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Position: ///MONKEY.ELEVATE.RECLINE
Bright and early the sun over Cuxhaven slashed through the blinds and roused us. Slack water wasn’t due until mid-morning, so we lolled around making coffee and finishing the crossword. With 30 minutes to go, we moved Aleta round to the fuel dock and filled her to the brim with (non-bio) diesel[1]. Gently turning into the Elbe River, we motored west with the outgoing tide on calm seas.
The weather forecast was, by every local account, unusual for the time of year: steady winds out of the north, turning northeast under clear, cloudless skies. For anyone heading south towards the Mediterranean it was a gift from G–. Through late morning and into the afternoon the winds built to a steady 15 knots. Coming off the land, the steady breezes helped iron out the waves that had built up over the past couple of days. Under sail with full jib and main, things were downright pleasant for the first 22 hours or so.
Semi-sweet
Around breakfast the following day, the coastline curved just enough to push the wind aft of the stern quarter. Downwind, as you know, is Aleta’s least favourite point of sail. A little motor-sailing would keep us moving ahead without having to cross the North Sea and tacking endlessly. As soon as we put Aleta into gear, though, she began vibrating noticeably. This is not all that unusual. With a well-worn feathering propellor, it sometimes needs a little encouragement to set itself in the right direction. But coming hard off the damper plate repair, all kinds of other scenarios passed through our minds.
A bit of forward and reverse shifting indicated all was well with the transmission. That left the propeller as the likely culprit. Finding 1,500RPM a semi-sweet spot, we changed plans. Instead of a two nights’ passage directly to Bruges in Belgium, we changed course for Den Helder, Holland, three hours away. Then we started making phone calls. Cell phones have largely replaced VHF communications for most sailors in Europe. With signals reaching as far as seven miles offshore, sending emails or making calls is a piece of cake. Over the next hour we found a mooring, scheduled a mechanic’s visit for first thing Monday morning, and researched an area of Holland that even the Dutch rarely visit.
Sea Hole
Situated at the very top of the North Holland peninsula, Den Helder is the last city on the Dutch mainland before you head out to the islands of Friesland. Given its strategic position and access to the North Sea, Den Helder’s off-season economy relies heavily on the Dutch Navy that makes its home there. In summer, intrepid tourists arrive by car, motorcycle, bicycle, caravan and a few by boat. Many pass through on their way to Texel Island, 20 minutes north by ferry.
The Marsdiep, a sea hole connecting the inland Wadden Sea to North Sea, separates Texel from North Holland. Currents stream through the Marsdiep at up to three knots. Now, normally Aleta motors along at 2,000 RPM. With the wind blowing out of the east, 1,500RPM might not be enough to maintain headway. But we lucked out. Turning into the Marsdiep channel, the tide and current ran in our favour and more than offset the headwinds.
Hugging the edge of the channel, Carol steered us into the harbour and up to the lock gate for the marina. Two years ago, transiting Holland on the Staande Mastroute. we became experts at muscling Aleta through all kinds of locks. It only took us a few minutes to remember where to stand and what to grab onto. Inside the Jachthaven Willemsoord, during docking manoeuvres, the vibrations disappeared. Once again everything seemed perfectly fine.
Lemonade
Bang on time the mechanic arrived and walked me through some troubleshooting steps. Turning Aleta’s engine on, she pulled hard on the mooring lines as I cranked her to 2,500RPM. In forward and reverse everything was as smooth as silk. There are few things in life more irritating than an intermittent fault. From the engine room our mechanic looked at me a little apologetically and said, “Given there are no symptoms, there isn’t much I can do. You could haul her out for me to diagnose what’s going on. But that might take weeks and costs lots of money. In the meantime, here are some things you can do if it happens again.”
Considering his advice, we figured we would soldier on to the next port and see if the vibration returned along the way. Meanwhile, after a couple of long walks along the seashore, we had become fascinated with the area and decided to take a couple more days and explore it on foot and e-bike. When life throws you lemons…
Roses
Like Cuxhaven, the town of Den Helder’s streets are lined with modern-ish row houses that follow ancient sharp, narrow and diagonal lines cutting across the city. Around our marina the industrial remains of long-shuttered foundries have been transformed into a naval museum, exhibition spaces and a half dozen hipster bar-cum-restaurants. Downtown, about 10 minutes’ walk from the marina, has a decent selection of shops, several ice cream parlours, and at least three bike rental shops catering to the tourists.
