Challenges at sea come in all shapes and sizes and true to form the High Seas Sailing Club cruise of the Ijsselmeer in May this year aboard the 104 foot (plus bowsprit) Dutch Barge Alida presented at least two such major challenges, the first of which was doing the ship’s 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle, which our intrepid crew vowed to finish before the end of the cruise.
The exercise was a testament to positive thinking and sheer persistence because finish it we did, though it turned out to be only 997 pieces, for three were missing. And thus the High Seas crew won the dubious honour of being the first and only crew to sail aboard Alida to finish the puzzle. During our six days on the boat every person aboard, including skipper, mate and cook, but with the exception of Elvis, the ship’s dog, worked on the puzzle – making it a truly cross-cultural, multi-ethnic, poly-lingual, multi-national and multi-religious team-building exercise.
But did this affect the sailing? You bet it did!
Like solving the puzzle, we soon discovered that barge sailing is every bit a team effort. Fortunately for our group, unruly, anarchistic and mutinous as we tend to be given half a chance, we had strong leadership from our skipper Remco (nicknamed Velcro), and the winches were stern taskmasters, so in no time we were bending to our tasks and functioning in unison, like a well oiled machine – with a few notable exceptions of course, like when someone had a hangover, which happened occasionally.
The other challenge was the food which, even for those of us who had sampled Jacquie’s first class catering at the skippers and crews meeting in March, was copious in the extreme. It wasn’t the quality, which was excellent, it was the quantity, which was massive. Nevertheless we did not let the side down, indeed we did ourselves proud. Someone must have told our expert Dutch cook that a Jewish sailing club sails on its stomach. Anyway, this one certainly did. Fortunately we were uninhibited in tackling the food because there was no set of scales aboard to make us feel guilty.
A curious vessel
Alida, compared to the conventional yachts we are used to, was indeed a curious vessel, but one which, I came to realise, was very cleverly thought out for short handed sailing and carrying huge volumes of cargo, and ideally suited to the shallows of the Ijsselmeer – mostly three metres deep wherever we went.
For a start she drew only 85 centimetres, amazing for a boat that we estimated must weigh in the region of 60 to 70 tons. The bottom of the hull was as flat as a pancake and the hull shape was clearly designed to maximise space at both extremities. Our quarters, plus the capacious saloon and galley (and I mean capacious) were beautifully and thoughtfully fitted out below decks in the space where the cargo would have been, and no doubt the additional air space facilitated by the lack of cargo must have given the hull a lot of extra buoyancy. I once lived in a house with a smaller kitchen – Alida’s cooking range, with six burners on top and a large oven, was almost as large as Nick and Hilary’s Aga. And unlike many boats I have sailed on, everything was ergonomically thought out and user friendly.
The rig
The rig comprised a gaff rigged mainsail with a stays’l set forward of it on a substantial wooden mast supported by running backstays, a jib set on the end of the bowsprit and a gaff rigged mizzen sail set, as one would expect, on the mizzen mast (aft of the main mast). She was therefore technically a cutter rigged gaff ketch. On the bowsprit was also a smaller jib, but this was never flown at the same time as the working jib – it was kept ready only as a storm sail for very strong winds.
This sail plan proved very versatile, with different combinations being used in different wind strengths and wind directions to keep the boat beautifully balanced whatever the conditions and mostly flying along at around 8 to 10 knots. The hull had no keel and leeway was very effectively kept in check by the use of leeboards, the leeward one being lowered when beating or beam reaching. This meant every time we tacked or gybed, not only did miles of mainsheet have to be hauled in and then let out again, but also the runners and leeboards had to be set up for the new tack.
Even when beating hard to windward, healing was remarkably little, to the extent that the jigsaw never once fell off the saloon table. I was amazed at how close to the wind she could sail without pinching or losing speed – at least as close as 45 degrees.
Not only the sail plan, but also the fore and aft position of the leeward leeboard, was critical to the behaviour of the helm, which was a massive, hydraulically driven tiller which had an enormous rudder on the end of it, controlled by a wheel. When the boat was even slightly out of balance in her sail plan, steering became very, very hard work. Luckily our skipper was highly attuned to getting her set up just right.
The instruments and electronics were virtually nil, apart from a small stereo in the saloon, a VHF and a powerful generator for domestic electricity, heating and battery charging, though on two occasions the skipper did use a hand-held GPS and a chart. There was an electronic compass and a few other instruments, but they were never switched on. At first I found this very odd, but soon I got used to watching the leeboard to see if it was hitting the bottom. If it was pushed up too high for comfort, we would hastily steer back towards the channel and it would drop to its down position again.
As for wind direction, that was indicated by a kind of flag at the masthead, and wind speed – well any experienced sailor can judge that by feel and sound. There was a log of sorts down on the chart table but I never saw it and no-one used it. On the occasions when the GPS was used we were able to see our speed over the ground which, since there is no tide in the Ijsslemeer, was virtually the same as our speed through the water.
