Mainstream Stone Age

Sunday 10 August 2014

4:19 PM

Orkney Mainland, Scotland, UK

To say "I'm tired" would be an understatement. I'm staying in Kirkwall, but I had to bike to Stromness today so Ethel could get a tune-up. I suppose that wouldn't be too bad, but I didn't get to bed until 4 AM. Last night I started listening to Where She Went, and I couldn't stop. Now I'm on my way back to Kirkwall. I'm a figurative zombie, but I'm listening to it again as I ride because it's therapeutic in some very painful way.
I've just passed the village of Stenness and now I have to make a judgement call. Do I keep on, or stop and take some photos of the standing stones? I've been fairly good about not repeating things I've already done on this trip, but it really would be a shame if I stayed in Orkney for a whole month and never visited the stones.
So I turn off onto the B road, and make my way towards the monuments. There are people everywhere. Tour buses stop one after another, and people stream out like ants descending on an unsuspecting picnic.
Despite the masses, I'm happy I came here. The Stones of Stenness are what brought me to Orkney in the first place.

The Stones of Stenness now only has three stones which stand to their original hight, but originally it was comprised of 12 stones in a circular formation spaced 10 Megalithic Yards (MY) across. These very tall stones in such a tight circle would have felt very enclosed when the circle was complete.

Stenness is nice, but near by there is a Neolithic village called Barnhouse. I completely missed it last time I was here, and so I'm fairly eager to check out this peculiar village. All the buildings are worn down almost entirely to their foundations. It's strange because it just outlines where the walls and doors would have been. I'm reminded of when I was a little kid and I would draw the outlines of a house on the side walk.

Barnhouse Village, contemporary with late Skara Brae, is strange for two key reasons. The first is obvious, it's positioned extraordinarily close to the monuments mentioned in this post as well as Maes Howe. This tends to imply that the inhabitants of this village had a bit of status. Also these Grooved ware people don't seem to have a butchery like all the other Neolithic villages in the archipelago. No they weren't the world's first village of vegetarians, we know they ate meat. Was someone bringing this village it's meat? I'm willing to bet they weren't just stopping at Tesco.

The best bit about Barnhouse is that there weren't any tourists. The village isn't well known nor was it sign posted so people seem to miss it. But soon, I'm back into the throng of people hopping from monument to monument.
Next up is the big dig. I also missed the Ness of Brodgar excavation the last time I was here. Unfortunately, it's not exactly in a visit-ready state.

This Ness of Brodgar was not a village. They're calling it a ritual complex. With over 100 buildings that were originally surrounded by a stone wall unlike anything else from its time and a startling lack of domestic supplies, it's hard to come up with something better to call it. Only 10% has been excavated, and just that is completely revolutionizing what we thought we knew about the Neolithic.

If you're really interested in the Ness of Brodgar, I suggest you start with this video. It's really long so just be warned.

As with most in-progress digs, it's difficult to make heads or tales of what's going on unless you're working on the dig yourself. There is a person giving an explanation of the site, but they're just rapping up when I arrive. So I wander around, snap a few photos, and then head on to the Ring of Brodgar.

I'm not going to ramble on about the Ring of Brodgar because I already did that. So if you want some Neolithic Facts about the Ring of Brodgar check out this old blog post: A Peedie Adventure Part 2

It's a bit long winded as is the trend with my posts from last year, but it also details the village of Skara Brae so that's a plus.

Although you can't see them in this photo, it's crawling with tourists. This is as far as I make it before I decide to turn back. I'd go back to Brodgar later, but for now I just wanted to get back to the hostel and I had a long way to go.

Troubling Britishisms

This post doesn't really have a date to go along with it.
It's more just a series of observations I've made during my time in Orkney which I've found troubling.
Pitfalls are the joys of travel, and I wouldn't be travelling if I never saw anything strange or did anything... well, culturally ignorant.

It started early on, when I would wander around Kirkwall and look at all the shops and restaurants. Occasionally I would see one of two very strange things. Some establishments had a sign saying "Licensed Restaurant" while others advertised a "Public Bar." Now these terms themselves aren't all that troubling. I would assume all restaurants would be licensed to be a restaurant and that Bars would be open to the general public.
The troubling thing is that in stating such a property of the establishment it tends to imply that there are establishments in which the corollary is true. But why would anyone go into such a dodgy establishment as an "Unlicensed Restaurant" and what is the point in even listing a "Private Bar" ?
Such listings don't have a point - but, surprise surprise, I was way off base.
As it turns out, "Licensed Restaurant" means that the establishment has a licence to sell alcohol. Unlicensed restaurants, not that you would see such a sign, still have to follow food health and safety. And "Public Bar" shows up when there is a pub in a hotel, but the pub is open to the pubic.

