Staande Mast route – The Gray Route

Foolish gamble?

Dodging ferries and anchor alarms

June 18th 2019

Amsterdam to anchorage near Uitdam: 9,2 nautical miles

Time to leave the capital and continue north. First we had the follow the IJ-canal (IJ is an old Dutch word for water) past Amsterdam Central train station.That meant zigzagging through canal boats, dodging ferries and big barges and keeping a lookout for small motorboats with crying children, fussing grannies and lounging parents at the same time. The ferries are not too bad, but the canal boats are under the impression that because they’re professional traffic, they have the right to ignore basic rules and behave like jerks.

Looks almost like a painting from the Romantic period

After a chaotic trip down the IJ-canal we finally reached the Oranje locks. It had just closed so we moored to the waiting dock and awaited our turn. Since they have 3 locks here for pleasure crafts it wasn’t long before we could enter another. Right after we had cleared the lock we were faced with the Schellingwouder bridge, which was closed and wouldn’t open for another 25 minutes. Strangely in contrast to the Oranje locks that run every 10 minutes, there were no waiting docks here. The stretch of water in between the locks and the bridge is like a small turbulent basin of water caused by the large barges and speed boats that can pass under the bridge without an opening. Nothing to it than treading water and dodging barges and wait for the bridge to open.

After 20 minutes we finally entered the Markermeer, a closed-of part of the IJsselmeer. The plan was to find a nice quiet spot to anchor after 10 days in Amsterdam. Friends had given us tips where to anchor, but unfortunately our draft was way too deep for those locations. Slowly we progressed north, heading towards a spot we had seen on the map that might offer some shelter from the wind and waves.

When we finally arrived at the spot it looked promising. Not as idyllic as we had imagined, but quiet and away from the crowds. We dropped the anchor, activated the anchor alarm app and checked the visual reference points for 5 minutes. No movement, hopefully the anchor has successfully set. The sun was shining abundantly so we spend a lovely afternoon in the cockpit enjoying the peace and quiet.

In the evening the wind picked up and started to change direction. But since we knew that was going to happen we had taken the rotation into account when dropping the anchor. Everything still looked okay, so we were reasonably confident that we had done a good job. But right before we wanted to go to sleep, the anchor alarm went off. You can imagine that shook our confidence. What had happened? Didn’t we read the position correctly before? Could the anchor be dragging due to the change in wind direction? We were wondering if hoisting the anchor and reset it was the right thing to do. And if we wanted to reset the anchor, this might be the right time since it wasn’t dark yet and we could still see what we’re doing. But on the other hand we were quite confident that the anchor had set properly. While we were discussing what to do it slowly had become dark, and the anchor alarm had gone off yet again. The unnerving alarm was not really boosting the already brittle confidence we had in our anchoring skills. In the end we agreed that we would not re-set our anchor and stay in this spot to see if we’ve done it correctly. We’d rather not sleep and reset the anchor in the night than move now and forever doubt if we had done it correctly. And we had reasonably light winds and nothing in the vicinity that we could hit, so we could intervene quickly when dragging. So we took the decision to trust our gut feeling and ignore the alarm. Time will tell if we have taken a foolish gamble.

So many options

Planning the next passage

May 10th 2019

Unlike us, Captain Fluffy is going places

To liven up the mood we started to plan where to go next. The initial plan was to follow the Staande Mast Route to either Lauwersoog or Delfzeil. But during the last part of the route, especially between Alphen aan de Rijn and Amsterdam, we were continuously eyeing our depth meter since we had run aground three times already. When we looked into the next stage through Friesland and Groningen, we saw canals that were even more shallow than what we had encountered so far. So our draft might become a problem if we would like to finish the Staande Mast Route, although a lot of sources on the internet say that you can even do it with a draft of 2 meters.

Apart from the issue with our draft, there are so many options to choose from, and so many places around the IJsselmeer that might be worth visiting. Or if our draft really is a problem on the inland waters, we could go to IJmuiden, head out to sea and then sail along the coast and the islands towards Germany. Choices, choices.

