I SEE IT HAPPEN
The Hjortspring boat is at sea.
A private paddler tells the story.
By Ole Møller-Olsen
The boat was beautiful - impressive - and what a lot of hard-working heads and hands had done to get us to this point. I can safely express my admiration, because even though I have been a member of the Guild over the years and followed the events with interest, it is not my fault that a boat came out of it.
Do you remember the form we were given in 1991, where we had to tick off what we might want to contribute? I confidently ticked the bottom box ‘test the boat’ - it was the thing I thought I knew the most about. The first time I rowed in Dyvig was in the spring of 1950. Now 49 years later, I helped paddle a 2,350-year-old boat to success in the same place.
It was a great experience.
When I looked through the list of crew names, it struck me that I was probably the oldest on the team. Maybe the captain would be interested, so I let him know.
Do you know what he replied?
‘Someone has to be’, which is as true as it gets, and now I just keep paddling along.
Careful preparations were made to lift the boat while it was still indoors and everyone was equal. The captain and helmsman were also holding the ends of an old fire hose. The command was ‘Down on your knees, tighten the hose and straighten up’. 19 men and 1 woman lifted in a group with the hose over the ‘nearest shoulder’ and with a fairly straight back. When we had passed the gate, the processed wood could see the light of day for the first time.
Do you remember how nice the weather was that day, and how we just rolled up and down, excited to get the boat in its element?
And what a relief when it floated, light and elegant, and didn't take in much water. The captain forgot all his dignity and eagerly took part in sealing a few obvious holes. Then came the big moment, after we had boarded two by two in a carefully planned sequence. Off we went out onto the flat water - we'll leave the waves for another time.
Now it was the boat that carried us. There were no problems with 20 people, and even though we're sitting a little high, the boat is surprisingly stable.
What a blissful feeling!
At this point, the captain may have realised that we had honestly forgotten to agree on how 18 undisciplined deer jumpers would suddenly serve the paddlers in an efficient, harmonious and preferably spectacular style. But is it really so strange - our thoughts were centred on the basics: is the boat tight, how does it sit on the water and how is the balance? With these things in order, you do a test to see what's missing.
But we managed to get really good at paddling in connection with the official launch the following week. At the same time, the helmsman realised that he's not the one who decides where we go. He split the steering oar in an attempt to assert himself.
The official launch was a bit of an anticlimax for several of the guild members, but a festive spectacle in a kaleidoscope of home-made Iron Age costumes, several thousand interested travelling guests and a good deal of rain.
There were wind players who just managed to get to the front of the procession, in front of the chief and the drummer, the goddess of the sea standing tall in a 2-wheeled cart and a lively male choir forming the rear, singing and chanting an ode to the price of the boat.
But was anyone clapping their hands when the real, old paddling warriors set out on the raid that would, by some twist of fate, land them in an Alsatian marsh? Or perhaps the more peaceful traders who just didn't have any luck?
Whoever they were, their achievement as boat builders is still the greatest - imagine that they could!