Bullerö, Swedish Archipelago
At 0630 we cast our lines from the quayside in the heart of old Stockholm, and turned for the open sea. Our route out to the islands started past old clipper ships, antique boats, warehouses, docks, huge cranes and a jetty where a red ferry proudly proclaimed "Viking Line." As we gathered speed out through the island channels, the city quickly gave way to wooded wilderness: domed rock slopes with pine and birch, sand and gravel beaches and tiny islands. Those on deck saw a string of feeding swans along the shore, a passing cormorant, eider ducks fussing over crêches of carefree ducklings, and a soaring osprey scanning the bays for a fish breakfast. By midday we were far out into the Stockholm archipelago, a spattering of around 30,000 islets, rocks and skerries along the western shore of the Baltic. Shallow seas here meant us anchoring offshore, and our trusty fleet of Zodiacs butted in through choppy water to reach the nature reserve of Bullerö.
Once inside the sheltered harbour we were out of the wind and stepped ashore into a miniature landscape of tiny redpaint chalets, polished rocks and flowery meadows. The vikings among us took to the kayaks to explore, and returned with tales of having been repulsed by the angry Arctic terns nesting on the skerries just offshore. We took to the trails, walking over bare granite domes and between stunted pine and birch to find wild Sweden. A common gull screamed a warning to its fluffy gray chicks; we heard the snort behind us of a surfacing seal. In the vegetated hollows in bare rock we found wild strawberries, raspberry, juniper berries and wild chives: plenty of fruit and spices to add to a Stone Age diet. We came across one capsized pine tree, which had been torn off the rock by a gale, its root mat now rolled back like a carpet. The final vantage point looked down on the old village meadow, hidden from view by sea. The farming community here held the only families to survive slaughter when Russian invaders rampaged through the archipelago in the 1700s.
Thence back to the hamlet where Johan, the island warden, served up smoked salmon, washed down with wine and beer from Anders, who had magically materialized with an impromptu bar under the huge Norway Maple tree. Our snack was interrupted by the sound of shrieks across the bay: a few fearless souls had dived into the sea for a Baltic bathe. At 54°F this was a serious test of sanity, and they emerged gasping, to plunge as swiftly into the little red-roofed sauna on the wooden jetty where they could thaw out in traditional style. Our idyllic island adventure ended with us surfing back down the waves to National Geographic Endeavour, mulled by wine, massaged by the sea, happy and heady with the very Swedish combination of sun, salmon and sauna.
At 0630 we cast our lines from the quayside in the heart of old Stockholm, and turned for the open sea. Our route out to the islands started past old clipper ships, antique boats, warehouses, docks, huge cranes and a jetty where a red ferry proudly proclaimed "Viking Line." As we gathered speed out through the island channels, the city quickly gave way to wooded wilderness: domed rock slopes with pine and birch, sand and gravel beaches and tiny islands. Those on deck saw a string of feeding swans along the shore, a passing cormorant, eider ducks fussing over crêches of carefree ducklings, and a soaring osprey scanning the bays for a fish breakfast. By midday we were far out into the Stockholm archipelago, a spattering of around 30,000 islets, rocks and skerries along the western shore of the Baltic. Shallow seas here meant us anchoring offshore, and our trusty fleet of Zodiacs butted in through choppy water to reach the nature reserve of Bullerö.
Once inside the sheltered harbour we were out of the wind and stepped ashore into a miniature landscape of tiny redpaint chalets, polished rocks and flowery meadows. The vikings among us took to the kayaks to explore, and returned with tales of having been repulsed by the angry Arctic terns nesting on the skerries just offshore. We took to the trails, walking over bare granite domes and between stunted pine and birch to find wild Sweden. A common gull screamed a warning to its fluffy gray chicks; we heard the snort behind us of a surfacing seal. In the vegetated hollows in bare rock we found wild strawberries, raspberry, juniper berries and wild chives: plenty of fruit and spices to add to a Stone Age diet. We came across one capsized pine tree, which had been torn off the rock by a gale, its root mat now rolled back like a carpet. The final vantage point looked down on the old village meadow, hidden from view by sea. The farming community here held the only families to survive slaughter when Russian invaders rampaged through the archipelago in the 1700s.
Thence back to the hamlet where Johan, the island warden, served up smoked salmon, washed down with wine and beer from Anders, who had magically materialized with an impromptu bar under the huge Norway Maple tree. Our snack was interrupted by the sound of shrieks across the bay: a few fearless souls had dived into the sea for a Baltic bathe. At 54°F this was a serious test of sanity, and they emerged gasping, to plunge as swiftly into the little red-roofed sauna on the wooden jetty where they could thaw out in traditional style. Our idyllic island adventure ended with us surfing back down the waves to National Geographic Endeavour, mulled by wine, massaged by the sea, happy and heady with the very Swedish combination of sun, salmon and sauna.