We’re now thinking of going to Enkhuizen first, but then again, we might decide something else tomorrow. For the time being though, we are going nowhere.

Our first nightly passage

Passing through Amsterdam in the dark

May 8th 2019

Anchorage Braassemermeer to Amsterdam: 18 nautical miles

We were rudely awakened this morning by a clashing sound, followed by the anchor alarm going off. Apparently we were dragging, so we jumped out of bed to check on the anchor. We had indeed been dragging, but fortunately not much. But the wind direction had shifted and a quick check on the weather forecast told us that the wind would turn 180 degrees and increase to wind force 5 when a thunderstorm would pass over. Yesterday when we checked the weather forecast the wind would continue to blow from the east, and although rain was predicted, nothing was said about thunder and lightning. Well, you know what they say, nothing as unpredictable as the weather. No wonder our anchor was dragging. It probably didn’t have any grip in the slushy peat bottom.

What shall we do now? Reset the anchor or continue to Amsterdam? The next stage would lead us to the Nieuwe Meer lock, the start of the nightly passage. But then we would have to leave within 15 minutes otherwise we would miss the bridge opening over the A9 motorway near Schiphol at 12.30 hours. We had planned to stay here for 2 or 3 days so we weren’t expecting to be faced with this decision right now. Choices, choices. And we had to decide quickly, because we were still dragging. And all that on an empty stomach and without a drop of coffee.

We made the decision to hoist the anchor and continue to Amsterdam. We quickly put on our sail gear -in the meantime it had already started to rain- pulled the anchor out of the sludge and continued to Amsterdam.

We past another big stretch of water, the Westeinderplassen. Initially we wanted to anchor there as well, but the whole lake is even more shallow than the Braassemermeer. And we didn’t feel like repeating yesterday’s close encounter with the ground again. But definitely a beautiful place to go to if you have a boat with less draft. This lake and the Braassemermeer, where we were yesterday, all used to be peat bogs. After they had dug out the peat these lakes with their tiny islands and small drainage canals were left. You can moor between the high reeds or at the tiny islands. But alas, not for us. Onward we went through the drizzling rain.

Suddenly the depth meter jumped from 2,5 to 1,4 meter! A submerged bump in the waterway! The boat lurched back and then catapulted forward like we were being launched over a ramp. These are truly the days of insufficient depths…

We made it in time for the bridge opening at the Schipholbruggen. These bridges only open 3 times a day due to the busy traffic, so you really don’t want to miss an opening. We even had 20 minutes to spare so we tied up to the waiting dock and made a cup of tea. After the bridges we entered the Nieuwe Meer. The idea to anchor here for a day or two before the night passage through Amsterdam, was cut short. According to the signs we weren’t allowed to anchor here anywhere. That meant we had to do the passage tonight, something we hadn’t anticipated. But as it seemed, nothing went according to plan the last few days. So we tied ourselves to the waiting dock, and tried to catch some sleep before the passage.

Waiting for the bridges and lock to open at 23.56h

When we arrived at the waiting dock we had hailed the control center to state our intention to pass trough Amsterdam with the night convoy. We were given the instruction to listen to channel 69 for further instructions from 23.00h onwards, because the passage would start at 23.56h. Thus after a late dinner we waited for the instructions. But the channel stayed silent, so we hailed them again. Finally a response. The bridge opening would be at 23.55, so we had to be ready in front of the bridge at 23.50 because they had to open 2 motorway bridges and 3 train bridges in one go, which we had to pass within a few minutes. They would hail us for further information.

So we untied at 23.48 and drifted towards the bridge. Silence. Nothing to be heard on the VHF. Finally at 12.10 the bridge started to open and we could pass on to the lock that lies directly behind the 5 bridges.

In the lock we had a few minutes to fully appreciate that we had started our nightly adventure. We were rather nervous since we had never done a night passage before, let alone one through a city notorious for bicycles littering the canal floors, with 15 bridges and one lock.

