Germany's North Sea Coast (Part 4): Jewels of the Wadden Sea - From St. Peter-Ording to the Halligen

Sunken cities. In the Middle Ages, the coast along Germany's North Sea has fallen victim to severe storm floods. Thousands of people have lost their lives. At low tide, traces of these tragedies come to the surface again. The Halligen, all that remains of the inundated land. Today, the people by the coast live without fear, protected by the dikes. Impressive farmhouses attest to the wealth of the region. Wind turbines changing the face of the coast. Today, the journey along Germany's North Sea coast takes us to Husum and from there to the Halligen, small islands in the Wadden Sea. The broadest beach on Germany's North Sea coast is on the Eiderstedt Peninsula, With its characteristic stilt houses and meandering waterways, it is a paradise for holidaymakers. A little further northwards, a nature park just off the coast. Visible from afar, the prominent lighthouse of Westerhever Sand. The tower with its two outhouses is the most famous beacon of the German coastline. Every year, young people volunteer to live and work here as conservationists. It's so cozy here, and it's such a huge building. It stands alone, so that looks like a small island when you come here. It's quite a sight, you could almost call it kitsch. But I have stored the image in my heart, because it is so memorable. Lisa Thorms loves the solitude by the sea. Every day she is out on the enormous sandbank. When in summer, the warmth hits the cold water's surface, the entire coastline becomes visible, shimmering in the distance like a mirage. It's a moment of peace, a moment of calm. That is a moment of extraordinary beauty. But nobody except you can see it, because there is nobody else there. But I have the feeling that this image wants to be seen by me, as if it was waiting for me to see it. It is only visible for a second, and you have to make the most of every moment it appears. Lisa's job is to count the birds here. A large colony of terns and oyster catchers lives out here. Lisa heard about the Voluntary Ecological Year at school, and applied immediately. At the lighthouse, she found new friends for the year, Vroni and Nils. Together they chart the ground of the sandbank. Every 50 meters we have a town grid that's one square meter in size. We put the tubes into the ground to take samples. We sift it and count the organisms we find. This has been done for years. The data allows us to see how the ecosystem here is developing. A magical world appears from the murky silt. Crabs, worms and shellfish. Everything must be recorded meticulously. When you're out in the mudflats, you can see the lighthouse really well. And when you're walking back, you're constantly walking towards it, which really gives you a sense of coming home. What Lisa loves most of all are the evenings by the sea, when the tourists have gone and she and her friends send their secret greetings to the islands. From the top of the lighthouse. The sea comforts me. It's like a mother I can come to at the end of the day. A lap which I can curl up into and fall asleep on. The journey continues towards the Halligen, little islands without dikes and only a few houses. The houses are built on artificial mounds, their only protection from the surging sea. During low tide, the Halligen are accessible on foot. This is how they are protected from the sea. Söderorg is the furthest north of these small islands in the Wadden Sea. Gudrun and Hermann Mattisen have been living here for 20 years. The only house on the island is the home of the couple and 100 animals. Hermann Mattisen works for the Coast Guard. Gudrun has her hands full with the house, garden and animals. They have chicken, ducks, sheep, cattle and two Frisian horses, a species that has become rare. It's not easy for animals these days because man has gone everywhere and claimed everything for himself and I think there should still be somewhere where they can live a fuller life, like a smaller version of Noah's Ark. It's a threatened Noah's Ark out here. During the autumn storms, the sea gets rough and makes life unpleasant. The Halligen are flooded regularly by the sea and both humans and animals have to take shelter on the mounds the houses are built on. The only place that isn't submerged then. And everyone out here knows that one day the sea level will rise and wash everything away. I love it when it's completely calm. Sometimes I think that this is not the place for me, especially when we're having a very stormy winter, but I'd never leave. So I just look forward to every calm day we get. No matter how idyllic it seems to be here, even in good weather conditions, it can be dangerous. Every day Gudrun counts her sheep. There are no fences here and the ditches are deep. One of them could fall into one of the ditches, that's why we count them every day. If there's one missing, we have to look for it. Living on Südaorg means living in harmony with the sea. At least while there's no storm flood. Gudrun and Hermann don't have a television. They have enough to entertain them by taking care of their animals. You have to be happy with what you've got here. I have my animals and of course there's my husband. If you're not satisfied with that, it won't work anyway. This is a special place on earth. The Halligen and the Wadden Sea. In 2009, the region was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Over the last centuries, enormous storm floods tore apart the land between the islands. Villages were flooded and thousands of people drowned. Only a few islands remained. One of them is the island Pellworm. This