Ya tu sabes (by captain Andreas Lackner)

Si amigo, ya lo se! Pero no entiendo bien. Que es el mensaje que me quiere dar este pais maravilloso? O este paisaje salvaje, como dice mi amigo Dominicano Manuel, jajaja.

Ya venimos por la Republica Dominicana desde el 2010, al primer viaje, cuando llegamos a la Bahia de las Aguilas con el mastil quebrado, sin carga ni dinero y el equipaje cansado despues de 3 años del trabajo continuo. Pero el pescador Nene y su mujer Catalina nos salvaron en estos dias, cuando comemos lamby y tomamos ron en la fugata a la playa. En estos dias recorrí mucho de la capital, hice contactos con la prensa, con ambassadores, empresarios y politicos. Santo Domingo me hice descubrir mucha belleza: ambiental, cultural, feminina y gastronomica. Tambien encontramos ron, y con eso cambió la situacion porque ncontramos carga para llevar por Europa! Cobramos el flete adelante y ya se podia pagar la tripulacion y comprar comida por el viaje de un mes y medio hasta Europa. Me recuerdo esperar a Nene cuando llegó con sacos de arroz, vegetales y platano al muelle…
La situacion otra vez cambio bastante en el año siguiente, cuando Forrest, Manuel y sus amigos nos guiáron en el viaje desde Santo Domingo hasta el muelle de San Andres, Boca Chica, nuestro base en la isla de Hispaniola desde entonces.

En esta temporada todavia no habia ningun plan por los viajes del velero Tres Hombres. Venimos cruzando el ocean con muchas ganas, poco dinero y ayuda humanitaria por Haiti. Desde alli fuimos a buscar trabajo entre las islas del Caribe, saliendo de St. Martin hacia el sur hasta St. Vincent. Gracias a Eric de Cireexpress hicimos algunos viajes aventurosos, pero con poco exito. Comemos mucho guineo y arroz blanco.
Cada año, antes que llego la temporada de huracanes, navegamos a Republica Dominicana, donde estabamos seguro de obtener buena carga: ron, cacao y cafe. Productos muy queridos en Europa y abundantes aqui en la isla. Y como llega la carga al barco? Pasando la burocrazya Dominicana jeje, eso si me costaba algun nervio por alli…pero seguimos amigos todos! La autoridad portuaria tan cariñosa, la seguridad, la aduana, la armada, la immigracion… Todos hacen su trabajo muy correcto, somos nosotros gringos cuales no siempre saben cumplir con las reglas locales. Pero siempre solucionamos todas las problemas y en la misma temporada encuentras tan buena gente que no vas a olvidar nunca mas, como las señoritas cariñosas del colmado que sirven el mejor pollo del pueblo.

Gente vienen de puro interes en las tripulacion del barco, los gringos con pantalones sucios, las chicas Europeanas y la pura belleza de este barco sin motor. Cual carguero gasta mas en cerveza que en gasoil? En cual barco el capitan anda descalzo y sin camisa abriendo coco con el machete por la mañana y donde hay el mejor vino? Ya tu sabes…

Y nosotros? Amemos los vistazos de la gente en el mercado, de las chicas sorprendidas, la comida, el sol, el paisaje, la bachata. Las charlas con Forrest y su linda mujer, con Manuel, Lawrence, Victor, el rubio, Freddy, Yovanni y muchos amigos que pasan solo pa unas palabras, un cafe, una cope de ron. Algunos cogen la gitarra, otros nos cantan un son o vienen con carne por la parrillada.
Siempre cuando nos vamos conociendo mejor, algo cambia en la vista al otro, siempre hay un mensaje transferido a su propio modo. Me di cuenta que aqui siempre hay un modo de hablar pacifico, aunque cuesta mucha paciencia a veces, sera de ambos lados…Hay mucho para aprender aqui para nosotros.

Al final, es una visita de trabajo, y en Boca Chica nuestro carguero llega a estar full, cargado hasta bajo la cubierta con delicias del Caribe.
Tambien la tripulacion se completo, venieron alumnos de varios paises para aprender de la navegacion estilo antiguo, estilo verdadero y sin daño a la naturaleza, normal pues.
La despedida con un velero sin motor solamente funciona en la mañana, por el viento de la tierra que sigue soplando hasta las 8ymedio, hasta ahi tienes que estar listo pa salir. Como siempre hay un chequeo de militares con perros y si todo esta bien, ahi vamos! Votando las ultimas lagrimas por la Bahia de San Andres, salimos rumbo a Europa!