It was almost new moon, and when we left the lock it was pitch dark. Later on when we entered the inner city it became a lot brighter with all the street lighting, neon signs and illuminated windows. Slowly our nervosity subsided. It was actually all rather exiting. We were very much focused not to hit anything in the dark like the aforementioned submerged bicycles and to time our arrival at the bridges, but all in all we were able to enjoy the passage. Turned out the whole convoy was just us, and the bridges were operated remotely, so all alone we went through the dark canals of Amsterdam.

The 14th bridge was another rail bridge. We were supposed to hear the exact time of passage over the VHF, but there was only silence. After 15 minutes we hailed them, and were told that an opening would be arranged shortly. Shortly in Amsterdam apparently means something else than in the rest of the world, because we had to wait for another 20 minutes before the bridge opened.

One last bridge and then we entered the IJ canal, a broad water channel connecting the North Sea with the IJsselmeer. The marina where we were heading was on the other side of the canal, slightly to the left. Leaving all the bright city lights behind us, it became pitch dark again. There was a near miss with a lock pilar in the dark, and we had to maneuver around big wooden dolphins (sort of docking blocks sticking out the water). Normally they have white caps, but these didn’t, rendering them virtually invisible in the dark.

The IJ canal luckily wasn’t busy at all. We saw one other vessel in the distance, so we could safely cross to the other side and enter the marina.

It wasn’t long before we were safely moored in Amsterdam marina. But it took a while before we could sleep with all the excitement of completing our first night passage.

Stuck in a peat bog

Anchoring at the Braassemermeer

May 7th 2019

Leiden to anchorage Braassemermeer: 10,8 nautical miles

Today we really are leaving Leiden. It was raining, which was actually rather fitting because we had such a good time here. Not many bridges today, just six. And most of them we had already passed in Leiden. There used to be a time that the prospect of negotiating only one bridge would have caused a lot of stress. But now we’re already talking about ‘just six bridges’. It seems like we have learned a lot.

After Leiden we passed the Kager Plassen, a cluster of bigger and smaller lakes where Jeroen had learned to sail and windsurf many many years ago. It was quite shallow everywhere and the waterway wasn’t clearly indicated either, so we had to keep a close eye on the depth meter. At the end of the Kager Plassen you can choose to either go left to Haarlem or right to Amsterdam. And as decided yesterday, we went right.

The rain was starting to increase, but despite the rain it was actually a pleasant trip. The nice thing about smaller inland waterways and sparse traffic, is that there are hardly any waves, so we could make ourselves a steaming mug of tea along the way to keep warm.

We were heading for the Braassemermeer where we found a sheltered mooring spot surrounded with trees and a place to barbecue. Although it was still raining now, the sun would come out at the end of the afternoon. So we pictured ourselves sitting there enjoying the warmth of the fire in the fading sunlight. We saw the entrance to the mooring, and made sure to head straight for the middle of the opening, because we had read somewhere that it was a bit shallow to the sides. The middle part was supposed to be two meters deep, and our draft is 1 meter 73, so we should be okay. Nevertheless we again kept a close eye on the depth meter. 2 meters, 1 meter 90 …careful now, 1 meter 80 … okay, were still moving, 1 meter 70 …what? 1 meter 70? 1 meter 40! We’re stuck!! We frantically thrusted backwards and left to right, trying to wriggle free from the peat on the bottom of the lake. A few stressful minutes later we were free again, and quickly backed away. Apparently mooring here is not meant to be.

We decided to find a spot on the leeward side of the lake to anchor. Well, leeward…. there was hardly any wind at all, making it actually more difficult than the last time when we had too much wind. In the first attempt we backed away too slow, causing the chain to fall on a big heap in the peat. When we hauled the chain and anchor in, it was coated in a thick and smelly layer of goo. Yuk. A second attempt. This time we gave more thrust when moving backwards, and that worked.

Anchor watch app on, check landmarks and hope for the best. There was no significant current and next to no wind, so would probably stay put in the same spot without anchoring.

