I arrived on the run from Bangor, to find the ship & crew
ready to let go the moorings and set sail. We sailed westward, past Hurst Castle and through the Needles Channel, before the skipper decided to go eastward, through Dover and into the North Sea. In falling winds,
progress was slow and we crawled up the English Channel - spending a day drifting backward and forwards past the Royal Sovereign light. Traffic in the Dover Straights was frighteningly busy - given our lack of manouverability
and the larger vessels lack of regard for an aging pilot cutter. 
It was with some relief that we passed through the sraights and headed north of the
Goodwins, away from the bulk of the traffic, and into the North Sea.
As night fell, we soon found ourselves in the centre of what
seemed almost like a large floating city - oil platforms as far as the eye could see, covering and area which on Tilman's ageing North Sea charts should have been nothikng but open water. Peter, all the while, had
been constantly seasick - doing his best to stand his watches - but clearly in a great deal of discomfort. A PT instructor by trade, he had invested many hours in designing and building a catermaran with the sole
intention of sailing North to Jan Mayen to climb. Having built the boat, he'd undertaken several short distance trips - each one marred by what he believed to be short term seasickness. As we sailed on Northwards, it
became steadily apparant that Peter was cursed with the far less usual chronic form of sea-sickness, for which no easy remedy exists, short of heading back to dry land.. Max also was far from well - being far more used to
trekking into the hills overland rather than over water. Still, the attraction of Greenland was enough to quickly aclimatise him. 
Our original first port of call was to have been Reykyavik, where we would wait for favourable ice reports before making a stab at Scoresby Sound. After wrestling against wind and tide through the Pentland Firth - supplementing 'all plain sail' with the dreaded Kermouth Hercules diesel, we found ourselves with a westerly wind morer suitedto a northerly course.
With Sea Breeze finally flying along past the haystack shaped Islet of Litla Dimun in a freshening westerly, with poor visibility and no current chart of the approaches to Torshavn, we headed into Sando and dropped anchor off the tiny hamlet of Sandur.
Rowing ashore to take a look around the village, with its characteristic grass roofed church, we soon fell in with a local family who pressed hot drinks and gifts of Faroese wool mittens & socks on us. There were sheep in evidence everywhere, grazing in the fields and on the turfed roofs of various outbuildings. Strange then, that we learned later that one of the principal imports to the islands was sheeps heads from Aberdeen.The following day, we headed up to Torshavn in bright sunlight.
The pictures here were taken on the approach to the harbour, the Skipper slightly confused by the appearance
of a large breakwater since an earlier visit some years before in Mischief. 
The appearance of a bright yellow
Pilot Cutter in the harbour entrance flying the Red Ensign didn't go unnoticed by the authorities, and as Tilman set off in the dinghy to report to the harbourmaster, he was soon picked up and towed sheepishly
back to the cutter astern of teh harbour master's launch. The harbourmaster himself was more concerned with ensuring that our supplies of spirits were properly locked away before any of us left the ship unattended.
Alcohol was strictly limited to
personal use only in the islands, which were effectively 'dry' as a result. The bars and cafes around the town were there
purely to supply tea, coffee and non-alcoholic beverages only. Having said that, Torshavn remains one of the few towns I've ever visited where the adult popultation. almost without exception, seemed delightfully and
peacefully inebriated as soon as night fell. Undercover sales of whiskey and beer seemed to go on in the shadows everywhere, thanks to 'imports' from Aberdeen trawlers. 
The islands themselves - like Greenland - were in the early
throws of attempts to gain independence from Denmark. Uncorrupted by television, the islanders had recently launched a Faroese language newspaper and were trying to get Faroese adopted as the first language in
the schools. All this peace, beauty and simplicity of life left strong impressions which are still clear in my mind today. It complemented the fact that we were also on a boat which had been built in 1899, and which
had no radio, and no technology save for a very old, very smelly, very noisy and only very occasionally used, engine. So -
for four months in 1970, and four months in 1971, I was completely out of touch with so-called civilisation - an experience I'd recommend to anyone. In 1970, we had not stopped until we reached the west coast of
Greenland, but in 1971, we stopped at two very different islands on the way - Faroes and Iceland - both locked in unique northern lifestyles.