Pero antes hay que pasar el pasaje de Mona y eso cuesta, un año mas que el otro…este año la pasamos bien duro: recien saliendo al Atlantico despues de 2 dias con viento fuerte de la proa teniamos que regresar al puerto de Boca Chica por un alumno que decidio que no podia realizar el viaje con nosotros, por razones mentales. Tambien rompemos la vela principal en este viaje y por eso, despues de entregar al chico en la immigracion en Boca Chica, con muchas gracias al Lawrence, que nos salvo en este momento, nos fuimos a anclar en la Saona para reparar todo delante una vista maravillosa de las playas blancas de alli. Ahora mismito ya pasamos la Mona por segunda vez, la brisa buena, toda vela puesta y el cafe servido.

En el mar, la vida es mas sabrosa…Nos vemos al los años, no nos olvidamos

Un abrazo

More than 6000 nautical miles (by Ruth Little)

It’s noon on Friday, the 22nd of January and the Tres Hombres rolls gently at anchor in Carlisle Bay, just off Bridgetown, the capital of Barbados.

It’s a typical Caribbean scene with white sandy beaches, palm trees, blue skies, azure seas and yachts bobbing at anchor.
However, this year everything is different, it is just so much quieter, the beaches are almost empty, the yachts are fewer in number, there is no music to be heard from the shore at night and the famous annual round island sailing race, that was scheduled to take place yesterday, has been canceled. With no shore leave possible owing to the on-going pandemic, it’s all hands on deck aboard the Tres, and consequently this may be one of the busiest spots in the Caribbean!
The ship is alive to the sounds of scraping, sanding, hammering, sawing and drilling as every surface is cleaned or oiled or painted as part of an on-going schedule of maintenance and repair.  I take a break from my work and stand to absorb the scenes, the Caribbean surroundings and the crew on deck busily working away, and I remind myself again that my time on board will soon come to an end as I return to my normal life.

It’s hard to believe that this little wooden ship has been my home for almost three months, and while the time has flown by, it also feels like I have always been here. It will be sad to leave, having traversed more than 6,000 nautical miles of ocean from the southern coast of Ireland, to Brittany, Spain and the Canaries and finally across the Atlantic ocean to the Caribbean. The experience has been immense, from the initial challenging conditions of huge seas and gale force 8 winds off Ireland right down to the “barefoot leg” where shoes and clothes were shed at an alarming rate as we journeyed south and then west across the Atlantic.

The highlights are innumerable, from being towed through the narrow tidal gates in to the harbor at Douarnenez, to tacking silently under the cover of darkness into Baiona, or visiting the observatory at dusk on the top of La Palma and witnessing the clouds fill the valleys below.  The transatlantic leg was full of warm fresh days with brisk following trade winds and waves topped with white caps. There were flying fish and falling stars, magnificent sunrises and fabulous sunsets.
The captain always needed more sails and we hoisted everything we had. Mostly we flew along, averaging 7.4 knots, however we were becalmed for a few hours on the afternoon of New Years Eve and jumped overboard to swim in waters 4km deep, hundreds of miles from shore.
We celebrated Christmas, and New Years Eve on board, and toasted old friends and absent friends and new ones.  We arrived at St. Annes in Martinique on 4th January, the captain having predicted exactly the date and time of arrival! We took the boat onto the pontoon at marina in Le Marin a few days later to unload barrels and sailed her off like a boss on a fine Sunday morning.  There was a  leisurely two weeks in Martinique where the watches were filled with bilge pumping and deck washes and splicing and stitching and whipping and sanding and painting as usual, and on the days off  we swam and snorkeled and hiked and saw turtles hatching on the beach, and became acquainted with Ti Punch and Planteur cocktails and other creole delights.

But undoubtedly the star of the show was the Tres Hombres herself. The most magical experience of all was just being on a square rig ship under sail and realizing that with some angled spars and squares of canvas and you can travel the world. I’ll forever remember standing at the wheel at night, with a sky full of stars and
16 sails set, running fast down the wind with the sound of the ocean swashing by.  It’s like magic. I understand now,  the opening sentiment of John Mansfield’s poem Sea Fever when he states “I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky. And all I ask is all tall ship and a star to steer her by”. Indeed. It really is a magical experience.