steeple is the only remaining witness of the storm flood 400 years ago. Its church was once the largest cathedral on the North Frisian coast. The foundations were presumably laid in 1095. The ruin of the steeple stands as a reminder that one day the sea may return with all its destructive force. At low tide, everything is peaceful in the mudflats. But traces of the tremendous storm floods can be found everywhere. Three kilometres from the coast, silt covers the remains of human settlements. Helmut Bahnsen comes here every day. He spent his whole life looking for the treasures of submerged villages and harbours and Atlantis on the North German coast. With a northwesterly wind, like in the last few days, it resurfaces. The ground is eroded by the wind and something becomes visible. Helmut Bahnsen never knows if the tide has uncovered anything new. He is the only person who is out here every day. He wants to preserve the memory of the places lost to the sea. The fragments of a jug. The people fled from their houses in a mad rush and left everything behind, if they managed to escape the floods at all. The remains of a water cistern were uncovered a few days ago. Beside it, Helmut Bahnsen has found some bones. I can tell for sure that there used to be a house here. You can see posts here and a ditch there. Over there, there is another ditch and some more posts. Like this, you can still make out the size of the mound. A wooden water conduit, built 600 years ago, peers out of the water for a brief moment. It supplied the houses with drinking water. According to old legends, God sent the flood in 1634 because the people were possessed by the devil. Helmut Bahnsen keeps his discoveries on the isle of Pellworm, near the old church. It all happened in 1634. Only very few people survived the flood. Nobody can say how many people were killed, how many grandparents, parents and children. Sometimes I have nightmares about this. The discoveries are the most important source of information about the former settlements on the coast. There is not much left in the mudflats. Soon the last remains, and with them the memory of the first coastal dwellers, will be washed away by the sea. Legend is still rife that whoever passes over the submerged towns at high tide can hear the bells of one of the village churches ring. In the early 1980s, I found a part of a bell in the mudflats. It is a small but heavy piece and I believe it is from this legendary bell. Legends are one thing. It is a fact that there were people who claimed land from the sea and lost it again. Only very rarely the tides release the remains of this history. The tides open a window to the past and after a while they close it again. The magic of the Wadden Sea on the German North Sea coast. We leave the island of Pellworm for a detour to the mainland, this time to the northern side of the Eiderstedt peninsula. Here humans and animals were usually safe from the floods and the farmers were richer than the settlers out on the islands. Large farms bear witness to this security and prosperity. They were self-sufficient and had everything under one roof. For centuries this way of life served the people well. But even the most renowned farm here in Eiderstedt is no longer profitable. When it was built, the house didn't have a thatched roof. It was covered with expensive red tiles that only the wealthiest farmers could afford. Massive structural change has been sweeping the coastal region since the 1980s. Instead of making money through farming, many have now turned to generating wind power. These wind farms have sprung up like mushrooms on the land that was once claimed by the sea. Not everyone is happy about the wind generators dominating the horizon. Others see opportunities. Wind is part of life on the coast and it caused us a lot of trouble in the past. It's nice that we don't just have that story, but a new one too. We're learning to live with the wind and harness it. Today thousands of wind turbines line the coast and already generate more than 50% of the region's energy supply. The wind is no longer the people's enemy. It has become a profitable friend. Hermann Albers was an early convert to wind energy. He had the courage to invest in wind power right from the start and convinced neighbors that they should build a wind farm together. He lives on his own farm on the Simonsberg polder together with his wife and children. My grandfather bought this farm in 1917. My father was the second generation to own it in the 50s, 60s and 70s. I started as a farmer here in 1981. At the time I believed I would have a career in agriculture. But it became more and more difficult and many of my neighbors had to give up. I thought about how I could secure my living and how we could use our natural resources, the good soil, the weather, the rain and the wind. Hermann's daughter Tana is proud that her father fights against climate change with his job in wind energy. You cannot only harvest on the ground but also in the air. We take something from nature and turn it into something useful. Some produce fruit or wheat. We produce carbon neutral energy because that's something we need. This will help the climate and will eventually prevent us from being flooded by the North Sea. It is for the sake of mankind. Hermann Albers has put up 13 wind turbines on his land behind the dike. The electricity is fed into the national grid. There's always enough left to power his own electric bike. One of these engines costs almost a million euros. After 15 years it has paid off and the wind blows money straight into the pockets of the owner. The lift takes us up to a height of 78 