It is really beautiful and quiet here, you only hear birds singing. We spend a peaceful afternoon waiting for the rain to subside, watching the birds and enjoying the surroundings. We had planned to test the new barbecue this evening, but we were rather far from the shore. But with a few safety measures we managed to do it in the cockpit and had a wonderful dinner in the warm glow of the barbecue. And despite rain and the close encounter with the bottom of the lake, it had been a great day.

The day of the bridges

Plus one uncharted bonus bridge

May 1st 2019

Jeroen was feeling better so we left Gouda and set course for Leiden. Maneuvering out of the narrow box was a bit of a challenge, especially since the water depth was the same as the depth of our keel. Luckily we didn’t get stuck and within a few minutes we were on our way towards the first bridge.

This is going to be the day of the bridges. We are going to encounter 17 bridges on our route today, amongst them 3 train bridges. And these take some planning, because they only open a few times a day at set times for a few minutes before the next train will rush over. In this densely populated part of the Netherlands a train runs every 5 minutes, so the time window you have to pass is often less than that.

Incidentally the first two bridges in Gouda we had to cross were train bridges. But we had planned our departure time so we only had to wait 10 minutes until the opening, so we patiently moored at the waiting dock. Another sailboat was waiting there already. It was brand new, big and shiny and also a good deal faster than us because it sped forward after the bridge opened and was soon out of sight.

We passed a motorboat in the next stretch of the canal, adorned with flowers in cases and lots of potted plants, leisurely bobbing along and enjoying the scenery. At first we tried to keep up with the other sailboat so we could use the same bridge opening, but they were so fast that we soon gave up and plodded along on a more agreeable pace.

When the next bridge came in sight we saw that the other sailboat had already arrived there and heard them hailing the bridge over the VHF, asking them for an opening. Now unlike a telephone a vhf is ‘on’ all the time. You use certain channels for certain purposes or areas. If you want to talk you press the ‘push to talk’ button on the VHF and everyone else listening to that channel can hear you. So we heard the other sailboat requesting an opening. We also heard the reply. “Sure”, the bridge master said. “As soon as that other sailboat and the motorboat have arrived here too. And make sure you stick together, so we can let you all through at the same time and keep the openings nice and short.” The bridges here are 10 to 15 minutes apart, all operated remotely by the same traffic center. Therefor they know that this cluster of boats is in this specific part of the canal. So the other sailboat had to slow down to our speed, or actually to the speed of the motorboat who was even slower, which they didn’t like.

Our route took us trough the Gouwe canal and the river the Old Rhine. We passed through the city of Alphen aan de Rijn, and underneath the Juliana bridge. This particular bridge was going to be renovated in 2015. Two big cranes were positioned on a floating pontoon in the canal to lift the new deck in place. But during the placement something went wrong. Although it is still not clear what had happened exactly, on footage you can see the cranes starting to slip from the pontoon, and the two cranes plus bridge deck came crashing down on the city center. It was a small miracle that no one was injured or killed, only one dog lost its life. Four houses and buildings were completely destroyed, seventeen houses and building were so severely damaged that they had become inhospitable. And much more were less severely damaged, but had taken a fair beating. Knowing this makes it a bit ominous to pass underneath something that has caused so much havoc.

When we left Alphen aan de Rijn we encountered a bridge that wasn’t on the map. Quick research showed that this bridge called the Queen Maxima bridge has been standing here for two years now. And that’s weird, we’ve just bought a new Navionics map so it should be on there. But it isn’t. Okay, not 17 but 18 bridges to pass now.

We had to press on a bit, because one of the bridges just before Leiden closes from 4 to 7 during rush hour for pleasure crafts. We arrived just in time, at 5 minutes to 4. The bridge master was quite amused that we had made it just in time, giving him the opportunity to tease the already accumulating traffic that went over the bridge one last time before the rush hour break.

And then we were in Leiden. Leiden, like Gouda, is a city laced with canals and is one of the oldest cities with city rights in The Netherlands. Leiden has the oldest university in The Netherlands and was home to Rembrandt, the famous painter.

