Report from the first sailing trip

A few of us raised our eyebrows when we saw the shiny new heavyweight boat trailer. But you have to say that it works effortlessly as intended. It's just lucky that it's the boat and not the trolley we have to lift.

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.

Now it turned out that the trolley was a little higher than we had lifted it to. But then they just commanded ‘a little higher’, and it's still a mystery to me how that was supposed to happen. But up it came - probably mostly with good will on all sides. It certainly wasn't what we were going to be stranded on.

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.

Speeches were made - and in a clever twist, it was the boat itself that gave the keynote speech. This makes it easier to say something nice about the guild and its members. But it was all deserved! There were greetings from friends of the guild and, not least, words of appreciation from the National Museum's representatives - the blue stamp or perhaps a kind of blue flag? When we paddled out there in shallow water in front of all the people, the shoreline was packed with spectators - nothing like this has ever been seen in Dyvig. There was spontaneous applause all round - an unusual tribute to the result of many years of skilful work - Hjortspringbåden anno 1999 - who in his speech thanked the guild for its new life. ‘Now I am free.’ Those who built this boat can be proud of what they have created. But to put it bluntly: with all the talent and knowledge we have here on Als, now 2,350 years after the sacrifice of the old boat in Hjortspring Mose, it should of course be possible to build an exact and functional replica with the necessary will and stubbornness. Even using the primitive tools and equipment of the time.

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!