Next we have this little beauty:

Toilet Light. This isn't my first trip to the UK, and I really should know better, but still this was the image that instantly came to mind.

Please tell me I'm not the only one.
The reality is much less interesting.

We prim and proper Americans would refer to this room as the "bathroom" regardless of the presence of any actual bath. The British call the room the toilet. Really why skirt around the subject?
Of course this is in a hostel, so I've known more spacious broom cupboards, and it's Scotland so the switch for the toilet light is on the outside of the actual room it's intended for.

So some time later I cut my finger. It wasn't a bad cut... actually it was an incredibly small cut (almost literally a paper cut), but we all know those sting like hell.
So I go to the desk at my hostel and ask:
"Can I get a band-aid and some neosporin?"
"A what?" I'm asked as though I suddenly started speaking Greek.
"You mean a plaster, and what?"
"Neosporin..." I offer sheepishly... "It's like an antibacterial cream"
"Like an antiseptic?"
"Sure..."
So I was given a plaster and an antiseptic wipe... Apparently, neosporin is an American thing... you never really know which brands permeate international boarders.

For the record, this foreign object is known as a plaster. Who knew?

My last pit fall is a layover from my previous trip to the UK... and it remains, in my opinion, the one unforgivable sin this country commits. I mean, it's a paper cut of an issue. They say no place is perfect, and in my opinion this is the reason why the UK is not perfect.

I kind of think this picture says it all. Whenever, I mention this they say "ohh the plumbing is old." So are we to assume that the rest of the world has state of the art piping, but the UK (a first world country) just hasn't gotten around to it?
No, I'm sorry that's not an answer. This is an inferior system found across most sinks most everywhere in the UK.

And on that cheery note, this is where I think I'll leave you. Enjoy washing your hands with a mixed tap. Rest assured knowing that I'm jealous.

Stone Skipper Paradise

Saturday 6 August 2014

4:19 PM

The isle of Papa Westray, Scotland, UK

I've left the kirk of St. Boniface. There is a fair bit of time to kill before the ferry back to Westray, but I don't really care. I'm still partly reeling from my time in the kirkyard. I just need to pedal hard until it's out of my mind.

I haven't even made it back to the shop when I spy a field of puffins, or at least I think they're puffins (my ornithological knowledge base is seriously lacking). They're tiny! also exceptionally adorable for birds...

This was the best photo I could get. The iPhone has it's limitations.

                             

The wind is starting to get to me and the puffins won't come any closer, so I press on. The pier is on the southern tip of the island, and I'm in the middle. So it's a long ride back to the pier. Most of it is down hill, but the wind is so strong that I have to pedal anyway just to keep moving forward.

I've been quite fortunate in Orkney. I almost always seem to miss the rain, but for some reason I'm always biking into the wind wherever I go.

All that said, I'm able to make it back to the pier with over 30 minutes to spare. There are people congregating around the shelter house, assorted bikes laying alongside buildings and cars with multi coloured helmets strewn about. Families and little children and elderly couples. 

I don't really feel like being social, nor do I feel like being the anti-social person ignoring everyone while listening to an audio book. So I choose option C, go to the beach.

I'm glad I did.

This is the beach that lay before me.

A collection of skipping stones so good that the ones I discard would have been considered 'perfect' on any other beach.

And it's like this, as far as the eye could see.

I make my way down by the water, where I notice some peculiar round purple blobs. I think they're beached jellyfish, but I'm not about to touch them and find out.

The bay before me is glassy calm, so I shrug off my jacket and set it on the ground next to my hat and bag. Then I begin to skip stones.

3 skips

7 skips

4 skips

16!

I stop counting. The reflexive rocking of my torso and the sling of my arm all falling into rhythm.

Eventually, my first collection of stones runs out and I have to get some more. When I return, arms laden with perfect skippers, I notice that several of the people waiting on the pier have turned to watch me.

