Light a Lamp for the Lady of Lerwick - Lerwick, United Kingdom
Lerwick, United Kingdom
Our last week on the Orkneys is behind us and we are now ready for our next adventure on the Shetland Islands. Getting here has, however, not been without its tribulations.
There is a massive North Sea gas processing facility in build at Lerwick and every spare bed is taken. In fact, every hotel, hostel, and B'nB is booked out until the end of the year. The demand for a bed is to high that the oil and gas companies and construction contractor have placed five floating hotels/accommodation barges in the harbour with another arriving over this weekend. On arrival, we read in the Shetland Times that the major contractor had given its workers a day off after the death of a worker, and 2000 of his co-workers descended on Lerwick, causing mahem starting a couple of hours after the pubs opened.
So, our trip had been going so well to plan, or we were winging it so successfully, that we had become complacent. With our ferry booking made, accommodation was the next step, earlier experience indicating that our hardest task would be to decide where. Our habit has been to have a couple of days 'under cover' while we finalised in detail what we were going to do during our stay. Not in Lerwick!
After two days of fruitless interrogation of the web and countless emails to possibilities, we were still 'out in the cold'. Fortunately, one of our unsuccessful inquiries prompted the apologetic landlady to refer our request to a friend who was just starting her own guest house. We accepted with alacrity! So, please join us in lighting a lamp for the lady of Lerwick. Her name was not Florence, but, given the much welcomed succour she provided, she could easily have been. But before we go further, let's review the last few days on Westray and back on the East Orkney Mainland.
Our escape from Kirkwall was timely indeed. A Cunard Line cruise ship had berthed (or should I say, birthed) on our final day, disgorging 3000 passengers. That's roughly one-half the normal daily population of Kirkwall. And, not to be outdone, today back in Kirkwall another two cruise liners dock, releasing another 7600 passengers onto the hapless people of Kirkwall. As the taxi-driver driving us to the Shetlands ferry observed of the (then) coming weekend: "Imagine the whole population of Kirkwall taking the day off and coming into the city. The place would grind to a stop." But, make no mistake, the local tourist sites, hire car operators, bus line owners, guides, drivers, coffee shop barristers, hoteliers, restauranters, momento makers, craft-persons, creative people, and knick-knack sellers are ecstatic.
The tourist dollar is, needless-to-say, top drawer in the new Highlands and Islands' economy. Heaven forbid that I become an old curmudgeon! But, it was interesting to compare the responses of those benefiting from, and those suffering under the influx. It was easy to sympathise with both responses. What's good for the economy is good for the islands! But, what's good for the new way is eroding the old ways! We've heard each opinion so often here that the poles have almost become stereotypical. Say the old people: "These new comers have no respect. They take over our community committees and want to change everything." Say the newcomers: "The old families are stuck in the past. They don't understand what needs to be done to keep up." Now, how universal is that dichotomy?
That aired, we had a terrific time on Westray. Our original intention had been to have two nights there after two on Papa Western, and to then relocate to Rousay for four nights; however, when we got to Pierowall on Westray, we liked the place and people we met so much that we changed plans and stayed for five nights. This gave us the opportunity to do what we had long ago decided was our underlying intention: to give ourselves enough time in each place to gain insights into the local way of life. It also meant that we had time to do some great walks.
Westray is surrounded by cliffs, which abound with seabird communities. Tending to prefer a more solitary nest-site, there are Fulmars everywhere around the island. As you'll already have realised, this old aviator is infatutated with this beautiful bird. Its true flight and interest in humans enables very close observation. It is completely undeterred by, for a bird of its mass and hence wing-loading, what must be vicious up or down-draughts, and side-gusts. It is, however, the original master of adverse winds. Trailing a single webbed foot or both feet at just the right angle or fairing them into its body; warping the outer, or inner, or both panels of their wings; arching their body convexly or concavely; even stalling some or all of a wing panel, or panels on both wings; re-profiling its tail feathers from an open fan, through open-U which it then biases rotationally along its longitudinal axis, or closed into a straight extension of its body; turning its head as a directional canard and to clear into the turn; all configurations that are clearly discerned as they soar around you. Wonderful!!
