, then reefed, jib down the inner fjord and through a rain squall to anchor in sun in Sandspollen. The official Norwegian summer season was over, echoed by the weather, and the sea temperature had dropped to 18ºC - still warmer than the summer sea off Devon or Cornwall. Sun, rain, heavier rain, thunder and lightning, and varying wind strengths and directions, continued to alternate over the next few days.

In the hope of beating another forecast strong southerly, we set out at 0600 down Drøbaksund, which was almost as unpleasant as it had been in the earlier stronger northerly. Progress was wet and cold, tacking then motoring, but by 1000 we were alongside in Son’s expensive marina, head to an excess of wind on a bumpy outer pontoon; with no free inner berths into the wind I had funked reversing in. The near gale (liten kuling) was soon a full gale (stiv kuling).

Our enjoyment of Maggie’s warming, late, cooked breakfast was rudely interrupted by a sudden bang as the bow line broke; it was a retired jib sheet in need of further retirement. Sally and I scurried around doubling up all our lines, and replacing the manky retired jib sheet. The skipper of a much larger, posher yacht, Lady XL, came to our assistance with the loan of substantial extra lines with those stretchy rubber insets; ‘Mooring Compensators’, are now on my Christmas list. The weather was far from ideal for Son’s weekend culture festival. The sound of loud music and festivities ashore was drowned by the noise of the wind and the squeaking of fenders and tiller and slapping of rigging.

We woke to a lovely, still, sunny morning, and after returning our borrowed lines to Lady XL we jib-sailed sedately across the fjord for a lazy afternoon in Karljohansvern, Horten’s former naval base in a spacious lagoon north-west of the town marina and ferry port. At last the next day provided what we had planned: a gentle pleasant run south under jib, avoiding the ferries criss-crossing the fjord, and inshore of a marked reef and skerry, Bastøybåen, and an island, Bastøy, three miles north of a point, Slangentangen, which we needed to clear before altering course towards the Bolærne archipelago.

Maggie on the helm was anxious to jibe to be sure of clearing Slangentangen. ‘Jibe when you are sure you can clear everything,’ I said as I went below to find Sally some string for her glasses, and put on the kettle for coffee. Sally and

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I had been tracking our progress on my iPad and her iPhone in the cockpit. Glancing at the laptop chart to check all was well (which I was sure it was) I realized that it and the GPS had, as they often do, severed communication: easily remedied by turning both off then on again. The ancient paper back up chart was below, waiting to be taken up.

I was surprised when Maggie jibed, sooner than I had expected: seeing that we had cleared Bastøy (henceforth known as the Bastard), she thought we were clear, not realising that there was a long reef stretching nearly a mile SSW of it and marked only by a light at its southern tip. My warning shout as the GPS and laptop resumed communication, showing multiple depths of one metre over a wide area, coincided with a juddering bang as we went aground. My next shout was ‘Shit!’ then ‘Take in the jib’, which was meant to mean ‘Get rid of it – now!’ but was briefly taken to mean just what I had said.

Cautious attempts to motor off astern, ahead, to port, to starboard, left us stuck. Then even without the jib the wind pushed us slowly further onto the reef with a series of lesser bumps and bangs. After one worse bang, the depths gradually rose on the echo sounder, which had never shown less than 1.6m - CW usually touches at 1.7 - until we were floating free again. We had somehow missed all those charted 1m patches, and had been carried over the reef into 2, then 2.5, then 4m.

Feeling luckier than we deserved, we motored to the nearest harbour, Åsgårdstrand on the mainland. As soon as were safely secure in a guest berth, Sally leant from the dinghy with her underwater camera. The water was clear enough to show that apart from one slight scratch through to an earlier colour of antifouling no damage had been done, although the bottom of the keel may look a bit nibbled when the boat is next lifted. Lessons had been learnt: always have paper charts in the cockpit; instructions must be precise and clear; and manoeuvres should be checked on a chart before being undertaken.

We stayed the rest of the day in Åsgårdstrand, a delightful little town with lovely old houses and several galleries, including one in a tiny, wooden house in which Munch had lived and painted: all closed as it was no longer officially summer, as was the restaurant we had thought of treating ourselves to. Instead, for the first time we were still alert enough after supper to play Scrabble. Maggie won.

The weather held next day, sunny but cool, as we approached Tønsberg on a reach then a run, as usual just with the jib, then motored up the narrow, marked channel and through the canal. Alongside in the marina I connected to shore power, then connected the battery charger.

Sally and I lingered in the afternoon at the Viking ship building project. David and I had been crew to ‘Vinland’ on an earlier Viking replica of the Gokstad ship, Gaia, way back in 1991. David had made a film and I had written a book. The original, which is more than 1,000 years old, is in the Viking Ship Hall in Oslo. Eivin Luthen, who is over-seeing the project, told

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us of plans to build a new replica of the Gokstad ship in Tønsberg. Maggie and Sally generously took me out for a meal in one of the many

restaurants lining the waterfront. It was dark when we got back to CW. As I stepped down to turn on the cabin lights, there was a sudden hiss and fizz of sparks round my foot, then a quick rush of flames along the cable of the battery charger. Stamping out the sparks and flames with my right foot, I pulled out the plug with my left hand. I was quite proud of my swift reaction and

coordination. Even after such a brief electrical fire we had to wait a while with wine in the cockpit for the fumes to disperse.

It was time next day to head back north. We had all showered in time to catch the 0900 bridge openings. Leaving the Bastard well to port, even with only half the jib we had such a bumpy run and reach across the more open water of the main fjord that we decided we should (a) all don lifejackets and harnesses and (b) make for Horten rather than continuing up Drøbaksund to Oscarsborg.

Tønsberg Viking ship project L to R - Judy, Sally, Eivind Luthen (project manager), Maggie

Saga Oseberg, replica Viking ship built in Tønsberg. Photo

Sally Lawson

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By lunchtime we were tied up on the long pontoon at Karljohansvern, in the shelter of a museum frigate on which Ann Karina’s son Jonas had done his military service. It was another wild and gusty night. We again doubled up all our lines, and made a cat’s cradle of bungees and sail ties trying to quieten the rigging after complaints from neighbouring motorboats about the frapping. Maggie would no doubt have won again at Scrabble if we hadn’t abandoned it after Sally fell asleep.

The wind had turned northerly again next day, but was so gentle that we gave up trying to sail and motored up to Oscarsborg, where Sally and Maggie explored and I chatted to the Dutch skipper of a Russian-owned, Jersey-registered, Contest 57SC, berthed on the pontoon reserved for boats over 40ft. Maggie proved to be as good at Boggle as she is at Scrabble.

We had had enough excitement for one week, and were enjoying our last day’s gentle, sunny run north from Oscarsborg when a yacht motoring south past us started spewing stinky clouds of smoke. We could see people bottoms-up in the cockpit trying to deal with the problem. Even from a distance the fumes were horrid and the smoke was getting thicker. Without knowing how we could help, we rolled the jib and motored back. To my relief, a launch came out from Oscarsborg, where we had seen a lifeboat, so we resumed our gentle sail back to Leangbukta.

Cloud Walker’s summer potter down and up and back down and up the Oslo Fjord had been more varied and at times more challenging than expected. Over five weeks I had sailed with 17 people, almost all related: including three of my four children, seven of my ten grandchildren, and my sister, with an age range of 75 years. We are all still on speaking terms, and I hope they will all come again, but not all at once. Maybe next year I’ll get further down and even out of the Oslo Fjord.

Skipper and author