Just two more bridges to pass to reach the marina. When the bridge opened we had to move aside to let a big transport ship trough. That is when we saw only 1,50 meters on the depth meter! It was so shallow that we were ploughing through the mud. Quickly we gave more throttle to get unstuck, thick clouds of mud billowing up in the water.

After passing the last two bridges we moored in the Passantenhaven, a municipality marina in the middle of the city. The harbour masters we’re delighted that Jeroen grew up in Leiden, so we had an animated talk with them.

We went for a short walk through the inner city, which turned into a walk through memory lane. It’s weird to be in a place that you have known so well, as part of a journey through the unknown.

When we got back to the boat we were surprised with an unexpected visit from a friend who knew that we were arriving in Leiden late in the afternoon. We had dinner together, and shared an enjoyable evening talking about future sailing plans. He sails as well and is planning to sail solo to Denmark in August, so maybe we can meet up there!

Perpetual cruising

What it’s like to be constantly on the move

April 29th 2019

Alblasserdam to Gouda: 16,4 nautical miles

Today we’re leaving Alblasserdam. After getting the boat ready to leave we called the bridge master to ask him if he would be so kind to open the bridge at the marina entrance for us. No answer… oh yes of course, this was the town where phones aren’t picked up. But since we really wanted to leave, we called again. And again. And left a voicemail message. Eventually we decided to walk there to find out what was happening.

There was an elderly man at the bridge house, pacing back and forth, newspaper and glasses laid abandoned on a table. He was apparently waiting for something to happen. “Are you the bridge master? Asked Jeroen. “Yes I am, how can I help you?” Jeroen asked him why he didn’t answer the phone. “Phone?” He said. “ I haven’t heard anything. Are you sure you’ve called the right number?” When Jeroen said he was sure that he had, because we dialed we same number yesterday, he called the bridge number with his own phone. The sound of the phone was hardly audible although a blue light was flashing on and off, signaling that someone was calling.“Oh, the volume must be set really low.” So he checked the phone and there were indeed several missed calls.

He didn’t knew how to adjust the volume, and said he had to wait for a technical assistant to do it for him. Jeroen volunteered to help him out. “Oh, do you know how to do that?” Asked the man in wonder. After adjusting the volume the bridge master said “Shall I open the bridge now?”. We explained that we first needed to get back to the boat and then start the engine and maneuver out of the box before we even got to the bridge, so it might take a little while. Fifteen minutes later the bridge was up and we were finally on our way, the bridge master waving happily when we passed.

A nice day again. But next to no wind and in an unfavorable direction anyway. And you aren’t allowed to tack on these waters due to the busy traffic anyway, so no sailing today. A few miles further we had to pass the next bridge. The Algera bridge and lock are actually the first completed part of the Delta works, an extensive operation that was designed to protect the Netherlands from extreme high tides and storm surges. The lock only closes if the water level is too high to protect the lower lands beyond, so we only had to negotiate the bridge. Most bridges in this traffic dense area open only a few times a day on set times for pleasure crafts. Because we came 5 minutes late and just missed the opening for the Algera bridge, we had to wait for another hour. No problem, we’ll just fasten ourselves at the waiting dock and have a cup of tea and a sandwich while we wait. We had just moored when we saw traffic on the road ahead coming to a standstill. A containership was approaching and requested an opening; they don’t have to wait. We hailed the bridge if we could tag along, and we could. The sandwiches need to wait.

Behind the bridge lies the Hollandse IJssel, a beautiful meandering river with little towns and small ferries, speeding from one side of the river to the other. Apparently they are very wealthy little towns, because most houses had their own boat lifts. There was not much traffic on the river. We passed a few containerships and other yachts going in the opposite direction, but for the most part it was just us calmly bobbing along. All in all very agreeable.

After a pleasant passage we approached Gouda, where we had to pass through the Juliana lock and two bridges, all operated at the same time. We shared the lock with only a jet ski so we had plenty of space and soon we were coming out on the other side.