But in the meantime, there is another week on the Tres to look forward to, with this crew under the Caribbean sun.  Today’s labors will be rewarded with a fine meal, a beer, some music and plunges into the sea from a swing hung from the course yard. Tomorrow with anchors aweigh and we run North West with the trade winds towards Martinique, where the boat will be loaded with barrels of rum, which will be swum out to the ship from the shore in what has become an annual Tres Hombres tradition. And then my time with the ship will be up and I must return to  Northern Europe and the end of winter and hopefully the beginning of the end of the pandemic, realizing exactly how lucky I was, not only to having escaped it for three months, but for the absolute privilege of doing so on board the Tres Hombres.  In the meantime the ship will continue, collecting and delivering cargo, north to the Dominican Republic and then east, back across the Atlantic with a full cargo hold.  I will watch her progress from afar, but proud of even my small contribution as part of this enterprise of emission free trading on the most beautiful sail cargo ship in the world.

The fantastic world! (By captain Andreas Lackner)

You find yourself outside of the intercontinental human communications and information network when you are at anchor for a few days without internet.

But life goes on, and how! A short impression of a disconnected time aboard in vicinity of Barbados: (not allowed to touch the land )
Wake up at 0530, heave anchor, receive a little fishing boat to tow us into the harbor, make fast at 0630, hoist barrels on land for refilling by Foursquare Distillery in Barbados. Breakfast while a truck picks up barrels, then little siesta until lunch, just fine. Barrels arrive back at 1400, loading them into the hold. Receive a wind change at 1600, stop loading process and fix rest of barrels on deck. Prepare lines to pull ship of lee shore and set sails. Pull hard and sail off… great! Then tack back before a stunning sunset to the anchorage to wait for new orders. Night comes and no internet yet but some good company from our anchor-neighbors Laura & Sander plus the kids from Guppy, some guitar and violin music and more excellent food and talks.

Next morning the machete opens the daily coconut at sunrise and with it, the day’s activity at anchor. Clean up mess, pump bilges, wash deck, prepare jobs, start music and start working in fine companionship to keep our all admired, magic ship in shape and beauty. No internet yet. So after lunch a rope swing is installed from the yardarm and everyone needs to show her/his abilities on that one. Tired of smashing in the water we continue work until a rum-infused watermelon appears on the mid deck… all right then, lay down weapons and enjoy this before the imminent Caribbean sunset.

Next morning, shortly after the coconut, the internet is back! I do not tell the crew so they can start their daily life unconcerned and with clean energy. After email, which contained highly overrated local invoices, the wind and then the news. Wow. I knew that corona was still going on but now it was going crazy with new versions and more horror stories, and the first message is that someone brought it around with a plane again. What a coincidence! Or does the spreading have nothing to do with fast global traveling? Fly to hell fast! might be the slogan of the virus I’ll be with you!

Next article on climate change: China starts worldwide biggest emission trade! I find it reasonable that they (Austrian news) file it under economy, because it obviously has nothing to do with the environment.
And on it goes with about 95% of negative news from all over the world. This must be a kind of brainwashing which is able to suck out energy from any reader, or consumer, as we are called nowadays, but where does it go, all this energy?

I’m stopping now because the positive energy and the noises all around onboard pull me out of my room and disconnect me from the trouble on all these far away continents. Just outside we see people walking on the beach. Not allowed to touch the land they stay just as far away as the ones at home, as well as their trouble.
Somehow this internet is just a huge shift of peoples energy between them, while some obscure companies with obscure manners try to control some of it.
I hope air, earth, water, plants and animals can stay out of that net for a while more, so some of us have a chance to reconnect and enjoy basic life. I also hope these people will form a critical mass someday.

Let’s open another coconut … all the best from far,

Andreas
P.S.: Imagine it’s the bottle which brings you this message!

Tres Hombres in Martinique (by Charles Barker/Deckhand)

It’s around lunch time, the Tres Hombres is moored in the marina at Le Marin, Martinique.

We have just crossed the Atlantic ocean, and here we are unloading wine we have brought from France, and some empty barrels to be filled with rum. My job for the morning was the ship’s laundry, and I have just returned with a mountain of fresh sheets. As I hang them up to dry in the carribean sun, my crew mates are milling around, carrying out maintenance on the ship to the sound of some roots reggae. Behind me I hear some French welcomes and a visitor being helped onboard. I turn around to offer a smile and am taken a little aback. She is standing on the wooden deck, gazing at the scene, wiping tears away from her eyes.

