Esbjerg, Denmark, and into the Lymfyord

At 7:30 a.m., about three hours after sunrise, we cast of from the dock in Hornum in Germany, under mostly cloudy skies, en route to Esbjerg, Denmark. We experienced west winds at 20-24 knots from the west, which allowed us to sail all day with three reefs in the main sail. The sea state went from 2 foot chop to 5-6 foot waves, so it was not the most comfortable ride. The sky was gray, the water was a darker green-gray, the temperature was chilly and the wind was nippy, so I spent a lot of the time below until the amount of blue sky exceeded the gray. 

Peter with the main sail halyard with Hörnum in the background

Sherri at the wheel

The southern tip of the island of Sylt, where steady, on-going erosion is visible

Choppy sea state off the west coast of Denmark

Waves breaking over the bow 

From the channel approaching the port, we could see the 30-foot tall sculpture of four men called Man Meets the Sea, which sits on a grassy mound above a white sand beach. When we arrived at Esbjerg around 6 p.m., we went into the marina through a breakwater and an open concrete lock gate that can be closed when there is a storm surge from the North Sea. The marina was not full, but we could not see any piers that could accommodate a 17-meter boat, so we rafted up to a similar sized sailing yacht, S/V Libertas from Prague, just inside the entrance. Since the owners were not on board, we remained on Mantra until they returned. The Czech couple came aboard for drinks in the evening, and it was nice to become acquainted with them.

Man Meets the Sea sculpture

Esbjerg is the fifth largest city in Denmark, established as a seaport in 1868, after the Danish North Sea port of Altona came under German control at the Second Schleswig War in 1864. Prior to becoming a port city, Esbjerg was an agricultural area. The harbor was officially opened int 1874, and the municipality received the status and privileges of a market town in 1899. Originally, the city served as a fishing port and major export center, particularly of agricultural goods. Now, the port facilities have expanded to handle container shipping and support the wind-turbine industry. 

The day after our arrival (Wednesday, June 10), we walked into the relatively young city, passing through part of the industrial area supporting the port. We passed by a facility for Kosan Gas, the company from which we purchased a small liquid propane tank in Greenland since we could not refill our American tanks. We stopped in to see if we could return the empty tank there. Since it wasn't a retail outlet, a refund for the tank itself could not be issued, but they would take the tank. One more unneeded item off the boat! After that, we also passed a large processing facility for Polar Seafood, recognizing the polar bear on an iceberg emblem which we saw in cities and villages in Greenland last year.

We walked through some residential areas, where most of the buildings are two to four story unembellished red brick structures, pleasant but not inspiring. An exception were two architecturally striking apartment buildings of glass, concrete and metal. 

Unique apartment buildings

Eventually, we made it to the main shopping area of Esbjerg, which has blocks of wide pedestrian streets with a variety of shops. In the city plaza, construction of a large stage at one end was underway in preparation for an annual eight-day festival. In the center is a modest equestrian statue of King Christian IX, who was the Danish ruler at the time the city was created. We stopped for lunch at an outside table at a restaurant called Dronning (Queen) Louise, eponymously named for King Christian IX's wife.

Pedestrian street in Esbjerg

Equestrian statue of King Christian IX

Artwork and political statement on a pedestrian street

After lunch, we stopped at a large supermarket for snacks and vegetables and then caught the bus back to the area of the marina. Only cash was accepted for fare, but we had no Danish kroner. The friendly driver was willing to let us ride for the four 1-euro coins we had. 

That evening, we visited Jack and Adele on Libertas, and enjoyed conversation, a lovely dessert Adele had made, and drinks in their spacious salon. Two friends of theirs from the Czech Republic arrived while we were there. The four of them are sailing to Bergen, Norway. 

At 4 a.m. (Thursday, June 11), slightly before sunrise, we cast off our lines to Libertas and floated gently away. After leaving the port channel, we headed directly north toward the Limfjord, a 180 kilometer waterway through the center of Jutland from the Thyborøn Channel on the North Sea to Hals on the Kattegat, into which the Baltic Sea drains. 

Leaving Esbjerg before sunrise

Peter at the wheel

Until February1825, the Limfjord was only open to the sea on the east side of Denmark. The North Sea flooded the coast from the Netherlands to North Jutland, drowning 800 people, devastating the agricultural economy and creating a western opening to the Limfjord. This essentially made North Jutland an island. 

