Escape Velocity

The tourist map of Unst doesn’t have much marked on it but when your first experience is an epic hike to see a rambunctious gannet colony, you know the island is special. As usual, we have no itinerary and just drive and follow the brown tourist signs for where to go and what to do. After passing the Viking longhouse and boat a few times we finally stopped to have a nosey.

The boat is a fullscale replica of a 9th century boat discovered in a mound in Norway. It would have been powered by 32 oarsmen and could carry 70 men. It’s huge and beautiful.

The longhouse is similar to the one I saw in L’Anse Aux Meadows in Newfoundland from approximately the same era. A young man we spoke with later told us you come across the ruins of Viking longhouses everywhere you go in Shetland. This one, like the boat, is a replica. The local craftsmen had to rediscover the Viking building methods and skills during the construction. Once again I’m struck by how quickly and completely cultural knowledge is lost.

I also wonder at what point in history people decided they wanted a little personal space. So many ancient dwellings were communal with no privacy. I guess you had to walk out into the bog for a little Me Time.

We took a chance on a parkup we read about that had mixed reviews and it became my favorite so far. The approach was a little challenging (I forgot to take photos) but oh my! Check out this view!

We spent a glorious afternoon and evening there during which I also watched a little tennis.

We were perched on a grassy strip on the edge of the sand above the beach. Overnight high winds and rain rolled in and we backed off the verge and onto the gravel drive which I thought was more stable. We stayed two nights until a group of fishing buddies from Yorkshire moved in and the wind kicked up even stronger. The Yorkshiremen were friendly but the wind chased us away.

On the way to our next parkup we stopped at this unlikely tourist attraction, Bobbie’s Bus Shelter. Yes, it’s really a bus shelter and it’s become an evolving community art installation.

When we visited it was tricked out for the Queen’s Jubilee and I took the opportunity to sit on the throne, complete with crown and purse.

Of course there’s a cake box nearby. This one gets points for creativity and so far it’s tops for variety. We got the ginger cake.

On the road again Jack hit the brakes for an unexpected standing stone. I love that these things are everywhere but historians can only speculate as to the purpose of each one.

This next trick has amphibious elements that, with the great precision of any military campaign and any luck at all, dovetail into the master movement of Escape Velocity all the way north to Hermaness. It all starts with a romp across Mainland Shetland to Toft and meeting a smallish ferry where, if our tipsters are correct, one can purchase a ticket to Yell and if you keep driving north on the road up to Gutcher you can hop the even smaller ferry to Belmont in Unst, continue the length of Unst to the northernmost settlement in UK, all for the low low price of one ferry ticket.

It’s very popular. Admittedly it’s better without rain but then again, it takes the better part of a day so you’re going to have to deal with rain at some point. Nobody comes to Shetland for a suntan.

At this point, dear Escapees, I imagine you’re wondering why we came all that way.

And that’s just the view from the parkup. Tomorrow we plan a four hour hike up into the clouds. Yours Truly takes no solace in that cloud business.

You can tell the serious nature of a hike when the poles come out of the garage. We also packed water, gingernuts, binoculars, the GPS tracker and rain jackets. We’re learning.

Much of the main trail was prepared with a boardwalk over the boggy bits but there were also steep hills and long flights of stairs. This hiker never enjoys giving altitude back after slogging up a long slope but whoever laid out this trail was from the Up and Down school.

It was a long tramp across the width of the peninsula and when we crested the hill to the cliffs there was the Atlantic Ocean stretching out before us. Next stop Greenland.

I love a hike with a good payoff and this had it in spades. We were chuffed. Birds, I’m guessing gannets because we heard there were a lot of them, were circulating back and forth on the updraft hardly needing to flap and we could even see the occasional puffin nesting in the ledges.

While we were oohing and aahing over this magnificent scene a German hiker turned to us and over her shoulder spat, “Forget the cute little puffins. This is nothing. Go south along the ridge.”

I hadn’t noticed that a preponderance of the hikers had turned to the south and were marching up the steep and lumpy, sheepdung-infested, ankle-twisting slope. We followed.

