My interest in Estonia was sparked off by buying a pilot book to the area at the Boat Show (I've later discovered that most of it is on line here).

My route would be across the Polish coast, then, with a long hop to avoid Kaliningrad, to Lithuania and Latvia. I've done all this before in 2006, but never quite made it to Riga Bay.

The red dots are stopping places, leading to the island of Saaremaa. It's around eleven separate legs - maybe three weeks. Leaving near the end of April would get me there in mid May. Perhaps still a touch cold then, but it would be before the main Baltic sailing season. I suspect many of the harbours don't have a great deal of space, and will quickly fill up with lots of Swedes and Finns!

Having got there, it would worth spending time exploring Riga Bay: that's the stretch of water below Saaremaa. As far as I can gather, several of the harbours have improved facilities for yachts - here, for example, is a picture gallery of the new harbour at Roomassaare (don't ask me how to pronounce that! Estonian is related to Finnish, and the two languages form a group of their own (see Wikipedia). It is not an Indo-European language.).

The capitol, Tallinn, is much further round the corner, and I doubt I'd get that far. Riga Bay itself is partly Estonian, partly Latvian, and would take two or three weeks to explore.

"I've entered you for the Round Aldeney Race," he told me.

I was a touch apprehensive. Alderney is somewhat rockstrewn. There are considerable overfalls. The weather was, shall we say, brisk. And I'd be taking on local boats who knew all the shortcuts.

Black Prince had separate hanked on jibs when I bought her, but as I singlehand a lot, I soon got roller reefing. The big genoa is fine up to the top of say F3, but is too much after that. I bought a blade jib - roughly a Number 3 - to put on for times when I knew it would be blowy. Fortunately I had that with me. The other issue was whether to reef the main: I decided I'd go for full main and small jib, which turned out to be a good choice.

The secretary of the sailing club worked out a handicap for me. Nick and his sailing partner Clive, who have homes on the island, joined me soon before the start. The first issue was the submerged part of the breakwater, notorious for catching out the unwary.

"Follow that big chap," they said. "He's got the coxswain of the local life boat on board."

I stuck to his tail and followed his wake over the breakwater. Outside the harbour, it was blowing around WSW F5, with quite a strong ebbing tide. The 'big chap', our rival for line honours, had a partly rolled genoa, and with our small jib, we were able to point 10-15 degrees higher.

It was certainly lumpy, and we took a fair amount of water over the bow at the bottom of the Swinge. The tide was slackening by then: the start time was devised so that you took the ebb to the bottom of the island and the flood back up the other side.

I was hiding behind the sprayhood (which any real racing man would have taken down!) whilst Nick and Clive stood at the rear of the cockpit clutching the backstay. It kept them dry, and more importantly, they could see where we were going. "Head for that rock there," they would say from time to time.

As we came off the wind, the opposition began to catch us, putting up a spinnaker at the bottom of the island. I hadn't a spinnie on board, and the blade jib was not a lot of use downwind. As we came back round the top of the island, we began to catch up again, but not enough to beat him over the line.

The results were announced in the sailing club bar an hour or two later. On corrected time, the 'English boat' [catcalls] had won. Mind you, there had been only four boats in the race. But it was a good race to have won.

At the end of the race, I had reached to start the engine, and felt the key twist in my hand, though fortunately not break off. The harbour launch were kind enough to bring us back to our mooring, which was a bit tricky in that wind with all the other boats around.

Mainbrayce came out in the morning, and managed to silver solder the key [all the spares were at home, needless to say]. The engine still wouldn't start, however, and we found that the relay for the starter had a dodgy connection. Pulling it out and pushing it back in firmly cured the problem!

It was actually older than Centurion - 1974 as opposed to 1979 - but she was far more pleasant to sail, as well as being much larger. 28 foot doesn't sound much more than 23 foot, but in fact, it makes a world of difference.

The layout below (see right) was one of the most practical I have found (see here for more details and pictures). There was a long bench seat to starboard, and a dinette with for and aft seating to port. The layout on Prospero is not one I like, but all layouts are constrained by having to support the mast. On many boats - the Trapper and the Virgo - this is done with a hefty bulkhead about two thirds of the way down the cabin. The drawback is that it splits the cabin rather awkwardly, and in both boats the heads were in front of the bulkhead, next to the forward berth.

