We have a five-hour drive ahead of us today, so we rise early, get our shit together, and hit the road. We've got to get back to Edinburgh and return this godforsaken rental car before 5:00 p.m.
Taylor drives on the left like a pro now, and we make good time on the road. We're taking a new route instead of retracing our old steps, and are hoping to see some new scenery. We still haven't shot Smoking in the Park, so we discuss possibly returning to Doune or Stirling to do it there, but we keep our eyes peeled along the way for any other interesting places.
As the guide book warned, this more western route is indeed a bit crowded and we deal with a lot more traffic in general, not to mention several slow caravans. Of course, the landscape is magnificent along the way, but we don't see any obvious parks or pullouts that aren't completely full of other tourists. Crowds are not ideal for trying to shoot video using very amateur equipment.
Sunlight and clouds at play on the hilltops
Cloud cover over an empty road
One of many green gorges along the west coast
A wrinkled, cloud-topped hill in the sunshine
Since we make such good time, we stop in Callander for a quick lunch at a friendly cafe, and then head into Doune. The quiet walking path behind it, which runs along the River Teith, will be great for both visuals and sound. Despite it being mid-afternoon, the place is almost deserted and we're able to park easily and wander onto the grounds, uninterrupted by crowds. The castle stands there gorgeous as ever and the river flows by lazily. We even spot several fish jumping.
The less famous rear facade of Doune Castle
A relaxing time next to the River Teith
Once we've had saunter and a smoke, we get on the road again and into light Edinburgh traffic. We return our car to a different rental office than the one we picked it up at, as this is more convenient to us, and complain passionately to the very apologetic staff there. Only time will tell whether this results in a refund of the money we paid [a note from the future: it did].
After we've abandoned the hunk of junk, we take an Uber into the city. Taylor suggests we try a pub he has been interested in, so we get dropped off there. Alas, as we have encountered so many times here, they are fully booked for the evening. We find another place just down the block and dine there instead.
Sated with some nice Asian fusion cuisine, we decide to head back to C.C. Blooms, the fun gay bar next to the Edinburgh Playhouse. When we get there, it's much more lively than on our last visit, and we sit down for drinks. As we observe the goings-on there, we notice they're about to host a pub quiz on the main floor and a screening of Drag Race in the basement at the same time. A tall buxom blonde drag queen has showed up for the latter occasion.
We inquire into whether we can join in the pub quiz and are invited with open arms. It is an excellent, fun quiz lasting about two and a half hours, and we perform solidly average, winning nothing. It doesn't matter though, the atmosphere is cheerful and it is a nice end to our trip. In the morning we depart.
Scotland has been endlessly beautiful and its people welcoming and kind. I didn't really know what to expect prior to coming and am leaving feeling very fulfilled, missing the place as soon as the plane takes off. My only regret is that I didn't get to spend more time chatting with Scottish locals because most of them seemed very open, amenable, and naturally funny. Taylor is a great travel companion and discovering this new place with him has been so special.
I wake up early and extremely sad today, so I can only imagine how Taylor must feel. We both take our time getting up and about, and spend the morning just chilling in the living room. It's just as well. The only thing we had planned today was to go for a hike in The Quiraing, but the weather is windy and pouring rain and, having read warnings about the terrain there, I know it's for the best that we skip it. We have breakfast and surf the internet, then have lunch, and surf the internet some more. I know that Isle of Skye has a lot more to offer, but our trip has been so full and fun thus far and we've enjoyed more natural beauty than I ever imagined we'd see, so I honestly don't care if we don't do anything else but this for the next three days. We've had a great time and it's fair to take a day to rest our bodies and minds and reflect on the loss of Taylor's dog, Abby, the bestest bulldog in the world.
About midday I get a little restless and decide to go out for a walk in the area around our trailer. I've been so busy gawking at vast faraway landscapes that I've barely had any time to kneel down and closely examine all the new plant life I'm seeing. I don my rain gear and start by walking down to the lake shore. The tide is out and I'm able to walk over seaweed and large stones to the water's edge. Everywhere there are signs of carnivorous animals –mostly otters and birds– having enjoyed the fruits of Loch Portree. Broken mussel and clam shells litter the beach. I look west and hear a loud squawk as a grey heron takes wing and flies east. I follow it with my eyes and then decide to head that direction.