As we approached the top we smelled the gannet colony before we saw them, but nothing prepares you for the tens of thousands of gannets, squawking, flapping, soaring, circling, diving.

Then you notice tens of thousands of bright white dots covering the massive craggy cliffs, each dot a gannet nesting just out of pecking range of her cranky neighbor. We both gasped at the sight, the sound, and the smell.

All we wanted was to sit in comfy lawn chairs with a cup of coffee and perhaps a pastry and soak in this drama for the rest of the day. It was mesmerizing. But we knew we faced the long trudge back across the peninsula before the inevitable rain. We watched for a long while, then turned for home.

I’m afraid our Shetland blog posts are becoming just galleries of beautiful scenery but frankly, that’s what Shetland has been for us so far. We’ve spent years and years in some of the most breathtaking seascapes in the world, primarily in the tropics, and now we’ve come to such a different kind of environment, also defined by the sea, and equally breathtaking. We can’t get enough of it.

I’m always mindful of Jack’s knees, the replacement one and the deteriorating OEM, and I’m never sure if a long hike is something he wants to attempt, but he’s as entranced by rugged and untamed Shetland as I am. After a couple of Advil he’s game.

We parked at the lighthouse at Eshaness, which the young woman at the tourist office had circled on our map and wrote simply “scenic.” What an understatement.

Within minutes of leaving the car park we faced a view that reminded us of both New Zealand and Australia, with steep cliffs and sea stacks

Along this stretch of coast there are deep clefts, called geos, in the cliffs, formed by collapsed caves and the relentless surf. That means while you’re not making much headway along the sea, the distance hiked is tripled or quadrupled as you walk inland and around the geos.

The top is mercifully flat for the most part, and the distance from the cliffs acts like a volume control, farther away and it’s mostly the wind you hear, closer and the sea menacing the rocks below takes over.

The first half of the hike showed us nesting seabirds and seals on the rocks far below.

Rather than return the way we came we chose a loop inland around the Hols o Scraada, a deep gloup that originally had a natural bridge connecting two caves. The bridge collapsed in 1873 and now it’s a long hike around it, so far inland that you can’t see the sea anymore from the end of it.

The trail took us to the site of a couple of old mills and the remains of a 2000-year-old broch before returning us via the sheep meadows to the car park.

We’re so out of practice for these long hikes that we had taken no snacks, no water, no binoculars, no trekking poles, no thermos of hot chocolate, no GPS tracker. We were grateful to get back to the warm van and put our feet up. We’ll get the hang of it.

There’s so little traffic in Shetland that the powers that be must have decided it’s a waste to build a road wide enough to accommodate a vehicle going in each direction. Behold the one-lane road with passing places.

The rules are logical and easy and within a few days we had it down pat. The main rule, as in most driving schemes anywhere, is to stay on your own side and don’t cross over if the passing place is on the other side but rather stop on your side and allow the oncoming vehicle to drive around you on the passing place.

The other day we were on a single-lane road when we saw a hire car coming the other way. We had a passing place just ahead but the oncoming car panicked and kept coming, then crossed to their right and pulled into our passing place. It wasn’t kosher but we kept driving and waved as we went by.

“They’re not from around here,” Jack said. I thought he was commenting on the break in protocol.

“How can you tell?” I asked facetiously.

“Earrings.”

I turned to him, confused.

“I’m wearing earrings.”

“You’re not from around here.”

Q.E.D.

For a quickie intro to the eccentricities of Shetland, check this out including this caveat:

We’re not the Shetlands; we are just Shetland. Period. Call us the Shetland Isles, or an island archipelago, or da auld rock, or da rock – whatever, just don’t call us ‘the Shetlands’. This is a sure-fire way of getting off on the wrong foot, or most usually, corrected.

It was a rare sunny but blustery day when we crested a steep blind summit on the one-lane road leading to our next parkup. Dear Reader, I think you should just assume that the first or second sentence of all of our blog posts from Shetland will have the word ‘blustery’ within, just so we don’t have to keep writing it and you don’t have to read it.