Bicycling and walking paths run atop and alongside the zeedijk for miles. In the warm, clear sunshine we spotted the 17th century fort softly outlined in bas relief beneath a few hundred years of shifting sands. A little further on, and visible for miles, stands a wonderfully tall, terracotta red lighthouse. Today it serves only as a point of interest for sailors in clear weather. Between the fort and the lighthouse sit lush green fields and a couple of active horse farms. Walking down off the spine of the zeedijk, the dune grasses morphed into shrubs and scrubby, windblown beach trees. Here and there white cowslips, fruit blossoms and bright fuchsia sea roses (Rosa rugosa) splattered the dense sward with a welcome change of colour. If we hadn’t sailed in from Germany two days before, I could swear it was summer on Cape Cod.
Texel
The largest of the Frisian islands, Texel, at an average two metres elevation, barely keeps its farms above sea level. Roughly thirteen miles long by five wide, it is a big sandbar. From the sea, pristine white sand dunes run the length of the western shore. A bicycling/walking path circumnavigates the island. In many places, dedicated horse paths run alongside the bike paths. Separating traffic has reached an artform in this part of Holland.
For 12 Euros two senior citizens and their rented e-bikes can get a return trip from Den Helder to Texel. Coasting full tilt down the gangplank we took full advantage of the momentum and started pedalling into the wind along the east side of the island. Narrow streets and thickly painted wooden houses sit shoulder to shoulder along the front of the village of Oudeschild. Behind them are stands of modern vacation homes. Still, it retains some of the charm and quaintness of the fishing village it once was. A big Dutch windmill helped.
Even at midday, the light refracted through the water with the lucid pale greens and silted golds of an old Dutch oil painting. At low tide in settled weather the shallow water ebbs away along the northeastern side of the island. Long sand flats stretch out to the horizon until the tide turns in again. We were told to watch out for zeehonds along the eastern shore. No seals appeared, but I became enamoured with the idea that seals in Holland are actually ‘seadogs’. Because, of course, if they are dogs, why shouldn’t we adopt a couple?
Nearing the top of the island, we paused and watched a couple of sheep get sheared. Wrestling an unhappy sheep into a position where it would lay still long enough for a short back and sides looked like a lot of work. Sheepherding, I decided, is a profession best left to the young and motivated. After lunch we turned west and felt the press of wind at our backs. The southwest corner of the island changed from flat polders and cow fields to thick woods.
Happy Place
Trees dappled the sunlight and the shadows cooled things down just enough. Even so, by mid-afternoon the clear skies and brilliant sunshine had taken their toll. A little more pooped and sunburned than expected, we pulled over for a well-deserved beer. There we met some friendly Dutch holidaymakers who couldn’t figure out what a couple of Americans were doing in this remote corner of their country. Our standard response of, ‘Oh, we live on a sailboat’, really didn’t clear things up.
But their warmth was typical of what we found during our few days in Den Helder. Perhaps it was the unusually sunny weather that brought out the best in everyone we met. I prefer to think that this corner of the world with its fresh sea air, endless ocean views, and light that every landscape artist dreams of, simply makes people happy. It worked for us. I’m confident it would work for you, too.
We still weren’t 100% sure what was going on below the waterline on Aleta, but we’d had a heck of a nice time distracting ourselves from it.
Notes
[1] In general, putting biological compounds into fuels causes problems. Bulking up fuels with plant-based ethanol sounds like a good thing, but unless your engine and fuel tanks are designed specifically for the task, things can turn nasty. Ethanol in American gas cuts fuel efficiency by at least 3%. So, if you’re getting 30 MPG on high test, expect to get 29 MPG on gas laced with 10% ethanol. That’s because ethanol is a third less efficient than petroleum. Worse, ethanol loves to absorb water which wreaks havoc with your fuel system.
Diesel sits lower down the food chain, but has its own issues with biologicals. Critters like pseudomonas, candida keroseneae, and candida keroseneli, find diesel especially yummy. Given enough time and energy, these ‘diesel bugs’ will clog up your injectors and turn the rest of your fuel dirty. You can clean the fuel by filtering it. A process called ‘polishing’. That takes time and is stinky and messy. If you can avoid it, it is far better to not introduce anything biological into the fuel system to begin with.