The wind was too light for sailing, so we motored past hundreds of operational wind turbines and more under construction, paralleling the coast approximately 25 kilometers from the coast. Wind power supplies about 60% of Denmark's power, more per capita than any other place in the world.

Operational wind turbines and some (yellow) under construction

Although we were forced to motor, the trip was more pleasant than the trip from Sylt a couple days earlier. It was mostly sunny and, after we got offshore, the sea was flat. I went back to bed after we were on course for the Limfjord and then spent the rest of the day in the pilot house. Peter took a nap in the afternoon. While we were both topside, we were able to play games and pass the time comfortably. Shortly before 9 p.m., we entered the Thyborøn Channel and made our way past the first anchorage we considered to a more sheltered, more bucolic area, dropping the hook in 4 meters of water at 9:37 p.m. in Lem Vig (Bay). We sat in the pilot house and watched the sunset.

Bluffs and farms on the coast of Lemvig

Sunset, Lim Veg

We settled in, I took a shower, and we had a very late dinner before going to bed around midnight. Today, we are sitting at anchor as the wind howls around us and rain comes and goes. We will spend time this afternoon determining where we may stop in the Limfjord.

Hörnum on the Isle of Sylt, Germany

We cast off the dock in the yacht harbor in Helgoland this morning at 8:10, 25 minutes later than we had planned, which allowed another, larger sailing vessel to get to the fuel dock, which opened at 8 a.m., before us. We had to wait almost an hour for that boat to take on fuel. After it left, we docked and took on 400 liters of diesel, duty free. Twenty-five minutes later, at 10:10, we cast off and headed north.

Waterfront of Helgoland with traditional boats from near the fuel dock

The headland of Helgoland with two sea stacks and fortification walls

After getting past the shoals, we were able to cut the engine and raise the main and unfurl the genoa to sail in 13 knots of wind from the SSE around 11 a.m. We enjoyed the quiet, and we were alone on the gray sea with the sky a hazy lighter gray all around us. The sea had about a 1 foot chop, and we sailed on a broad reach, starboard tack until the wind dropped just before 3 p.m. to 10 knots. We could have sailed at 3-4 knots speed over ground with the wind but we would have arrived here in Hörnum late in the day and rain was in the forecast, so we turned on the engine. Luckily, the current was helping us speed along, so we arrived at 5:30. Two men were waiting for us on the dock at Sylter Yacht Club and quickly helped us secure Mantra to the dock in the sheltered harbor.

The clouds were skittering across the sky, some of them quite dark, so we got ready quickly and went to explore the beach and town of Hörnum on the southern end of Sylt while we had time. The beach is quite wide and has a promenade between it and the town. At the end, a path slopes down to the beach below the red and white light house which is surrounded by imported trees and vegetation. We walked near the lapping water to where the sand forms a curving spit to the east. It was high tide, so we could not continue walking along the west side of the island.

Beach in front of the town of Hörnum

The lighthouse in Hörnum

The southern spit of Sylt

Sylt, the northernmost island in Germany, is part of the North Frisian Islands which form a barrier between the North Sea and the Wadden Sea. It has a 45 kilometer (25 mile) sandy beach. The island consists of heath, sand dunes and beaches, and its shape is constantly shifting, particularly on the northern and southern tips. Like most of the other Frisian Islands, it was part of the mainland until it was separated by flooding. For Sylt, this occurred in January 1362, when the Grote Mandrenke (Great Drowning of Men) flood resulted from a cyclone, coinciding with a new moon, which swept across the British Isles, the Netherlands, northern Germany and Denmark. At least 25,000 people lost their lives.

Our travels along the eastern coast of the North Sea do not coincide with the Northern European summer vacation season, which spans from mid-June to early September, peaking mid-July through August. Therefore, the resorts from Oostende to the northernmost Frisian island have been quiet. The previous islands had a lot of ferry service from the mainland, so there were a lot of day trippers but few people on longer vacations. Helgoland hosts cruise ships, with passengers being brought to shore from the floating behemoths by tenders, but they only stayed for a few hours. As we walked or peddled along the roads and paths, often no one else has been around once we left the villages. We have seen only a few dozen people here.