The terrain underfoot is sketchy. Large slippery rocks are partially covered in slimy seaweed and interspersed with dense, safe-looking patches of short grass. These swaths of grass, however, open up suddenly into water-filled potholes and care must be taken not to step into them. Elsewhere, long grasses blown flat by wind obscure both rocks and potholes, so every step must be tested to make sure what lies underneath will bear my weight. Hooded crows (Corvus cornix) enjoy a fish carcass, while an orange-beaked Eurasian oystercatcher (Haematopus ostralegus) perches on a rock looking out across the water. Seagulls fly overhead looking for scraps to eat.
The precarious situation on the ground
Hooded crows on the shore of Loch Portree
I decide to abandon the beach for surer footing and head out towards the main road. I turn a direction I've not been before and see a red deer bound out of some bushes and dash into a neighboring field. Along the side of the road I admire the leafy ferns and flowering plants. Normally I'm not bashful about handling unknown plants, which is, admittedly, pretty dumb. But after seeing a sign at Doune Castle about the dangers of giant hogweed (Heracleum mantegazzianum), which includes third-degree burns and blindness, I'm not fucking around. I actually spot some hogweed by its very carrot-like flowers and examine its foliage closely so that I can recognize it even if it's not actively flowering.
Overlooking Loch Portree
Giant hogweed: DO. NOT. TOUCH.
Further down the road, I see a chicken wearing some kind of cape, which I don't understand. Later I see sheep of every color combination, including one I wasn't expecting: black body with white face. It has been raining on and off my entire walk and I can barely see for the raindrops dotting my sunglasses. I'm pretty cold, so I turn around and head back to the trailer.
Sheep in a paddock
When I get back, Taylor has rallied a bit and decides he'd like to head into the village for "a beer or fifty". I drive us down and we listen and laugh along to the Book of Mormon soundtrack. We manage to park on a scenic cliff and then descend into the village, popping into shops here and there to scramble for a few more souvenirs. On the south side of town, we step into a pub and take a seat next to two French backpackers and their mountain of hiking gear. Taylor has a few beers and I nurse a Thatcher's Zero cider. We talk a lot, about everything, and Abby comes up frequently and fondly. We manage to kill a couple of hours here until our butts are sore from the hard wooden benches.
Portree Harbour
Colorful buildings on the harbour
Thanks to some foresight the day before, we've actually managed to book a table at a restaurant this evening. It's a classy hotel restaurant with delicious, rich food and excellent service. We are both feeling a bit better now and stuff ourselves on three whole courses. After this we're back in the car and heading home, singing along to the Book of Mormon soundtrack again.
Our blessed weather luck has finally run out and the morning proves to be rather inclement. It lifts for a while, blue sky shows, and the Old Man of Storr becomes visible ten miles away on the other side of Loch Portree. Then suddenly the clouds descend again and it's raining hard and the wind blows so violently it shakes our little double-wide like an earthquake. We have a tour of the Talisker Distillery booked at 11:00 a.m. and were thinking we might set out early to do some nature walking before that, but we have changed our minds.
The Storr across Loch Portree
Just after ten we head for the distillery, which is only about 15 miles away but it takes half an hour to get there because the roads are less than ideal. As we've seen all over the more rural areas of Scotland, the roads are often single track and you must pull over frequently to let oncoming traffic pass. Here it is clear that the weather takes its toll on the roads as well, and there are potholes and washouts at the edges of the narrow roads. It's nerve-racking when you've already had a blowout and your tires are absolute shit.
We arrive without incident and head into one of the most beautiful retail spaces I've seen. Talisker has recently undergone a massive renovation and it shows. Everything looks new, the displays are designed and organized neatly and stylishly, the temperature and lighting are perfect, and there is soothing guitar music playing. You feel as though you are stepping in to your own personal retreat space.
