Hello from windy and rainy but ever mystically beautiful Faroe Islands. Being here feels like we followed the steps of a crew from a sea folk tale, and reached a mystical green island beyond the fog, where water flows and the food is rich—an island that men would risk shipwreck in an attempt to reach. In fact, Naddod, the Viking king after which our boat is named, did cast off from Norway with his crew in an attempt to find and settle in the Faroe Islands, and a storm blew his ship off course. He overshot the Faroe Islands and ended up being the first Viking to reach Iceland.
Our imminent voyage is becoming more real, as the activities of our day consisted largely of preparations: we got all our sailing clothes on, strapped our bags and gear to the boat to check on volume and weight distribution, opened up all our sails to check their structural integrity, and then cast off from the dock outside to boathouse for a test run of Naddoddur. We moved the heavy wooden oars from the boat out to the sides and secured each one in an open position with ropes, and started rowing out to the middle of the fjord. Rowing is a team activity for which you have to be fully alert, otherwise you get nowhere and the oars get caught on each other. We got the hang of it quickly and glided through the water. Once we reached a good position, we raised the sails. The first time of attempting anything is a little chaotic, so it took us a few minutes to find our way in setting the sails up correctly. As our boat is a traditional Viking boat, we don’t have modern pulley systems, cleats, winches, or anything of the sort. Everything is manual, including the position of each corner of the sail which is handled by line tension and by using poles that you attach to the bottom corners of the sail. Martin steered the boat, Andy and Georg managed the sail positions, and Saeny and I handled the sheets that attached to the sails.
Andy checked in with me to ensure I felt okay with the boat and the idea of being on it nonstop for 3-5 days in the open sea. It’s important to ascertain this, of course, because once we set off there’s no going back. In this case, that’s a literal statement because the orientation of Viking boat sails is such that you can only sail downwind. So once we leave. If you want to move upwind, rowing is the only feasible option. Of course I answered that I do feel comfortable with it, and it’s true. I love being on the water, and feel happy being on the boat. The rest of the crew was also in high spirits and enjoyed the test run.
We sailed to a nearby harbor and docked the boat there for the night. Back at the boathouse, I asked Georg, Fixer of All Things, to show me different knots so I can be prepared to handle any task assigned to me on the boat. He brought some ropes, and showed Saeny the Red and I how to do several types of knots, until we felt confident in them.
At some point during the course of the day, Sonne, one of the boathouse men, drove Saeny the Red, Martin, and I to a nearby village to purchase Faroese wool clothing. The sheep here are tough and they produce some sort of oil in their wool to keep them warm on the harsh climate, so Faroese wool is warmer than other wool. We bought wool pants and sweaters for the voyage. When you have a seafaring culture that has generations of sailors, and they tell you to prepare for a voyage in some way, it’s probably wise to pay heed.
When we left, Sonne drove us around to see some sights. Any time I look out the window or walk anywhere, I’m dazzled by the beauty of what I am witnessing: a scraggly bighorn sheep grazing on the steep side of a sea cliff, houses topped with grass roofs, fog laying low and making the entirety of the scene look mystical—it’s a special kind of feeling. And the people here—they are practical, capable, and so full of love. They show you their hearts in every conversation and gesture.
In the last few days, we’ve had various visitors dropping off food for the voyage: lamb leg, dried whale, bread. I feel fortunate beyond words to be here experiencing this.
As for the crew, we are no longer at the stage of “coming together.” Now we are a unit, and we get along very well with each other, working in coordination on all our daily activities. This bond will be for life, because you can’t cross an ocean with a crew and not form a tight relationship—either that, or you have a miserable time at sea with people you hate. Fortunately that isn’t the case with us, and we’re all friends now.
I’ll leave you now with some Faroese wisdom from the boathouse men that call themselves “the last of the Vikings”: “All you need is common sense.”
This statement doesn’t need much explaining, and yet can ring true as a guiding quality for the decisions in your life. On the boat, this will be particularly relevant as a bit of observation and common sense will presumably resolve most of the problems we may encounter.
Your Loyal Viking Archeologist and Official Stowaway,
Karla