One alternative is to take the mast all the way down through the cabin to the keel - which means a hole in the cabin top - ideal for leaks! Another possibility is to have a pillar directly below the mast, which is the layout Prospero has. This means the bulkhead is not as hefty, and can be further forward.

Around the support is the central table, with settee berths either side. I don't like this, as you have to squeeze along between berth and table to move down the boat. Still, if it's only one thing I don't like about the layout, then I'm doing well.

The other big difference between boats of the 70s and those of today is the extra space below. This can come as a result of making the hull broader and fatter, and as a consequence, the handling of the boat often suffers. You see the likes of Bavarias going to windward in a strong breeze, being caught by a gust, heeling over, and just rounding up into the wind, which the Huzar doesn't do. Instead, Prospero's weakness is with the wind on the quarter. This is more that the mainsail is extremely large, particularly compared with the jib, and with swept back spreaders, you can't let it out all that far.

Still, every boat has to have one vice. On the other hand, Prospero is so well balanced going to windward that I can set the autohelm, then switch it off, and the boat just keeps tramping along on a steady course. Now, how many modern boats can you say that about?

Frustration has been increased by the lack of preparation for the season at some of the harbours, and some considerable bureaucracy - it seems worse than three years ago! On the other hand, I am very early in the year - they told me at Kolobrzeg that I was the first foreign boat of the season, and the same is probably true of the other harbours. Indeed, apart from fishing boats, and the small motor boats people have to go out for a few hours angling, I have seen nothing else at all - no ferries, no commercial shipping, and certainly no other yachts.

The weather has also changed drastically - a week ago I was wearing several layers of clothing, gloves, scarves, and headgear; yesterday I cycled into the town in just shirtsleeves. The Baltic weather has been non stop sunshine - there was a little cloud on Thursday, and a little today, but otherwise the sun has beating down from a clear blue sky. And in the same way, visibility has been superb.

What happens now depends somewhat on whether I can get diesel here (I should be able to, but I am learning not to underestimate Polish inertia). It's then off to Wladyslawowo, and, with a good forecast, the long hop across to Klaipeda in Lithuania.

On a side note, some areas in the chart are marked as military exercise areas, occasionally closed. There is one off Swinoujscie, but as I was the only vessel for twenty miles around, I thought I would be okay ... until I was 'buzzed' by a Polish airforce jet. He was either trying to tell me something, or was just using me as a convenient aiming mark. I heard nothing on the radio, so I assume (!) the latter. He made about eight or nine close passes, close enough for me to take this:

The image hasn't been enlarged: it's been cropped from the main photo, but other than that, hardly retouched. Any one know what it is? You can almost read the squadron markings!

update!

After some Googling, I've decided it's a Sukhoi Su-22!

So, the forecast for Sunday was sun and light winds. I had a journey of over 100 miles to get to Klaipeda in Lithuania, and needed calm conditions. I set off just after eight in the morning, motorsailing. Visibility was good, and the sea nice and calm. The one drawback of this sort of journey is that it becomes very boring. You end up number watching on the instruments - hey, it's only 89.8 miles now! The wind filled in from the east at sunset, sufficient for me to turn the motor off at last and sail. The wind gradually strengthened during the night, to the extent that the autohelm was having difficulty coping, first luffing up, then bearing away too much, coming back until it was caught by another gust, and so on. I should have reefed the mainsail, but it was dark, and I didn't fancy going up to the mast and tying down lines. Instead, I rolled away the jib, and, rather to my surprise, the boat was happy on just the mainsail.

I arrived just after dawn, and radioed in. There were two ships about to enter harbour and I was told to wait. Eventually I could enter, and went down to the old immigration quay at Berth 42. This is now moorings for yachts, but was chockablock with local boats, with no room at all (and it was fairly cramped too). Instead, I went across the river to the Smiltyne Yacht Club, and tied up against a concrete quay with a distinct sense of deja vu - I had tied up to the same spot three years ago. However, there was electricity now, which was some improvement. I went to see the harbour master - who greeted me with some surprise (no one sails in the Baltic at this time of year!), then went back for sleep.

