GREEN PERSONS IN SWEDEN.

An extended journey by sea kayak is more than simply physically paddling day after day.
Heaving a laden boat, unpacking, making camp, cooking and washing dishes and body in cold seawater are all involved. Fitting everything back in every morning can be as challenging as putting your bum in the seat ready for yet more km in changing weather conditions.

Sweden enjoys "Allemansratten", an ancient public access right. It includes the freedom to go ashore anywhere and camp, provided you cause no damage or go too close to houses or prohibited land, such as nature reserves. For the sea kayaker it is just heaven and was one attraction for Mick and me to plan 8 weeks there. Married 35 years with an even more strenuous test of a year of early retirement together, we felt we should cope with each other's company. Well, just about.

A Quest for Adventure.

Our current kayaks were too small. We'd read favourable reports on P&H's new design of expedition sea kayak, the Quest and arranged to test a demo boat. Liking its performance, storage capacity and large hatch openings the Quest was ideal.

To aid planning, we looked for sea kayaking articles on Sweden in past canoeing magazines, unsuccessfully. Was Sweden not a "macho" enough area to go to or write about? We wanted to paddle the North Sea Bohuslan coast from the Norwegian border southwards through the archipelagos, drive across Sweden to the Baltic and continue paddling in the archipelagos there. Contacting Karin, a Swedish paddler, she asked to join us for a couple of days near the Norwegian border area and generously insisted lending all the North Sea maps needed. Karin prefers Grona Karten [Green] maps, equivalent to O.S 1:50,000, to sea charts as it's easier to find camp pitches, locate villages for shopping and water and show lighthouses and seamarks.

On our expeditions, we use fresh food whenever possible. Pasta, rice and porridge are pre-packaged at home. We take backup canned meat and fish but foot-and-mouth export restrictions complicated this. Experience has shown that buying cans in a country where you can't read the ingredients leads to unexpected surprises! On June 4^th 2001, sailing Dover/Calais to drive to Sweden, we shopped in France hoping our translations would be fairly accurate.

Three days later our tent stood alone in a F7 at Askim Strand, south of Goteborg. At Anglesey Sea Kayaking Symposium we'd met Johan from Goteborg and arranged to meet. He showed us his Kayak Centre (www.escapekajakcenter.nu ) where much of his business is Corporate Team Building through sea kayaking. He also hires kayaks to individuals and groups and is very keen to achieve B.C.U. qualifications.

After a night in a bitterly cold gale force 8, it was a pleasant drive northwards in clearing skies. At Stocken on Orust Island we met Karin at Thomas's Kayak Centre (www.orust-kajak.se). An adjacent commercial campsite and unrestricted car park here suited our plans.

Days 1 - 9: Rasso - Koster Islands - Stromstad - Orust: 149 km.

Karin drove us northwards to Rasso. Launching from a small beach we were very aware of Thomas's earlier concerns that sea conditions might still be rough following the gale. White waves crashed against the lighthouse at the entrance to the sheltered bay. Being the first time we'd paddled our new kayaks fully laden, I was feeling extremely apprehensive. Fortunately the water was just a good bounce. The Quests handled like a dream! An immediate sense of stability was felt, doing wonders for confidence. The skeg position could be finely "tuned" for the kayak to track in the desired direction. We like boats like this! St Brattskar Island provided good shelter between large, smooth rocks. Climbing to the highest point, our breath was not only taken away by the wind but by the sheer beauty of the 360 degree vista of a multitude of low islands set in a blue sea under a clear blue sky. Although totally isolated in the ocean, the night was unbelievably noisy. Cuckoos called continuously, competing with the howling wind as well as each other. Continuing up to the last of the light from the setting sun they didn't then stop for sunrise began immediately. It was to never get dark all the time we were in Sweden.

Porridge went down a treat and non-stick billies clean easily in cold seawater. The water's edge was thick with jellyfish, the reddish ones having nasty stings. We had a stunning paddle through a maze of small islands, their rocks covered in bright yellow lichen and wild flowers and eider ducks, geese and inquisitive seals everywhere. Mick minded the map, as he doesn't trust my navigating! He soon realised that keeping track on our precise location was going to test even his skills to the limit. Some channels between islands were only a few metres wide and inlets often twisted and turned to result in a blind exit. The "rock awash" symbol was emphasised when suddenly stranded with crunching noise being heard. Looking hard at the map even small rocks were marked. Droplets of rain or salt spray distort the view through glasses to complicate matters. On Vrsholmen is a small museum next to the lighthouse. Once the storehouse for equipment and acetylene for the light, much is still here along with old photos of people, shipwrecks and data on seal decline. The sealing industry together with the virus that also killed seals in British North Sea waters had a devastating effect. We began the unprotected and bouncy crossing to Nord and Syd Koster Islands before a lovely paddle back to St Brattskar for another night.

