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.

Vlieland, the Netherlands, to Borkum, Germany

Sherri and Peter with layers, ready to sail from Ameland

It was a bright day with partly cloudy skies and a nip in the air, and the wind was blowing from the southwest at 20 knots when we cast off at 9:40 this morning from the dock in Ameland in the West Frisian Islands to travel to Borkum, and island in the East Frisian Islands in Germany. After about an hour of making our way through the winding channel to the open sea, we were able to turn of the engine and sail on a deep broad reach, cruising along at an average of 8.3 knots. Throughout the day, we tacked and changed our point of sail, varying between a broad reach and dead down wind with the sails set wing and wing. 

Peter at the wheel 

The north side of Vlieland from the boat

We started out enjoying good sailing, but the deteriorating weather was not up-lifting. Over the course of the day, the cloud covered changed in percentage from 25 to 90 in an hour and then decreased to 50 then 40 then 30 before going the other way around 3 p.m. and becoming 70 by 4:30 and 100 by 5 p.m. The sky was a ominous gray and the water was steel gray with a slight green tinge. My mood steadily dropped as the day grew darker and chillier. We wore our foulie jackets, hats and life jackets the whole time. Toward the end, I was feeling like the day's travel was becoming interminable. 

Around 5 p.m., the wind speed fell to 12-14 from the southwest, and, with the current not in our favor, we were forced to use the engine for the rest of the day, even when the when picked up again. Uncertain about where and how to dock, having been unable to contact the harbormaster by phone or VHF radio, we followed the green and red marks into the yacht haven on Borkum. We decided to dock in one place, but a man who had been showering naked on an adjacent finger pier told us that we needed to dock on the other side of the wharf. Various sailboats, all smaller than Mantra, were rafted up two by two. We decided to try to dock at the outer end of the wharf. A couple of men from other boats came to help with lines. Peter was at the wheel and I was told to throw the bowline to a man on the dock. I failed to reach him with two attempts. On the third time, it worked, but the wind was blowing the boat away from the wharf and the stern swung to starboard so that Mantra was almost perpendicular to the wharf. By then, two more men had arrived. The men, who were very strong and more experienced than I am, managed to pull her around steadily once I tossed them a spring line. Eventually, with Peter thinking that the lines should be released for a fresh attempt and the men determined to make it work, our boat was parallel to the wharf and securely tied. It was the worse, most embarrassing docking experience ever!

The wind is still blowing around 20 knots and anticipated rain has started and is expected to last through the night and all day tomorrow, so we may be docked here for two nights. Borkum does not look as pretty at the West Frisian Islands, but we will try to do a bit of exploring tomorrow.

Ameland, West Frisian Islands, the Netherlands

We pulled up anchor at 1:30 yesterday (Monday, June 1) and made our way past the island of Terschilling to reach Ameland. To leave the anchorage of Oost-Vlieland, we had to follow the marks out the channel and then head west for a few kilometers along the North Sea side before exiting the area of shifting shoals and finally turning east. We had good wind for sailing on the open water for a couple hours, and then we had to start the engine. We followed the twists and turns of the marked channel past the west end of Ameland to reach the harbor at Nes, halfway along the south side of the island. We were unable to get a response by phone or e-mail about dockage in the yacht haven, but there was plenty of space and we tied up along the first long dock. All the other boats are local, with some being old and lovingly maintained. Many have wooden leeboards. The Wadden Sea is shallow, so boats have to have short keels to be able to sail in it. 

Local recreational sailboats in the marina

After arriving at 8:30 p.m., we spent the evening on board. This morning, having the privilege of sleeping late again, we skipped breakfast on the boat and went ashore. The ferry from the mainland docks nearby, and there is a place for renting bikes of all kinds by the entrance to the ferry dock. We rented two manual bikes. The rental shops on these islands offer electric bikes, but with the flat terrain, there would seem to be no need. Four young women were renting two bicycles built for two, but we decided not to go that route. The bikes have comfortable seats and seven gears and were delightful to ride. The streets and paths are all cobbled and well-maintained. Unlike Vlieland, visitors can bring cars here, but there were very few on the roads. 

First we stopped in the village of Nes for something to eat. Rain was predicted for the afternoon, so we wanted to spend as much time exploring on wheels as possible. We bought breakfast food from a bakery and ate it on a bench outside. Then we peddled away with no real destination in mind. The residential areas are tidy and attractive, with colorful gardens. After a few blocks, we were out of the village and surrounded by open fields and meadows. 