Hoisting the sails was probably the hardest work we had to do. This was accomplished with the aid of two big iron winches bolted to the deck either side of the mast, each with thick strong wire halyards permanently attached. There were two halyards for the mainsail, one for the throat of the gaff and one for the peak. Much use was made of traditional boating techniques to minimise the use of the engine, so every time we went through a bridge or lock the sails had to be lowered onto the deck, and then raised again on the other side.
The mizzen also had two halyards but no winch. Instead the ropes had to be sweated through a block and tackle system by at least two people. At times, instead of dropping the sails completely, we depowered the main and mizzen by scandalising them (lifting the boom or dropping the gaff to destroy the aerofoil shape).
Much use was made of springing on and off quays using warps, though on one occasion Remco actually berthed us up, and another time we left our berth, entirely under sail without even starting the engine. In the relatively confined harbours of the Ijsselmeer and surrounding area, Remco’s boat handling, and the teamwork between skipper and mate Franse, was awesome to say the least, and a joy to behold.
Sailing area
Our skipper did his absolute best, and with considerable success, to work out an itinerary which ensured our choices of areas to sail and places to visit were interesting and varied, sailing at times on all points from close hauled to dead run with very little use of the engine. Two words spring up to describe most of the places we visited: “quaint” and “charming”.
Hoorn, for example, was a fascinating little town with many interesting historic buildings, some of which were visible from the sea, and it really did feel as if we had arrived in the 19th. Century as we approached, aiming at the beautifully built wooden jetty with its cluster of barges bustling round it and a restored old round tower, now a café and restaurant, sticking up.
Many of the seascapes we encountered reminded me of the old Dutch masters one sees in the National gallery and maritime museums the world over, for ours was by no means the only barge in the area. Altogether a thriving fleet of some 350 barges ply these waters, and it was not uncommon to see several splendid gaff rigs silhouetted against a vast extent of sea, with puffy cumulous scudding vigorously across an expansive sky above. Indeed the Ijsselmeer proved to be a paradise for traditional boat lovers, for old boats seem to far outnumber modern yachts and powerboats.
Three seas
The Ijsselmeer is an inland fresh water sea bounded by dykes to the North and South, and by low lying land to the West and East. The dyke at the Southern end has a lock which facilitates passage into the Markermeer, another inland Freshwater sea, while the dyke to the North gives access via a lock to the Waddenzee, where tidal salt water begins. In fact, the Waddenzee is little more than a series of narrow, shallow channels winding between sandbanks that dry totally at low water, at the northern end of which lie the Frisian Islands. Remco explained in his typically understated modest Dutch manner that particular care is needed when navigating here because the sandbanks are continually shifting. Suffice to say, we never spent one second aground.
We started from Lemmer, about half way up the East side of the Ijsselmeer, sailing right across to the Western side where passed the lock at Enkhuizen into the Markermeer to stop for the night in Hoorn. Next day we passed North through the same lock again and sailed right up to the North East Corner of the Ijselmeer where we vitited the charming little town of Makkum. The following morning we were up bright and early to pass North through the huge lock that leads to the Waddenzee, an area made famous in Erskine Childers’ classic novel, The Riddle Of The Sands, whereupon we visited the beautiful little island of Terschelling, where I ate one of the finest herrings I have ever tasted.
Next day we returned South to the more sizeable town of Harlingen and the day after we passed Southerly through the lock back into the Ijsselmeer where we had a fast and exhilarating passage almost half way down the Eastern side of the waterway to berth up in the much smaller town of Stavoren (where there is also some wonderful herring to be had).
In each place we stopped we had just enough time for a wander round the town before dinner, and on most days an early morning constitutional in the glorious spring sunshine before breakfast and setting sail again. I had emphasised beforehand to the charter people, the Frisian Sailing Company, that we wanted to do as much sailing and as little motoring as possible, and that is exactly what we did, clocking up some 160 miles in six days. And I doubt if the sum of our motoring exceeded two hours in all that time.
Our last day was truly amazing. We spent it sailing, yes sailing, along a network of beautiful, narrow, winding canals right through the heart of the Friesland countryside, back to our base in Lemmer. One of the sights that caused us endless amusement was sailing along the side of a field of cattle to behold, on the other side of the same field, a mast with a gaff rigged sail plan progressing along what looked like a road, disembodied from any hint of a hull, which in reality was just below the height of the field on a parallel canal, and therefore invisible from our viewpoint.
A truly terrific holiday
They say a change is as good as a rest, and a change it certainly was. In many ways the whole experience felt unreal, and a million miles away from the kind of sailing we usually do in our club. In some ways it was like a visit to Legoland while other parts were reminiscent of the Norfolk Broads, not so very far away on the opposite side of the North Sea. But it was the people we met who did it for me. Every person we met, even the roughest old dog of a fishing skipper, was just so nice. And for the record, our contacts at Frisian Sailing Company, Nynke Koostra and Jaap Maks, were also extremely helpful and the organisation at their end was first class.
That is until we returned to Schiphol Airport where we had an unpleasant culture shock experience as we tried to readjust to the urban reality of being in an international travel gateway. All we wanted was a meal. But that’s another story…
Dave Robson