The yacht club basins get a lot of wash from the river, and it seemed worse than ever. The boat was continually rolling, and looking at the masts of the local boats, other berths seemed much the same. The ablutions were, shall we say, adequate, but not much more. The cost was 15 euros a day, which seemed excessive given the facilities.

The weather had finally broken now, with cloud and a westerly breeze. I was faced with a choice - two or three more days here, or go up to Liepaja? There wasn't much choice. I paid and left.

The channel connects the Baltic to the large inland Curonian Lagoon, and there can be quite a strong current - which was then flowing outward. I knew the entrance might be difficult in the westerly breeze now blowing, and the current made it worse, with steep standing waves at the harbour mouth. It was an interesting ten minutes getting out.

I had reefed the mainsail before leaving, and this turned out to have been a very wise decision. The wind was around 15-18 knots, but on the beam. I was making a good speed, although the sea was rather lumpy.

After a few hours, I noticed some thin high cloud, then the sun becoming milky in appearance. If this were England, I thought, then I'd be seeing the first signs of a depression, and it'd be raining in another couple of hours ... well, guess what. It wasn't heavy rain, but irritating all the same. The wind had also backed, which meant it was blowing from astern, and the boat didn't like this. I was slowing down, and couldn't steer for the waypoint I wanted. Eventually there was nothing for it: I started the motor, rolled away the jib, turned into wind, dropped the mainsail, and started motoring to Liepaja entrance. I thought I'd better radio in, to be told: 'There are two ships behind you.' I turned, and saw a ferry and a tanker had sneaked up behind me. 'Wait until they have entered,' I was told.

The wind had risen again, and the sea now really quite lumpy, with rain blowing in the breeze. I bounced up and down as the two ships went by, then turned back to the entrance. Liepaja is tricky, and has various shallow areas. However, they seem to have installed new leading lights, which were very effective. Steering was not easy, as the waves behind me tended to pick the stern up and throw the boat round. I trusted to the leading lights, and they guided me in very well, so that I eventually I made the outer harbour and turn down to the yacht quay. And of Liepaja ... more another time!

Liepaja also gets several bonus points by having an excellent supermarket about 200m away - a supermarket which makes the Waitrose in Godalming look like a corner shop! No fuel, though, unless you walk along to the petrol station by the supermarket with cans.

The town itself is very much a mixture - there has been a great deal of modern development, done well, giving parts of it quite a prosperous look. The older parts, whilst derelict in parts, add to the town's charm. Indeed, there are so many styles of building that it's hard to choose any particular one, but as an example:

I stayed for a few days for a break, then a few days more as it decided to rain! After the sunshine for the past few weeks, this was something of a novelty. But the weather cleared, and I headed off north, at the same time as a German Hanse 35 and an elderly wooden Finnish boat. The wind was light, meaning the motor was on from time to time, so I couldn't test the sailing ability of Prospero against the others, but we did have a breeze approaching Ventspils, and I think the Finnish boat had just the edge on me.

No one could describe the 'yacht harbour' in Ventspils as scenic or attractive, and it's also become a good deal shabbier in the intervening three years. I struggled with the stern buoy (my long piece of string, bought three months earlier for exactly this purpose, turned out to be too short!). The staging to which the bow is attached is quite high, making it even more of a struggle to get ashore. And the wind, for the past couple of days, has been a brisk northerly - not what I want.

This far north, the weather is beautiful in the sun, but bitter in any breeze. Daytime temperatures are still struggling to reach double figures, and it'll be even colder in Estonia. Against that, there is hardly any darkness: the sun sets at around 9:30 in the evening and rises about 0530 in the morning, but the sky is still light long after the sun has gone down.

Tomorrow I make my break for Riga Bay: either Kuressaare or the island of Ruhnu, depending on the wind. The forecast is for a light north or northeasterly - wrong direction for sailing, and I suspect it'll be motor most of the way.

The voyage up from Ventspils was quite eventful. The seas at the harbour entrance was not pleasant, and I motored north, accompanied by the Finnish boat which had left at the same time. I could see a fair amount of activity in the strait which leads into Riga Bay, and switched on the VHF radio to hear announcements from Latvian and Estonian warships that they were conducting underwater explosions, and that 'all ships were requested to keep a safe distance of two miles'! I think this was part of the on going effort to remove mines from former Soviet days, but there were also other NATO warships in the area, so perhaps it was just an exercise.

