Netherlands/Germany Trip - Vlieland      29th May:

    We surfaced from our pits and ventured out into a cool but sunny daybreak. Mallards and coots patrolled their territories around us, the coots in particular fended off any newcomers. After a swift coffee we cast off and headed out to the Tsjerk Hiddessluizen to catch the 06:55 opening. Strangely, we were the only vessel using the lock, and the whole lock operation was conducted by an unseen single person housed in the tower above the lock.
    Once out of the lock, we motored past the ferry terminal, with just one solitary person high up on the promenade to wave us off. The rest of Holland slept. Or so we thought. Exiting the Voorhaven, it was like Piccadilly Circus with yachts, fishing boats, ferries and barges scooting along the narrow, winding channels across the Waddenzee.

A Busy Waddenzee

    The Waddenzee (Wadden Sea) landscape has been formed for a great part by storm tides in the 10th to 14th centuries, overflowing and carrying away former peat land behind the coastal dunes. The present islands are a remnant of the former coastal dunes. It is the largest unbroken system of intertidal sand and mud flats in the world. The site covers the Dutch Wadden Sea Conservation Area, the German Wadden Sea National Parks of Lower Saxony and Schleswig-Holstein, and most of the Danish Wadden Sea maritime conservation area. It is a large, temperate, relatively flat coastal wetland environment, formed by the intricate interactions between physical and biological factors that have given rise to a multitude of transitional habitats with tidal channels, sandy shoals, sea-grass meadows, mussel beds, sandbars, mudflats, salt marshes, estuaries, beaches and dunes. The area is home to numerous plant and animal species, including marine mammals such as the harbour seal, grey seal and harbour porpoise. Wadden Sea is one of the last remaining large-scale, intertidal ecosystems where natural processes continue to function largely undisturbed.
    Towards the North Sea the islands are marked by dunes and wide sandy beaches, and towards the Wadden Sea a low, tidal coast. The region is continually contested by land and sea. The impact of waves and currents carrying away sediments is slowly changing both land masses and coastlines. For example, the islands of Vlieland and Ameland have moved eastwards through the centuries, having lost land on one side and added it on the other.
    Despite all the activity, an air of tranquillity presided over this vast watery plain. The sea was quite calm, with vessels silently appearing over the horizon. Harlingen slowly sank beneath its eastern horizon, and the islands of Vlieland and Terschelling slowly rose up from the sea to the west. Those distant landmasses mysteriously sat on thin slivers of silver, as if they were mirages. A seal popped up from the depths, had a good look around while he sniffed the air, then arched his back and brought his tail in the air before sliding below the surface. A coastal patrol vessel kept tabs on us on a few occasions before disappearing off to Vlieland. Rex doesn't do snooping vessels, the air turned blue for a while in both English and Dutch. I just advised him to keep off the pickled herrings.
    Tranquility returned, enhanced by a text from my sister-in-law, Jenny, who was thinking of my wife - she would have been celebrating her 67th birthday today.
    After an intricate set of manoeuvres over a maze of shallow channels, we entered Vlieland Marina, the narrow entrance being accessed from a vicious tidal crossing perpendicularly.
    Again I encountered a jovial harbour master, and soon we were safely and painlessly secured inside a berth. A hot shower was all I required then to make my day.
    Rex decided to have a nap. I needed to explore. I espied a high ridge crowned with trees nearby, so I opted to hike up there.

A Maze of Forest Paths

    Vlieland is one of the West Frisian Islands, lying in the Waddenzee. It is named after the Vlie, the seaway between it and Terschelling that was the estuary of the river IJssel in medieval times. It is the second island from the west in the chain, lying between Texel and Terschelling. The island was permanently separated from the mainland in St. Lucia's flood in 1287. The northern part of the island of Texel, Eierland, was once the southwestern part of Vlieland. A storm surge in 1296 probably separated Eierland from Vlieland. Erosion further diminished the size of Vlieland from the west, leading in 1736 to the disappearance of a second village on Vlieland, West-Vlieland, leaving Oost-Vlieland as the only remaining establishment on the island.
    The island is around 12 km in length and no more than 2 km in width, of which the largest part is a desert-like area in the west, the Vliehors. The island is largely forested, and is an island of dunes, the most prominent being the eye-catching Vuurboetsduin. This is a forty-metre high dune with a red lighthouse (though today a lighthouse covered in tarpaulin) on top.
    The island, which is regarded as the most remote from the mainland, has a population of approximately 1100 people and is well known for the beautiful landscape, the large and various bird population and the peacefulness. In summer, many tourists come to visit the island, fortunately none of them are allowed to bring vehicles across to the island.

