Vrångö, Gothenburg, Sweden
- Beth Solomon
- Aug 26, 2024
- 2 min read

We sailed to the tiny island of Vrångö in Sweden’s Gothenburg archipelago not only because of its unspoiled beauty but as a refuge from the coming storm. The morning after we arrived, most of the boats in the tight marina skedaddled for the mainland, so we puttered over from the jetty to a more protected spot in a corner next to fishermen’s shacks on the cement pier. As a gale approaches, sailors typically compare storm strategy: how best to secure the lines against gusts, when and how the winds are predicted to clock around and deliver their most bruising blasts.
Even in our ultra-secure, 11-ton Sirius Yachts 35DS, we gamely join this ritual and exchange suggestions with our seafaring (usually more experienced) neighbors. Everyone who knows the Baltic says storms have gotten stronger and longer. Our mentor John Neal of Mahina Offshore Services says the Atlantic will be more violent in the coming years. Gero and I have no desire to be heroes — we prefer to wait out storms in safe marinas. But still, the strong blows are nail-biters. As we waited for the biggest blast since our journey began, a misty rain showered the island during the days, blown away for blustery sunsets as the barometer dropped. Just enough time for a quick dip in the not freezing Baltic!





We killed time (remember the art of niksen or “doing nothing” by Olga Mecking?) in Gothenburg, and marveled at the Swedes’ nonchalance when it comes to ripping winds. As we bundled up in rain and wind gear, the ferry operators and friendly fishermen sported shorts, tshirts, and flip flops.
We hiked the cute island and huddled in a fisherman’s shack for our evening gin and tonics. As the gale shoved its way in, a resident fishing boat roared into the marina, hockey stopping at the cement wall. His upright boxer at his side and his smile sparkling with a gold tooth, Matthias Olsson offered us a bucket of fresh crayfish, our new addiction. Score! We shared these fruits of the sea with our older, fragile neighbors from Germany across the dock, and readied ourselves inside Star Mist’s 360-degree deck salon for the big show to start.
As we peeled the crayfish and snapped off the head and tail of a delicious smoked mackerel from Hamnkrogen Lotsen Vrångö, the wind screamed and howled. Star Mist leaned to the side, mashing our eight fenders against the pier. They growled and creaked in protest. But the wind didn’t tire at 7:00, as forecast. It got stronger. I popped outside and moved a fender…Gero added some bungies to keep the sail tight. Hard to say if moving a fender makes any difference, but it soothes the nerves as your boat groans against the screeching blasts of air.





We turned on American Gangster, the movie, to distract ourselves, followed by a documentary about Wyatt Earp. Who knew the Wild West could be so soothing! The winds finally ripped to peak gusts of 56 mph at 10:00 pm, after which we fell into a deep, safe sleep.





When we opened our eyes the next morning, the roaring surf had calmed to a kitten’s purr. We ❤️ Sweden 🇸🇪🍾🥂
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