As I headed north, I eventually came into the shelter of the Estonian island of Saaremaa, which was very welcome - the sea out in the Baltic had been very lumpy. The sun was shining now, and the wind dropped. I motored on in almost a flat calm, when I saw in the distance, ahead, a very fast moving boat. This turned out to be an Estonian Border Guard vessel. He wasn't really interested in me, but stopped to check me out.

Very polite, very good English. The usual questions: where have you come from, where are you going, how many people on board. Then he wished me good luck and zoomed off elsewhere. (If the perspective in the picture looks a little odd, it's because I was using a telephoto lens.)

The approach to Kuressaare is ... interesting. It's a dredged channel about two and a half miles long and varying in width between about 50 to 100m. A lot of the dredged material has been heaped up either side to form banks. There are a dozen or so pairs of buoys marking the channel, so it's not that difficult, although it might be a little more problematic in bad weather. Once inside, there are three pontoons, all with the dreaded stern buoys, but as the only other visitor was the Finnish boat (they beat me in, but they motored all the way!), tying alongside was no problem.

Was it worth it? Well, Kuressaare seems an interesting place, and the harbour master is very helpful, and Estonia seems to have a different feel to the other former Communist countries - but that's something I shall reserve judgement on just for the moment. Mind you, a place where a gardener in the marina is listening to an Ipod can't be that impoverished ...!

It began soon after 7 o'clock this morning. The boat was hit by the wash from a passing pilot boat, and began rolling madly from side to side. I could hear things falling over in the cabin. After such a wakening, I thought I might as well get up.

I tried opening the door to the main cabin, but found it would open only a few centimetres. I was baffled for a moment or two, then realised what had happened. Next to the cabin door is the galley, with drawers for knives and forks, and so on. I must have left one of them unlatched, and it had slid open, blocking the door [the photo below, taken after the event, shows what I mean].

How to escape? There were two small hatches to the cabin, but they were just for ventilation. There were no panels I could unscrew to get out, and anyway, I had no tools with me. I was the only boat on the pontoon with anyone aboard. Then I remembered - my mobile phone, which I hadn't used since I had left Britain, was in the cabin! Maybe I could ring someone in England ... but there's a two hour time difference, so it was about 0530 there. Then they'd have to go onto the Internet, find Parnu Yacht Club, and call them from the UK ... maybe not. There was one option. Emergency numbers ...

I dialled the number. I got an answer, not surprisingly, in Estonian. I had to explain I was British ... yes? ... and I was locked on a yacht ... a yacht? you want sea rescue? ... no, no, no, I am at Parnu Yacht Club ... baffled silence, then which city? ... Parnu, the Yacht Club ... okay, name of boat? And this goes on a for a little while, until she hangs up.

I was a little worried - would she think I was a lunatic? (No comment) A hoaxer? Then I hear in the distance da, da, da, da .... The Fire Brigade was on its way!

I did have one other way of drawing attention to myself (apart from shouting in a very British way, 'Um, excuse me? Do you think you could give me a hand here?') - this was getting a coathanger, sticking a cap on top, putting my arm out of the hatch, and waving it about, hoping to attract someone's attention.

The thunder of feet down the pontoon! Chap in civvies climbs on, and we have a slightly awkward conversation - 'Er, no, not that hatch there, that one ... yes, it slides ... now if you could just close the drawer ...' And out I come, dishevelled, dressed in pyjamas. On the pontoon were four firemen, in their gear, helmets, the lot, carrying axes and hammers. I looked at these slightly apprehensively. The civvie said something to them. They all looked rather disappointed. 'Sorry for calling you out,' I babbled, 'very helpful ...' The civvie gave me a disdainful look and they walked away down the pontoon.

I suppose calling the emergency services might have been a bit over the top. Someone might have gone down the pontoon later in the morning (although I had no way of telling that someone was there). The sailmaker was due to call later that day ... on the other hand being stuck in the cabin for several hours did not appeal! I went round to the fire station later with a bottle of vodka to say thank you - a young Estonian women translated to one of the firefighters [not one that had come that morning] and promised to pass the bottle on. I hope she did.

Memo: check the drawers before going to bed. Keep the number of the local harbourmaster in the cabin!