Truthfully, my right arm is getting sore, but I skip anyway.

The Third Death

“There are three deaths. The first is when the body ceases to function. The second is when the body is consigned to the grave. The third is that moment, sometime in the future, when your name is spoken for the last time.”
― David Eagleman, Sum: Forty Tales from the Afterlives

Saturday 6 August 2014

3:24 PM

The isle of Papa Westray, Scotland, UK

I came to Papa Westray (called Papay pronounced Papie by the locals) not because I really wanted to see Papay, but because I wanted to make it to the deserted isle known as the Holm of Papay. Unfortunately, it has been made abundantly clear that I will not be visiting this particular island and it's magnificent cairns. The next ferry back to Westray isn't for two hours, and so I need to come up with a clever way to kill some time.

The key attraction on Papay, well  to someone like me, is a place known as the Knap of Howar. It's the oldest (and incidentally fantastically preserved) house in Orkney. It's about 500 years older than Skara Brae. It's really cool, and I've already seen it.

So.. Plan B. The Kirk of St. Boniface

Just so you know:

Kirk = Church; Kirkyard = Churchyard... but more likely means graveyard.

I would go and visit a church simply as a historic novelty... 

The sky is heavily overcast now, and I'm surrounded by countless grave stones. Once upon a time, I made a habit of visiting cemeteries, but they were never like this. This kirkyard looks like a place straight out of a horror movie.
Still, with nothing better to do, I weave my way around age worn tomb stones to the kirk's entrance.

The first bit that strikes me is the scent of old wood, dust, and stagnatory air - but there's something else. Outside you can smell the brine from the sea, but inside the salt lends a certain bite to the otherwise familiar blend scents that I affectionately think of as old basement.

Honestly, this place kind of gives me the creeps, and that was true before I climbed the dilapidated stone steps to the balcony. There is a cross hanging from the rafters. I move to take a picture, and the door to the outside slams shut.

I'm embarrassed that I had to tell myself the age old harbourer of bad things to come, "Calm down, it was only the wind."

I leave the kirk and make my way back into the yard. This place is really creeping me out, and that's saying a lot coming from a guy who frequents Neolithic burial tombs as a recreational activity.

I'm about to leave when I notice a grave, slightly different than the others.

This is what is known as a "hog-backed" tombstone. It's a style from the 12th century. No, I can't identify a tombstone's age by its design. I read it on a sign. At the head, there was a proper tombstone where the individual's name would have been inscribed, but that's long gone.

It's a grave almost as old as Maya ruins I've visited, but the thing about graves this old is there's nothing left. This person, whoever he or she was, has long since suffered the third and final death. The thought sweeps over me making me much sadder than I probably have any right to be.

I don't know his or her name. 

I don't know if he or she was remembered.

I don't know if he or she should be remembered.

No one does.

This is what drives Colin Singleton in his quest to matter.

This is the Oblivion feared by Augustus Waters.

That strange little grave is not the only blank headstone in this yard. It makes me shudder. I can't count the lost. I won't count them. I need to leave. 

It's as if I realize all of a sudden, that I'm surrounded by the dead, the truly dead. History is a discipline full of corpses, and in this one terrifying and humbling moment, I realize that one day I will be one of them.

My Home in Eday Part 3

Saturday 2 August 2014

6:50 PM

The isle of Eday, Scotland, UK

When I get back to the house, I check my clothes on the line. This whole hanging up my clothes thing is so new to me, that it's novel and exciting in a way that this chore really shouldn't be.

This is obviously the clothes line. I'm facing west in this photo and you can sort of see the sunlight reflecting on the water in this picture. Also if you know what your're looking for you can just make out the southern tip of the island of Faray. 

They're all dry, but better than that, they smell like salt from the sea. If you love the ocean like I do, you'll get why this is amazing. I think my excitement is warranted. 

When I get inside – Dot, my house-mate, is back from town. She's going to dinner soon with her friend Elsa, and she wants me to tag along.

Dot is sort of an ex-local. I don't really know how else to put it. She used to live on Faray (back when people lived on Faray), but now she lives in Shetland. However, in between, she has sailed around the world a few times and as a result has several great stories to tell. Also, she seems to know everyone on the island, but of course that's a big part of the reason why she's back here to visit.

She's taken to introducing me as her adopted grandson which works with me, because she's a fairly grandmotherly person.

