We’re continuing our city water bus journey along the Dangė River. We’ll get to the next stop in about 20 minutes. During this stretch, you’ll hear about where to find the remains of Poys Castle (a Curonian castle), what the main river of Klaipėda should actually be called, and finally, whether you can swim in the Dangė River. As is the case for the whole journey, we’ll observe these sites by orienting ourselves based on the position of the riverbanks in the direction of travel.
Please look to the left bank of the Dangė River. Few people know that the Šauliai Manor was situated right here, between the Minor Tauralaukis Manor and the Bachmann Manor on the high hills. According to Klaipėda historian Dainius Elertas, the area was inhabited even before the Livonian Order took control. This theory is also supported by the discoveries made along the banks of the Dangė River by archaeologists from Klaipėda University in 2015. Archaeologists exploring the Curonian heritage have long been searching for traces of the mysterious Poys Castle. The Poys settlement was first mentioned in 1253 when the Teutonic Knights constructed the wooden fortress of Memelburg at the mouth of the Dangė River. If the Poys settlement that archaeologists are still searching for was indeed situated by the Dangė River, it could be considered the predecessor of Klaipėda. Historical roots aren’t just romantic legends for tourists; they’re also crucial elements of the local population’s identity, helping to shape their mentality and form an authentic worldview within the context of the city’s history. Let us also try, if only for a short while, to travel back in time – using our imagination – to the era of the Curonians, as we listen to the story of the Dangė River Mermaid and a Curonian, written by Denis Nikitenko:
It happened in days of yore, when the Curonian Spit stretched forth, its tongue reaching only the mouth of the Dangė, beyond which the vast expanse of the Baltic Sea unfurled in boundless majesty. ‘Twas the land where valiant Curonian warriors traversed the mighty Dangė, their warships renowned from Semba’s shores to the realm of the seagulls. These were tumultuous times as the Crusaders and their allies in the North sought the land ensnared by the very belt of war. Once, when the monks of the Livonian Order had reached the mouth of the Dangė, a bold Curonian rose to declare who truly held dominion over these lands. The famed ships had vanished, their timbers resting cold upon the Baltic’s depths, yet the brave Curonian’s faith in the might of his tribe remained unshaken. And so he set sail upon the Dangė in an old, beat-up boat crafted by the hands of his grandfather. He sailed past the charred fortresses of his kinsmen, nestled in the lofty river valleys, all the way to the stronghold of the warrior monks, known as the Crow’s Nest. He feared not the crossbow bolts, sharp as a viper’s fangs, nor was he swayed by the warnings of his friends, urging the young man not to court his own demise. He only yearned to sail once more – free and proud – along the ancient waters of his forebears, to show the invaders that the Curonians are unyielding, unbroken by fire, sword, or hunger. The Dangė, calm and silent, cradled the Curonian’s boat as it glided slowly through its waters. The nearer he drew to the Crow’s Nest, the fiercer the waves grew, crashing wildly, until the towering walls of the castle loomed in the distance. ‘What a mighty castle,’ the Curonian thought. And with a fierce grip on the tiller, he called upon Perkūnas for courage and Bangpūtys for the wind as he surged faster and faster towards the river’s mouth. The castle guards stirred, unsettled by the unexpected visitor. They summoned archers and spearmen, sealed the castle gates, and waited in tense anticipation. And the Curonian kept going. Suddenly, a crossbow bolt whistled past his shoulder, slicing through the air. Then came a second, and a third, the final bolt striking the side of the boat, mere inches from the intricate Baltic carvings on the oak planks. The arrows rained down in ever greater numbers, yet the Curonian drew nearer and nearer. Suddenly, the river started swirling, the waters rippled, fish leapt from the depths, and the boat spun like a bent reed in the dunes, swaying to the rhythm of the evening wind. From the depths of the waves rose a beautiful maiden, her long hair flowing like river grass, and she begged the young man, pleading for him not to seal his fate in death. The maiden of the Dangė pleaded with him to turn the boat around, to save his life from certain doom, but the steadfast Curonian remained unmoved, his resolve unbroken. He clenched his scarred fists tighter, laid the old sword at his feet, seized the oars, and began to battle his way through the swirling river. Sweat poured from him, his legs numbed with strain, yet the boat pressed forward. The mermaid trailed behind as the bolts flew in a relentless storm, striking the sides, sails, and mast of the oaken boat. The maiden of the Dangė plunged beneath the waves, her gaze lingering longingly on the steadfast Curonian. And a mighty arrow pierced his chest, sending him into the waters at the mouth of the Dangė, his dream of reaching the sea fading forever. The castle guards rushed to recover the brave young man, diving into the river for hours, searching in vain for his body to hang as a grim warning upon the castle’s battlements. But the Dangė mermaid had taken him. No one has seen her since, not for centuries after that fateful day. Some say that when the river swells, she emerges once more, a beautiful, enchanting maiden with a scaly mermaid’s tail. She lowers her eyes, her heart heavy with the memory of the young man she could not save…
The legend is beautiful, but now let’s discuss Šauliai Manor, about which not much is known except that it was officially granted manor status in 1899. The origin of the name is unclear, but it’s thought to come from a Lithuanian word meaning riflemen or a personal name. In the post-war period, the manor’s buildings were nationalised and transferred to a local collective farm. The estate was demolished during the Soviet era, but the main building, a two-storey red brick warehouse, two outbuildings, and a couple of ponds were preserved. Šauliai Manor was also home to one of the dozen brickyards of old Klaipėda. At the beginning of the 20th century, brickyards operated in Tauralaukis, Purmaliai, and Paupiai, near Bachmann Manor; and Aulaukis, Luizė, Joniškės, the Windmill Manors, and the Gedminai Manor, in the south. The clay for the bricks was extracted from the valleys and cliffs of the Dangė banks.