I entered Estonia at Kuressaare, then went on to Roomessaare, Ruhnu, Parnu, and down Riga Bay into Latvia: Salacgriva and Riga. Back up to Ruhnu, and then back out into the Baltic.

Slightly to the surprise of some people I've spoken to, I found the Estonians very helpful and hospitable - but more of that later! Kuressaare and Parnu should be on everyone's itinerary - they were delightful towns and well worth the effort of getting there.

Ruhnu is a little island in the middle of Riga Bay, with fewer than a hundred inhabitants, but with a new yacht harbour:

The weather wasn't always like this - let's say it has been ...mixed!

My new Navionics electronic charts [purchased last March!] were completely out of date. The German Sportschiffahrtskarten were, on the other hand, up to date with all the buoys marked, and the tourist information office in Klaipeda sells an excellent plastic laminated chart for about £9. You enter the channel at Buoy Number 1, and reach Number 27 by Pervalka, where the lagoon has more water. Even so, there are another dozen or so you can follow if you take the direct route to Nida.

And Nida itself? Once in, and once tied up to a stern buoy [tying up was easy, and the harbourmaster helped with the lines; untying to go provided more of a spectator sport], then I took a walk. The town has been almost completely rebuilt in the late twenty years, and rebuilt in, for what passes for modern development, a very tasteful way [see below].

The harbour entrance:

And the moorings:

It, is, apparently, very popular with German tourists. The harbour facilities are very good, the harbourmaster very friendly ['I am sorry, my English is not that good.' 'Better than my Lithuanian,' I told him]. I would have liked to have stayed for a couple more days, walking up onto the spit, and generally investigating the area. What impelled me to leave prematurely was the forecast for the week: strong north easterlies. Nida was wide open to the north east. I also wanted to start going west again, and though the wind direction was fine, the strength was not. I had no desire to spend twenty four hours from Klaipeda to Poland rolling around with 20+ knots of wind dead astern.

So, in the end, though very tempted to stay, I left after only one night. If you get the chance to visit Nida – go for it!

The spit:

The trees are planted to stop erosion. This is what happens when the vegetation is swept away:

The harbours along the Polish Baltic coast can be uncomfortable or even dangerous in strong onshore winds, so I went off to Gdansk:

The marina is four miles up the river, and the journey takes you past all the shipyards, as you can see:

This appeared in front of me as I was going upriver, and I thought I'd better slow down to let them get it out of the way!

The old city is very impressive, although almost completely rebuilt after the war. It's difficult to tell what is 'authentic' and what is complete reconstruction. The waterfront is, however, quite impressive:

The Greifswalder Bodden is about 10 miles across, and open to the Baltic on the eastern side - but only in a manner of speaking. The water at the eastern end is mostly very shallow - 2 metres or less - with two islands, and two navigable channels. One of the islands is Ruden, the other is the Greifswalder Oie.

As you can see, Ruden is not very big - perhaps not much more than a few hundred metres long, discounting the spit to the south. The channel in from Poland runs very close to the island, though - the distance from the waypoint 003 to the harbour is about 700 metres, so it is not much of a diversion to visit the island. You can see the long spit on the chart - but it seems to be artificially built up, presumably to increase the harbour protection.

Both islands face the Peenemunde peninsula, where the first V2 rockets were fired, and were used as observation posts. In the days of the DDR, there was a small naval harbour, now used only by yachts and ferries from the mainland. There are the remains of a crumbling concrete barracks. No doubt conscripts were posted there for months at a time, and delightful though the island is in summer, it must have been bleak in winter. Most of the island is now a nature reserve.

There are no facilities at all [though I did see a wooden structure in the woods which could have been a loo]. You tie up against a smooth concrete wall (the other side is reserved for ferries). Five euros a night. Worth visiting once, for the experience, but not really a second time.

Inside the harbour

New pontoons! Better than tying up on the harbour wall. Except that there were 'No Mooring' signs on them. Perhaps they weren't ready - although they did look as though they'd been there some time already, well covered as they were with seagull droppings. So on my return this year, I expected to be able to ... but no, there they were, still roped off, coated deeper in droppings, and so it was back to the harbour wall.