So where were we? As we started down the steep road a vast green valley was arrayed before us. Somewhere down there, tucked into a corner of the bay, was our next parkup. How can such a small island constantly convey the profound sensation of vast space? You’d think they’d be jamming stuff in every square meter instead of letting miles and miles go by with hardy anything in it. But it works. It really works. This place is beautiful. Details near a corner of the bay started to come into view.

A collection of a few buildings came into focus and maybe a vehicle or two. Things changed as we pulled in. It was a tiny, rough parking lot with campers parked at all angles, spoiling the view and limiting space for others. Day trippers in cars parked inbetween and around the campers. Words were exchanged. The situation perturbed a certain member of the crew.

Eventually most of the inconsiderate people got the picture and left. We moved our camper to the outer edge, setting an example for how best to use the small space. Order was restored.

This is a popular spot. Free is always popular. Campers and day users continued to come and go. We set up spotting shop with binoculars and soon we could watch otters and seals and, wherever there are fish, the ubiquitous cormorants.

The following day we opted for a spot of hiking around the tiny community on the peninsula.

At several points there wasn’t much path left.

We were reluctant to move on, but new arrivals followed our established parking scheme, so our work here was done.

Before coming to Shetland we quizzed every Scotsman we spoke with on the mainland (none had been here) and Googled for potential itineraries (and came up empty.) Now that we’re here, we’re exploring with no plan, no destinations in mind, no route. Each day we wake up, make coffee, check the weather (a pointless pursuit; it changes) and decide what to do on the day. So far we’ve been lucky and often have blue skies. Some days we wake up to rain and wind. It may clear up, it may not.

On those cold and rainy days we’re just as happy to sit tight, read, catch up on writing, and wait for a break in the weather.

Sometimes we wake up to fog and mist, but within minutes a patch of blue appears and we’re off.

Just driving over the rolling meadows gives us pleasure. Then we learned about cake fridges. Some are actually marked on Google Maps, our go-to for what to do and where to go. Cake fridges, or honesty boxes, hold home baked treats and often fresh eggs. You choose what you want, put the money in a cashbox and away you go. This one, the Sand Cake Fridge, is down a long one-lane road with barely a house in sight. We learned that most honesty boxes are adjacent to bus stops so you can pick up a pudding (dessert) on your way home.

Shetland is sadly devoid of French bakeries and we’re missing our usual café life so we stocked up on brownies, blondies, and a berry crumble, all for £10. We’ll make our own coffee.

We get our eggs from the honesty boxes too. Fresh and delicious.

Not far from the cake box is Da Gairdins, a 60-acre tract of woodland and gardens created and maintained by Alan and Ruby Inkster for public enjoyment. It’s a registered charity and they accept donations to help with the upkeep. It was beautiful to walk through the quiet wooded paths. The ruby red rhododendron is a new one on me.

We’d been in Shetland a few days before we noticed the blocks of peat drying along the roadside. Once we realized what we were looking at, we were as excited as we were when we first saw copra drying sheds in the Pacific. It’s something you read about that’s unique to a place and, you assume, a time long past, yet both peat and copra are still very much part of life in their respective places.

Yes, there are Shetland ponies.

We find stunning parkups nearly every night, both through crowd-sourced apps and on our own. This one gave us the long-distance view that feeds my soul.

Six years ago in Australia we went on a picnic hike with our friends Bruce and Di to Barrenjoey Lighthouse. When we got to the lighthouse Bruce informed us with great confidence that the sandy isthmus connecting Barrenjoey to the mainland is called a tombolo.

“What’chu talkin’ about?” we laughed, knowing Bruce’s penchant for pulling our legs, but he was adamant and the new fact was tucked away for future reference. So far it hasn’t won us any free beer at the pub.

Flash forward to 2022 and we parked up overlooking another tombolo, this one connecting St. Ninian’s Isle to mainland Shetland.

We still can’t believe how easy it is to find free parkups in amazing locations and we’re glad our camper is self-contained and able to take advantage of these places.

Under an unexpectedly clear blue sky we walked across the tombolo to the island.