Talisker Distillery
Talisker's retail space
For the more discerning (or filthy rich) whiskey drinker
The tour takes about an hour and we learn about the ingredients and unique process of making Talisker whiskeys, and get to see all the equipment used to do so. I have come into this knowing very little and as a nondrinker but, even so, it is an illuminating experience. At the end of the tour, our small group is ushered into a cozy tasting room for a flight of three whiskeys. To my surprise, our host asks who the designated drivers are and suggests we abstain from the tasting, but passes out vials so that we can take our flights with us.
A tour display designed for smelling the individual ingredients of Talisker's whiskies
Talisker production area
Wash still
Talisker tasting room
After the tasting experience, we exit to the retail space again and start poking around for things we might want to take home. Taylor and I both buy a few things, and then Taylor goes to the bar and orders a couple different whiskeys he has never tried before. We have a long, relaxing sit and watch several other people do the same, and then decide to head out. We are hungry now and have smartly packed a picnic lunch for ourselves, but I have dumbly left it sitting on the dining room table back at the trailer. Luckily, there's a cafe across the street and we pop in for a couple of sandwiches. We've both got headaches, probably from the whiskey fumes, and hope some food and water will help.
Next we decide to go out to Talisker Bay Beach, which is less than five miles away but takes another half hour to get to because the road is even sketchier than what we've already seen. Google maps seems to think we can essentially drive right up to the beach, but that turns out to be false, as the road ends at gated private property well before that. We go as far as we can and then have to turn around and go back up the road to park in a muddy turnout along the single track road. From here it's about a mile to the beach.
The weather holds for the most part during this walk, with light sprinkling here and there. The scenery is gorgeous as we pass by a couple of large farms with herds of cattle, sheep, and lots of birds like turkeys, ducks, geese, chickens, guinea hens, and even peacocks. As we near the beach, we share the road with sheep and they eye us cautiously as we walk by. The muddy track is well decorated with their dung, along with the dung of much larger animals, probably cows and horses, so we have to watch our step. We're in a low valley surrounded on all sides by sharply rising green cliffs. Twice we cross over streams making their way to the ocean.
The walk to Talisker Bay
Idyllic in every direction
We crest one last little hill and the beach and Talisker Bay come into view. It is well worth the walk. Blue waves splash onto smooth dark gray sand. Then a layer of large rounded stones forms a sort of steep amphitheater, eventually joining the grassy fields where the sheep graze. We survey the scene and carefully climb down over the steep rocky terrain until we're on the flat, smooth beach. Up close the sand seems sparkly and black on top and grey to white underneath, so that if you disturb it (or draw in it, as I did), the disturbance shows up in good contrast. To our left, a large mossy sea stack rises out of the waves. To our right, tall, slender Talisker Waterfall tumbles down the steep cliffside and into the bay.
The rocky border of Talisker Bay beach
A sea stack and black sand
I really do
Taylor finds a cozy rock to sit on and I follow suit. It's beginning to rain a bit and the wind has blown the sea mist all over my glasses, so I can hardly see. I close my eyes and breathe in the fresh air for a few moments. My head has been steadily aching and I hope this will help, but it does little to alleviate it. Taylor is complaining his head hurts too, so we make the muddy trek back to the car. From here, it's an hour home and I can't wait to get there and take some Ibuprofen.
By the time we arrive, I'm in full migraine mode and, having waited too long to treat it, I'm in for a couple hours of misery, which includes photophobia, phonophobia, and a good bout of vomiting. Fortunately, Taylor's headache does not reach those heights, so he's good enough to play nurse and fetch me some medicine, and later to go out and get us some dinner while I nap it off. After a couple of agonizing hours, I'm functional again.
We dine on take-out pizzas in the trailer and then take a short walk down to the lakeshore to see where the local residents leave fish for the otters. The otters apparently only come out at night, so we don't see any, but we finally get a good look at the shore itself and scenery across the lake. After a day of dramatic weather, the evening has gone peaceful.
In a heartbreaking turn of events, Taylor's boyfriend gets in touch this evening and reports that the health of their dog, Abby, has taken a sudden turn and that he's taking her to the vet. Within a few hours, we are watching over video call, weeping as sweet Abby is put to sleep. It's a painful close to the day and not the sort of event one can ever prepare for, much less while thousands of miles away in another country. Rest well, sweet pup.
