Netherlands Trip - Den Helder      2nd - 4th June:

2nd June
    Rex took the midnight to 4am watch, and when I awoke, I found a pearly grey dawn with the promising flush of a beautiful sunrise in the east. The East Anglian coast had slipped off the horizon behind us. Occasionally a fulmar effortlessly glided about Duonita before losing interest in us. Almost gull-like, these grey and white seabirds are related to the albatrosses. They fly low over the sea on stiff wings, with shallow wing beats, gliding and banking to show their white under parts then grey upper parts. I appreciated their company on my lonely watch. A few large ships passed by, heading to exotic locations such as Mistley, Tilbury, Dunkerque and Le Havre.
    But the piece de resistance of this early morning watch was watching a tiny bead of red suddenly float up on the horizon directly ahead, as the sun heaved its massive weight up to plop onto the grey horizontal line for a rest before beginning its long steady ascent into the heavens. Such a sight never fails to fill me with awe. The sun felt warm on my face, and once again I revelled in the magical joy of a long sea passage.
    The day passed by in a blur; it always takes me a while to fit into a 4 hour on/4 hour off watch routine. The sky was blue, the wind not favourable, and the sea decidedly lumpy, so much so that I decided not to eat. I wasn't feeling sea sick, I just had no appetite. Rex meanwhile made endless supplies of cups of tea and coffee; he would drink more in an hour than I would in a day. Soon our paths only crossed at watch changes; one man taking over while the other grabbed rest in his bunk or pit. My pit was a coffin type arrangement which I had to slide into, though my upper body was not buried. It was a cosy arrangement, which served to ensure I would not fall out of my pit in rough seas.
    The monotony of the cold grey expanse of the North Sea was broken by the plentiful supply of ships plying their way between places as far apart as Klaipeda and Nantes.
    As we neared the Dutch territorial waters, fishing vessels became a nuisance (they need to be given a wide berth because of the long line of nets extended behind them), and fields of oil and gas rigs gathered, standing like Martian sentinels left over from the War of the Worlds.
    The sun sank below the horizon, and a bitterly cold wind still raced across the icy, grey waters, lashing up a swell that occasionally thudded into Duonita, sending a shudder from bow to stern. We picked up a shipping forecast which announced that the gale warning had been cancelled. Hmmm..... we weren't expecting that.
    Darkness enveloped us, and we were surrounded by a magical world of flashing buoys and beacons, plus the steady cluster of lights of large vessels. Oil rigs, lit up like enormous Christmas trees, came and went.

3rd June
    I went off watch at midnight, and snuggled in my pit under my sleeping bag, soon oblivious to it all. This wasn't to last. Around 02:30, I was woken by Rex, we were now in the Schulpengat, the approach channel to Den Helder. The poor lad related to me the traumas he had experienced over the last half hour. "Three dredgers came out of Den Helder and blocked off the channel. Then, to cap it all, what seemed like the entire Den Helder fishing fleet all poured out following their customary practice of ignoring non-fishing vessels." Strong coffee was required at this point. Curiously, Rex had the ability to curse and smile at the same time; he saw the funny side of such calamities.
    We gingerly made our way along the channel on the approach run into Den Helder, passing by a very large, unlit buoy in the murky darkness, and gilled about outside Den Helder harbour. The guide book we were using proved as effective as a chocolate teapot as far as guidance was concerned. "Look for the lit tower with a ring of lights," it said - we were confronted with what looked like a New York skyline lit up like Blackpool illuminations. "Do any of these guide writers actually visit the places they write about?" quipped Rex. Our aim was to moor up in Koninklijke Marine Jacht Club just inside the harbour, but first we had to seek VTS Den Helder's permission to actually enter the harbour (we learned later just how busy the harbour is, and hence the need to seek permission to enter and leave). A quick chat with VTS Den Helder indicated that we were free to enter the harbour, and tie up in the marina where we could.
    Once in and safely moored, we enjoyed a cup of tea and a wee dram of Jura before settling down for some sleep at 4am.
    I was up by 09:30 and sought out the marina harbour master, who turned out to be a friendly young lad in his late teens, tall like most Dutch people, and totally laid back. "Since you didn't arrive until early in the morning, there is no charge for last night," he said in impeccable English.
    A leisurely breakfast was followed by checks on the boat, accompanied by singing, "Do the checks, Rex", sung to the tune of that old song, "Hit the Road Jack". Rex just loved that singing! A delicious shower managed to give our day a proper kick start and activated us to take a walk into town.

    The port of Den Helder was a huge complex containing the Dutch naval port and a very busy commercial port, pilot boats, buoy maintenance boats, a busy ferry terminal providing a link to the nearby Frisian Island of Texel, marinas, and very large Maritime and Sea Rescue Museums. Our marina was also referred to as the Naval Marina since trainees from the adjacent School of Seamanship took small vessels out from here, to put theory into practice. Motor boat skills were also taught here to the public, as were banks man skills.