Now it’s time to learn more about the river itself and answer the question of what it should be called – Danė or Dangė? Historical sources first mention the name Dangė in the agreement for the construction of Memel’s castle on 29th July 1252. The document records the agreement between Eberhard von Zeine, Master of the Livonian Order, and a Curonian bishop to build a castle where the Dangė River meets the Memel (Nemunas) River. For centuries, the river flowing through Curonian land was called Dangė, but in the Etymological Dictionary of Lithuanian Hydronyms (Water Names), published in 1981, linguist Aleksandras Vanagas renamed the river Danė. Until then, all literature published before 1981 used the name Dangė. The renowned folklore writer Vilius Kalvaitis also suggested changing the name of Dangė to Danė at the beginning of the 20th century. After collecting many fairy tales and songs from Lithuania Minor, he attempted to translate the German words into Lithuanian. Later, Kalvaitis wrote: ‘Lith. Dane; Ger. Dane.’ The pronunciation of the river’s name has changed many times, but that’s mostly in the inscriptions on various maps created by the conquering Swedes, Russians, and French.
Once the Klaipėda region was annexed to Lithuania, the river was renamed Akmena, up to its mouth. Apparently, this was an attempt to rid the area of German influence, although the word Dangė isn’t German at all. It actually derives from two extinct languages: Prussian, where it can mean simply river, and Curonian, where it can mean arc or angle. Names of Baltic Viking–Curonian settlements are characterised by the typical suffixes -anga, -angė, -inga, and -ingė. Listen to these: Palanga, Būtingė, Kretinga, Ablinga, Gandinga – all are ancient Curonian names. There have been attempts to restore the river to its true name, but without success so far. However, restoring the historical name is as important as restoring Memel’s castle. That’s why we call it the Dangė River throughout the journey – it’s our tribute to and respect for historical truth.
Interestingly, the name’s story doesn’t end here. The river running through Klaipėda is the only one that has several official names. From its source at Salantai to Bajorai village outside Kretinga, the river is called Akmena, and from Bajorai village to its mouth, it’s known as Danė or Dangė. The river flows through Kretinga and Klaipėda districts and empties into the Curonian Lagoon in Klaipėda city. The river has a catchment area of 595 km² and a length of 65 km. The depth of the river up to the mouth of the tributary Eketė is less than two metres, ranging from three to five metres below that, and five to seven metres in Klaipėda. Only the lower reaches of the river are navigable, but the most interesting stretch, for canoeing or kayaking in particular, is from Kretinga to Kretingalė.
No matter the weather, there are always fishermen on the banks of the Dangė. According to whom, the best spot for fishing is at the mouth of the Dangė River, near the cruise ship terminal, by the ferry to Smiltynė. The main catches are roach, bream, and perch during the warm season, and delicious smelt in the winter. The latest most desirable catch is gobies. The spread of this invasive species from the Black Sea and the Baltic Sea sometimes leads to them invading the harbour and the mouth of the Dangė River. Environmental monitoring of the Dangė River doesn’t determine whether fish caught in the river are suitable for consumption, but this doesn’t deter persistent fishermen.
The Dangė River has been subject to environmental monitoring since 2007. Data collected in 2018 showed a sharp increase in nitrogen nitrate, nitrogen, and phosphorus levels in the river water. Unfortunately, the ecological state of the river has been declining over the last 13 years, which is why swimming in the Dangė River is now forbidden. This is why there are no official swimming areas, but an active leisure alternative has been created for residents and a cycling and walking path was built along the river from the city centre to the botanical gardens in 2015.