When living on this ship it is easy to become a little blind. At sea for the crossing, for almost three weeks the ship, sea and the sky was the whole world. It seemed natural that the hull is made of wood, that the foremast hosts four squaresails, that the bow is adorned with carved oak flames, that there’s no engine. It became normal to spend a moment whilst at the helm to notice a new detail in the intricate, dreamlike wood carving behind my head. The fact we were often travelling at 10 knots in the shade of 16 filled sails made sense.

In port however, thanks to our visitors, I was given the gift of seeing the ship again as if for the first time. It reminded me that this boat, its form, its rig, its occupation, its logic are not so commonplace. That the beauty I have been surrounded with since starting to work on the Tres Hombres is not so easily found. The ship emanates the hours of work and love that go into it daily.

It turns out that our visitor had timed her visit very well. Just as she had finished looking around and chatting with some of the crew, others were emptying out the moscatel from one of the barrels, left in there to stop it drying out during the voyage. Together we enjoyed a hearty lunch and a glass of wine from Baiona, as more and more visitors were drawn to this magical ship.

Hereby we declare this year as over! (By captain Andreas Lackner)

At 15° N, 48°W this is about 3 hours after European midnight.

The full moon enlightens our smooth passage towards the west, but we have one thing in common, no fireworks will shatter the night sky above us.

Surely we will raise the glass to welcome another year, as we, no more than anyone else, wish this current insanity to take another exit. Therefore we have some Hungarian Palinka from Baloo (za prijatelja, to je Rogacica) and some Cava from Constantio for a gathering at local midnight. We are some of the few people who move at this moment I suppose, together with our companeros from the Gallant.
But what exit should we take? Back to normal, are we all praying for back to how it was! Evolution showed that this never has been the case, although the surface shine might recall some memories of recently or long gone social structures.
Here on the ship we are out of the bubble for a moment, social distancing does not exist and hygiene standards are the same as 10 years ago, just fine. So possibly, thoughts and senses are less constrained by the common panic, but widely open for imminent affairs of life at sea, the wind, food, the community.

Andrew, my good friend from England, once brought up the insight that now, as the UK exits the continental community, they have a chance to start over totally. Make all agriculture organic by law, until its back to normal. Produce food for the island first and make quality accessible for everybody, instead of boxing in the blind within the ring of the worldwide food mafia, having the only goal to keep the poor poor.
Every country could do this for sure! Why does Holland need to be the 2nd biggest food exporter in the world while nobody there knows how a real tomato tastes?

So what is back to normal then? Wreck a few cruise ships but in the same time build a new series of container ships of 400m for Amazon, Alibaba and this kind of shit! Restrict travels, pay test after test, while the internet carries you around the world at an ever faster pace, being already the second biggest consumer of energy worldwide.
I think it’s the pace of life and the comfort provided to citizens which have to change, in the over- developed areas soonest! With the pace I mean the constant orders given by the referees and linesmen who control the rat race. What is the great goal of these pacemakers? 8G, 10G, 100G? Who is following them up, we all? Will not masses of people, mostly rural, drop out and arrange their own community until just the people employed by these googlish companies keep following and in the end stays only the machine there? That would suck, says my feeling, so better provide an alternative which already goes in the other direction, the one of the slower, self-directed pace.

This goes hand in hand with the comfort we got used to. Comfort which constantly tries to convince us that it makes us happy and even happier, if we just got a little more of it. A pure, pure drug, just legal, affordable (for us;-) and accessible, but just as addictive and unhealthy for body and mind as all of them.
Looking into our wake I see that our pace increased much now. After a swim in the calm ocean this afternoon, now we already log 8 knots towards the west again, all sails set and in every free hand a banana. Pace made only by the wind, comfort, made only by the present company.

There are many more ways than ours to be happier with less comforts, anyway, people are not fishes, so ours is in some particular way also an escape, but that will hopefully not be the norm,  that normal people have to escape from this maddening society. The planet is ours, just as much as from all the other creatures. So the only way, I guess, is sharing. Destruction and escape into the universe we should save for the books and movies, as for mad fantasy can warn and entertain us, but might have no place in our society.

Happy new year!

Andreas

Cela fait maintenant 10 jours (By Clement Deroin Thevenin)

au total que nous voguons au gré du vent et du courant, dans notre quête de grand large, quittant le luxueux abri que nous offrait La Palma.

Et un peu moins de 10 jours que le compas n’indique maintenant que l’ouest devant nous.