Today we depart Rhiconich for Skye and, seeing how beautiful it is in full daylight, I'm a little disappointed I just planned for us to stopover for the night here. The surroundings are just as stunning as anywhere else we've seen in Scotland, and it looks like a great place for long walks, wildlife spotting, and relaxing. Our B&B is cozy and warm and Susan serves us a delectable Scottish breakfast and friendly conversation. All this makes it a little hard to head back out into the wind and rain. Fortunately, it has eased up a bit so we no longer feel like we're traveling in a full hurricane.
The route from Rhiconich to Skye
The garden at Ardbeg House, Rhiconich, overlooking Loch Inchard
Just a few minutes down the road, we pull off for our first of many stops because Taylor has spotted a small herd of hairy cows (or "coos", as the locals call them) right near the roadside. We get out and approach them to see if they're amenable to interaction, as we've heard they're fairly docile. I approach a large blond one standing close to the fence and extend my hand to let it sniff me. It seems curious, so I reach further and just barely brush its nose, but it suddenly whips its head to the side to try to gouge me with its long horn. I back up and try instead to offer it some grass from the other side of the fence, but it only offers me its horn again. I'm not dumb enough to taunt a large, moody animal a third time so I back off. The cow just stands there, indifferent.
A grumpy hairy coo
Beautiful, magical Highland cows
After a few photos, we continue down the road. The drive should take about four hours, but we stretch it out to almost six. Around every ridge is a breathtaking scene, so we stop frequently to take photos and sarcastically call it "horrible". Around midday, our Scottish breakfast wears off and I pull over to fish some food out of our snack stash. We're near a shallow valley with a tiny stream running through it, and there are stairs and a wooden boardwalk leading out into a grassy field. I suggest we follow it to see where it goes, but we find that it just ends at a mud puddle. It starts to rain, so we return to the car, eat a few snacks and then resume the drive.
The boardwalk to nowhere
Rocky, grassy, watery, and colorful
Ruins next to a lake
Taylor tries to harness the beauty of Scotland
A majestic panorama
We stop a few more times for photos as we near the bridge to Skye. It seems there's no end to the majesty. Once we cross the bridge, we're looking for a place to pull off where we've heard there are friendly shaggy cows. Taylor spots some in a field and we notice several cars pulled onto the shoulder and people walking on the side of the highway toward them. We follow and find a group of about six people standing at a fence line where an amiable cow is allowing them to touch and feed it. Someone has left a bag of carrots on the ground, and it seems extremely motivated by them. I offer it a couple and it sticks out its long tongue to grab them, licking at my hand for more. It sniffs Taylor's face to see if he has anything more to offer, and lets us give its curly hair a good tousle. It's so cute I wish I could hang out there all day. Later we talk about going back for a visit on our way off the island.
Boopin' the snoot
Hairy cow kisses
Finally, we arrive at our destination, a cozy double-wide trailer just a few steps from the shore of Loch Portree. From here we can enjoy views of the lake and see downtown Portree, not to mention Scotland's characteristic green hills and The Storr, a striking rocky mountain rising up in the distance. Our host later comes to welcome us and tells us about the otters to look out for on the lake shore, and not to panic if we hear rustling near the kitchen window; it's just the red deer who have come to munch on the tree growing there. We've come to Skye to experience its natural beauty and it seems that won't be hard to do.
We head into town to look for dinner and, as usual, reservations are required and we have none. We stand in the doorway of a seafood restaurant that has just opened to see about getting a table. An American couple in their fifties is waiting ahead of us. The host comes out to tell them, with sincere apologies, that they are short-staffed and it will be about 30 minutes before they can be seated. The American man immediately becomes a toddler and starts yelling, "This is fucking bullshit!" His wife becomes embarrassed and quietly tries to coax him away from the restaurant's doorway as his tirade continues. The host repeats his apology and explanation to us. Half an hour seems a reasonable wait time and we tell him that it's fine and we'll wait. Five minutes later, the missing staff member shows up and we are seated at a window table. It pays not to be an impatient asshole:
We are leaving Orkney this morning and I'm a little sad about it. It's such a beautiful, interesting place with a long, rich history, and the people are kind and helpful. The weather is finally turning and it's even windier than usual and rainy. According to the locals, though, we've had unusually good weather during our stay. The weather system rolling in now is how things usually are here. We pack and start driving to the ferry dock, noticing how far the tide has come in and how choppy the water is. The waves spray our windshield as we drive over the causeways between Kirkwall and the St. Margaret's Hope ferry terminal.
