In which Sid and Doris go to chapel on Sunday, then from Mainland to the mainland.
Time to leave the little flat, and with only a Mini’s-worth of luggage Sid and Doris are soon packed again. The ferry goes from Stromness at 16:45 so we have time for some more guillemot baiting. Out past the high-security fence that protects Kirkwall airport from… whatever threats there are on Orkney.
We walk out to the chapel on Deerness Brough on a path which drops near sea level and then climbs up onto the lump to find the ruin. The chapel was about ten feet long and eight feet wide so social distancing would have been difficult. By contrast as it is now open to a lot of air we have no trouble although we can see other walkers on the cliffs about a mile off.
Doris continues to collect rainbows.
We are at latitude 59’N and if you face west here the next stop is Norway, at a distance which can easily be rowed if you have about 100 muscly hairy weather-indifferent Vikings.
This is not birdie season. Guillemots and fulmars and kittiwakes and razorbills and most of the other birds promised in the brochure spend most of their non-nesting lives at sea so are not at home, unlike the little gulls that are practising their low speed manoeuvres in the strong winds coming up the cliffs. They do not seem much fazed by the rain and are delightful to watch as they stall in the wind to reverse neatly onto their ledges. The peaty headland path is awash and soon our feet are wet. The Covenanters’ Memorial is further up the coast, but we turn away inland.
Sid usually offers a note on the car population and has really had very little to work with. The highlights of these few days are all here in the departure car park. A Toyota Chaser done out for drifting (for non-car people this is a newish pastime from Japan and is artistic skidding – no me neither). A Supra Turbo with a very big intercooler. A Mini Clubman in yellow. This island is not Cuba in so many ways.
After the busyness of the voyage, it does not take long to find Thurso’s Y’Not Hotel, which is just as well because the staff have turned the lights out and are locking themselves out as we arrive. “Oh!” they say, looking at us with (masked) expressions ranging from dismay to alarm. “Have you come for the room you booked?” They let us into the cavernous, dark bar area and rang the proprietor with the aid of the torch on a mobile phone. “We’ll have payment up front, and it’s £99.” We were not in a position to negotiate.
But as you know Sid and Doris are never downhearted (or not for long) and compare it with one of our nights on the Moroccan villages trek with Tim and Sarah. Does our room smell of poo or diesel? Is it cold? Will we be sleeping on a concrete floor? To all these questions No. So we are fine. Though I do recall our ex-special-forces trek leader did have us wash our hands in bleach before dinner so some things are still the same.