After our beach walk on Hörnum, we walked through part of the resort town, where all the houses and duplexes are painted the same shade of white and have slate roofs with exactly the same slope. It is actually quite attractive. The waitress where we stopped for a delicious dinner told us, when asked, that the first houses had been virtually identical and became so iconic that the municipality now requires that all buildings follow the same plan to please the tourists.

Older housing in Hörnum

Newer but similar housing

After our entrees, we succumbed to the lure of dessert and were not disappointed with the presentation or the taste of the apple kuchen. I hardly ever take photos of food, but this dessert was just lovely.

Delicious apple kuchen

We have now returned to Mantra, and the rain has not yet started (as of 10 p.m.). High winds are predicted for tonight, with gusts to 40 knots, but it should be calmer, although maybe wet, tomorrow, so we plan to make it to Denmark, which we can see from here, probably to Esbjerg on the mainland of Jutland. Peter, who is pretty dirty from emptying and cleaning one of the two large fuel tanks on the boat yesterday, has gone to the showers at the yacht club. I prefer, unless the shower facilities are quite close, to shower on the boat in the morning (every two or three days) so that I can just take off my nightgown and get dressed afterwards rather than having to get dressed to go to the shower.

Helgoland, Germany

At 5:40 a.m. on Friday, June 5, we cast off the lines at the marina in Borkum. After we zigzagged our way for a couple hours along the channel through the shoals of the Wadden Sea to the open North Sea, we were able to cut the engine and begin a wonderful day of sailing under partly cloudy skies with 14-20 knots of wind from the west, tacking and setting the sails from broad reach to dead down wind. I came below to get some more sleep around 8 a.m. While I rested, Peter had a fantastic time sailing the boat on his own, jibing several times to us the wind and current to best advantage--and the sun came out! 

Peter with a breakfast burrito for brunch

Mantra sailing at 7.5 knots on the North Sea

Around 2 p.m., the wind dropped to 10-14 knots, but we were still able to sail, just a bit more slowly, for two and half hours. We turned the engine on when the wind dropped to 6 knots around 4:30, but it picked up to 13 knots an hour later, and we sailed until we reached our destination, Helgoland, Germany, the largest island among a small archipelago where only two are above water all the time. It lies 46 kilometers off the coast of mainland Germany. We docked at 5:40 p.m. at Südhafen with the sun beaming down. In distinct opposition to the docking in Borkum, showing his mastery, Peter pulled the boat up to the dock with impeccable precision so that I could just hand the lines to other boaters who were walking on the dock and stopped to help. 

Approaching Helgoland

With many hours of daylight left to explore the one-square kilometer island of Helgoland, we set off to see the red sedimentary rock cliffs from the paths along the cliff edges and the sea birds that nest and shelter there. The island is a geological oddity, composed primarily of 250 million year old red Buntsandstein (Triassic sandstone) that formed in a dry, desert-like basin that experienced periodic shallow flooding. This durable rock core was pushed up from subterranean salt domes by tectonic movements about 50 million years ago and has withstood the harshness of the North Sea since then. A smaller, flatter island called Düne lies just to the east. Unlike Helgoland, it is composed entirely of young Quaternary sands, gravel and moving coastal dunes. Helgoland and Dune were connected by a natural land bridge until it was permanently submerged by a severe storm surge on New Year's Eve 1720.

Mantra on the dock with Düne in the background

When we left the harbor and walked into town, we were surprised to see that the architectural style and colors resemble those we saw in Greenland last year. From reading, we already knew that everything on the island was destroyed by British bombing after WWII. The West German government built houses and other buildings on the island in the early 1950s before allowing the evacuated citizens to return in 1952. There was an architectural competition and the current structures are modeled on Bauhaus and Scandinavian styles. 

Typical architecture in Helgoland

The island, which is now part of Germany, has been owned and governed by several sovereign nations and has been occupied since prehistoric times. Flint tools and copper plates have been found underwater near the island, which much larger centuries ago, and archaeologists have found evidence of processing of copper ore, which can be found on the island, from the 12th to 14th centuries. The basis of the economy from this period onward was fishing, hunting birds and seals and wrecking. Until 1714, ownership of Helgoland switched several times until in August of that year, it was conquered by Denmark-Norway.

In 1807, the British took control of the island, and Denmark ceded the island to King George III of Great Britain by the Treaty of Kiel in 1814, after the abdication of Napoleon as the French Emperor. The British retained the island but did not use it as a military base after the Napoleonic Wars.