meters. The feeling of being up on the wind turbine is described best with a Frisian saying which goes a clear view and a free heart. That's how you feel as a wind farmer up on your turbine looking out over the North Frisian Wadden Sea. Usum, the capital of North Frisia with only 22,000 inhabitants. It was home to German writer Theodor Stahm. The author Stahm became known for his dark romantic novellas about spooky figures on the coast. His most famous work is The Rider on the White Horse about a ghostly rider who haunts the coast with his horse. Today there is nothing eerie about Usum anymore. When the town is still asleep, Lutz Streblow is already up on the roofs of the town. He's Usum's chimney sweep. You can see everything from up here. Down in the streets your view is restricted but not up here on the roof. You can see the cranes, the storage houses, the windmills and the roofs of houses where people slowly start to wake up. Then the first cars and ships start to move around and the day has begun. The quiet charm of Usum brought Lutz Streblow from Berlin to the coast 30 years ago. Usum was once called the grey town by the grey sea. And in Theodor Stahm's stories it is usually submerged in mist. But Lutz likes it anyway. I always wonder why people say it's grey here. To me nothing is grey at all, quite the opposite. The town is colourful, people are nice and everybody is treated kindly. I see nothing grey here, not even in the mist. I think it was Stahm's problem he had with Usum. In sunshine the town looks a lot different than in winter, when the wind from the sea blows through the streets and mist covers the houses. At the heart of Usum is the old castle, where an air of legend and ghost story still lingers. It is the largest castle on the German North Sea coast. The nobility was never able to establish large estates in North Frisia. Since the Hanseatic times, Usum has been an important harbour for fishing and freight. It is also the mooring place of historic ships that are still iconic for the coastline. Early in the morning the smack boat Fronja left from Usum for its destination in the Wadden Sea, the island of Nordstrand. The sea itself is beautiful, but to have it just outside my door is something else. And living here permanently dependent on the tides makes it even more charming. John von Eitzen comes from an old Frisian family. He is skipper of the Fronja. I also liked sailing in the Baltic Sea or the Mediterranean or the Pacific, but here it is really special. There is nowhere like it in the world. John von Eitzen is not an adventurer. In summer he guides people through the mudflats. Fronja is only a hobby. He not only masters the ship perfectly, but knows its every detail. No wonder, for John von Eitzen built the ship himself. A vessel from 1800 served as a model. I have had many ships before and restored them. And to me it was always a dream to build a ship and go to sea with it. It is possible to do that with few resources and simple tools. But it took five years to do it and there were times when I felt like giving up, but then I had to keep going. And now it has been sailing for 12 years. John von Eitzen and his Fronja have become a landmark of the Wadden Sea. The boat builder has his workshop in Husum. According to old sketches he is currently restoring a fishing boat. This is a traditional way of building ships. A thousand years ago Vikings built their ships like this. Wooden nails and copper rivets hold the boat together. We are restoring the boat in the traditional way, with oak planking, oak frames and knee timber. The seams between the planking are stuffed with toe, tarred hemp and later sealed with bitumen. That makes the ship waterproof. Caulking is one of the oldest techniques in shipbuilding. Today it is almost extinct. Through his own work, John von Eitzen wants to understand how shipbuilders used to work without machines. Behind every ship there are humans. Somebody who built it, somebody who steered it. There is a story behind every ship, just like there is one behind every region, no matter if it's a lake, coast or high sea. Landscapes and nature, everything is attached to man. Now the Fronja still has wind in her sails. But soon the low tide will force the skipper to find a place to moor her. The sand of the mudflats slowly emerges from the waters, as beautiful as the pictures of a great painter. Now the Fronja shows her own unique feature. Even on the mudflats the ship can stay in position. The ship has a draft of only one meter, and that is what makes this type of boat unique. They can lie on the mud without falling over. Other boats can't do that. A seascape that brought forth unique people and special survival strategies. On the blurry border between land and sea, we're approaching the island of Nordstrand. It's all that remains of the large island of Strand, which fell victim to a flood more than 300 years ago. The flat land seems to go on forever, with nothing to distract the senses. Nordstrand can be reached by boat and over a causeway, so it's not a proper island anymore. Even behind the protective dike there is a trace of melancholy. You have to be a die-hard islander to live here permanently. I always say that out here on the island we're closer to God than anywhere else. We have this wide open space and the infinity around us. It's a piece of eternity. It's paradise to be here by the sea. Life couldn't be more beautiful. Simply to have the opportunity to see nature changing around me is like paradise to me. Georg Reimders is a man of God. He is one of two pastors on the island. In this paradise, as he calls it, he also has to deal with the