Anyway, she's been quite fun to talk to, and so I imagine dinner will be good fun too.

My Home in Eday Part 2

Saturday 2 August 2014

2:15 PM

The isle of Eday, Scotland, UK

The post office is open, but the cash point won't take my card. I lack a chip... damn American debit cards... However, the nice ladies in the shop are able to get me sorted with some cash back, and so all is well.

There is a sign for the Eday heritage walk right by the shop, and as it would turn out, that walk contains the remainder of Eday's cairns. There is a short ride down a B road before there is a sign and one of those weird gate things.The thing with these gates is that only one person at a time can fit through it (and a skinny person at that). Bikes are a no go, and so I'm forced to leave Ethel behind.

This is apparently called a kissing gate. I didn't take this photo, nor do I know the elderly gentleman using this one. Either way, I'm sure you can see how such a gate would pose a problem for a bike.

It's a very short walk to the Stone of Setter, which happens to be the tallest monolith in Orkney (for the record, a monolith is a single standing stone, hence the prefix "mono").

This is the Stone of Setter, which is apparently 4.5m tall (although it is believed that it used to be even taller). 

I continue on to Braeside, a stalled chambered cairn in rough shape. It has clearly been excavated and the entrance is really easy for me to make out. The cool thing is that the entrance pretty clearly lines up with the Stone of Setter. This is an older cairn, so that probably dates the stone as well. Unfortunately, this isn't the most photogenic of cairns. So I'll spare you the photos.
Only a few hundred metres away is Huntersquoy Cairn. I have to say, I wish all my days here in Orkney were this easy. All my targets are within sight of one another. When I see it, I start to get excited. It looks like it's completely in-tact. As it so happens, it is. But... it's also completely flooded.

I love my job, but you couldn't pay me enough to go for a swim in a flooded subterranean Neolithic tomb. 

There is one more cairn on my walk, and to get there I have to make my way up the steep Vinquoy Hill. There are sheep everywhere, but the ground is covered in grass not heather. The climb is certainly worth it. I mean even if the cairn was a dud, the climb would have been worth it.

This is a panoramic view from the top of Vinquoy Hill which incidentally is on top of the cairn as well. It starts facing the Holm of Faray and the southern tip of the Isle of Westray, but you get to see a good deal of Eday as well as the Calf of Eday in this shot.

Lucky for me, this cairn isn't a dud. In fact, this cairn is the best/coolest cairn I've visited since coming to Orkney. This is because it's not in ruins. There is a long, low, gently curving entrance which opens up to a tall but cosy chamber. There are four smaller chambers which split out from the main one. each of their entrances are as low and narrow as the passageway into the main chamber. However, once inside these chambers are tall enough for me to stand in. Although, they leave me with an intense feeling of claustrophobia.

The entrance to the cairn as seen from the back wall.

The original roof had been replaced with a cement block fitted with a skylight. This illuminates the central chamber, and I have to say I enjoy the foliage which is growing along the top. It really adds to the feel of the place.

I think, if I lived on Eday, I would come here often. It's a good place to think.

My Home in Eday Part 1

Saturday 2 August 2014

9:27 AM

The isle of Eday, Scotland, UK

I wake to the uncomfortable press of a bed spring my side. It’s morning, but not as early as I’ve gotten up the past few days.  It’s good to relax, and if last night was any indicator, I may have over budget might time here in Eday. My roommate, or house-mate rather, went into town today and so I have the place to myself (when you're in the northern isles "going to town" means "going to Kirkwall" back on the mainland). 
The hostel here is really more of a small house. Sure there are loads of bedrooms, but there is also a lounge which feels an awful lot like a living room, and a kitchen, which well, is a kitchen.

Here's a picture of Eday Youth Hostel from the outside. Although this picture was taken the night before.

Okay, so this is the part where I’m supposed to tell you that I get to work busily cooking an elaborate breakfast. That doesn’t happen. Instead I feast upon the amazing wonders of the apple pop tart, which to be fair, is a delicacy that isn’t available back in the states.

With breakfast out of the way, I return my room and begin washing my clothes in the sink. Of course there is a washer and dryer available to me, but it costs money and furthermore it just doesn’t feel right in this place. To be honest, there is a part of me that relishes the novelty of washing my clothes in a sink. That part of me especially enjoys hanging my clothes out on the line. 

