Escape Velocity

We have a deadline, and yet we can’t seem to firm up our immediate plans. We drove to Stornaway — a legendary name in sailing circles — for the ferry back to mainland Scotland. Stornaway was a bit of a disappointment, perhaps because we were unsure where to go and what to do.

Still, we did the walkabout and took tourist photos before boarding the ferry to Ullapool.

Our weather is up and down. Bright sun and blue sky followed by thick cloud cover and heavy rain. Or sometimes light rain. Or high winds. We’ve learned to be prepared for everything and keep an eye in the forecast.

With flights booked and lots to do to before we leave for six months we really should have turned south toward Glasgow to shop and prepare the van for storage. But my Aurora apps were pinging and vibrating with alerts about strong activity at the end of the week. In my latest source of Fear of Missing Out I asked Jack if he would mind driving clear across the country to a place where we might find the perfect conditions for the northern lights — a north-facing horizon, a dark sky with minimal light pollution, and no low clouds. Add that to a new moon and we could hit the aurora jackpot. I found what looked like the perfect place, but it was in the wrong direction and farther than we usually drive, a laughable (by American standards) 120 miles. “Sure,” Jack said, and we even took a longer scenic route at 140 miles.

On the way we couldn’t pass up another castle ruin, this one guarded by a large but friendly hairy coo.

Castle Roy is a 12th century fortress that only opened in 2022 after extensive work reinforcing the foundations to make it safe for the public. There’s not much to see, but the setting is lovely and apparently it’s become a popular picnic and wedding spot in the local area.

I find I’m watching the weather forecast almost as much as I did when we were on the boat, and I saw that a front is moving through with high winds predicted. We like to be in a protected spot for that kind of weather, so I found us a quiet parkup along a river popular with flyfishermen. We tucked into a corner beside a graveyard under some tall trees.

The front came through as expected with seriously high winds that made me question the decision to park under the trees. All night we were pelted by leaves and twigs and I worried a larger branch might damage our solar panel.

The rain continued the next day but the fishermen showed up anyway, undaunted, and put in the time whether they caught anything or not.

Finally on the second day the rain stopped enough for me to traipse through the soggy cemetery in search of a Pictish carved stone marked on the ordinance survey map.

After consulting a few websites I finally found the stone embedded in the wall. They say there’s a cross carved into it but the surface is so weathered and eroded you can’t really see it. I couldn’t, anyway.

With the sky clearing by the hour we turned north toward what I hope will be Aurora nirvana.

Archaeologists have identified nineteen megalithic sites in this immediate area and while we haven’t pledged to see them all we do want to visit some of the more important or scenic ones. We’re both fascinated by the urge to erect such monuments, the effort it took, and the locations chosen.

The landscape here, especially under the northern sun, is exhilarating, and at the same time almost soothing. Being able to see long distances, where you can almost perceive the curve of the earth, is always my favorite place to be.

We have a Scottish Islands Passport app that recognizes when we visit a new island. It’s fun to get the ping and a new “stamp,” and for that reason only we drove toward Great Bernera nearby. Little did we know it would involve a sea journey.

“Bridge over the Atlantic” might have been a bit of an exaggeration but it lead to another of the megalithic sites, this one Callanish VIII, which may be our favorite. The view in either direction is breathtaking and the stones themselves are beautiful.

Jack was, as usual, compelled to summit the nearby hill. No matter where we go, no matter how much ibuprofen it takes, he will always get to the top of wherever we are. He’s a High-man.

On the north end of Great Bernera is an Iron Age Village. We assumed this would be a cutesy touristy thingy, but we forgot for a minute that we’re in Scotland and Scots don’t do cutesy. The visit was an enjoyable surprise, and while we only understood about a third of the docent’s strong dialect, she was a knowledgeable and enthusiastic guide. The site, like others in coastal Scotland, was uncovered by a violent storm that eroded the beach in the 1990s. The reconstructed house, dating from the Pictish period sometime after 500AD, is a pretty good depiction of what daily life was like.

Back on mainland Harris we visited more Callanish sites. I could post hundreds of great photos but suffice it to say that being in the place, feeling the wind, gazing at the horizon, and appreciating the beauty of each stone from close up and afar are what make the sites worth visiting. These are special places.

Jack playing the Neolithic Witless Bass. I think he’s out of practice. I heard nothing.

We think this is the tallest individual stone we’ve seen in our travels. I keep touching these things but so far time travel has eluded me.

The sun finally showed up to reveal a beautiful parkup by the water. I don’t know how she does it night after night, but she does it.

