Published November 28, 2023
20 min read
This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK)
The mainsail knows how to put up a fight. “Keep pulling!” calls Helene Moodie, the co-captain on deck, as I battle against its weight. I cling onto the hoisting line tight enough to feel every fibre, and look up, tracing its course along the mast to the sail, 90 metres tall and like a stage curtain waiting to be lifted. “Keep pul-ling!” she instructs again, bringing my attention back to the task at hand. I heave with as much force as I can muster, throwing my entire body back. A last yank, and the show begins. The sail catches the wind, billowing full like surging swells. We’re on our way, fast and proud.
I’m spending six days onboard the Aron, a 98ft, two-mast tall ship dating from 1906, sailing with a handful of other guests around Denmark’s South Funen Archipelago. Located in the Baltic Sea off the mainland’s southeastern coast, it’s a compact group of 55 or so islands, some home to colourful, immaculately preserved port towns, some so diminutive you could walk their length in an hour. But as charming as the scenery is, it’s sailing a traditional boat that’s the main draw, and we’re letting it chart our course, drifting quite literally wherever the winds take us.
“Promising we’ll go here or there limits the sailing experience,” says Helene, now relaxing against the railing, the white cockle shell on a silver chain around her neck catching the light. Below her is a flat expanse of steely sea that stretches to the horizon, broken up occasionally by low-rising emerald isles. Her partner and co-captain, Gorm Bødker, is at the helm, the perfect image of an experienced sailor — gold loop earring, salt-bleached, wind-tousled hair and tanned skin that shifts to red on his nose and cheeks. “We’ll take it as it comes, and that’s part of the fun,” Helene adds.
The other part is getting hands-on with it, joining this two-person crew to man the ship, no matter how inexperienced with sailing guests are. Even for a beginner like me, there’s always a line to coil, a knot to fasten. While the vessel is now fitted with an engine, the aim is to sail whenever the wind allows it, cruising in the morning and exploring on land in the afternoon. We set off from Svendborg, the quaint capital of the archipelago and a historic maritime hub, and now on my second day at sea, I’m already starting to learn the ropes: thick halyards lines are for hoisting a sail, slimmer gaskets for stowing it in place.
It might seem like jargon, but it’s this lexicon that sets apart schooners like Aron, built in the local port of Marstal. They’re vessels with sails set parallel, rather than perpendicular,