This is London Bay as seen from my clothesline, although this was also taken the night before. It's the east side of the island, and that landmass you can kind of see in the picture is the isle of Sanday.

The isle of Eday is long and narrow, and so from my clothesline I can see the ocean on both sides. The sun is shining brightly overhead, and I can smell salt in the wind that rustles to my hair.

I suppose the first order of business, is getting more food. The shop doesn’t open for another few hours, and so I might as well get a bit of work done while I wait. I pack my British flag bag with my Archaeoastronomy gear, and head outside to get Ethel. 

There’s a cairn not too far from here, well come to think of it, anywhere on this island is not too far from here. This first one is halfway between my house and the shop. As I glide down the narrow road, I occasionally check my GPS to make sure I hadn’t overshot it. This little gizmo has proven to be more than helpful than I ever could have imagined.

The cairn is on a hill in a field of heather that overlooks the sea. To get there, I have to jump a barbed wire fence, a talent at which I am becoming increasingly skilled. Unfortunately, most of my hike has been for naught. From the looks of things, there might be a cairn here. However, it hasn’t been excavated and there is no way to tell if or where the entrance might have faced.

Even still, I sit on its summit and survey the landscape. Directly in front of me is the ocean and the isle of Sanday. It’s a nice view for a nice day, even if the cairn turned out to be a dud.

Sorry this is wobbly. It's my first attempt at a panorama. The day was much sunnier than this video depicts and I had to mute the sound in order to get rid of the sound the wind which was rather persistent as I sat here.

I continue on to the shop, where I buy some groceries and ask about the cash point. Apparently, you can pull money from the post office but that won’t be open for another couple hours. So I return home with my groceries and check on my clothes. They’re still wet, but I hadn’t expected them to be dry quite yet.

I'll give them another look when I get back in.

Message in a Bottle

Monday 28^th July 2014

11:37am

The Island of Sanday, Scotland, UK

The ferry drops me off on the south west side of the island. Incidentally this is about as far away as I could be from any of the cairns. In fact, when I was first looking at a map of Sanday, I thought – this is the part of the island I won’t need to visit. With a small sigh, I hop on Ethel and together we begin the long bike ride across the island.

According to the sign I just passed, the Village of Lady is only 8¾ miles away. Luckily the road seems to be mostly flat, or at least more so than Hoy. As I ride along, it doesn’t take me long to notice why they call this Island Sanday. There are beaches everywhere made up of surprisingly white sand. The island is long and narrow and so as I ride I can often see the ocean on one side or both.

The day is overcast, and it’s the sky and the distinctly Orcadian scent of Wisconsin-like farm fields spliced with the salty scent of nearby sea water which reminds me that I am not in the Caribbean.

The 8¾ miles to Lady pass much quicker than I might have expected. I consider looking for a tourist information centre, but decide it’s not worth the bother. I have a good map, and my GPS has those maps loaded into it. What would I need to ask directions for? – I think as I continue down the road.

Eventually I come across a car park, which has a map outlining some of the sites around the Cata Sand. From the looks of this map, if I take this path ahead, I should make it to Quoyness chambered tomb in no time.

I begin walking down the path, which is great, until the path abruptly stops. I have to hop a barbed wire fence, a task at which I’m becoming increasingly skilled. I pull out my GPS in order to make sure I’m on the right track. As it would turn out, I’ve overshot Quoyness. I’m on a peninsula called Tres Ness, but there is a cairn at the very end of this peninsula so I continue on. Stubborn could be my middle name.

It’s about this time that my audio book completes, and I am forced to switch to another, a nauseously sappy third person teen aged love story. It’s this symphony of dribble that I have to listen to as I continue on trudging through the heather.

After hopping yet another fence and working hard to not trip on the uneven ground, I start to ask myself if there is an easier way to do this. The answer is simple: go to the beach. From here I see an easily accessible stretch of the Cata Sand and I make a b-line for it.

The Cata Sand (It's whiter in person)

The hiking here is much easier going, and after a few hundred yards, I’m able to cross over to the other side of the peninsula. Ahead of me is the Bay of Newark… and I’m not exactly prepared for this. This… this isn’t Orkney. This is a scene that can only belong to a small caye in the middle of the Caribbean.  There is nothing but the ocean before me, and a long gently curving sliver of soft white sand. The waves gently lap the shore, and the air smells like the sea and beach.