Ça y est nous y sommes, cet océan dont on nous conte la majestuosité depuis que nous quittâmes Den Helder et qui nous tendit enfin les bras une fois passé au travers du Cap-Vert et de ses accents d’Afrique. Seul le passage de poissons volants, de nappes de plancton phosphorescent, de dauphins, de baleines et d’oiseaux de grand large ponctuent d’une brève visite de courtoisie ses flots coulants paisiblement vers les Caraïbes, où notre prochaine cargaison et le repos de chacun nous attendent patiemment, scrutant l’horizon dans l’attente de reconnaître le volume et la couleur de nos voiles, tels les proches de marins des temps jadis attendant le retour des leurs, saints et saufs au port.

Nous au contraire sommes jusqu’à l’os convaincus d’y arriver sans encombre et avons le temps de profiter de ce spectacle de vie qui se déroule comme un parchemin vide de toute encre, que notre plume légère et effilée ne fait que survoler au fur et à mesure de notre avancée dans ce no man’s land fait d’eau, ne laissant derrière elle qu’un sillage éphémère. Chacun entretient sa petite routine et échange avec les autres ses pensées, ses rêves, ses espoirs, peut-être même ses peurs ou ses craintes; à propos  de ce qui s’est passé, de ce qui se passe, de ce qu’il se passera : ici, partout, et ailleurs. Ceci, intérieurement, nous rappelle toujours où nous sommes au moment présent, comme si l’horizon que nous percevons et le ciel le surplombant n’était qu’une capsule, ou une bulle figée dans ce que l’on appellerait normalement le temps, qui n’en finirait  de rouler encore et toujours jusqu’à ce que la première terre, la première pointe de roche que nous appercevrons ne finisse par la faire éclater pour nous libérer.

Les mélodies des guitares amenées à bord se mêlent au son des vagues, des cliquetis, tintements, et craquements du navire; nous permettent évasion la journée et apaisement la nuit tombée, toujours fidèle à notre veille installée.

En fin de compte, nous ne semblons pas si différents de nos aînés qui peut-être, au moment où j’écris ces mots, nous observent et veillent sur nous depuis le firmament, nous accompagnant tout au long de notre périple. C’est souvent que je pense à eux aussi. Le jour comme la nuit, a travers les étoiles et la lune, nous rafraichissant doucement du soleil mordant des tropiques et de sa lumière dorée qui tanne et teinte nos peaux, emplissant nos yeux de couleurs que seul là où nous sommes nous aurions pu observer, de son levé à son coucher.

Maintenant un peu plus de la moitié de notre périple est derrière nous, un peu plus d’un millier de milles nous séparent de notre but et sommes ainsi toujours tous émerveillés et en même temps impatient d’arriver à bon port, afin de pouvoir finalement rayer cette étape de notre liste et pouvoir intérieurement se dire: ça y est, je l’ai fait. J’ai traversé un océan…

Ce qui venant d’un vol Paris/New-York paraît presque anodin, et qui prend tout son sens à nos yeux à bord du Tres qui lui aussi veille sur nous et nous accompagne diligemment vers le clou de notre voyage, où encore autre chose de différent, d’inconnu qu’il nous tarde de découvrir, attend sagement notre arrivée.

Directions from a fairy tale quest (By first mate Lenno Visser)

It sounds like directions from a fairy tale quest:

Head south until the fish start flying then turn your bow due west. And if you follow these simple directions you’ll end up where the rum tastes best.

Of course some trimming and maybe a gybe or two along the way but it’s a good start to end up in the Caribbean :0)

Ever since we bitter sweet slowly sailed away from our berth in La Palma, encouraged by the whoops and waves from Captain Anne-Flore and two of our Refit volunteers come crew members, that sadly had to stay behind in La Palma, this proud ship spread her wings even further than she had done already.

Captain Andreas started his voyage by finding every scrap of canvas and boom that was stored on board and rigged up 4 stun sails next to our square sails and even our banner is lashed under the course sail to be able to harvest every ounce of speed from the wind that is given.
South we went in full canter, racing with the white horses that topped the waves as they rolled past us.

Shoes were discarded and trousers are being cut into shorts, shirts are now more often on deck than covering backs and with that also the first signs of sunburns and the smell of suncream is now evidently mingled with the fresh air.

When the fish started flying to get away from our prancing prow we used the archipelago islands of the Cabo Verde like a speed corner in an attempt to redirect our wild ride and were able to slingshot gybe ourselves due west.

The wings, that were tugged in for the maneuver, are being folded back out over the other tack and we’re giving her free reign again because now we’re bound for the big wide blue expanse of the open Atlantic ocean.