Marce’s Ordinance Survey Map shows every bump or feature on the land in the UK and it swears there’s some nineteen or so Megalithic sites in what would have to be a very successful fertile valley. These folks must have been well fed with a lot of free time, organized enough to find and quarry large slabs of stone, strong enough to schlep them to the designated spot — you can just imagine the arguments — then solidly erect tons of them. We’re very near one of the sites right now but you couldn’t prove it by me. A few miles across the loch there’s supposedly a massive circle and that’s where we’re headed this morning.

Turns out the parking lot is already filling up and I can’t help but notice a bus parked near the visitor center. There’s a gaggle of passengers politely waiting in a queue for the visitor center to open, probably for that second cup of joe and maybe a T-shirt or a couple of postcards.

Without a word we adroitly swerved around the thrillseekers and headed up the path toward the stone circle of Callanish on top of the hill. What a dramatic presentation as you wind your way up around the hill and begin to see the standing stones with virtually no one else there. I’m filled with awe and wonder at the mystery of it all. It takes your breath away.

At first it’s hard to see a design to the layout but it’s described as cruciform and it’s thought to be over 5,000 years old, the oldest in the UK.

A chambered cairn is at the center with a tight circle of 4.5m standing stones each weighing over 5 tons.

Each stone seems to take on an interesting character of its own. Was it originally chosen for its shape or color? Some seem to look like old twisted wooden tree trunks or thin warped boards. Did the passing centuries of nasty weather imbue each stone with its own character? I’ve seen some pretty amazing looking standing stones and wouldn’t it be a human trait to choose the most interesting? I guess we’ll never know.

Avenues radiate out from the center circle and as you walk through suddenly a whole row of stones will line up seemingly out of nowhere.

You are looking at 50 large standing stones.

These standing stones have been battered by Outer Hebrides wind and storms for over 5,000 years.

Local lore calls the stones “false men” probably due to later Pictish Christian influences that claim if a person refuses to convert to Christianity they turn to stone. I don’t know but it sounds biblical to me.

There’s a funny thing that happens to me when a deadline looms. I panic. I resist. The joy of unstructured wandering vanishes and suddenly I have to schedule, make reservations, backtime. Plan. This is not the way the Escapees live. We are plan averse.

The end of our six month tourist visa is coming up and all kinds of decisions have to be made. Should we leave the UK and continue camping in Europe? If so, how long do we need to stay out of the UK before returning to explore Ireland, England and Wales? What do we need to do to our UK van to make it legal on European roads? And so on.

More important than where to go next is the question of what to do about Jack’s deteriorating knee. He’s hiked heroically all over Scotland but it’s clearly getting more and more painful. We know he needs a total knee replacement but where? And when?

The colder weather tipped the knee decision toward returning to tropical Penang and the same doctor and hospital as knee #1. And to do it now and spend the winter months in a warm place. That’s a win-win. The surgeon assured us he’s still available and gave us advice on lead time and recovery to aid in travel planning.

Once the decision was made to fly to Malaysia we suddenly have a deadline and a long to-do list. And where should we go in our remaining few weeks in Scotland?

We assumed early on we would wander the western islands at the same unstructured make-it-up-as-you-go-along pace we normally employ but now we need to prioritize and squeeze what we can into the time we have left. Skye, while beautiful, has the worst roads we’ve driven so far in the UK, and the weather has become particularly sodden and unpleasant. Even the obligatory hike to the Old Man of Storr got crossed off the list when it looked like the fog was in for a long stay. We just managed to get a quick long shot from the deeply rutted road.

We booked the ferry to Harris and Lewis and called it a day, then found a remote parkup that looked like Aotearoa, the Land of the Long White Cloud, the Māori name for New Zealand. We even had a welcome committee of the ovine ilk.

The weather continued to be wet and gloomy and the crossing was bumpy. Our planned drive around the south end of Harris was nixed because of the driving rain and we found a safe place to park and wait out the weather. It took two days before the rain stopped and we carried on.

We woke at another stunning Skye parkup featuring this view of Harris and Lewis, which will be our next destination.

It shouldn’t come as much of a surprise that when you build a stone castle on a narrow pinnacle overlooking the sea, it’s a strong defensive position but a weak position for durability, especially in this windy and rainy climate. Have I mentioned the wind lately? So after jockeying for a roadside place to park the bus, we assumed, rightly, that Duntulm Castle would be impossibly perched cliffside high over the sea. It wasn’t a long hike but we couldn’t see much of it until we were on top of it.

The castle was built in the 14th and 15th centuries on a former Pictish stronghold that later saw the feuding of the Macdonalds and Macleods. The Macdonalds claimed the upper hand in the 17th century but by 1732 the fortress was abandoned.

