Bullerön, Sweden
Shades of red book-ended the day. As evening falls, pastel pink thunderheads gather on the horizon and the ship begins to sway ever so gently. Maybe the fiery skies of the morning were portending a change from the lingering summer sunshine of the past few days. In spite of old wives’ tales warning of red skies in the morning, how could one regret enjoying the colors of the dawn?
Rounded forms like sleeping hedgehogs littered the sea. Buoys were blinking silhouettes showing us the way to tiptoe in between. In the east, an orange illumination was held down by purple clouds that gradually gathered crimson along their undersides. In the main channel the indigo waters rippled only slightly like the sand upon a shore but within the tiny passages the rosy surface was as smooth as glass.
The colors of the morning come in waves. The first flow of brilliance fades as if the curtain has been drawn on the opening act. Perhaps it is to eliminate any competition, to highlight the star of the show. Slowly the calm waters turn to gold and the indigo to ultramarine and then the warming orb bursts upon the scene. The hedgehogs now are granite mounds smoothed by glacial ice and covered by coniferous cloaks. The smaller islets are simply skerries, bare and rather scary to any navigator who is unwary.
For several hours we wove our way through the maze, bound for Bullerön, one of the 24,000 or so named islands in the archipelago. Verdant valleys carpeted with rushes and grasses and dotted with the odd wildflower or two provided easy access to view points on enclosing rocky ridges. Just above the reach of highest water, a belt of pink encircled the bedrock shore. Freed from the weight of ice ten thousand years ago, the land is still slowly rising and it is only here that we were able to see the true composition of the granite.
Time has not yet decorated this band with the patchwork of lichens that wallpapered every inch of rock on the rest of the island. Scot’s pine and birch scattered themselves about and here and there the bright red berries of rowan caught our eyes. Mounds of purple heather interspersed with juniper bushes sporting pale green berries. Vaccinium offered tasty blue morsels to hungry hands. Salmon and schnapps were served up too by our hosting family. And yes, of course, there was the ubiquitous little red cottage perched near a protected cove.
As the afternoon wore on, all sight of land became a memory and soon we were surrounded by the open sea. It was a time for reflection or editing images and for expanding the horizons of our knowledge. Formally we learned about the National Geographic Society and its history as well as Konigsberg to Kaliningrad: The Forgotten Land.
Seriousness turned to the absurd at dinnertime when hats and bibs were required attire to celebrate the end of summer with a “crayfish festival.”