Leaving one continent behind and seeking the next one ahead of us like so many sailors and explorers have done before us.

“We’re in pursuit of the sunset while racing the moon and by the time we’ll do the reverse we will be bringing home the rum”.

What a ride, what a life…

Blote-voeten-zeilen (By Vera Olgers)

Als 2020 ons een ding geleerd heeft, is dat niet alles te plannen valt.

Zo verdwenen al mijn plannen die zich buiten het huis afspelen een voor een in een la. Eentje, gepland voor het eind van 2020 bleef echter al die tijd overeind: de oceaan oversteken met de Tres Hombres. De vraag naar vracht bleef gelukkig staan en het zou allemaal doorgaan. Toch bleef ik tot het laatste moment bang dat het zou worden afgelast. Eerst omdat ze twee weken langer in de haven van Den Helder bleven (mogen ze de haven niet uit?), later toen ze voor de kust van Rotterdam in plaats van verder naar het zuiden, opeens terug naar het noorden aan het zeilen waren (worden ze soms teruggefloten?).

Maar hier zit ik, op dag weet-ik-veel, op het dek in de zon in onze lounge, gemaakt van opgerolde dikke touwen. In de nachten vergezellen de maan, planeten en sterren ons aan de hemel en onder de boeg maakt het plankton zijn eigen sterrenhemel in het water. Af en toe hebben we geluk en komen de fairy dolphins ons
‘s nachts bezoeken, die door het oplichtende plankton als lichtflitsen onder het wateroppervlak voorbij komen.

Praktisch alle zeilen staan op (ik tel er nu zo’n zestien) om ons met een knoop of negen richting de Kaapverdische eilanden te brengen. Vanaf daar zeilen we westwaarts, richting Barbados. Zojuist in de mast geklommen om te oefenen en van het uitzicht te genieten. Zo meteen staat er een emmer zeewater klaar om een douche te nemen. Het is zoals ik hoopte: de zon aan de hemel en windje in de rug. Of blote-voeten-zeilen volgens de kapitein. Deze overtocht mag nog wel even duren.

Gestern und Morgen (By Deniz Baser)

Gestern und Morgen spielen endlich kein Rolle mehr.

Der Wind und die Wellen, die das Schiff schaukeln, welches uns über die Wüste des Ozeans trägt, lassen den Moment so klar werden, wie die Sonne den Himmel. Trotz des Korsetts der Routine spüre ich die Freiheit auf eine Art, wie sie mir bis jetzt unbekannt war.
Die Gesichter werden langsam vertraut und aus Bekanntschaften entstehen Beziehungen und am schönsten ist es oben auf dem Mast. Dort spürt man sich selbst und die Umwelt am allerbesten.

Rumclipper (By Captain Andreas Lackner)

There are no more Teaclippers but there is a Rumclipper!

With a cup of tea standing on the roof next to the wheel, the helmsman stands easy, steering to the following sea, while the ship logs 9, 10, 11 knots like nothing. It’s Sunday, some people of the watch are dancing on the middeck to the ocean beat. A full set of 4 stun’sails give her the wings to harness the Tradewinds on the way down to Cabo Verde, appearing like a cloud over the water.

This is use of wind energy, direct and enjoyable. No double thoughts about sustainability or economy, because if the sail rips, we fix it and when the wind dies away, no economy! But what shall, the wind is the one we cannot change, so every breeze given is good and useful and enough, without alternative ;-).
Not like windmills on land or in the coastal seabed. Backed up by gas power stations they continuously kill birds, constrain the view and the sailship routes, destroy the seabed and make sealife crazy when built. For the reason to create a greener picture of our destructive energy consumption. Green energy made by machines, how funny is that! Just read The time machine, H.G. Wells, which puts on a clear picture of the result of machine made energy consumption and the degeneration following, in a pace we call the forward steps of humanity, or evolution.

Most probably it is all about the scale and how we use forces, because when you see how Lynx and co. build their ship Ceiba in Costa Rica, or how a wooden windmill works in Holland, it takes your breath and it’s hard to see the evil side like abuse of people and nature in it. Because energy is used local, as much as there is and no more. Most of you would say that’s past and there’s no way back, even if we wanted. I agree, but there’s a way forward, where the local and small scale use of energy is the way, and the next H.G. Wells can write a book over how humanity choose an intelligent way, much different from the sustainable people of our day.

Greetings,

Andreas