Looking Down on the Marina

     Until 1942 Vlieland, like Terschelling, was part of the province of North Holland. During the Second World War, Vlieland became part of the German Atlantic Wall. The Germans built two anti-aircraft batteries and stationed more soldiers on the island than there were inhabitants. They also repartitioned the island to Friesland and the situation was not reversed after the war.
    On reaching my vantage point I found an array of well-trodden paths leading in all directions through the forest. Nearby, I noticed a manmade tower which I climbed, and was afforded splendid views over the eastern side of the island. I proceeded to take a hike along the paths, randomly heading into the interior. A mixture of and deciduous trees draped the grassy dunes. It was a wonderful feeling to be hiking on land again, my lungs sucking in the heady, resinous vapours from the conifers.

Looking Across to Terschelling in the Distance

Just One of the Many Campsites

    After a while I came across a more substantial path consisting of gravel. This was used by hikers and predominantly cyclists. Following it, I stumbled across an enormous campsite nestled between the dunes. Oddly all the tents were of a beige colour which blended with the dunes. This was obviously a campsite set up by an organisation rather than by individuals, perhaps catering for the hordes of schoolchildren who flocked here by the ferry load. The path seemed to go on for miles, and I had no concept of how far I had walked, so I cut across the island in the general direction of the Waddenzee. Numerous bushes of dog rose straddled the area. Mounting the brow of a dune, I found myself looking down on the marina again - a delightful walk.

Dog Rose

    Towards evening we walked along the mile along the seafront to the small town; still familiar after two years. The streets were almost deserted, with just a few tourists and locals riding their bikes. The main drag had retained its smattering of cafes, bars, restaurants and shops. A few hundred metres along it we came across what appeared to be a bar with a few folk drinking outside. Rex could not resist, and we descended onto a spare table. Immediately a waitress pounced upon us. "Wij willen graag twee biers," piped up Rex.
    On the next table, two blokes and a woman sat. The guys were soon chatting with us in English, and at times in Scottish. The huge, stocky gorilla chap, sporting a black T-shirt and a mass of fuzzy, blond hair above his ruddy face had a mischievous sense of humour. He had once been based in Aberdeen and worked on the oil rigs, and he expressed his fondness for haggis, neaps and tatties, together with black pudding. We learned he was originally married to a Danish woman, but was now married to a Dutch one. "She is a nurse," he stated. "Many women are more concerned with their nails or hair, but nurses look after you," he added. The other chap had been a lorry driver, but was now hobbling about with a crutch. He was a keen motorcyclist, often frequenting the Isle of Man TT Races, but had recently suffered a terrible motorcycle crash. He had smashed his face, losing many teeth and breaking his nose. In addition he had broken an arm and a leg, the latter requiring a metal plate to aid the bone to set. He must also have damaged some nerves since he could no longer taste.
    Both were from Vlieland, and spoke Frisian. This was superb for Rex who had studied Frisian on a distance-learning course. They proceeded to give us a crash course in Frisian. Any time a local passed by on their bike they would shout "Hoi,", "Hooi," and various other greetings. The 1100 inhabitants were a close knit community which relied chiefly on tourism.
    As they left, they recommended the food inside. As we entered, we discovered it was a restaurant (well with a name like Restaurant de Richel, what else could it be), a popular one too judging by the rate at which tables were filling up. We grabbed a table and enjoyed a splendid meal; slip tongs for me tonight.
    As we returned through the town, a ferry arrival was signified by crowds of folk marching by with suitcases, and groups of children being herded onto coaches for transportation to the many campsites.
    The evening was warm and fairly still as we strode along the sea wall - the calm before the storm. When we reached Duonita a Force 5 had suddenly appeared from nowhere.