The castle was built mainly for defense but you’ve got to have a few luxuries in life. For instance, how could you not put in a picture window with a view like this?

Turns out on the Isle of Skye first you get the rainbow then you get the wind and rain. We were sopping wet by the time we got back to the van.

It’s a blessing and it’s a curse. It makes life easy while making it worse. It’s this handsome bridge to the Isle of Skye. You don’t need a ferry, you just drive on over. Well, you and just about every other RV owner in the UK. We soon found ourselves nuts to butts in a camper van bouncing along Skye’s potholed roads in a conga line winding our way apparently towards the same destination. It’s the Big Enchilada of Skye, kind of like heading south on I-95 in the US and you start seeing signs for “South of the Border” several hundred miles before the actual venue. If you ever headed South with a child in your car it’s safe to say you’ve been there. As a matter of fact, I remember my parents trying to explain the meaning of the term “tourist trap” to a tearful me as we drove on by.

For the Isle of Skye it’s the Fairy Pools. One wonders where they could possibly put all of these RVs. Well, they put them in a massive rough gravel parking lot terraced into a mountain, directed by every teenager in Skye. There’s no indication where the Pools are but this parking lot represents a serious hike just to get out of it.

We could see a mass of fellow thrill seekers gathering a km up a steep grade and we headed towards them. Stopping for a breather we tried to see the fairy pools but the valley before us was so majestic that we figured it must be somewhere over there.

Didn’t enjoy the down bits of the gravely hike but inevitably we started back up the mountain beside the gorge which apparently contained the Fairy Pools.

With little rain lately neither fairies nor pools were much in evidence.

Some of our party were not amused and stubbornly sat down refusing another step while Yours Truly soldiered on until the last dribble of a stream could be seen.

With thoughts of the long hike back and even longer rutted single lane access road, we turned for home.

Back at the main road most of the RVs turned right toward the main town. We turned left, as we do.

Marce found another cracking parkup which was to become a hallmark of the Isle of Skye.

Every mile we drive in Scotland cements its position on my list of Most Beautiful Places. For the better part of ten years we’ve enjoyed picture-postcard tropical views of turquoise waters, brilliant exotic flowers, and the unbroken horizon where the heavens meet the sea.

Now we are far from the equator in a place that rations the sunshine, compresses and mutes the color palette, and teases the horizon behind rolling carpets of heather and gorse. We’ve been lucky enough with the weather to photograph sweeping views under sunshine and blue skies, but even the gloomy days are beautiful, stark and moody. The contrast so well describes Scotland and its people, witty and brilliant but with the dark undercurrent of a violent history.

Still with no plan, and eschewing the tourist stops suggested in the guides to the North Coast 500, we spend our days tooling south more or less toward the Hebrides. I also keep my eye on the weather and my apps hoping for another shot at seeing the northern lights before we get out of range. The weather is the biggest barrier. Even on days when the sky is clear at four o’clock by dark the horizon is obscured by thick clouds.

There’s no shortage of free parkups in Scotland and we’re aware of how special this is. We’ve been warned that England is not so friendly to free camping and that will affect our route and budget when we get there.

We’ve seen a lot of unusual warning signs through the years but this migratory toad crossing is a first for us. I admit I didn’t know they migrate.

On the road one day I spied a castle ruin off in the distance. Had I been following a map or guide I’d have known it was there but it was a complete surprise to us.

We were well past it before we decided it was worth a stop, and by the time we got turned around, found a safe place to park, then took a wrong path and had to wade across a stream to get to it, we were both a little cranky. But it was a castle, Jack’s favorite thing to explore, and he took off, examining and photographing every detail.

This is Ardvreck Castle, built in the 15th century by the MacLeod clan, then captured by Clan Mackenzie in the 17th century along with the surrounding lands.

The MacKenzies built a more modern manor house across the loch in 1726 but ten years later it was destroyed by fire. You can see the ruin from the castle.

While Jack explored I was distracted by the approaching roar of a half dozen serious touring motorcycles. As the helmets came off I could see these were not young pups, but balding, slightly paunchy, leather-clad old road warriors out for some senior fun.

I asked if they were a club but no, just old friends on a weeklong trip from Ireland. The way they teased and cajoled each other made me smile and they obliged a request for a photo. How lucky they are to have long-time mates to share adventures with.

We continued south through more gorgeous scenery, stopping again to hike up to a waterfall. The waterfall was disappointing but the walk through the forest and the view were worth it.

It’s been a while since we’ve been stopped by large animals on the road. The last time it was elephants in Tanzania.