Marina W.V. Gouda is situated in the center of Gouda. We were welcomed by a really helpful harbour master who navigated us through the narrow -and to our concern very shallow- harbour and helped us dock. Quite a tight fit here, the marina seems to be more suited for motorboats, which most of the other boats indeed were.

We now start to realize that every day is different and that it takes some time getting used to. As Jeroen’s mother said “Every day you have to solve new problems.” The routines are the same: preparing the route, navigating, docking, finding shore power. But the execution of such a process is completely different. Something is simple as coming home for instance becomes quite complicated. Normally when you get home, even when we were already living on the boat, you park the car in its usual spot, open the door, take off your jacket, flap down on the couch and you’re home. But now you enter a marina you haven’t been to before, so you have no idea what the layout of the place is. Often you don’t even know which slip you have to go to until you sail into the marina, and the harbour master calls out the number of the slip which you then have to find. Then you have to dock, and you don’t know what the slip looks like until you approach it. Only then you know how to maneuver into it and where to tie the lines. After you’ve fastened yourself, you have to walk to the harbour master, pay the fee, get codes or keys for gates, doors and WiFi and sometimes tokens or badges for showers, water and electricity. When you get back to the boat you have to find the socket, connect shore power, tidy up all the sail gear, move all the stuff you have secured from sail-mode (tied down or lodged somewhere to prevent the items from falling during the passage) to live-mode and only then you’re finally ‘home’. Coming home takes at least an hour in stead of a few minutes.

Everyday you open the hatch it looks different. Sounds are different, even the light is different. I guess we’re starting to feel the impact that perpetual cruising has on us. It feels different than a vacation, probably because there’s not really a deadline to return home. Our boat technically being our house makes it all the more confusing. During a vacation you tend to put up with things you normally wouldn’t, because it’s only for a few weeks. But now we’ll be gone a few months, and then it becomes impossible to be ‘on’ the whole time. Time to unwind and rest are more important. But although it can get rather stressful at times, overall it’s still quite exiting in a positive way.

We’re docked now, paid the fee and collected codes and keys so now it’s time to relax. Tomorrow we’re going to check out the city.

Our journey to Gouda

Unpredictable small yachts

Grumpy area coordinators on our way to Alblasserdam

April 26th 2019

Rhoon to Alblasserdam: 14,7 nautical miles

The sun was out again, time to leave.

But first we had to figure out what the deal was again with currents and tides and such, because the next part of our journey takes us over the ‘Oude Maas’, a tidal river busy with shipping traffic. We have a tidal map, with little arrows that indicate the direction of the current in a specific tidal phase (f.i. 4 hours after high tide) in relation to a place on the map like Den Helder for instance. Okay, we still get that, sort of. But here comes the difficult part. How to determine the direction of the current at high tide at other places that aren’t mapped? No one from the hive mind was able to explain it in simple terms, so we just tried our luck and left at 11 in the morning.

Fortune was smiling at us because the Oude Maas wasn’t too busy, and we had the tide with us. The river took us through beautiful landscapes and nature reserves. The twittering of birds was sometimes louder than the sound of our engine. And then suddenly nature gave way for heavy industry and the traffic was accumulating, a sign that we were approaching the crossing Oude Maas/ Dortse Kil, one of the busiest inland crossings in Europe.

The busy inland waterways are divided into areas controlled by an area coordinator and designated VHF channels. Normally in the Netherlands if you are a pleasure craft smaller than 20 meters, you don’t have to notify the area coordinator that you are entering their area. But since this area is so busy with big container ships and sea going traffic, the coordinators tend to get really pissed off if you start crossing channels without letting them know. And since we already heard the area coordinator and some of the large vessels complain about ‘those small yachts that just do whatever’ we compliantly announced our intentions to go left in the direction of Dordrecht. He didn’t sound too happy with our notification. Maybe he was already getting worked up about ‘yet another unpredictable small yacht that isn’t going to notify us, you’ll see’, and then we did. What to do now with all that pent up aggression? Grumpily we were warned for a huge seagoing container ship behind us, that wanted to go right to the Dortse Kil. Pleasure crafts have to keep to starboard as much as possible, and the container ship was way faster than us so we had to hold in and let him go first. After that the grumpy sector coordinator told us we had permission to cross, but quickly (grumble grumble…).

