Having got afloat in record time the previous day, there was still a certain amount of loading to be done before we were ready to leave, so having had a well earned lie in, it was almost midday before we set off.
It was not without trepidation, because although there are no tides to speak of in the Baltic, there are uncounted rocks above and, worse, just below the surface of the water. When I said to on of the locals that I was sailing to Svartlöga, he replied that they did not often go there because it was “a minefield”.
We stuck to the channel and beat up towards Furusund well enough, but were struggling with the number of motor craft passing closely and at speed. The narrowest point has a chain ferry, so we dropped the sails and motored. Whilst the sails were down, we pottered into the harbour at Furusund to look at the slipway (a potential recovery point) and also check out mooring “Swedish style” (moored to a buoy aft and with the bow against the pontoon). The slipway looked fine, but with only two of us aboard, we took a rain check on mooring.
As the afternoon drew on, the wind dropped and the temperature rose. We dropped anchor at an island called Blacke and had a wash. Aimee swum under boat and we took some welcome dives into the cool water.
The weather had been settled and hot for about a wee, with little rain for a month. This conspired to produce the lowest water level for many years. Not so good for us, weaving through the rocks. We took the channel to the East of Svartlöga, and tapped a rock with the centre plate only once (stay in the channel, skipper!).
So it was we arrived at our Baltic Base, the summer house belonging to the family of Trevor. It has a little harbour and a jetty, which had plenty of water. Last time we were here, three years ago. However, the level of water was as low as Barbara, Trevor’s mother, had ever seen it. Consequently, we made our way at tickover speed and by Braille. Nevertheless, it was a welcome arrival after our long journey.