Beyond the Bridge

Day 3

As Tuesday morning dawned bright and clear, posing no threat to our plans, we felt as if we were starting again. Naturally, we still didn’t make the 0820 bridge opening, as Skipper’s pilotage stuff takes a while. It’s not just that – he’s the most un-morning person you could ever find: queasy and snappy until at least 10am. After coffee (which generally renders him considerably more human), we set off and crossed the sound, entering the harbour at Stralsund to wait for the bridge opening. There were a dozen or so yachts circling in predatory fashion, as if at the start of a race. We could see a number of boats massed on the other side, and weren’t sure how this was going to work. In the event, we got the green light first, and jiggled our way through. We had to carry on motoring for a while to clear the queue of boats on the other side, but put the sails up 10 minutes later in a gentle breeze. Now the holiday really got under way. We were delighted at how Das Drama tugged away under sail, and were soon reaching down the sound at 4 to 5 kts. After two days of windless gloom and narrow channels, this was bliss! We found ourselves “racing” a larger yacht, nicknamed Fat Boy by Skipper. He should know. Collision rules were meticulously observed and there was much cheery waving.

Waiting for the bridge to open

We were heading for the village of Stahlbrode, on the mainland side of the sound. A little car ferry ploughs across from there to Rügen Island, there is a well-spoken-of fish smokery, a few holiday homes and not much else. When we started the outboard to enter the harbour, we found that the throttle had been loosened and it would work at maximum revs or not at all. We progressed with a deafening roar for a few seconds, followed by dropping the revs to tick-over to lose speed, repeating as necessary! The pilot book notes that the eastern corner of the natural harbour is shallow and stony, but we could see yachts tied up to pontoons there. In addition, the deeper, and more sheltered, walled harbour was infested with those confounded Nordic mooring posts. The choice seemed obvious. There was a space free which we could approach upwind, so mooring was refreshingly simple. We were a little exposed to the breeze, though, and had to follow the example of the boats moored around us by leaving all the mooring lines very loose to minimize the creaking and thumping which would otherwise have kept the entire village awake all night.

The harbourmaster’s office was also a general store and bar. We dutifully bought and wrote our postcards and the harbourmaster volunteered to post them in the village.  We ordered bread for the morning, which he explained would be delivered to the boat at 7.30am, together with the latest weather forecast. What more could we ask?

We had viewed the prospect of eating out in Germany every day for a week with some trepidation, as neither of us likes pork, but again we ate well, at the quayside restaurant (having declined the harbourmaster’s invitation to a bratwurst barbecue). I felt duty bound to try the pickled herring, which was excellent. Despite the rave reviews, I couldn’t quite summon the courage to try the smoked variety. Skipper decided to leave the culinary experimentation to me, and had a steak. The wind dropped during the evening, and we spent a very peaceful night.