everyday duties of village life. He's a priest who has to do everything himself. Today, the church lawnmower needs more fuel. The Theresien Cathedral is Father Georg's earthly realm. It's a modest building. The church was built on a dike after the flood of 1634. Its architects were Dutch people, who had come to the devastated island with their specialist knowledge of coastal protection. Georg Reimders isn't Dutch, but he is continuing the special tradition of the cathedral dating from that time. This is the only cemetery in the world that's located on a dike. The first settlers started to bury their dead on the dike because they said, we claim the land from the sea in life, and we don't want to end up in the water when we're dead. The founders had practical thoughts. The church and the cemetery should never be flooded again. So the cemetery was lifted four and a half meters. No matter what their confession, anyone can be buried here. Why not open this cemetery to say, this is the dike which protects us all, and it offers a place to rest. Above all, you can look across the wide open land and see right up to the sky, up to the horizon. Cleaning up for services and weddings, Georg Reimders does everything by himself, including ritual acts. The congregation of the old Catholic church, actually living on large strands, is very small. Most of the church's members live spread out all over northern Germany. They come from far and wide, either to celebrate mass with Georg Reimders, or the best day of their lives. Passion and hope and confidence. An island wedding in the Wadden Sea. Who would want to think of stormy times on a day like this? A stone's throw away, the island Nordstrandisch Moor. This island also used to be part of the submerged island of Strand. Today, four families call it their home. The only connection to the mainland is a small railway leading through the mudflats. The Hartwig family is the only one with children at school age. Mr. Hartwig works as a coast guard, but the family also lives from farming and the holidaymakers, which come in summer. What I like best about living here is that I have my children around 24 hours a day. There are no friends they can go to, so they're always here and always around. And I enjoy having my children at home all the time. The farm of the Hartwigs. Three generations under one roof. The eldest son already has his own children. The island school, and Katrin, Henrik and Erik are currently the only pupils here. At break time, they like playing football with Mr. Lorentzen, their teacher. To me, it's very important that we can pass on our farm, which has been in the family for 290 years, to the next generation. I want the children to learn how to live in harmony with nature, that nature is their friend and not their enemy. It's important for me to show my children that we treat each other and the environment in a responsible way. The three children are on a mission. They're fishing for crayfish and plankton in the tideway for biology class. Their mother, Ruth, is fighting to keep the little school on the island because otherwise the family would have to move. The state subsidises life in the Wadden Sea. Until their seventh grade, the children have a right to be taught on the islands, no matter how many there are. The teacher, Mr. Lorentzen, lives in the schoolhouse above the only classroom. It's not an easy job for him, teaching simultaneous classes in biology, German and maths for three grades, all in one room. Erik has found the small crayfish under the microscope and shows them to his siblings with a camera and the school computer. Exciting, nature in the classroom. Finally, school is over and the children are back home on their mound. Now their adventures can start. Most of the time, Erik is in charge. They set off against the current of the tideway, overcoming various obstacles. The water leaves almost no space under the low bridges. I realise that my three children will not stay on the Hallig forever. They'll spend their childhood here and then they'll have to go to the mainland and they won't come back again because there's only room for one of them here. It's sad, but that's how it is. The effort paid off. Now the children can enjoy drifting along the island slowly, an idyllic childhood. Like anywhere else, only one of them can inherit the farm. So this is a very special time when I still have all of them at home. But when they turn 15, they'll leave and they won't come back. All of the children will eventually go to a boarding school on the mainland to graduate and get a job, just like generations of island children before them. But Nordstrandisch Moor will always be their home. The next stop are the sandbanks near the island Hallighorge, 20 kilometres off the mainland coast. This part of the Wadden Sea is difficult to reach by boat. Only crab cutters dare to sail far up the tideways. The sands of the Wadden Sea are perfect for seals. They live here in large colonies, finding enough food and raising their young. Almost understood by humans. The particularly daring seek unbridled freedom far out in the Wadden Sea. When you ask people what they love about the coast, they say you can stand and look out. It steers up feelings of longing. It's the wide open space and the sea. But we're in the place other people just look at and that's great. They set off at sunrise. After two hours of paddling, the two canoeists have covered a distance of 20 kilometres. Far and wide, nothing but sea and sandbanks. Fog could close in at any time or a storm could whip up. Before I set off, I'm scared. Particularly when I think about strong winds and thrashing