In 1826, while still under British control, Helgoland became a seaside spa and attracted the European upper class as well as artists and writers. The island became German in 1890 as a result of the Heligoland-Zanzibar Treaty. For the Germans, ownership gave them control of the water near the western of the Kiel Canal, which was under construction along with other military installations. 

Under the German Empire, Helgoland became a major naval base, and the civilian population was evacuated to the mainland. Fortifications were built along the cliffs as well as other defenses. The first naval battle of WWI was fought nearby. After 1918, the islanders return, but their home became a naval base again when the Nazis rose to power.

During WWII, the Germans built a submarine bunker, coastal artillery, an air raid shelter, extensive bunker tunnels, and an airfield. During the early part of the war, the island was seldom bombed, but on April 18 and 19, 1945, 1,000 Allied aircraft dropped about 7,000 bombs. The populace hid in the air raid shelters, and the German military suffered heavy casualties. The attack rendered the island unsafe, and it was totally evacuated.

From 1945 to 1952, the uninhabited islands of Helgoland and Düne became part of the British Occupation Zone. On April 18, 1947, the Royal Navy simultaneously detonated 6,700 metric tons of explosives under Operation Big Ban, completely destroying the island's principal military installations, including the submarine pens. The annihilation of these pens resulted in the creation of the Mittleland crater. The British continued to use the island as a bombing range.

A movement to return Helgoland to Germany was initiated in December 1950 and on March 1, 1952, the former inhabitants were allowed to return. The West German government cleared a significant quantity of unexploded ordnance and rebuilt the houses which exist today before their arrival.

For Germans and other EU citizens, Helgoland continues its 200-year history as a holiday resort, although the tourist economy is spurred less by the beauty and birds of the island and more by its status as a duty-free zone. Ferries run back and forth from the mainland from five cities on the coast.

It is easy to tell that we have had plenty of leisure time in the last two days by the amount of history and geology I have learned. It has required research online, because all the signage around the island about history and nature is in German only. In addition to the man-made Mittleland, the island has two distinct parts, the lower land and the upper land or plateau. It is on the lower land, at or near sea level, that most of the accommodations, restaurants, shops and amenities for tourists can be found. There are a few routes to the upper land, by stairways or climbing paths. None are arduous as the highest point on the island is 61.3 meters (201 feet). Outside the inhabited area, the upper land becomes green, open land with wildflowers blossoming among the grasses. There are no trees. A brick-paved trail runs by the edge of the cliffs. As one approaches the southwestern end of the island, first the sound and then the sight of thousands of birds on the cliffs tell of the abundance of undisturbed wildlife. 

South side of Helgoland

Before going to the cliffs, we stopped in town for dinner and were surprised to find that reservations seemed to be required. The second place we went in, however, was able to accommodate us. Peter had pizza and I ate lasagna, pleased to have a selection of vegetarian options. We had a little conversation with a family of adults at the next table, whose great-grandfather had been born on the island when it as British. 

We had our binoculars and I was carrying my new Canon DSLR camera, which allows me to take much better photos of things that are not close than I can with my iPhone. It was approaching sunset, and the birds were settling in for the night. The guillemots were sheltering about halfway down the cliffs while the northern gannets were practically on top of each other on the tops of the cliffs, where some of them were nesting. It was amazing that they were close enough to touch and obviously accustomed to people and totally unaffected by human presence. It was stupendous to be close enough to see every detail of the plumage, all the color gradations, and the bill structure of the gannets as they sat sedately on the ground or pruned themselves. Some of the sea birds were still out getting food from the water, and their graceful, gliding flights were a thrill to watch. 

Northern gannets

British fortifications and 47-meter high Lange Anna tower

Northern gannet on its nest

Northern gannets nesting

Cliffs of Helgoland

Guillemots and northern gannets 

Gannet with a fluffy chick under its breast

As we came to the tip of the island, we came upon a flock of wooly sheep who were also oblivious to all the humans on the paths and overlooks. Some people were even petting them. The sun was lowering on the horizon, creating glorious shades of orange in the western sky. 

Grazing sheep

People waiting for the sunset

Sunset over the North Sea

We returned to town along the northern side of the island, passed back through town, and returned to Mantra to go to bed after a long and delightful day.

