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.