waves. That's when I think we're crazy. But we're well equipped. Our boats won't sink. We both have a paddle which we can use for help when one of us is thrown over by a wave. Journalist Andrea and geoscientist Heidi live on the mainland. They spend every free moment in their sea kayaks. Only those who are very fit can master the elements out here. Now they have company. Curious eyes peer out of the water. The seals are not shy and come close to the kayaks. They sense there is no danger to them here. It's such an amazing feeling. They come so close and look at you with their big black eyes that have a spark on them. It makes me happy. Being at one with nature, if only for a short moment. Soon the tide will come in and Heidi and Andrea will have to set off again before the evening. Five kilometres of paddling lie ahead of them. Their destination is Hallighågö. On the island they have set up their tents for the night. Cooking utensils, sleeping bags and dry clothes they can carry with them in their kayaks. The equipment for more adventures on the next day on the water. A calm evening in the Wadden Sea. The following morning an old ship leaves the harbour on a very special operation. The Annemarie is the oldest seaworthy ship of the Halligan. She is as old as her owner and captain Bernhard Dietrichsen. For 85 years the boat has delivered construction material and grain in the Wadden Sea. And for 40 years Bernhard Dietrichsen has guided her along the shores of the islands. But now, very reluctantly, he has passed his job on to his grandson Arne. It takes a while but then you face up to it. You are no longer entitled to health benefits as a captain. So you have to accept your fate. It's hard but it's okay. Grandfather and grandson have a special job in the mudflats. They mark the safe channels in the tideways with fir and birch tree branches which they secure in the seabed. They are set up at the edges of the tideways and show us and others where we can navigate safely through the tideway, where the deepest point is. The ship is positioned on spots they have previously selected during low tide. The mud isn't always soft enough to simply stick the branches in. Arduous work for Bernhard and his grandson. Then they have to push the trees in with compressed air. Backbreaking work. Branch after branch is put in position. Kilometre by kilometre. Almost a fool's errand as the tideways are constantly changing their course and consequently the channels for the ships need to be modified. It can happen that in one year we set up here and next year we have to set them up somewhere else because the seabed has changed. At some spots the fairway shifts up to two or three metres. But as long as they do their job every ship will reach its destination safely. The largest halic island in the North Frisian Wadden Sea is Lange Ness. It's the home to 100 people in their thatched houses. There is a railway track on top of the dike running through the Wadden Sea from Lange Ness and across the small neighbouring halic of Orland to the mainland. Food and the mail are brought to the two islands via this 10 kilometre track. There is only a short time slot at low tide when the train can run. Soon the sea will wash over it once again. Fieder Nissen is a postman out here. Only when weather permits can he go out in his small cart. I like to go out with the lorry. That's part of who I am and where I come from. I was born here on the halic. I don't want to go anywhere else. I've tried that. I was on the mainland. I did my time in the army there but I realised this is the most beautiful place to be. I'm happy to be outdoors, to be in our beautiful landscape. I can really kick back here. Fieder Nissen has been delivering the mail five times a week for 30 years. He's the most famous postman on the coast, always on the same route. Past the isle of Orland, he sets off to the mainland early in the morning. In the past, these lorries were powered by sails. If the wind was favourable, you could sail with them like you can sail on a yacht. Nowadays, we have a small engine. It has certainly improved the quality of our lives. At the station behind the dyke, the goods are being delivered. Apart from letters, there are often mail-order parcels, many of which are likely to be returned after a couple of days if the recipients aren't happy. Someone's getting a rabbit hutch. Maybe the rabbits will come tomorrow. Fully loaded, the island express makes its way back. Next stop, Orland. Only regular mail is being delivered here today. The parcels are for Fieder's home, Langen Ness, an idyllic world in which fewer and fewer people want to live. The island seems to be in danger of extinction somehow at the moment. But I think the only thing we need to stop this are jobs and a little more support to be able to live here. We work for the coastal protection and in tourism. We also do a little farming, but without financial aid from the government, it won't work out. Fieder Nissen isn't just a postman and a farmer. He's also the elected mayor of the two islands. He knows it takes hard work to secure a future out here in this windswept place. It's according to this principle that the people of the Wadden Sea have lived their whole lives. However, nature always has its very own surprises in storm. When I take the lorry out after a storm or when I walk along the coast, I happen to find bits of amber from time to time. This here is just a fraction of what I found. I have a bond to each and every one of the stones, so I would never sell them. They have a sentimental value for me. Fieder never wants to leave. He even wants his last journey to end here.