Tilman kept himself to himself and stayed on board most of the time we were there, which the rest of us spent a few happy days wandering around the town and enjoying the happy relaxed atmosphere. Everywhere we went, we were greeted almost as long lost friends, and the hospitality that we shared made us all reluctant to leave by the time we had to. In truth, we were all blown away by the natural beauty of the local ladies, which along with the peaceful beauty of the islands themselves, became the prime topic of conversation for some days afterwards much to Tilman's very evident confusion!
For some months afterwards, I corresponded with a girl from Torshavn, until language and distance made the friendship difficult to sustain. After a gap of 30 years, thanks to the internet, we're now back in touch and picking up on events in our parallel family lives. Now a teacher, and writer of Faroese books, she is living proof of the enthusiasm and energy that these wonderfil islands put into maintaining their independence and rebuilding their historical culture.
Tilman decided to call in at Torshavn, partly to give Peter an
opportunity to call it a day, and partly out of curiosity since it
had been some years since a previous visit. As it was, Peter insisted on carrying on to Iceland in the belief that the sea-sickness would improve. It never did, and he spent a
miserable week en route to Reykjavik living on a diet of salted peanuts, of which he had a plentiful supply - the only food experience had told him that he could keep down. Unfortunately, this peculiar diet also required more
frequent trips to the galley for drinks of fresh water than our daily ration would permit - leading at times to some tension with the cook, who's role included the policing of fresh water supplies. Unlike her predecessor, Sea
Breeze had rather small and inadequate fresh water tanks, which had led us to go to some extraordinary lengths the previous year to keep them replenished from meltwater on icefloes.
While we were in Torshavn, we were on a mooring next to Westward Ho, a beautfiully maintained Brixham Trawler a few years older than Sea Breeze. These two old working sailing boats, together in this small northern harbour, made a delightful site. Westward Ho was preserved as a kind of national property, as reflected in this stamp, but I'm not clear on the exact history of the vessel and how she came to be there - so far away from home.
On watch somewhere in the Denmark Straight, in light airs. Note kicking strap in place on the boom to safeguard against sudden movement of this one ton spar due
to the rolling of the boat. Given that I'm seen here standing on the cockpit lockers, deep in conversation with another crew member, this was probably a good idea! The unusual stance can actually be explained by the need
to see ahead of the boat when sailing in loose ice. The hydraulic winch in the foreground, together with the dinghy stowed on deck, restricted visibility considerably. Another picture on the first page of
this site shows the normal helm position under engine - one foot on the cockpit coaming and the other on the tiller while leaning against the boom on its cradle.
Having given up the attempt to enter Scoresby Sound, we headed south down the coast to Angmagsalik, the only settlement of any size on the east coast
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Sea Breeze at anchor in the fjord, Max Smart eyeing up the small peak on the far shore.
Jim Collins being attacked by natives. The settlement was populated mainly by husky puppies - over 1000 dogs to a population of some 450 souls. Being summer time, with no snow on the ground, the adult dogs were
all tied up and extremely irritable - on short chains staked to the ground. The puppies, however, roamed free and were into everything!
Approaching the coast, south of Angmagsalik
The Greenland icecap comes close to the coast here and on first appearences, the coast looks unlikely to offer a good anchorage. The relative peace and quiet of the fjords actually mask hidden dangers from the winds which drive down the fjords from the icecap, bringing with them ice from the glaciers at their head.
Sehesteds Fjord - East Greenland
A beautiful anchorage, in full view of one of many glaciers feeding into the main fjord, but in this case safe from
the main flow of ice up and down the fjord. Sea Breeze was lost the following year very close to this fjord, but in a more exposed position.