Saying farewell to Karin at Rasso, we refilled water bottles, sneaked a shower and headed out to travel northwards to Stromstad close to the Norwegian border. In no hurry among oystercatchers, terns and gulls, we got out the fishing lines. Several fishing vessels headed out to sea and we hoped they'd have better success than us. We were to have fish for supper, but it was to come out a can. Disillusioned and lines put away, out came the sail. Now, I was rather enthusiastic about this as I'd tried kayak sailing in a small bay at Anglesey and back home made a sail from plastic tarpaulin. It hadn't been tried out and Mick was adamant it couldn't work. Rafting up, we put paddles up gussets I'd sewn at both sides and lifted it. The wind force was so great on the large area, we couldn't hold it. Taking off spray decks and putting the paddle blades between our legs for extra support, we grasped each other's boat for dear life. Moving forward quite fast, large volumes of water slurped up between us into the cockpits. We weren't actually going in quite the right direction either with no way to steer. Back to the drawing board. Why do some people always have to be right? Suddenly it became busy with huge ferries. I suggested we'd reached our target but Mick wouldn't believe we'd travelled the distance in the time. We could only see a small settlement on shore but I felt there must be more tucked away. You didn't get vessels of this size in a village. It took some persuading for him to agree we alter course and investigate. It certainly was Stromstad and he did concede I might be right occasionally! Finding a good pitch for our first night on our own Mick determined on which of the many islands we'd landed.

Passing southwards among tree-covered islands, navigation was very critical, requiring continuous use of map, compass and landform. Wind direction reversed today assisting from behind but being more northerly it was really cold when the sun went in. Sheep appeared on Bissen Island where we camped and Mick practised herding, steering them clear of kayaks, tent and equipment. So many islands could be seen from the highest rocks. We hungrily devoured Swedish meatballs, a national dish, with wine and brandy going down nicely too. Did we say this was an expedition?

We headed out to open sea. There's Gulf Stream influence here but we weren't inclined to swim and washing each day was a minimalist event. On a long open crossing, the wind picked up quickly to a F4 against us with a swell growing bigger by the minute. I felt I ought to be feeling vulnerable. The Quest was performing superbly and I never once felt unstable, but it was a psychological problem for me. Reassessing the situation, we changed course and surfing at great speed, passed rock skerries where the waves reduced along with my heart rate. With so many islands in these archipelagos a safe route can be picked according to weather or your mood.

As next morning presented a F5 wind, we didn't venture out to the outer archipelago. With clear skies we had an attractive paddle to the marina at Fjallbacka. Although Sweden's a sea faring nation, it's not kayak friendly for getting off the water in habitation. Slipways are rare. Awkward balancing in deep water and clambering onto a few slippery rocks leaving the kayaks floating together secured with towline, became the procedure. Packing shopping and water away and getting a hatch cover back on under these circumstances was a trial. The tourist office provided a newspaper weather forecast. Battling out of the harbour, we struggled along to Kalvon Island and sank deep into smelly black mud carrying the boats up the beach. We cheered ourselves up with anticipation of sea cabbage to accompany our evening meal. Fresh new leaves grew where we'd had lunch and with true adventuring spirit we'd picked some. If we really had adventuring spirit we should have collected the dried cowpats around us for fuel but there are limits. The cabbage was reminiscent of greens from the good old days, irony and bitter. We decided perhaps we wouldn't bother again. Swans with wings puffed up gently floated between the islands all around us, an idyllic sight more than compensating for a hard day.

In a glorious morning, we took the seaward route and although the sea wasn't big, the F2/3 southerly wind was very cold. Fishing proved fruitless again but we gathered winkles from rocks. The evening search for a sheltered camp spot also proved fruitless. Even with many islands and permitted to camp almost anywhere, finding a suitable pitch out of the now F5 wind with its chill factor wasn't easy. Eventually, at the entrance to Sotekanalen, we found a pleasant little beach on the mainland though rather noisy with canal traffic. This canal was blasted out of rock a century ago, giving employment at a time of depression and enabling sailors avoid a very exposed section of coastline. The winkles, extracted with a First Aid pin and dipped in tartare sauce, were fiddly but tasty.

The canal provided sheltered paddling from weather but not from boys and girls having fun in speedboats. There's no age limit for children to use small powered craft unattended by adults and in this restricted space they were opening up the throttle to impress with standing starts, "hand break" turns and bow waves. We saw large chimneys with flames a-top on the mainland and numerous lights and two huge red and green lateral marks marking the tanker entrance to Malmon Fjord. Mick became concerned the greatly indented coastline wasn't aligning with the map. Landing on an island for the night, two kayaks were drawn up high amongst deep slippery seaweed. Mick reluctantly bit his pride to ask the paddlers, "Where are we?" Having misjudged our speed in the increasing following wind we were two km further south than expected. It stopped raining and within seconds, midges descended in droves, the first problem we'd had with them. Light from a glorious sunset hit a cliff of honey coloured granite at the side of the bay resulting in a change in rock colour almost to that unforgettable image of Australia's Ayres Rock.