The mole, or harbour wall, at Sassnitz, is, apparently, the longest in Europe (according to the menu on the converted fishing boat, where I paid 20 euros for a rather indifferent meal). And it's certainly a long way to the facilities from where you have to tie up. Indeed there was a notice at the start of the moorings telling you how far it was to various places:

'Duschen + WC' - showers and toilets - circa 1km away ... right then, add on another 200m to where I'm tied up, so that's 1.2km there and 1.2km back ... a walk of two and half kilometres for a shower. As for the loos - well, only only half a kilometre away. And not after 6pm.

Well, luckily, I use the shower on board, or I might have gone dirty. As for the loos, they came up with another brilliant idea:

So here we have the longest mole in Europe, where the tourists promenade, and ... chemical toilets. Despite having one on my doorstep, so to speak, I managed without, and left first thing in the morning.

Why are the pontoons still roped off? No idea - but I hope they sort it out soon.

It's a long way from Stralsund to Rostock, so that meant a 6a.m. start. It takes a while to clear the narrow channels north of Stralsund, then it's due west to the headland of Dasser Ort. The wind being light, I hoisted the cruising chute and left all the other boats standing – the problem being that the wind increased quite sharply at Dasser Ort and shifted. The autohelm was struggling, and the chute collapsed then filled again with alarming BANGS. Time to take it down – and it came quietly, despite having bent a stainless steel loop in one of its more alarming moments.

Round Dasser Ort the wind freshened further, and I was pleased to leave everyone else behind apart from one rather large boat who was able to gain a little on me. Rostock lies on the River Warne, with Warnemunde at its entrance (mund in German means mouth, thus Warnemunde, Travemunde, Peenemunde, Ueckermunde and so on). As I got closer to Warnemunde the wind rose further, until the autohelm was struggling once more. I should really have taken in a reef here (I've changed the lines so that it's much easier now), but with 7+ knots on the GPS, I was a little reluctant – although, to be honest, it would have been just as fast but more comfortable with a reef.

I had intended to tie up in Warnemunde, given the distances involved, but in this wind, all the moorings there seemed to be on the difficult side, and because I had made such good time, it was still early afternoon. So why not go direct to Rostock? It meant about an hour and a half of motoring, but it saved a stop off at Warnemunde.

Warnemunde itself is a busy ferry port, and as I stowed the sails and switched on the motor, I saw not one but three ferries coming out! I was more than a little cautious entering the harbour, though glad to be out of the short sharp chop that had developed outside. The first obstacle was a very large cruise ship tied up to the quay, whose tens of thousands of tonnes of steel had a marked effect on the compass of the autohelm.

However, the main terminals are passed quite quickly, and then it's a matter of plowing down several miles of river. There are various yacht clubs on the way, but they're in the middle of nowhere. After quite a long haul, you arrive at the Rostock waterfront. Again, there are lots of places to choose from, but if you want to be close to the city, the Statdthaven Ost is the best bet. The moorings are rather basic, and the pontoons are short. Buoys have been laid out on some moorings for larger boats to pick up – a mixture of pontoon and stern buoy, so to speak.

There is an excellent waterside chandlery which also takes your mooring fee – probably one of the best chandlers I've yet met. From the Stadthaven it's only a short walk into the city – but first you have to cross a very busy road.

The Stadthaven Ost in Rostock

I spent a couple of days in Rostock, which was the former East Germany's most important port. Nowadays it has lost a lot of traffic to the likes of Hamburg, but instead has some very busy ferry routes to Scandanavia. Cities like this were described as grey, dour, grey, depressing, grey etc by visitors from the West soon after re-unification, but with all the money that has been pumped into them, they have become attractive and vibrant. They have had one great advantage: no twentieth century 'development' - at least, not in the city centre.

Not a lot is left of the old mediaeval centre, although what is left is being renovated and restored. Rostock is also an ancient University city, and some of the buildings are in the heart of the city:

The are two dates inscribed on the building: 1419 and 1867. The first is the year the University was founded, and I assume the second is when the building was put up. As you can see, no expense has been spared in its restoration. I doubt it was in this condition in 1945 or 1991!

Many passing yachts stop off at Warnemunde, at the entrance to the river, and presumably travel in by bus or train. Given that it's only an hour's journey down the river, it's certainly well worth making the effort to go to the city itself. It has an excellent chandlery on the quay (one of the best I've met), and a good place to get supplies.

