Footabrough and Culswick

Kaye's croft

Hill of Footabrough

 Beachcombing - some random art

Voe of Footabrough

Thrift and Oyster Catcher

Clouds over Foula

Swinsi Taing

Coast at Culswick

Sotersta

Today was supposed to be a trip to Fair Isle, but for the third time, I was unlucky.  I had postponed a trip there last week so I could complete the Shetland Marilyns with Ann today. Despite the best efforts of the Tingwall airfield supervisor, I was unable to get a seat because of the combined weight of six German bird spotters and their equipment, who were ahead of us on the list. Ann got the last seat; she was the CEO of the Trust that runs the airline. I would have 5 hours to kill until the return flight brought her back. 

I perused my map and headed west to explore two remote coastal areas. They were both showcases of the quite amazing landscapes in this remote and wildsome land. The first was beyond Walls at Footabrough, where Kaye, a friend in the office, had a croft.  The second walk was at Culswick and Westerwick, famous as the home of the last indigenous sea eagles in Britain.

The day had lapsed into that 'in-between' or 'moderate' weather that is typical of Shetland when it is not blowing a gale: cloudy with a breeze, the occasional light shower, and a glazed dullness. It reflected my mood. I had planned to complete the Marilyns over the next couple of weeks, but postponing the trip to Fair Isle had thrown my plans off. There would be few opportunities in the next month or so, as most of the people I worked with would be away in July and early August, so I would only be in Shetland for a few days. There could still be a chance in September, but I may have finished work by then.

I headed to Footabrough first in the hope of catching Kaye at home, but she was out gallivanting as is her wont. I rambled down to the Voe and spent half an hour beach combing on a very exposed inlet which faces southwest and is a depository for drift from the whole Atlantic, or so it seemed. I constructed an assembly of items that had been left on the beach before climbing to the highest point and building a cairn. I watched the frantic movements of the bird population, which included being aggressively circled by several pairs of oystercatchers if only they had a more melodic calling. This was indeed another special place and just a short walk from the splendidly named and inspiring Bay of Deepdale.

The walk and playing about had taken an hour and a half, so I headed back with a couple of hours to kill and took a detour to Westerwick and Culswick, where I had a long walk along the cliffs at Culswick in the early afternoon rain. The cliffs and coastline were spectacular, and the island of Foula, capped in clouds and smothered in Bonxies, was a distant attraction. The solitude and serene green landscapes were a perfect combination to soothe the disappointment of missing Fair Isle. There were sculpted features carved by the sea that Henry Moore could never have imagined, and all set against a green baize maintained by the thousands of sheep that cultivate the landscapes here. 

I travelled back to Alistair's house at Weisdale for a coffee and catch-up, and then drove on to Tingwall to collect Ann. She had managed to climb Ward Hill, a mere 217 metres high and a 130m3tre climb from the airstrip, and complete the 19 Shetland Marilyns.  The weather had lived up to the name of the Isle. It's not fair, she had never heard of Marilyns before I introduced her to them, and she had tagged along when she heard I was climbing them.