The next morning (Saturday, June 6), it was still sunny and windy--a perfect day for doing laundry in our washing machine and hanging it out on the lifelines to dry. It had been a while since clothes and linens were washed. In our small machine, I did three loads and hung them out to dry along the starboard and port sides. In the early afternoon, Peter and I walked into town to buy groceries but found that the store we intended to shop at was already closed for the day. We decided to wait until the next day and found a place along the promenade for ice cream. As we were enjoying it while seated on a bench overlooking the harbor, I noticed dark clouds quickly piling up in the western sky. Rain, we could tell as seasoned sailors, was imminent. Peter had finished his cone and dashed off before me. I followed a minute or two later, but the rain was already pelting down before I had gone a dozen yards, and I was soaked when I arrived at Mantra in time to help Peter retrieve the laundry, which had been nearly dry when we left the boat. Peter strung up the clothesline in our cabin using the loops for lee sheets, and I hung everything in there. By bedtime, it had dried very little, so we slept in the aft cabin last night. 

Our cabin as a drying room

The weather, which is unpredictable unless you are constantly consulting a weather app, changed a short time later, and the sun re-appeared. June 6 marked the 200 year anniversary of Helgoland becoming a vacation resort, which called for a special festival, which brought a lot of tourists who came not just to shop. We did not see it, but swimmers were attempting a swim around the islands. There were events for children and a parade as well as small boat races in the harbor. The large search and rescue boat, the Hermann Marwede, which is moored near us, was open for tours. The 46 meter long ship is the largest search and rescue cruiser in the world. We walked on the decks, through the bridge, into the engine rooms and the recreation room and found a crew member in the hospital quarters who spoke English and was able to provide us with lots of information about the boat and its activities. He told us that the crew is on board continuously for 40 days and then has 2 weeks off before the next shift.

SAR ship

Peter on the deck of the SAR vessel

Fire hoses and other gear in the aft of the ship

We had reservations for dinner at 7 p.m. at a restaurant serving mostly vegetarian food (yea!) and planned to attend a concert afterwards. Peter used AI to translate the menu (as he had done the night before) and chose rib-eye steak with large helpings of potatoes and beans while I had an enormous portobello mushroom sandwich with an enormous amount of fries. The waiter was very friendly and the restaurant had a nice atmosphere, so we had a pleasant time. The portions were too large, but the waiter hesitated and then said "not really" when I asked if they had a box or a doggie bag. 

Afterwards, we went to find the concert, which was just a block away on a pop-up stage. Their was a huge and boisterous crowd, despite rain that started and stopped before we left the restaurant. Performing was the Hamburger Goldkehlchen (gold-throated warbler), a famously unconventional, 70 to 100-man amateur male choir. The group came together in 2016. The choir, instead of focusing on technical perfection, emphasizes community, unbridled joy and charity work. Their motto: "70 men, nobody can sing--you'll love it." And even though some of the lead vocals were cringe-worthy, we did! The choir was highly engaged with the audience, who sang along on most of the songs. 

Hamburger Goldkehlchen

Peter and I went in search of provisions. The merchant who specializes in ship provisions does not offer any fresh food, so we bought duty-free chocolate and a bottle of rum to have for guests. We used Google Maps to get directions to another grocery store in the upper land, but it also mainly had the same duty-free goods you would find in an international airport, so I googled where to find groceries. We had a nice up and down walk past Mittleland before arriving a Edeka market in the low land, which is a regular grocery store where we were finally able to get fresh food. 

One of the craters created by the British detonation of munitions in 1947

We had skipped breakfast and were hungry. Places had not yet open for lunch in the heart of town, but two small take-out shops were open along the promenade. One sold only fish and chips and the other only brats. Peter got an order of fish and chips and an extra order of fries for me (which I could not finish), and we ate at a picnic table on the waterfront. Back at the boat, I took the still-not-dry clothes out of our cabin and put them back on the lines outside, stuffed our sheets in the washing machine, unloaded the groceries and vacuumed the inside of the boat. Luckily, there has been no rain (yet) today, the sun comes and goes, and the 20 knot wind is blowing the clothes to and fro. Despite the wind, with 85% humidity and 55 degree Fahrenheit temperature, the clothes have not fully dried. I have brought most of them in when, after multiple checks, I have found them no drier than they were an hour before. Our cabin is once again festooned with clothes. 