Starting from Schaprode in the German bodden, I headed north to Klintholm, which was about 40 miles in all. At this time of year (coming to the equinox), you need an early start to be sure of arriving in daylight. There was very little wind, and I motored all the way with the wind almost astern. Apparent wind: 1 knot! Still, better than the wind on your nose.

I saw a boat with a very large (illegal!) Saint Andrew's flag arrive a little later, and guessed, correctly, he was Scots – although he had lived in Denmark for some years.

But where next? I looked at all the pilot books, and then something caught my eye – a small harbour in the south of Sweden called Abbekås. 54 miles – and it seemed to have some moorings that weren't box moorings!

So, off the next day, with a brisk SSE wind. Good progress, and the harbour master spotted me and directed me to some staging by the harbour wall. He seemed slightly surprised that I wanted to stay for more than one night, and also dismayed that I had no Swedish money (my first visit to Sweden). Fortunately, the restaurant in the harbour gave me some cash on a Visa card.

Abbekås in Sweden. In case you're in doubt where to tie up, the word 'GASTPLATS' is painted on the wall. The meaning is fairly obvious!

Then due south – now with a brisk westerly wind – to Sassnitz, back in Germany. Nothing much had changed since my last visit – empty pontoons closed off and accumulating more seagull crap, fishing boats creating wash all the time ...oh, they'd taken away the chemical toilets on the breakwater. So only the one night, before heading further south to Swinoujscie (free internet!) in Poland, this time with an even brisker wind.

Where from here? Well, back into the bodden (the bodden are a series of inland waterways a bit like a cross between the Solent and the Norfolk Broads, but extending over 100 miles!) to Ueckermunde, then a slow trip back to Neuhof where the boat comes ashore for the winter. They're charging the same as last year – 750€ – the main difference that the pound has sunk from 1.27€ last year to 1.100 this year. As a result, the effective cost to me is an extra £90. I sometimes read articles from economists that devaluation is a good thing – exports are cheaper etc. If that were the case, Britain would have the most successful economy in Europe.

I first arrived at Kuressare, the capitol of the island of Saaremaa. The town once had a harbour which has long since silted up, now resembles a landscaped park lark. But, just for visiting yachts, EU money has been used to dredge a 2½ mile channel up to the harbour. The channel is just over 2m deep and varies in width, but is, on the average, about 50m. As you get further in, the channel is enclosed by mounds made from the material which was dredged out – two birds with one stone, so to speak, since it gives some protection to the channel and saves carting the stuff off elsewhere to be dumped.

A view back down the entry channel

I say built for visiting yachts: all there is once in the harbour are three pontoons with stern buoys (not quite true: there is some wooden staging on the opposite side, obviously as an overflow or for very large yachts) – no commercial quay, no fishing boats, and no local yachts, since they all use the nearby marina at Roomessaare.

The harbour itself is idyllic – it has been well landscaped, you have it to yourself, and Kuressaare castle forms a spectacular backdrop. In fact, being so early in the season (first week in May!), there was only one other visiting boat, so we didn’t even bother with the stern buoys but tied up alongside. The harbour master was friendly, helpful, and spoke good English (better than my Estonian!).

The town? Not bad, but nothing special. The castle? Superb, and a ‘must visit’. There’s also a museum of the island inside, which is more interesting than it might sound. Most of the castle is actually the bishop’s castle. His main residence now is central heated – the thought of living there in an Estonian winter, heated only with open fire, does not appeal!

There is a small habour - Ringsu:

All the supplies for the island come via a small quay in this harbour (except for the 'international airport', which is a long grass strip!). I arrived on May 21st, and the harbour master greeted me by saying that I was the first foreign visitor [he didn't count those coming over from Latvia!] of the year. Early in the season, he told me - which gives some idea how short the sailing season is in these parts. One of the attractions of Estonia is their wifi: here in this small harbour, I switched on the laptop, and received an email wishing me happy birthday!