I didn't take this picture because it was cloudy when I was hear. However, had the weather been better this is what the beach would have looked like. I didn't have a good picture to show so I thought you wouldn't mind seeing the place at it's best.

If my Mom lived in Orkney, this is where she would want to be – I think as I continue down the peninsula towards the cairn. After a little while, the beach transforms into a field of wave rounded slabs of thin stone. Despite being the world’s largest collection of ready made skipping stones, they also serve as one of the most precarious surfaces to walk on. For this reason, my eyes are glued to the ground.

In another life, it seems, I used to hike along the Esk River in search of antique pottery shards. My eyes became trained to lock onto interesting objects around my feet. It’s for this reason, I believe, that I see this:

I almost walk past it. In my head it goes something like this: rock, rock, shell, rock, rock, rock, animal bone, rock, shell, shell, bit of rope, rock, rock, rock, bottle, huh that bottle has a bit of paper in it.. 

is that? 

No... 

Really‽ 

Yes! 

A message in a bottle‽ 

People actually send those‽

So I immediately unscrew the cap and read the note.

The note reads:

My name is Manaw. I am nearly 15 years old. I live in Strandebarm. I like to play fotball and go skiing. I love my best friends. If you would like to write back or get contact with me: (a Norwegian phone number)
snapchat: (I'm not going to list that either)
 

(This is a task in my english class, so I speaks norwigian normally).

It's very boring in Strandebarm, I hope you will answer me someday!

The letter concludes with the smiley face you see.

This is a map of Sanday. The red line is my route which starts at the red dot near Hacks Ness (the red dot is the ferry terminal) and goes all the way to the cairn at the tip of Tres Ness. The orange X close by is where I found the message in a bottle.

A Summery, in Poem Form

Monday he rode across his state

To make that all important date

Tuesday he flew over the sea

To gain adventure and to be free

Wednesday he rode to his home

From where his heart would never roam

Thursday he continued north

As part of the journey which had been set forth

Friday he rode the ocean

And fought a bird with a swinging motion

Saturday he biked over land

To reach a bed that was less than grand

And on the seventh day, he did rest

As it turns out, God knows best…

On the 7th Day He Rested

27^th July 2014

8:37am

Kirkwall, Scotland, UK

This hostel has breakfast. It’s the only thing that’s getting me out of bed this early. The way I see it, my choices for the day are three:

a.      Bike around Kirkwall to collect data on nearby cairns.

b.      Take a ferry to one of the Northern Islands and collect data on cairns there.

c.       Take a day off.

The bible says God rested on the 7^th day. Well I’m not God, nor have I been busy creating anything but I have been travelling for the past 6 days almost non-stop. I reckon I’ve earned myself a day off. In a small fit of poetry, I mentally compose the following poetic summary of the previous six days.

It would have bugged me if I did nothing productive all day, and so after breakfast I head out to the travel centre to get some ferry time tables. I’m not going to go anywhere today, but this will make it easier to plan out later days.

After marking my calendar, I begin wandering the town. It’s a nice little town, Kirkwall. The shops are a bit touristy, but that doesn’t mean they’re not fun to poke around. 

It's easier now

But there is more paperwork involved.

I buy another post card, and put a few coins into the hat of a girl playing the guitar.

Eventually, I walk into a café that is supposed to have WIFI. Unfortunately, their WIFI is on the fritz, but even still I’m able to get a lot done while I sip tea and eat scones. I don’t know how you spend your days off, but that sounds pretty ideal to me.

Eventually the sun comes out, and I go back outside. 

This is St. Magnus Cathedral it was built in the 12th century and sits right in the city centre.

I find myself in the Kirkwall Museum which has all kinds of artefacts from the Ness of Brodgar excavation which is going on right now. It’s some pretty remarkable stuff if you’re into that sort of thing (which I’m sure you know I am).

The Long Journey

26^th July 2014

8:35am

The Island of Hoy, Scotland, UK

My alarm wakes me, and it’s too early. My whole body is exhausted and sore from the several hours of hiking I did the night before, and probably the other traveling I did yesterday. A normal person would allow themselves a day off, but no not me. Perhaps I’m insane, certifiably so. However, this doesn’t change the fact that I’ve got to make it to my hostel in Kirkwall later today.