Once we've loaded onto the ferry and seated ourselves in the passenger decks, the captain comes on to give information about life vests and evacuation (something he did not do on our last ride), and tells us that the upper open-air decks are closed to passengers for safety reasons. I wonder if we're in for a wild ride. As we move out to sea, the vessel rocks back and forth quite a bit, and I see people stumble as they walk to and fro. An elderly woman is hanging onto tables and seats as she makes her way from one side of the passenger deck to the other. A couple of men offer her an arm but she waves them off. "No, no thank you," she says. "There's nothing wrong with me. It's the boat that has the problem!" I'm surprised I don't feel seasick and instead feel like I could be lulled into a nap. But interesting islands keep appearing out the windows, and I examine them with my binoculars, marveling at how the hell people could live not only in such a remote area but also one with such a harsh climate.
I spot some seals frolicking near the shore as the ferry docks at Gills Bay, and we begin our journey down the North Coast 500, one of the most scenic drives in the world. We stop first in Thurso to fuel up and buy some supplies. The jolly gas station attendant is watching the news when I walk in to pay. "They say that storm is coming here," he tells me. I don't know what storm he's talking about, but I can see from the low, heavy gray clouds that things are about to get inclement. The wind has probably doubled in speed since this morning.
Over the next three hours, Scotland gets very dramatic indeed. It's immediately easy to see why this driving route is so popular. We pass through rolling hills covered in heather and wavy clumps of grass. The clouds group and break intermittently, causing surprising changes in the light and shadows that fall across the landscape. The wind barrels across the North Sea so hard that it feels like it might push our car off the road. We see a few RVs stopped in odd places and I wonder if this is a precaution on their part so that they don't tip over. Layers of clouds speed by just overhead, wrapping around the hills and nestling in the valleys, occasionally unleashing rain, which blows horizontally. Everything is cloaked in mist.
Color and clouds
Occasionally, we find ourselves driving along the edges of high seaside cliffs overlooking smooth sandy beaches with turquoise water that would seem more at home in a Caribbean travel brochure. The road is very rough in places and narrow enough that there are passing bays at almost quarter-mile intervals. Why Scotland doesn't just widen the roads between these short stretches is beyond me. I gasp several times when we round blind corners at the same time as oncoming travelers, causing both vehicles to hit the brakes and veer to the edges of the road. The shoulders are barely any safer, full of drop-offs, potholes, and the kind of rough, broken asphalt that popped our tire a few days ago. As much as I try to relax and enjoy the scenery, thanks to our recent car drama, I also feel like I'm riding on a poorly maintained rollercoaster. We stop at a few places and do our best to capture pictures of the unbelievable landscape, but it's hard to do it justice.
An alien landscape
After three hours, we arrive at Smoo Cave, which lies close to the most northwesterly corner of the country. By now it feels like we are in a hurricane. It's hard to open the car doors to get out and the car's hatchback tries to guillotine us as we fish around the trunk for our waterproof gear. We descend stairs, the wind almost pushing us down them, into the sandy Geodha Smoo inlet between the types of dramatic cliffs we saw the day before at Yesnaby. A stream of water is running out from under the road and we turn to follow it upstream into a high cavern. The rocks here are covered in moss and ferns, and lights have been installed in some of the high-up, deep recesses so that visitors can appreciate their features.
Looking out to sea from Geodha Smoo, the tidal gorge that leads to the cave
The entrance to Smoo Cave
Cavern greenery
Crossing the waterway is a small wooden bridge that leads to a dark enclave. We walk across it and find ourselves face to face with a loud, splashy waterfall spilling into the cavern. I'm immediately blinded by water droplets on my glasses, and it's loud enough we can barely hear one another. After a few moments, we head back out.