Peter in Nes

Peter admiring pastries

When we came to a windmill, we stopped for a look. Although it was not running at the time, the Mill de Phenix is still operational and is used for grinding Ameland rye (rogg) into flour used to make traditional rye bread and to process rapeseed for oil. Mills have stood on the site since 1629. The current smock mill (a type of windmill that consists of a sloping, horizontally weatherboarded, thatched, or shingled tower, usually with six or eight sides), built in 1880, has a low brick base, is winded by tailpole and winch, and uses Common sails which are spread over a lattice framework and can be reefed. The smock and cap de Phenix are thatched, with the date of construction and a coat of arms cut into the thick dried vegetation. It is listed as a Rijksmonument (national heritage site) by the Dutch government. 

Peter at Mill de Phenix

Detail of Mill de Phenix

The date "1880" in the thatched smock of the windmill

Underneath the windmill is a shop and the refurbished and working grinding and stamp mills used for producing flour and oil from agricultural products grown on Ameland.

Nearly 200 types of birds can be seen on Ameland throughout the year. Bird song accompanied us throughout our ride through the countryside. The fields were spotted with wildflowers, and many birds could be seen. In our casual birding today, we got a new lifer, the black-tailed godwit! We also saw an abundance of common redshanks and a few northern lapwings with their babies. Many more birds we could identify by their sound but could not spot them.

Male common redshank near the village of Buren

Female common redshanks on a post with sheep on the dyke

Northern lapwing and two babies

A brief spattering of rain came as we were headed back to the village of Nes, but luckily heavier rain waited until we were safely onboard Mantra. Just a bit earlier, the rain was bouncing off the decks as the wind gusted up to 25 knots. 

Tomorrow morning we wind our way out through the channels to the North Sea and head for the island of Borkum across the border in Germany. 

Vlieland, Part 2

Interesting algae formations by the dinghy dock

Yesterday (Sunday, May 31) around 3 p.m., we dinghied to the yacht haven, disposed of our trash and recycling, and walked to the only town on the island, Oost-Vlieland. There used to be another town, West-Vlieland, but it was lost to the sea in 1736. We had lunch in the village; Peter's chicken dish was colorful and beautifully presented while my two cylindrical vegetarian croquettes sat on two fat pieces of white bread. The filling seemed to be mostly pureed mushrooms. Oh, well, at least there was a vegetarian option. To make up for the lack of protein in my meal, we stopped for ice cream afterwards. (For those of you who have been to the Scottish Highlands Creamery in Oxford, Maryland, you will understand when we say we have not found anything to compare in our travels so far.) 

Peter on the main street in Oost-Vlieland

We walked west from the village partway along the southern shore of the island, where there were a few fields with horses. We spotted just two and then a whole gaggle of barnacle geese in the pastures. This is a species we had not observed before.

Pasture land west of Oost-Vlieland

Barnacle geese

Including the walk from and back to the marina, we traversed about five miles on our walk, mostly through forest with views of large meadows with bogs, some of which still have spring flowers blooming. It was a gentle, slow walk on well-maintained trails. Once we left the shore of the Wadden Sea, we encountered only one other person on the path. We enjoyed the tranquility while listening to bird songs and calls. Peter first noticed the distinctive call of a cuckoo. We followed it and waited patiently for ten minutes or more for a view of it, but, like the other birds such as the Eurasian blackbird, the meadow pipit, and the common chaffinch, it was well-camouflaged among the large-coned tall pines and deciduous trees. We did spot a lot of butterflies, however.

Red admiral alit on black cherry blossoms

We happened upon a lily pond just off the path as we were heading east toward the marina, with the lilies and irises providing a contrast to the shades of green of the forest. We spotted some black and white goats near the lighthouse, which is situated on the island's highest point at 42 meters (138 ft.).

Water lilies

Billy goat

Irises by the lily pond

Vlieland's lighthouse

Although it may not have been necessary, we wore our hiking boots instead of our sandals for our excursion, and my feet were tired of being confined by the time we arrived back at the marina. My flip-flops were a welcome relief!

On the boat, after a dinner of leftovers, Peter worked on charting routes while I read. Sunset came around 10 p.m., and Peter pulled out the conch hour to greet the night (which, in these latitudes, does not actually occur until a couple hours later). Then we went to bed. We sleep so well with the gentle rocking of boat. 

Peter greeting the sunset over Vlieland

This morning, a trawler passed close by us. As it gathered its catch while motoring in parallel lines, the crew cleaned it, which resulted in a following of a couple hundred gulls, squawking loudly.

Trawler and gulls

We are ready to head for Ameland, our next destination in the West Frisian Islands.