Time was running out
A night spent way up Topdalsfjord, where like mountain goats we scrambled up the towering pine-clad rocks, and then we were at Kristiansand to pick up Bob and so complete our crew for the beat back to England.
The weather he brought was foul – a big depression coming in from Iceland. We had promised him one night in a painter’s paradise before we took to the Skagerrak; a wild beat westward, well reefed, and in the afternoon we dropped the hook in the sheer rock expansion chamber of Ny Hellesund.
This is a superb little hole, Celtic-looking – Brittany or Cornwall perhaps; but wilder, a place for trolls. cavorted wildly to the blasts.
