In the far south of Sweden, tucked away in the quiet county of Blekinge, lies the island of Tjärö, just next to Hobbiton, I’m sure. It sits just a short paddle, something like two, three kilometers from the mainland, but it feels worlds apart. By late summer, even the birds seem to have gone zen, their songs softened. There are no cars, no planes, no modern hums. Just silence. That is, until the sheep decide to kick off their midnight opera. Naturally, they wait until you’ve wriggled into your down cocoon—possibly after “hydrating” with one or three too many beers. Earplugs? Yeah, should have packed them.
This little island, a nature preserve crowned with typical red wooden houses scattered among oak and pine-covered hills, has become home to the cosiest kayaking festival I know. The Malmö kayak club, Kanotföreningen Öresund has been hosting a festival here for years and not centuries, as rumour would have it. However at this point it might as well be carved into the local granite as hällristningar. The restaurant, fully booked for paddlers, serves up hearty breakfasts and suppers that feel like a royal indulgence after a day on the water.
This year, about 130 kayakers descended on Tjärö—most of them sea kayakers, some secretly obsessed with rolling, I am sure. Many came with a curiosity for learning new skills, others just for the camaraderie and the beautiful surroundings. My friend Stefan and I ran clinics called “Towards the Storm Roll.” Teaching these sessions is always fun, partly because our students are so enthusiastic, and partly because we never quite know what antics will unfold.
Paddling to the Island, Stefan and I had our Husky and TOC, each also had a Rebel Naja kayak in tow, so anyone could hop in and test-paddle something new.
The Saturday evening, as the sun sank low, we teamed up with Wilda, a ridiculously talented 13-year-old paddler, for a little rolling show . We kept it simple, hoping even the uninitiated would leave thinking, “Huh, maybe I should learn to do that instead of panicking underwater.” Of course, I couldn’t resist throwing in a little drama: at one point Wilda was ordered to toss her paddle, flip over, and swim upside-down toward Stefan’s kayak for a rescue. She pulled it off like a pro, handling the noble art of hundsim (doggy freestyle) brilliantly, while the crowd gasped, laughed, and possibly reconsidered their life choices.
And that’s really the spirit of Tjärö — laughter around paddling, the dinner tables, food and drink shared after a day on the water, a quiet island holding space for both challenge and play. It’s not just a festival, it’s a pocket of time where the world feels simpler, friendlier, and wonderfully alive. Thank you all for showing up and thank you for inviting us!