I eat breakfast, thankfully finishing the remainder of my heavier grocery items. Everything I have can fit in just my backpack and shoulder bag. From now on, this is the only way I want to travel by bike.

It’s a long trek to the ferry terminal, but I’m confident I can make the 10:00 ferry. I don’t really have a choice in the matter; the only other ferry off the island isn’t until 5:00. The problems with Saturdays…

It’s a hard ride, but I’m able to glide down most of the hills. I get lost only the once, and then I’m at the pier with plenty of time to spare. The ride to Stromness is equally smooth, but it was bound to be. The sea is calm, yet everything is covered in a fog so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Okay so in this episode of Scooby Doo there is a really thick fog. Scooby literally cuts out a doughnut with a knife and then takes a bite. I really wanted to find an animated image of this but I wasn't able. Either way, the fog was this kind of thick.

When I arrive, I go to the information desk and ask if there are any good Cafés in town. The woman recommends Julia’s, and it’s just across the street, so I go there. By this point, I reckon I’ve earned a proper meal, or at least I will have earned a proper meal by the time I make it to Kirkwall.

I take my time with breakfast. I don’t really have to do anything today aside from make it to the hostel. The food is alright, but I’ve certainly had better. The interesting thing is how they did their tea. They gave two tea pots: one with hot water, one with very concentrated tea, no sugar, but a bit of milk, and two packages of butter. Now recently I had finished a book (the love story with thepeople who have horses which I mentioned in an earlier blog) and anyway there is a character who drank his tea with butter. I’d never heard of it before then, and now to see it offered before me, well let’s just say I was tempted. Maybe I’d give it a go eventually.

After brunch, I am back on the bike, which I have affectionately begun to call Ethel (for no reason in particular). Kirkwall is 19 miles away from Stromness. And I believe I have mentioned before the torture device that happens to double as my bike seat. I imagine getting used to riding a new bike would have some parallels with getting used to a horse you haven’t ridden before. Now I know nothing about horses, but I know a lot about riding bikes. And as I pedal down the road, I can’t help but to mentally remark at how I don’t have the feel of this thing yet. I don’t quite know how strong the breaks are, or how fast you can pump the pedals before they stall. I don’t know how it handles bumps or climbing a hill... Maybe I’m crazy but I think a bike should be an extension of you, and I certainly cannot claim that kind of relationship with Ethel.

So naturally, the trip goes great. I experience weather almost as beautiful as yesterday, make good time, don’t get hit by any cars, have enough water to last me the trip, get some nice road side views of the standing stones, listen to a good book, and by the end of the trip I think I’m getting a bruise in an area I’d rather not talk about on the internet.

It’s a bit past three when I find my way to the hostel. Unfortunately they’re closed. Apparently they’re only open in the mornings for check out, and between 5:00 & 10:00 for check in. So I have to occupy myself for a few hours.

My instinct is always “go to the library” So I do and get a library card at The Orkney Library and Archive. It’s actually quite nice for a library in a town only twice the size of Montello, WI. Although it’s hard to stay awake as I sit on the couch and look at potential books.

The library closes at 5:00 on Saturdays, which works out perfectly for me. I walk my bike back to the hostel. Since I arrived in town, I’ve taken to using Ethel as a pack mule which is amazingly effective. I’m checked in rather quickly, and it only takes me a few moments to find my room. However, once I do, I promptly pass out until the next morning.

Paying the Old Man a Visit

25^th July 2014

7:45pm

The Island of Hoy, Scotland, UK

I sit with Raphael, my roommate, at the small table in the hostel. I’m waiting for my “soup in a cup” to cool off. Last night in my Inverness hostel was my first experience with “soup in a cup” and I must say I was pleasantly surprised. It’s only soup powder that you add boiling water to. I know, it doesn’t sound like it would be any good. However, it’s actually better than some canned soups. Anyway Raphael is a cyclist who has been biking all around the UK, but he’s from Switzerland. I’m not sure exactly where in Switzerland other than the part that speaks French (Originally, I had guessed he was French due to his accent).

He tells me about his day. In the morning he hiked up to see The Old Man of Hoy, and tells me to watch out for a particular type of very territorial bird, known locally as a Bonxie. We are both leaving Hoy tomorrow morning, but it would be a crime to visit Hoy and not The Old Man – especially on a day as nice as this.