The crossing was slightly problematic - it had been murky at Roomessaare, causing me to delay my departure for an hour or so, when it had seemed to clear. A few miles out, the fog came down, with visibility around 100 metres. Of all the things sailors dread, fog is high on the list. Despite the murk, there was a reasonable breeze, and I knew I'd be coming round the island from the lee side. With the breeze blowing up the hills there, I thought the fog might dissipate, and I was in luck. It was clear. I found the fairway buoy, and lined up for the approach, plotter gripped in nervous hand. But then - a few hundred metres from the entrance, a fog bank rolled over the harbour. Turn back - or press on? Trusting in the plotter, I pressed on, and the habour entrance loomed up about 50 metres away. The harbour master had been watching, and he had been as concerned as I was. I always use the autohelm on approaches - it holds the course to within a degree or two, and I only make very small course corrections: again, a correction of more than one or two degrees on the course set is unusual.

Safe in harbour!

The main settlement is in the centre of the island, which is about a two to three kilometre walk up a gentle but steady sloping road (past an appalling rubbish dump!). Not surprisingly, there's not a lot there - a shop, and two churches. The wooden church dates from 1644, and is one of the oldest in Europe; the second was built in 1912. There is also a lighthouse built in the style of the Eiffel Tower!

The island is a pleasant place to spend a day or two - but not much more. On the other hand, it is very convenient for passage making - there are three places really worth visiting in Riga Bay - Rumessaare, Parnu, and Riga, and Ruhnu is an excellent jumping off point for all three. It is within a day's sail of Ventspil, as well.

Interestingly, the leading lights [seen above] are bright blue - exactly the same colour as emergency vehicles! But, as you can see, they are very clear, and easily visible on the approach.

Inside are pontoons of various sizes:

They are not generous on length [Prospero is 30 foot], but quite adequate.

There is a good clubhouse:

There is obviously quite an active racing fraternity, and also dinghy racing in Lasers, with training for youngsters. Here is a view of the marina from the top of the clubhouse:

I called here after spending a few days in Kuressaare, more for curiosity than anything else. It's obviously more convenient as a harbour, but from the land, it's really in the middle of nowhere. You can get a bus into the town - but why bother, when you can moor up in the town itself?

The channels between the island of Saaremaa and the mainland looked tricky, and the thought of a long passage threading my way down the rock strewn channels of Moon Passage didn’t appeal. In retrospect, I could probably have done Haapsalu and Tallinn without too much trouble, but perhaps that might wait for another year.

So, Pärnu. According to charts, it looked easy enough, but there was a warning in the Cruising Association’s guide to the area: beware fishing nets. These are long drift nets suspended between buoys in the waters away from the main channel (the bay is still some miles wide here), and guess what – I found one. The wind and sea had got up quite a bit at this stage, and the marker buoys were small and inconspicuous. The net was invisible, but not intangible, as I found when the boat came to a halt. By that time I was down to the jib only (but making up to 7 knots at times), so I wound it away, and cautiously managed to back away clear on the engine before heading back towards the buoyed channel.

Entry into the river was straightforward. The visitors’ pontoon had stern buoys, and I managed to pick one up, but in that cross wind the boat was being blown at 45 degrees to the pontoon, and letting out more line made things worse. I cast off from the buoy and tied alongside instead (I was the only boat on that side, so I reckoned I wouldn’t be blocking other people). Later in the week, I moved round to the other side with the help of an elderly Finnish gentleman, where it was less exposed, and tied stern to the pontoon as an experiment. Certainly climbing on and off the bow is a pain, whereas the open transom I have made it much easier being stern to. You lose on privacy, but there weren’t any other occupied boats on the pontoon.

The yacht club is new, modern, and part of a hotel building. There has been a yacht club in Pärnu since Czarist days (founded in 1906: webpage here). The bar/restaurant sells good, reasonably priced food, and I found the yacht club to be the most friendly I have yet visited in the Baltic (with particular thanks to the Vice Commodore!).

Pärnu describes itself as the ‘summer capital of Estonia’, and walking along the beach/promenade, it is easy to see why. The beaches face south, to the sun, and the promenades behind are a good deal less tacky than those found in other holiday resorts along the Baltic. To see them properly, a bike is useful, and I dragged out my cheap folding bike from the depths of the cockpit locker to explore the area.

Pärnu Mud Baths!

The city is not an historic one in the sense that say Riga or Stralsund are, but instead the centre has a pleasant organic feel to it, and old buildings mix quite well with newer ones. Indeed, this building (which I think is a library), is quite stunning in its setting:

Pärnu might be something of a diversion if you are heading through Riga Bay, but it’s a diversion worth making.