On the way in, I had noticed an area across the stream where visitors had built small cairns, stacks of stones that seem to be the new way for people to declare "I was here." I've read some about this phenomenon, and it seems there is concern about the ecological implications of doing this. As a bug lover, I think about the poor critters, not to mention the mosses and lichens, who might have been living happily under those stones before some human came along and decided to interfere. I tell Taylor I'm going to go knock over the dozen or so stone stacks, and find a shallow path across the stream. The other visitors to the cave (including a person had just been stacking rocks) watch dumbfounded as I do my best Godzilla impression and kick or push over every single one. I feel triumphant and, full of hubris, do a shit job of finding the shallow place to cross back over the stream again and end up with my waterproof boot full of water. Worth it.
We climb out of the inlet and return to the car, where I brave the decapitating trunk again to fish some dry socks out of my suitcase. I change my socks and shoes, and we're back on the road for another half hour to our destination in Rhiconich, where we'll stay the night. Our B&B is called Ardbeg House and is just off the highway. There we are welcomed by a warm and kindly hostess named Susan, who gives us a tour of the homey place, takes our breakfast orders, and shows us to our room. The place is quiet and cozy, with thick golden wood doors. The temperature is toasty and it smells of tea and scented candles. It's perfect for coming in from a storm.
We take a load off for only a short time and then head out for our dinner reservation at a nearby hotel restaurant. There we fill our bellies with seafood, venison, and ice cream, and then brave the elements again to return to the B&B. On the way we see Scottish red deer, the type we've just eaten, and they are so lovely. The wind and face-pelting rain are violent and we're happy to arrive and get into our PJs and under the covers. Outside it sounds like nature is trying to tear the building down and I feel like Dorothy in the tornado scene from the Wizard of Oz.
Taylor and I have a chill day ahead of us. We only have one activity booked and then have the rest of the day to explore. Just before ten o'clock, we walk down the hill into the village and take a tour of the Bishop's and Earl's Palaces. The Bishop's Palace was built in the 1100s and is a small but impressive medieval ruin. We enjoy all of its rooms, and then head across the street to the Earl's Palace, built in the 1600s. It is much larger and takes us a while to get through, but we have fun doing it. We basically have both palaces to ourselves this morning, as there are only a couple of other tourists milling about.
The narrow courtyard of Bishop's Palace
The unusual exterior of Earl's Palace
Earl's Palace
Next we cross the street and enter the St. Magnus Cathedral church grounds. The cathedral is surrounded by a dense cemetery, packed tight with headstones dating mostly from the 1800s. The battering sea air has not been kind and many of the stones are worn and very tilted or broken, but it gives the cemetery a run-down sort of spooky appeal. We circle around back of the cathedral and then attempt to enter the front, but a girls' dance troupe has set up a mat there and is doing a choreography to The Proclaimers's "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)". It's not very good at all. We wait politely for them to finish so that we can get in the door.
St. Magnus Cathedral and cemetery in the morning sunlight
The cathedral is narrow and tall, built with dark brown stone, and the sun is just starting to shine through the stained glass. The perimeter is lined with tombs, all of which bear skull and crossbones carvings, which I think is bitchin'. We take a few photos and I check out the choir stalls and wish I could sing a mass there.
Saint Olaf treading on a... dragon?
All of the tombs have a skull and crossbones
Looking into the choir stalls
We exit back onto a now bustling Albert St., the main drag of shops that has been, up until now, mostly closed when we've visited. Today we join the sudden crowd of tourists in milling about the shops, looking for local specialties to take home. There is also a farmer's market happening in the Mason Hall, so we go check it out. There are only six tables of wares set up, mostly with local food products. I spot the largest, most pristine heads of broccoli I've ever seen in my life, and ask the farmer how she has managed to produce them. As always, when one gardener asks such things of another, the answer is unsatisfying. She's just lucky, she guesses. The plants decided they liked the environment and are thriving, and they don't have much trouble in the way of pests.