We soon learned an important Shetland skill: dancing around sheep poo in the meadows. This will soon be followed by another skill: finding a stick in nearly treeless Shetland to dig the sheep poo out of our shoe treads.

Sheep poo aside, it was a beautiful walk and it felt good to stretch our legs and start regaining the fitness we’ve lost over the last six months of low activity.

Our parkup put us in the exact right place to enjoy our first clear horizon sunset in recent memory. And with the long twilight this far north it lasted for nearly an hour. Life is good.

First order of the day was a food run so we’re looking for a market with a US size parking lot. As luck would have it there’s a Tesco in Lerwick where we can stash the van, shop and then walk to a fairly complete restored broch and that, dear Escapees, is a trifecta of the first order in vanlife.

With our little treasures sorted in the van we headed out on foot toward the broch, located on a tiny island at the end of a straight but windy stone causeway, reaching out into Clickimin Loch. It’s kind of a ready made moat.

Quite fascinating, this Bronze Age construction. Almost every detail is defensive in nature. It suggests that maybe some people didn’t care for these folks.

The feature event for the day was not far away, but then nothing is very far. It’s a small island, so small that to get to the British Isles’ most important archaeological site one has to carefully cross over their airport runway, after looking both ways of course.

Prehistoric Jarlshof has Neolithic remains over 4,700 years old and was first visited 6000 years ago. It was successively occupied during the Bronze Age and Iron Age, and by the Picts, the Norse, and finally a 16th century Scottish Laird.

So much of ancient daily life can be imagined from wandering through these dwellings. Iron age built right on top of Bronze, the Picts and the Norse in the same space. The audio tour guided us through the site and described the features of each era. Except the Picts. “We don’t talk about the Picts in this tour,” said the voice in our ears. Why? What did the Picts do to get erased?

The extensive Norse settlements have typical rectangular long buildings as if chosen out of an IKEA catalog and while not nearly as old as the earliest settlements you really have to work to get any history out of the notoriously stoic Norse, with the possible exception perhaps of certain long winded poems.

The Laird’s fortified manor house, built in the 16th century, stands guard over all the millennia of history.

Back at the visitors center we asked about the line in the audio tour of not talking about the Picts. We said it sounded like they were outcasts. The young lady rolled her eyes and said, “I know! But really it’s only because the Pict layers are underneath other layers they don’t want to disturb, so they haven’t actually investigated that part.”

I guess that makes sense. But Marce has been singing, “We don’t talk about Picts, nix, nix” to the tune of “We don’t talk about Bruno, no, no.”

My very first ocean passage was a four day journey from Annapolis, Maryland, to the island of Martha’s Vineyard off the coast of Massachusetts on a friend’s beautiful 34’ Tartan. Only part of it was out of sight of land, but that, for me, was the best part. I fell in love with being able to see the horizon all around me, the boat a tiny survival pod in limitless space.

Since then we made many passages on our own boat, from a few days to a week or two to our longest, at six weeks. But it’s been a while. Now, if only for a few hours on a car ferry, I’ll get to experience that 360° horizon again.

We checked in at the dock early and were loaded almost immediately, right behind another Adria campervan. We turned off the propane, deployed the frozen blue picnic ice throughout the fridge and freezer, packed an overnight bag and locked up. The car deck will be inaccessible during the journey. Up on the cabin deck an agent pointed us toward our home for the night.

Our cabin — the only one available when we booked — has no window and sleeps four but we have it all to ourselves. It has a reasonably spacious bathroom and shower, especially if you’re already accustomed to boats and campers.

I read online that these inside cabins can be noisy because they’re above the engines so we brought our noise-canceling headphones in case the thrumming keeps us awake. And because it’s been a while since I’ve been at sea, and I suffer from mal de mer, I dug through my stash to find seasickness tablets. I checked the date. What are the chances they still work?

We cast off on time, waved goodbye to Aberdeen, sailed past a beautiful offshore wind farm and headed out into the North Sea.

We brought sandwiches with us because we thought maybe the food onboard would be expensive and bad. As it turns out, it looked pretty good, but the ferry fare with the van and the cabin was enough to spend, and besides, we have a camper full of food as long as the picnic ice does its job.

