Break­fast in Kirk­wall was deli­cious, but it was a veg­e­tar­i­an’s night­mare. Fried eggs, a huge beef sausage much meati­er than an Eng­lish banger, a slab of blood pud­ding, some fried toma­toes, and toast. Noth­ing even remote­ly green.  Read more »

I had been warned that the Orkney dialect was “dif­fi­cult,” but it is per­fect­ly com­pre­hen­si­ble to any Cana­di­an, and extreme­ly pleas­ing to the ear. The into­na­tion pat­tern, in par­tic­u­lar, reminds me of Cana­di­an speech in the Atlantic Provinces. Read more »

Upon my word, my jour­nal goes charm­ing­ly on at present.… How eas­i­ly and clev­er­ly do I write just now! I am real­ly pleased with myself; words come skip­ping to me like lambs upon Mof­fat Hill; and I turn my peri­ods smooth­ly and imper­cep­ti­bly like a skil­full wheel­wright turn­ing tops in a turn­ing-loom. There’s fan­cy! There’s sim­i­le! In short, I am at present a genius: in that does my opu­lence con­sist, and not in base metal.

― James Boswell, Boswell’s Lon­don Jour­nal, 1762–1763 Read more »

More images of West Main­land: Read more »

Images of West Main­land, Orkney (part 1) Read more »

I was eager to get to some of the key archae­o­log­i­cal sites, so I hoist­ed my pack and set out on foot. I soon got a lift with a cheer­ful Orca­di­an, and was dropped off at the base of the nar­row arm of land that sep­a­rates the Loch of Sten­ness from the Loch of Har­ray. This was the most active cen­ter of Neolith­ic Orkney. It was but a short walk to the Stones of Sten­ness. These date from around 3000 BC. The phys­i­cal set­ting, between two lochs and at the cen­tre of a vast bowl of land sur­round­ed by high, bare hills, is mar­velous. I was beneath a par­tic­u­lar­ly fine mix of sun and clouds, and there was nobody about to spoil the sense of mys­tery and awe. 

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Strom­ness is a pleas­ing lit­tle har­bour with many grey stone build­ing climb­ing a steep hill. Smack in the mid­dle, how­ev­er, is a hideous glass box, an exam­ple of just the kind of esthet­ic crime I com­plained about in the last post. The main com­mer­cial street is a nar­row , wind­ing lane, paved with flag­stones, and hemmed in by most­ly eigh­teenth and nine­teenth cen­tu­ry hous­es. Pedes­tri­ans share it, anar­chi­cal­ly, with auto­mo­biles. Most parts only have room for a car going in one direc­tion, but there are occa­sion­al wider spots where oncom­ing traf­fic can nego­ti­ate prece­dence. Read more »

I crossed the Pent­land Firth to Orkney on the Ham­navoe, a fine­ly appoint­ed, Finnish-made ship which sails to the Orca­di­an port of Strom­ness. But before it reached the Orkney “Main­land,” * it passed close to the west­ern end of the Isle of Hoy. Here are the Unit­ed King­dom’s high­est sea-cliffs, as high as 350 m/1150 f. Struck by the after­noon light, they were extra­or­di­nar­i­ly beau­ti­ful. If my trip had end­ed at this place, I would have pro­nounced it entire­ly worth­while. We passed by the Old Man of Hoy, a stone stack sep­a­rat­ed from the cliff­sthat ris­es 137 m/450 f from the waves.  Read more »

Dun­net Head ( Ceann Dùnaid ) in Caith­ness, Scot­land. The north­ern­most point on the British main­land. Lat­i­tude 58°40′21″N lon­gi­tude 03°22′31″W.

The sea is calm, dap­pled with sun­light. I’m in the dock­side “Peerie Cafe,” wait­ing for the fer­ry to Strom­ness, in Orkney. Through the win­dow, I can see a bleak head­land that is the north­ern­most point of the main­land of the Unit­ed King­dom. Clos­er to me, sheep are graz­ing on a six­ty degree slope — some­thing I’ve nev­er seen before. The timid Meri­no breed that I’m famil­iar with would nev­er do such a thing. This is the first calm meal and cof­fee that I’ve had since I left Toron­to. It’s been a pre­cip­i­tent jour­ney. Read more »