Fitful Head

Fitful Head from Quendale

Sunday, 13 February 2011

Run  9 kilometres, 310 metres of ascent, 1 hr 0 mins 10secs

Fitful Head   283metres   32mins 

Fitful Head is the high point at the southern end of the Mainland and resembles a wedge of cheese leading to some massive cliffs that fall almost 1000 feet into the sea.  It is topped out by a giant golf ball that is a radar dome for Sumburgh airport and various transmission receivers for the coastguard and television.

All Sunday morning I had put off going out for a run in the lashing rain, there are many days like this and they are best summed up in this reflective posting from a friend who captured the dark days of a Shetland winter with vernacular humour.  'Just spent 10 mins trying to scrub a dark rib fae aroond da bath - it wis da reflection o da venetion blind! (Dat lang fae da sun shone dat I hidna noticed it afore!!!) Doh!'  

I had to go to the airport to pick up a colleague so I left just an hour to run up Fitful Head from Quendale Farm. It was blowing a gale but the rain had stopped as I headed eastwards from the farm along a track, crossing various fields and dodging the rabbits until I reached the Valley.  There was a long boggy section across some fields until I crossed some fences by a small dam and reached the track which climbed steeply until the Kame and Nev appeared as twin headlands trapping the sea between them. The coastline between them was shaped like a W and the energy of the waves was wasted destroying the headlands. The track veered south and steepened again there was another kilometre of climbing into a strong wind.

I arrived at the collection of communication paraphernalia and buildings in the midst of which I discovered a lonely trig point. I was wary of being frazzled by all the equipment so I quickly skipped over a fence and ran along the cliff edge heading towards Siggar Ness. Despite being downhill it was as hard as the ascent into the fierce wind. I decided to take a more direct route down Set Dale towards the Hill of Cleap. It would strengthen my ankles dodging through the clumps of grass.  I hadn't expected to land on a Woodcock but it made a safe escape, apparently, they are numerous in these parts and are shot by eminent Shetland folk musicians that I know as a delicacy.

When I reached the flatter grazing land I circuited clockwise round the Cleap and found the track that returned me to Quendale farm, arriving back just outside the hour.  I leapt into the car and texted my colleague, Nigel, who was due to land about now. The time to get off a plane, reclaim luggage and exit the airport is seldom more than 4 or 5 minutes at Sumburgh. This dream airport experience gives some compensation for the usually choppy descent and bumpy landing or if really windy a couple of aborted attempts before the final landing. Nigel was waiting at the door as I arrived at the airport and was slightly perplexed as I jogged past him into the terminal to reclaim a book that I had left in the seat pocket of the aircraft when coming up a week earlier.  The airport staff delivered it with a smile, I was by now a regular flyer and, as I knew a couple of the staff, we had some friendly banter.  I was covered in mud from my trip up Fitful Head. We returned back to Gulberwick for roast Shetland lamb and some black potatoes that I had been given when visiting Peter and his family in Brae yesterday.