We were racing against the clock. Having launched from Nieuwpoort, Belgium, we wanted to make it through the Rotterdam channel before dark on this 28-hour passage to peaceful north Holland. Rotterdam would be the toughest part. It is the busiest port in Europe. The channel is about one-hour long at sailing speed. It's like crossing the Autobahn on foot. We had studied the charts. We watched the radar and weather. We were prepared. In the 10-knot winds, we stayed alert.
I thought I would be bored on a sailboat, not enough to do. Needing exercise. Totally wrong. We’re constantly busy, moving, and always hungry. On a sailboat, even a piece of dry bread with mayonnaise tastes like the best thing you have ever eaten. You need to eat every two hours.
We pass miles of wind farms further out to sea, while the delicate grassy dunes of the Dutch coast keep us company to the east. The windmills are awe-inspiring — forests of silent giants in the sea, producing megawatts for a cleaner planet.
By the time we approach Rotterdam at about 8:30 pm, the sun is setting, but we know we’ll have a few hours til dark. As the behemoth cargo and tanker ships rumble in and out of the port, we radio to the “pilot captain” — like an air traffic controller — and are given instructions to maneuver through. At first, all good. Then, our radio starts crackling.
“Negative, Star Mist, Negative!” The pilot captain sends us into a sharp turn. 15 minutes of white knuckles.
“Check your chart!” the voice commands. We have been studying the charts of this passage under a microscope for several days. We obey and keep quiet. Then, calmly, as if nothing had happened, the radio crackles, “All clear!”
We celebrate with a snack and a Coke. Soon, we will approach the Amsterdam shipping channel. We won’t make it before dark. Should we radio to ask permission? We don’t see any big ships. Gero says, “Try it, Beth. It’s the right thing.” Amsterdam Port answers right away.
“Star Mist, we see you, and you are all clear. Thank you for checking in. Safe onward journey,” says the professional Dutch voice. Relief!
Gero and I take turns napping as the other stays at the helm. Hours pass. We’re surrounded by dark and quiet, but we still need to watch for lobster/fishing pots and other ships. A full moon as big as a beach ball climbs into the sky at our stern. Now that we’re passed the busy channels, we hoist the sails. The seas seem to rest. Wavelets tap gently on our hull. The wind becomes a soft whisper. Then, barely a breath. We turn on the engine again and purr northeast at 22 degrees.
At about 3:30 am, an orange line appears on the horizon ahead of us. Then, it broadens to a pink glow. The sky is light by 4:30 and the sun is up by five. Breakfast number one: hard boiled British eggs from Swanwick at dawn. Luscious. Breakfast #2: McVitie’s biscuits and shortbread with milky tea. Yum. At 8:30 we glide into Waddenhaven on Texel, the largest of the islands off the northwest coast of Holland. After a friendly conversation with the harbor master, we head into slip D40, where Dutch and German sailors catch our lines and help us tie in. The sun is blazing, the breeze crisp. Having each had only two or three hours of sleep, we’re blurry, relieved and glad to be “home” in the marina.
We treat ourselves to breakfast number three — honey cake and more milky tea — and snap open our folding bikes to explore the island... Goedemorgen, Texel!🇳🇱🥰🥂🤟💓
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