Peaks, Fjords and Danes
Reindeer's 1976 Transatlantic Crossing
Friday, July 2, 1976
Voyage blog entry #22
After five pleasant sailing days from Iceland, Reindeer approached the Faroes at mid-afternoon on the sixth day. Mysterious, misty, mammoth mountains loomed up ahead. Cloud banks clung to the mysteriously jagged rows of cliffs before us. While the weather and winds had been favorable and cooperative during our 450-mile sail on the open sea, here the vervent, cragged heights seemed to alter the temperature and atmosphere. Something felt inviting and welcoming in the air.
These islands left no doubt they had endured a long history. Wind, rain, and gravity had carved away at their features for centuries. Their peaks seemed formidable and foreboding formations with countless birds everywhere, lots of green growth, yet void of trees, shrubs, bushes, beaches or shorelines. All the mountainsides did not stop at the water's edge. Deep water everywhere.
As we closed in, winds started to swirl, while the water depth in the hundreds of feet remained constant (suggesting these mountains came straight up from the ocean floor), all six crew members stood vigilant for any signs of any adverse current flowing through this archipelago. At first sighting, the Faroes' seemed mystical, almost inexplicable and inhospitable for both human or animal. But first impressions are often misleading. We would discover a cordial culture and an intriguing civilization.
Our evening view on our first night in the Faroes. The next morning we noticed roads, telephone poles and small dwellings. Soon after we weighed anchor, we bigger boat traffic passed us.
Frank Daiber studies a valley's waterfall on the opposite shore.
Newbold at the helm in the Faroes.