After a bit of flotzing and faffing we finally decided to forego the challenging mountain pass at Applecross and begin our Hebrides journey. Another couple of sunset parkups brought us to within sight of the bridge to Skye. That’ll be tomorrow.

In three days the ferry will take us back to mainland Scotland and we suspect there are many things Orkney has not yet revealed. We start with the Orkney Museum in Kirkwall. We’ve walked past its beautiful arched doorway dozens of times but bad timing or a busy schedule made us say, ”maybe later.” Today will be later.

The museum tells the story of Orkney from the Neolithic period through the present. We’d already learned much of the history from other museums and visitors centers we toured, so most interesting to us here are the Kirkwall-specific exhibits and Orkney art and craft through the ages.

This practical chair features a drawer on each side of the base, one side for a bible, the other for whiskey, which I think we can agree is the best way to study religion.

There are plenty of examples of the designs and writings of the Picts and the Vikings.

Marce’s favorite exhibit was learning to spell her name like a Viking might, to which she applied her considerable talents and energy.

There’s one Kirkwall parkup we haven’t tried yet, Scapa Beach, adjacent to a section of the St. Magnus trail. We followed the grassy track up to a sweeping overlook toward the Scapa Distillery. There’s that religion-whiskey intersection again. I think we’re finally starting to understand the essence of Scotland.

We agreed that for our last tango in Orkney we’d return to our favorite parkup behind the golf course along Hoy Sound.

It was a beautiful place to celebrate our 32nd anniversary.

On an evening walk we discovered that the old ruin near our parkup used to be a lifeboat station until they realized they could only launch the rescue boat during high tide. Oops. The station was relocated.

Tomorrow we’ll board the ferry to Scrabster and leave the northern isles of Scotland. It’s been a beautiful journey, enlightening, often surprising, the people warm and welcoming. We always found everything we needed or wanted, from camper supplies to gourmet cheeses. And the scenery never failed to take our breath away.

The next morning we said goodbye to Orkney, and as we rounded the tip of Hoy, we waved a final farewell to the Old Man.

It took a couple of days to recover from the Old Man hike. It wasn’t the distance or the time that did us in, but the long stretch of uneven rocky trail that stressed Jack’s deteriorating knee and my previously broken and frequently sprained ankle. We were glad to get back down without mishap, but we took full advantage of our beautiful parkup to rest before turning Escape Velocity towards the ferry.

We navigated toward Lyrawa Hill, missed the turnoff and had to double back, finally reaching the summit on a potholed track to the most expansive view over Scapa Flow to the Orkney mainland.

As we explored the hilltop we discovered we were back in the part of Hoy that still bears the scars of the infrastructure of war.

Lyrawa Hill was the site of a heavy anti-aircraft battery. There were four guns here of the 120 total installed by 1940 to protect the Royal Fleet anchorage.

When we came to Orkney we had no idea we would see so many remnants of war. The bunkers and batteries are everywhere and a reminder to us Americans, who haven’t fought a war on our own soil in 150 years, of the effort, the cost, the toll in lives and land, of war. Standing on this hill now with only the sea and the wind as soundtrack, I wish all peoples everywhere could know peace.

Much as we’d like to stay on that hill a little longer we have a ferry booked. On our way back down we passed a sheering operation. “Stop!” I yelled, and I jumped out of the van and ran back to the men, who may have been father and son. I asked if they minded if I took some photos.

“Most people don’t ask,” the older man said. “They just shoot and drive away.”

This was just a small number of the sheep getting a summer haircut today, he told me. They had already done dozens more and he pointed to nearby barns and enclosures. I marveled at the speed of the younger man with the clippers.

“He’s very fast,” agreed the older man.

I asked if the wool was processed here on Hoy, but no, they send it to a distributor on the mainland where it’s sold to various processors.

Our last stop in Hoy was the Scapa Flow Museum on the site of the original pump house that supplied fuel to the ships at anchor. The museum just opened in July and kept us occupied for hours. We learned so much about the history of Scapa Flow. We were too occupied with the interpretive galleries to take photos but the episode that most intrigued us was the scuttling of the German fleet at the end of World War I and the subsequent salvage operation. It’s an amazing story; you can read it here.

The pump house has been restored and we had to pull out the cameras for it since we both worked in industrial video and appreciate big machinery and greasy tools.

The museum doesn’t have an interpretive website yet, but you can watch a short video here of how the pump house and collection have been reenvisioned. We thoroughly enjoyed it.

And then it was time to board the ferry and say goodbye to Hoy. We considered staying longer but we only have about six weeks left on our UK visas. It’s time to move on.