We are leaving for tomorrow morning after filling up with duty-free diesel. The wind will be continue to be from the west, not strong, but with plenty of fetch, so we will have higher waves, particularly since the wind has been brisk from the west for two days. 

Borkum, Germany

Last night, just as we were finishing a game of backgammon and then getting ready for bed, another sailboat came into the harbor, and Peter had to go on deck to help her get moored to us, which took about half an hour with the wind and current. Peter reported back that we were not the only ones making awkward docking maneuvers. 

Although the island of Borkum's economy is supported by fishing and fish processing, as our noses revealed to us when we came into port, the main source of income for the island is tourism. A ten minute walk from the visitors' wharf where we are docked are the ferry docks, which come and go from the mainland cities of Emden, Germany and Eemshaven in the Netherlands several times a day. There are trains comprised of colorful cars and little red locomotives that transport ferry passengers the 7.5 kilometers between the dock and the center of the town of Borkum. We went to the ferry dock, not realizing that the train was really only for ferry passengers and was included in their fares, but a man who ocassionally works on the ferries told us we could ride for free because there are no conductors on the trains. So we did!

The immaculately clean train was filled with families and couples from the mainland with their rolling suitcases and daypacks. Slowly and steadily, the train passed through open land until it reached the middle of town. On disembarking, we discovered that the cobble and brick streets before us were lined with shops selling souvenirs, beach paraphernalia, ice cream and other things that we are used to seeing at beach towns on the mid-east coast of the United States.

We stopped in a Lutheran church, lovely and much less richly decorated than the Anglican churches in London and Catholic churches in London and in Belgium we have visited this year. There is no ostentatious show of gold, silver, marble, elaborate carvings, tapestries, memorials, and art work on display. The sanctuary is modest, simple in design and tranquil. 

Lutheran Church in Borkum

We walked past the New Lighthouse, which sits in a small park in the middle of town. When fire destroyed the old lighthouse in 1879, the New Lighthouse was built in record time between May and September to ensure the safety of passing ships. Still considered one of the most important sea lights on the North Sea coast, at 197 feet (60 meters), it is the twenty-fourth tallest traditional lighthouse (building purposely built by authorities as aids to navigation) in the world as well as the third tallest brick lighthouse. It serves as a day marker and a light at night; on clear nights, the light is visible for up to 45 kilometers.

New Lighthouse and gray skies

From the lighthouse (which can be climbed but did not seem worth the effort on this changeable weather day), we strolled past hotels, not yet in full use by summer vacationers, to reach the large promenade and wide beach. In shallow water inside a sandbar, kite surfers and windsurfers were enjoying speeding along the surface of the sea with brisk winds. It was starting to rain, but it was only a drizzle, so we walked along the promenade for a bit and then turned back in towards the downtown area. 

Kite surfers and a windsurfer and two people on the beach

Borkum beach and the lower level of the promenade

We were thinking about lunch when a sudden downpour made us quickly decide to pop into the nearest cafe. The menu was in German only, and the servers spoke no English, so we had to use AI to translate the menu. There were no enticing vegetarian options, so I chose apple kuchen from the display of pastries and Peter opted for an open-faced sandwich with avocado, smoked salmon and rocket. 

Passing more tourist shops, we found an ATM, where we tried to get euros. However, Peter's debit card had expired at the end of May, so it was not possible. (I did not have mine with me.) It matters little since we use credit cards for almost everything. 

Locomotive and train cars in downtown Borkum

Our timing was fortunate; the train was leaving for the ferry dock just about the same time we were ready to return to our boat. On the previous train ride, the windows were open and people were standing outside on the ends of the cars to enjoy the nice weather. However, this day, sunlight has been rare, appearing for 15 minutes to half and hour, to be replaced by gray skies and intermittent rain, sometimes quite heavy and once with thunder. Passengers were inside for the ride to the ferry, most of us with damp jackets and clothing, so the windows fogged up and dampness hung in the air.

The wind has been blowing a lot of the day at about 20-25 knots with gusts up to 40. The boat is rocking all the time, and we are closed in from the cold and humidity. The little heater is running right now to take off the chill. Still, I sit here in fleece and a warm hat, far from being toasty warm.

Tomorrow we leave the dock at 5:30 a.m. to sail for Helgoland, a German island northeast from here toward the coast of Denmark. Unfortunately for them, we will have to rouse the crew on the next boat to let us out.