Right after the crossing we had to pass two bridges at Dordrecht. They are railroad bridges with exact opening times and have a narrow time window before they close again due to the international trains that run over them. We were lucky again and arrived just under 10 minutes before it opened, which was very convenient because with all the traffic on the water in felt like being in a washing machine.

Once we crossed the bridge we passed the old town of Dordrecht. Initially we had planned to spend the night here, but we decided to sail on. Partly because it was still quite early so we could cover more miles, but mainly because tomorrow is Kings’ day, a national holiday to celebrate the Kings’ birthday. Dordrecht is quite a big city for Dutch standards and the marina we were initially heading for is right in the center of the city amidst all the bars and cafes, so it could become rather noisy and unpleasant.

So we sailed on and approached another bridge we had to cross at Alblasserdam. We tried to hail the bridge and ask for an opening via VHF, but no response. There was nothing to be found on the internet about opening times or a phone number, so we had no idea how long we had to wait. After 10 minutes of continuous attempts to hail them they finally responded. Most of these bridges are remotely controlled, so they were probably not on watch yet. We had to wait for another 20 minutes before we could pass, and without a mooring spot to wait we had to motor in circles to pass the time.

Directly after bridge lies the entrance to the marina of Alblasserdam. Since it was now half past three in the afternoon, we decided to stop here and wait for the bad weather front with heavy rainfall to pass. It was forecasted to start at the end of the afternoon and pass over in two days. While we waited for the bridge to open we tried to call the marina, but maybe it’s a thing in this town, because they didn’t respond as well. We tried our luck again and went in anyway.

We needed to pass another bridge to get to the town centre where the marina of W.S.V d’Alblasserwaerdt lies. In order to pass we needed to hail the bridge master who came racing to the bridge on her bike to open it just for us. It was a very small club run marina with only one or two empty slips, but two berth holders kindly helped us to navigate towards one of them and to dock the boat.

The harbour master arrived later and gave us the key to the gate and the sanitary building. We’ve noticed that a lot of small marinas which are run by clubs and volunteers don’t have a dedicated harbour master, just someone who does it next to his or her normal daytime job. That explains the tardiness in response.

We ventured into town to get some groceries and relaxed a bit afterwards with nibblies in the cockpit before the rain came.

The passage from Rhoon to Alblasserdam

Not like YouTube

Hauling anchor and a bumpy ride

May 23rd 2019

Anchorage near Hellevoetsluis to Rhoon: 16,1 nautical miles

When we woke up it was still quite windy. It was blowing a steady 18 knots, so we decided to hoist anchor and leave for Rhoon. Now I’m sure that all you experienced salty sailors would do it in a jiffy, but for us hoisting an anchor with wind force 4 to 5 is something to be a bit nervous about. Before our worries concerned an anchor that would break free. Now we were concerned that we couldn’t get it out. In theory you should slowly sail towards your anchor which makes it easier to haul it in. Slowly we eased forward and started to haul in the chain, but keeping the boat from drifting over the anchor is not that easy when the reality doesn’t look a bit like the YouTube ‘how to’ movies with calm waters and sunshine. Despite all the waves and the wind we managed to get the anchor aboard and set course for Rhoon. We had head winds and it was still blowing an average of 18 knots so no sailing today unfortunately.

The Haringvliet is quite broad, and our position now being the lee shore (the side where the wind is blowing towards for all you landlubbers:) the wind waves were creating a bumpy ride. So we were happy to leave the Haringvliet and enter the Spui, a smaller more sheltered water way that lead towards Rhoon.

We passed little towns and typical Dutch landscapes with windmills -the modern versions- and the obligatory sheep and cows.

After a relatively uneventful trip we arrived in the marina of Rhoon. The sun was peeping through the clouds again so we relaxed a bit in the cockpit and enjoyed the remainder of the sunshine.