Before I head out, I bring my torch. I don’t think it will be dark before I get back, but just in case I want to be prepared. Now let me tell you, Rackwick hostel is about as close as you can get to the Old Man and still it’s one hell of a hike. I don’t mean that it’s a tough hike. It’s just really long.

The sun is just beginning to set, and so I have an excellent view of an illuminated cliffside on my way up. Also sheep. There are sheep everywhere, and they must be used to people, because they don’t run away from me until I get very close. They baaa at me and I baaa back, because why not?

Photo of the cliff seen on the way up

A long time ago, when I was on the Isle of Skye, I noticed that they would do this thing where occasionally they would have a very narrow stream, actually more of a rivulet, cut through the path and they would boarder each side of this rivulet with large stones so that the rest of the path doesn’t get eroded away. The stones are always close enough where it’s no bother to step from one to the next. Anyway, they seem to follow the same concept here.

Eventually, I make it to the top of the hill. It’s mostly flat up here, running straight to the cliffside. Although I’m not certain if it’s ancient, there seems to be a standing stone here right alongside the path. Anyway, I can see the top of The Old Man now, but thankfully no sign of the killer bird.

The Path leads you onto a peninsula that goes right up to The Old Man. The sun is in the perfect position where it is partially eclipsed by the stack as you can see here:

And the cliff is extraordinarily high up, but it’s also the kind of cliff you can hang your legs off of. As someone with a fear of heights, I am constantly working to break myself of this fear whenever I have the chance. So naturally, I sit on the edge of this cliff listening to the sound of the sea crashing onto the shore beneath me. Every second of it is terrifying and brilliant all at the same time.

I'm just sitting on the edge of the cliff. It's quite nice when you get over the dizzying heights.

I backtrack a ways to a secondary path which loops to a different peninsula that will give you an awesome side-long view of The Old Man. Trouble is, this takes you past the bonxie’s nest. I see her from a distance and she eyes me down, but she doesn’t move as I walk towards the other cliff. I have to admit I’m a bit paranoid, and so every time a gull swoops close to my head I practically jump. All the same, I manage to take several good shots before making my way back to the main path.

My camera can take decent photo's but it's not good with colours when there is too much light. So it was actually quite difficult to get an angle where you could see the colour in the rock of the cliff.

Once I've taken several photographs, I decide to go back the way I came. This time the bonxie notices me. Just like Raphael said she would, she starts by circling high over my head. 

I didn't take this photo, but this is a picture of a Bonxie officially known as the Great Skua. However, I can assure you that "great" is a poorly chosen word.

Now this is not a humming bird. I wouldn’t be surprised if this thing had a five foot wingspan. I pull off my jacket and hook the coat loop around my index finger. The bird goes back out along the plateau flying low to the ground directly towards me. About twenty feet away it lifts itself high in the air preparing to dive at me.

Some deeply imbedded instinct tells me that this monster is a predator and I am prey. Fight or flight kicks in, but flight is never an option against an opponent that can actually fly. I swing my coat high in the air yelling at it as loud as I can. The only sounds are my yell vibrating in my throat and my heart pounding in my chest. There is something terrifying, and raw, and primal about it.

The bird sees my coat, and pulls up from its dive a mere ten feet above my head. It circles back to its nest and rests there eyeing me much more warily than before. Despite having scared it off, my heart is still pounding in my chest so loudly that I can hear it. I’m not certain if it will mount a counter attack, but I most certainly do not want to be around if it decides I’m worth a round two.

We humans do not have many instincts, and I have to say it’s very strange when the animal inside takes over. I quickly make it to the main path without incident, feeling more awake and alive than I had all day. Ahead of me and beyond The Old Man are higher cliffs. I begin hiking to them, because when will I get another chance?

I never do make it to the top of the highest cliff. But I make it about half way. I’m high above The Old Man now, and there are other cliffs to look at from here. I find some rocks and toss them over the side. They shatter upon impact with the rocks below sending echoes reverberating to the cliff edge where I crouch.

If I were to continue up, I would make it to the highest cliffs in all of the UK. They rise some 300 metres (over 900 feet) above the churning North Sea below. However the sun is now setting and my feet are getting sore. I might make it to the top another time.

I'd never grow tired of this.