We walk back up to the apartment to eat sandwiches and recombobulate, then set out in the car for Yesnaby. We've seen a picture of some striking cliffs on a tourist map and have decided to go see if we can find them. We don't actually find the place we saw on the map, but what we do find is incredible anyway. We drive right up to the edge of the world, where Orkney drops off sharply into the violent North Sea. The briny wind whips our coats around us, and we bundle up to endure the harsh environment. We carefully approach the unguarded cliff edges to see the sea thrashing the sharp rocks below. Falling here would mean death, and it wouldn't be hard to stumble. The rocks are mostly flat, but jagged, broken, and tilted toward the sea. There are plenty of places to trip up if you're not careful.
Heed the warning
Taylor scaring the shit out of me
We walked out to right-most cliff in the distance
Nearby, but not as nearby as we think, some intentional-looking piles of rock sit atop a promontory. It looks like a worthy climbing goal, so we follow a grassy path in that direction. It's not a terribly steep or difficult climb but it's steady and taxing. When we get to the top, the world opens wide in all directions. The sun is shining on the sea before us and on the green fields behind us. To either side, the dramatic cliffs cut into the splashing waves. I approach the edge, find a soft grassy spot, and lie down flat on my back, arms and legs spread like a snow angel. The sun warms my body and I breathe deeply and just take it all in for a moment. When I'm ready to move on, I collect a small stone to carry a bit of this moment with me.
Taylor photographs me across a chasm
I photograph him standing in an absolutely insane place again
Throughout this trip, as Taylor and I have been taking in the scenery and have been unable to cope with how magnificent it is, we have sarcastically declared it, "disgusting", "awful", "worst place I've ever seen," etc. This location was no different, although we had to find our moments in between speechless awe and sighs.
We descend back down the promontory and find a place we can actually get down into an inlet where land safely (more or less) meets the sea. Taylor carefully picks his way along the seaweed-slick rocks and disappears around the side of the cliff. I attempt to follow, but nearly end up in the splits with my first step, so I decide to hang back and check out the plants and creatures further up the beach where the footing is slightly better. I inspect lots of new (to me) plants, bivalves stuck to rocks, and a couple of dead seabirds that have washed up in a bundle of stray fishing net. When Taylor returns from his exploration, we climb back onto the grassy path and return to the car.
Taylor walks out to sea
Our next stop is Marwick Head, a nature reserve about 20 minutes north of Yesnaby, and supposedly good for bird- and whale-watching. We explore some tide pools on the rocky beach, finding mostly barnacles, snails, and seaweed, plus a couple large pieces of shipwreck, and then start climbing another promontory. We get about halfway up and the wind really starts to push us around. We're quite tired by now and don't feel like we'll miss anything if we don't go all the way up. We've seen no whales and the only birds we've seen are just the usual suspects, like seagulls. We do see one rabbit though, and a herd of cows that start mooing and running when they realize the farmer is coming to feed them.
Exploring the tide pools in the alien landscape of Marwick Head
The geometry of the universe
On our way out of Marwick Head, we're excited to see we'll be passing through Twatt, a hilariously named village. We decide to use it as a photo op, but as we arrive, we realize there's not a single sign to be found indicating that one is actually in Twatt. It's a village you'll miss if you blink, really just a few houses, a telephone booth, and a mailbox. I'm guessing they once had signs but that they are so frequently stolen that they just haven't bothered to replace them. Or maybe they're just trying to fly under the radar so as not to attract unsavory tourist attention. Since there's really nothing to do here, we just travel on down the road. You'll just have to take our word for it that we were there.
I've been trying to call a restaurant in Kirkwall to get us a reservation, but no one will answer. I've noticed here that when businesses are overwhelmed, they don't even bother answering the phone to disappoint you about your prospects of getting in. They just pretend they're not there. And it seems like many businesses here are struggling to cope with what looks to me like sub-normal traffic. I know we're just outside of Stromness, so I quickly google restaurants there and find an excellent one specializing in seafood. That's exactly what we want, so I call them and am able to get us seated immediately. We have a great, fresh Korean-inspired meal of lobster, ling, and seafood dumplings in a warming broth.
It has been a beautiful day and one that I will not soon forget.