Heading out, inquisitive seals bobbed up around us. The sea was very calm so later out came fishing lines and we trailed as we paddled. Glancing backwards a very black and threatening sky was gaining on us fast. Winding in empty lines, thunder rumbled, it began to pour, the wind hit and the sea became rough. Increasing paddling speed, we turned towards the mainland. Although warned of nasty sea conditions at Jonsborg Head, they weren't a problem. We paddled quietly through quaint old fishing villages. Arriving on Orust, Thomas was pleased to see us back safely and lent his hose to clean the Quests. A Norwegian paddler landed. He'd virtually traced our route from Stromstad. Young and blonde, with every finger and thumb adorned with ornate rings and looking the very image of a true muscular Viking, the journey had taken him the same number of days as us. I was well chuffed with myself!

Days 10 - 14: Orust - Goteborg: 77Km.

After a rest day, it was good being back on the water enjoying splendid long open crossings with the full open sea to our right - nothing between the U.K and us. What a feeling! The archipelago was beautiful and we had it all to ourselves. Suddenly the wind shifted picking up from the west. The swell from the open sea became bigger and growing, so with my comfort level diminishing at a comparative rate, we turned landwards. We surfed at speed until shelter was gained and the swell significantly reduced. I'd had my day's adrenalin quota, so we took the gentler way. Mick enjoyed the French can of "Lapin aux Pruneaux" despite refusing to eat rabbit at home. Perhaps I didn't translate it properly until he'd finished it!

Even amongst islands for protection the cold wind against us made very hard going. On the mainland, shipyards and a huge fish processing plant uses power generated by wind turbines. Marstrand Fjord was to be a long extremely exposed crossing with just one opportunity to exit the water at Astol Island. A good F5 hit us immediately. I struggled mentally with an unprotected broadside North Sea swell increasing in size till I could no longer see Mick while he was in his trough and I was in mine. These were the biggest waves I'd ever been in. I knew my Quest well by now and had confidence I wasn't going to capsize in this regular pattern of waves, but was intimidated by how they might grow, as I can't roll. We pulled into Astol harbour. A ferry had just entered mooring at right angles close to the entrance, engine still running. Mick was suddenly caught in a river of fast flowing water pushing him sideways towards pilings under the pier. He yelled a warning and I was relieved he'd been in front. The map showed this small island totally built-up: camping was impossible. A steep wooden slipway enabled us to pull/push the boats up. The heavens opened. It poured. And I was not moving on. Finding a self-catering apartment, we felt guilty for this wasn't exactly the true nature of an expedition. Short of continuing to paddle, which for me would have been foolhardy, we had no choice.

Completing the fjord crossing and further long open crossings across the Skagerak, we landed on Gillholmen. Putting the tarp up to cook under, we spent the evening playing I-spy. Things must have been dire!

On Mid Summers Day in the beautiful area of Nodre Alvs Fjord, we made fast progress. Then 9km of busy exposed water leading to Goteborg, the largest port in all Scandinavia, faced us. Visibility wasn't good but large navigation seamarks aided us. We unexpectedly came to low lying islands and lighthouse which Mick couldn't see on the map. Later we discovered them hidden under the map-case seal strip. With no overlap between maps, getting close to an edge gave unwelcome uncertainty. Approaching Askim Strand campsite was a long painful slog in sheeting rain. Now the site was packed solid with loud music and smells of barbecue grease. We landed in the worst of moods, exhausted, wet, hungry and totally out of sink with everyone else in celebratory mode.

Day 15 - 20: Goteborg - Orust: 106km

Following a recovery day, it was back to Orust. Again in Goteborg waters, multiple sea-lanes were extremely busy with ferries, taxis, yachts and other craft. Ferries towering above islands appeared at alarming speed and the blast of their horns was frightening as first thoughts were that it was directed at us. Each time Mick jumped out of his skin at the sound he automatically yelled, "Move!" We couldn't relax for a second as every boat coming towards us had to be watched intently.

As days passed, weather improved. The route around Tjorn Island has stunning scenery with rugged sections and high cliffs. A German couple, envious of our lifestyle asked, "Are you Green Persons?"("Travellers"). Now there's a thought. Scenery became even more spectacular in Stigfjorden with beautiful pine covered islands set in a vivid blue sea in the sunshine. We collected enormous and delicious mussels in clear water.

Johan had agreed to meet us at our last island camp-spot. Using a wooden Inuit paddle he had made, it was interesting to see different style and faster rate compared to our use of Lendal Nordkapp paddles. With wind behind it was surfing all the way, the Quests riding the following waves well. Johan told of being stranded by weather on an uninhabited island near here for several days whilst kayaking. At the picturesque village of Mollosund, the fishing industry is all but dead. Now houses are mostly holiday homes, many corporately owned for tax reasons and occupied for only a month or so in summer. Not a good place to go looking for shop or water out of season. Back at Orust and now in celebratory mood, we marked the achievement and conclusion of the North Sea part of our expedition. We had paddled over 330 km in our well-chosen Quests, completed what we intended, thoroughly enjoyed ourselves and wouldn't hesitate to recommend this beautiful North Sea area. Our advise is to be prepared for quickly changing conditions, that one member of the group should be advanced level and any other should be a reasonably experienced sea paddler with a deck compass. An ability to use map, hand compass and navigate effectively is essential.

Many thanks to P&H Kayaks, Lendal Paddles and Phoenix Spraydecks for their support.

© Linda Fitter November 2001