As we cleared the harbor I could sense the ocean swell and waited for the familiar queasiness. Instead, I was suddenly sleepy and I knew the Dramamine was working. That’s when I remembered I only ever take half a tablet because I’m particularly susceptible to drugs. All drugs. Oops. I’d taken a whole one and now I was very sleepy.

I wanted to stay up long enough to be out of sight of land and at 9pm I went back out on deck but we still hadn’t cleared the top little bit of mainland Scotland. I couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer so I set an alarm for early morning and surrendered to the Dramamine. Our cabin was quiet, by the way, with no noise from the engines and I slept the sleep of the sailor off watch.

Bright and early I popped out of bed and raced up to the open deck. Land Ho! We’ve already made Shetland.

The landscape we glimpsed through the early fog gave us a taste of what’s to come: steep ocean cliffs, gently undulating hills, and impossibly green meadows.

About an hour later we docked at Lerwick and within minutes we were off the ferry and parked in town. We took a quick turn around Lerwick to get oriented and visited the tourist office where they loaded us up with maps, brochures and ferry schedules.

Then it was on the road to a free parkup for the rest of the day so we can get recombobulated and make a plan.

How’s that for a first day’s view?

I will admit to circumnavigating this tired block in Fraserburgh a few times. The GPS says “you’ve arrived” but other than a tiny marina jammed with huge shiny fishing boats there was hardly a soul around and no obvious place to park. Trust me, this neighborhood was never featured on a Fraserburgh brochure. It’s strange to arrive at a stop sign with a one way sign on your left pointed to the right and a one way sign on your right pointed to the left, and yet here we are. Which law should we break? I looked up and saw a rather impressive lighthouse high above us on a prominent point of land. Our parkup must be over there.

Turns out to be a less than level gravel leftover lot, with poor quality graffiti sprayed about but featuring a beautiful view of the waves crashing onto the rocks. I pulled up rather close so we could all enjoy the power and majesty of the sea, failing to appreciate that, in some people, the level of appreciation diminishes with proximity.

I guess we’re still drawn to the sea. We often end up in a similar place with a similar view, except for the graffiti.

We settled back and I noticed a line of red flags close to shore and we knew that had to be a fishing net. A plume of spray caught my attention just at the edge of my peripheral vision. I hadn’t seen what caused it, but I already knew what it was. Suddenly energized I yelled, “Thar she blows!” Marce hurriedly joined me and the binoculars came out of the drawer as we both scanned our little bay. We knew that it’ll be surfacing in a few minutes due to the shallowness of the bay. There it is right in front of us. The whale had all the characteristics of a humpback when diving but was probably a minke. It seemed to be working a parallel line next to the fishing net right in front of us. I’m not sure how long we watched this whale but it took us back to magical times in Australia with so many close encounters with humpbacks zooming under Escape Velocity, mama whales tending their babies and heavy breathing 20ft away from us while we were waking up to coffee, Escape Velocity’s hull reverberating with a symphony of whale song. Yes, whales are special to us.

Later that day the wind picked up as the tide rolled in. For the first time we could feel the van get buffeted in the gusts. Our semi private rocky ocean view was getting rather boisterous. I’d done a lot of driving so I said I’m turning in but Marce pestered me with, “How can you sleep in this wind!?” and “It’s dark and I have no idea how bad the waves are getting!” I assured her there wouldn’t be a problem.

Someone periodically kept me up to date on the wind direction and velocity which by 5:00 am had gotten much worse and shook the van like a space shuttle lift off. It was suggested that a change in relative wind angle might do the trick and as I can’t control the wind I opted to change the angle of the van. A 35° realignment toward the north and we were facing directly into the teeth of it. Peace and harmony was restored in our happy home.

Reluctant to do a few more laps around Fraserburgh’s contradictory one way snafu, we slept in. Later, when we did leave, we crept down a one-way alley the wrong way, and around the corner from where we slept we saw a 20ft sea wall that said “Caution: waves can breach this wall.”

Good to know.