My other delight is, of course, the Puffin. On our last day on Westray we walked to 'Puffin Central': the, so called, Castle o'Burrian, which is in reality a natural geological feature. The sea stack would have to have been the home of at least 300 Puffins - at least 10 birds per square metre of footprint. With a cliff-top overlooking the stack and close enough to observe behaviour pretty well, we spent over an hour just sitting and watching the colony. And what a delightful way to pass time. It went too quickly!
The Puffin, you'll recall, dear reader, is the clown of the cliffs. Not an undeserved label, well reinforced by our hour or so observing them. There seem to be at least three obvious contributions to their reputation: their size, or rather the size of their webbed feet with respect to their body size; the area of their wing with respect to their body mass; and their level of skill during the approach and landing phase. Apart from these issues, they're pretty well coordinated and well equipped for life as a Puffin.
Because of the first issue, they are forever placing one webbed foot on the other when standing or moving, so tripping attends virtually every step. Irrespective of whether the terrain is flat or precipitous, vegetated or barren, sandy or rocky, stumbles and tumbles mark the Puffin's terrestrial passage. Airborne, its high wingloading (wing area/weight) means a high rate of wing-beat. And fast-flapping means a high rate of energy use. So, even before there are chicks to be fed, the Puffin makes frequent fishing flights. In turn, this means lots of approaches and landings. This is where the 'clown of the cliffs' comical antics are really at their best.
As you'll recognise, dear reader, fast flapping and high energy loss means the Puffin would prefer to be conserving energy by not flapping. This brings us to the approach and landing phases of flight - well, as I'm about to explain, flight is perhaps more figurative than accurately descriptive. If the Puffin has decided upon a high angle glidepath approach to the landing point, it tends to close its wings early, resulting in an accelerating plummet to earth. Not pretty! On the other hand, should it decide upon a low-angle approach, decelerating up the cliff-face to its intended landing point, when it ceases flapping early it arcs parabolically into the cliff-face impacting short of the ledge. Not pretty!
As with landings at sea, the upshot is a beak-first arrival, and barked claws on webbed-feet. (Perhaps that's why the Puffin stands one webbed foot on the other: a pain-relief strategy. The Puffin equivalent of the human 'Oh my aching corns' grabbing of the toes, if you like.) Certainly, post-arrival, there is much shaking of head. Anthropomorphising, you can see the Puffin saying: "OMG, you've done it again stupid". There also seems to be a continuous-replay default afoot as, quite frequently, the ground-borne post-crash bird again shakes its head. All great fun for us laying in the grass on the adjoining cliff-top, basking in the summer sun, kept cool by a gentle breeze. But, bemusing for the clowns on the sea stack!
Given the high farce of Puffin life, it is palpably unfair that they also have the unfortunate habit of trusting humans. It is possible to walk right up to a grounded Puffin and (perhaps related to the thought of energy loss and the ensuing crash-landing) it does not move. The result is that Puffins are a routine dietary supplement for humans living on the islands on which breeding colonies locate. As we heard on St Kilda: "Och, aye. Tammie Norie (Puffin). Wa're aetin' 'em laik tatty (potato) chippies." Hmmmm! I know one wildlife conservation medico that is not amused.
So, after a seven hour overnight ferry trip, we are ensconced cosily in the Rockvilla Guest House, 88 St Olaf St., Lerwick, ready to plan the next 18 days activities in detail. We've already been to the Visitor Centre and the (superb) Museum, and can see that we will not be short of geological, archaeological and ecological places of interest to visit. The Shetlands sit on the continuation of the Great Glen Fault and include sedimentary, volcanic and metamorphic sequences from around 3bya. The archipelago is so important geologically that it is a declared Geopark, supported by UNESCO. It was first settled around 6000ya and is advertised as sitting equally influenced by Nordic and Scottish traditions. And, it is the only.place in the British Isles where both the Grey and Red-necked Phalarope can be seen. Lerwick, which became the capital in 1730, is an enchanting town with winding, narrow cobblestone lanes and stone buildings.
I hope your appetite for next blog has been whetted. Hopefully, the weather will clear before we start calling again from Monday onwards.