Naval Defence Building

    We walked past the Naval Defence Building, a grand looking establishment surrounded by lush gardens, and headed past the Maritime Museum, marvelling at the pelotons of cyclists heading past us to the ferry terminal.
    Due to its strategic location at the tip of the North Holland peninsula, multiple fortifications were built in the area. Den Helder has played an important part in Dutch shipping. During the Dutch Golden Age, ships would be assembled near Den Helder and sail from there to the world's oceans. Den Helder was the site of a naval base as early as the 18th century. An Anglo-Russian invasion force landed at Den Helder in August 1799 and captured the Batavian navy there. Napoleon Bonaparte, visiting Den Helder in 1811, was impressed with the town's strategic location and ordered the construction of a fort (Kijkduin) and naval dockyards (Willemsoord). The docks were built during the years 1813-1827. During the 1820s, the North Holland Canal was dug from Amsterdam to Den Helder. The lighthouse Lange Jaap was built in 1877 and is the tallest cast-iron lighthouse in Europe, at 63.45m. In 1947, Den Helder officially became the Royal Netherlands Navy's main centre of operations. Den Helder continues to be the navy's main base today. The Royal Netherlands Naval College is also located in the city, as is the Dutch Navy Museum.
    Despite its history, the town we saw appeared very modern. We strode down the main drag at a pace, more to keep our limbs from freezing up than being in a hurry to get somewhere. Rex took a fancy to a sit-up-and-beg bike so favoured by the Dutch, but baulked at the cost. For a land full of cycles, economy of scale doesn't seem to operate in this domain.
    We located the train station, and objective of the exercise, and a supermarket, and then strolled by a delightful canal, flanked by trees and full of small water craft, mallards, grebes, and a heron standing on a boat scanning his territory.
    Our next target was a chandlers that overlooked an offshoot of the docks, where Rex purchased a few spares (a navigation light failed during the trip), and I explained to the shopkeeper what a grub-screw was (screw without a head is the Dutch equivalent). As we made our way around a circuitous route to Duonita, we noticed how the terraced residential properties fronting the road had themed ornaments amassed in their front windows. Small businesses intermingled in these terraces, and at times we thought we were peering into another shop window only to find we were looking directly into someone's living room.
    Whilst we were scanning our map, a Dutch couple stopped to see if we needed help, and we fell into conversation with them. "Is there an old part of the town?" I asked. "There is no longer an old part of the town," the chap replied, with a mischievous smile on his face. "The old part was partially destroyed by the Germans, but then somebody else totally destroyed it." With that he laughed with a twinkle in his eyes, and I responded sympathetically with, "Yes, the British. Het spijt me." He laughed again and we parted company as friends, his laughter still echoing down the street.
    We made our way back to the marina, warmed up a spaghetti Bolognese that Meryl had prepared for us, delicious, and sauntered up to the bar by the harbour masters office. It was shut!

4th June

A Fitting Sculpture

    We met Meryl at the train station. The lass was well and truly whacked, having been up since 03:30. It was good to meet up again, and I was pleased that the sun had made an appearance for her, and the temperature had risen. After a brunch at a popular cafe in the main street, we headed back to the boat, stopping off at the supermarket on the way.
    Meryl needed to catch up on some sleep, so Rex and I headed back to the chandlers to buy some shackles and a set of inland waterway maps. We were quite pleased with one map in particular, which showed various canal routes that would accept different ranges of mast heights, and we would rely on this for part of our next stage of planning. Hmm.... it would not turn out that way.
    Later in the afternoon, a couple of big, burly customs and border control chaps turned up to inspect our passports and ships papers. They were particularly keen to see the purchase documentation for the vessel, and to note that VAT had been paid.
    Rex wanted to show them the Schengen form he had filled out, but they weren't interested. In the past, the Schengen Agreement abolished internal borders, enabling passport-free movement between a large number of European countries. Schengen is the name of the town in Luxembourg, where it was signed in 1985. Actually, the signing itself took place on a boat in the middle of the Moselle river, which forms the border between Luxembourg and Germany. There are 26 countries in Schengen. The UK and Republic of Ireland have opted out. The UK wants to maintain its own borders, and Dublin prefers to preserve its free movement arrangement with the UK - called the Common Travel Area - rather than join Schengen. Rex, being from the UK, was obliged to fill in a form to cover himself and UK crew. The officials can't be bothered with this and normally request the form to be thrown in the circular filing system in the corner, stuff it in a drawer with umpteen hundred others, or say the drawer is full and don't want any more paper. I must confess I am at a loss with all this. If I arrived in Holland by land, air or ferry, I wouldn't have to go through this rigmarole, so why should it be for folk arriving by sailing boat. The lads were fairly humane fellows, with a good sense of humour, had a job to do, and sensibly dismissed a lot of the mundane bureaucracy and had a joke and chin wag. Just as it should be.

Two Contrasting Canals in the Town Centre

    We met some Finnish lads at the marina, who were experiencing some technical difficulties loading up electronic charts onto an identical chart plotter to Rex's. They had bought their yacht in Southampton and were sailing her to Helsinki. We learnt from them, from other sailors and yacht brokers that boats in the UK are fairly cheap compared to on the continent, and there is a lot of one way traffic happening. So, if anyone out there wants to form a lucrative business, there's an opening.
    During a meal in the restaurant by the harbour master's office, we met an elderly Dutch couple who were seasoned sailors. They knew the waters around East Anglia well, which surprised me, and were now on a trip from their hometown of Sneek in Friesland to the Channel Islands. Another couple joined in the conversation. They were actually from the Channel Islands, and were sailing in their customised Hardy Motorboat. We soon learnt that this second couple were not short of a bob or two, and often visited their second home in Germany. Hmmm.... where did I go wrong? The chap had retired on health grounds, but he was still undertaking a lengthy trip from the Channel Islands up to the Baltic.
    All in all, we'd had a very pleasant day.