You may find a map of Orkney to be of use when reading this postcard.... here's a little one and if you click on it it will display a bigger version on another page, so you can jump backwards and forwards to it when we mention another place.You may find a map of Orkney to be of use when reading this postcard.... here's a little one and if you click on it it will display a bigger version on another page, so you can jump backwards and forwards to it when we mention another place.
Sunday 29th May was our last chance. If Dick was to get to Lerwick in Shetland, 150 miles away, in time for his
flight back to Birmingham on the 1st June, then it was now or never time. It wasn't actually
raining - at least not by Orcadian standards - and the wind appeared to be
moderate so we decided to go. Robin spent an hour surrounded by tide
tables, tidal atlases and charts and eventually determined that we should leave Stromness and sail up the west coast of the Orkney islands, around Noup Head on the northwest corner of Westray, and then make northeast to the Shetlands. He calculated we had two
tidal gates to hit, one off Fair Isle and an earlier one off Noup Head at
15:30 hrs, just six hours after departing Stromness at the 09:30 slack
water.
Coming out of harbour into Hoy sound, the northerly wind seemed stronger than its rated 25 knots and a forecast
came through predicting gusts of up to 35 knots. So John and Robin spent a
merry half hour on the pitching splashy foredeck rigging the special forestay and storm jib.
Then they came back into the dry cabin, absolutely soaked, and put their
wet weather gear on. Right idea; wrong sequence!
In the rough stuff of the entrance to Hoy sound it became clear that plan A
was not viable and the options were either to go back, or to go clockwise round 'Mainland', (as the
Orcadians call their largest island),
into Eynhallow Sound and thus get on the Easterly side of 'Mainland'.
Plan B offered opportunities for
sheltered sailing and a good jump off point for a direct trip to Norway. It didn't help Dick much, as we weren't going to Shetland after all!
It was hard pounding up that exposed westerly coast. We passed the ancient
settlements of Scara Brae and Birsay that we had visited by car. Why did
these ancient peoples decide to settle on this difficult coast, rather than
the sheltered waters of Scapa Flow? Late in the morning Robin was delighted
but surprised to find that we were getting a tide lift around Brough Head.
There was talk of eddies but Robin disappeared below and re-appeared to
announce the embarrassing, but basically good news, that he had mistakenly
identified the slack water in Hoy Sound as associated with Low Water
Aberdeen instead of High Water Aberdeen. As a result we did not have to
wait till 16:30 hrs for a favourable tide into Eynhallow, but could enter
at once - indeed we were being sucked in. Once in the shelter of the sound,
our bit of rough was over for the day and, the dangerous overfalls being
only operative on the ebb, we cruised down the placid waters between vivid
green islands to a pleasant anchorage on the south side of Shapinsay and
dinner of local beef, roasted peppers, carrots, parsnips and a delicious
mature broccoli.
Dick hit the phones and by morning had rescheduled his travel plans, to the delight
of the shareholders in the airlines who were privileged to carry him, now back south from Orkney instead of Shetland. The
cruise over to Kirkwall lasted forty five minutes. We tied up in the new
marina, said a sad goodbye to Dick and commenced refuelling and
re-victualling for a long passage. The diesel had to carried aboard in 5
gallons drums and Somerfields benefited enormously from the absence of
bonded facilities as we took their entire stock of Cabernet Shiraz.
In the late afternoon sun we set sail NE amongst the islands; up Vassa
Sound, across Stromsay Sound leaving Eday to port, and on up the East
Coast of Sanday to the most north-easterly anchorage in the Orkneys -
Kettletoft bay. Vaughan produced a traditional repast of haggis, tatties and
neaps washed down with whisky and Guinness, before we embarked on a quick
trip to one of the two pubs that serviced this village of four houses. The
pub contained a bunch of escapees from elsewhere in the British Isles -
some of whom had been in the pub for almost as long as they had been on the
Island. There was Mike from Newcastle, who sobered up the more he drunk:
Chris the fisherman who agreed to meet John at 6:30 the next morning with a
fine deal in crabs; Gail from Belfast who wanted to leave it all and come
with us to Norway; Jane who could have modelled for Edward Munch's 'the
scream'; and who had been about to go home and make her family tea since
noon but had just not got around to it; sexy Lesley in tight blue trousers
who had brought her kids from Tunbridge Wells to grow up in the carefree
Orkneys, but who had left them in the care of her partner whilst spending
time in the pub ('You can always find work here if you really look - I
sometimes do an hour behind the bar myself' and she did; after closing
time); Mike the fine upstanding owner who forgot to throw everyone out at
midnight; some builders who had come to do a spot of painting and decided
to stay on; and Fred the tourist here for the fishing; but yet to catch
anything more edible than Lesley. Lives are lived peaceably here, in the
comforting knowledge that the police cannot get on the island after the
last ferry has left.
We were so overwhelmed with hospitality, that it was a bleary-eyed crew who
staggered out of bed the next morning. Chris the fisherman was not on the
quay either. We raised the anchor at 07:30 and set a course for Utsira (of
Shipping Forecast fame), 226 miles to the East. It was a bright sparkly
morning, the wind blowing a steady 15 knots from the North. A while later
we were passed by Chris off out to his work.
Now what had we forgotten to do? Answers on a postcard please, to reach us
before the next episode.
We made good speed, broad-reaching at around 6 knots under full sail. We
passed Fair Isle, leaving it 15 miles to the north of us, with the top half of the its
mountains visible - a view the Vikings must have had when crossing to raid
or rule. Breakfast was scrambled egss on crusty brown buttered toast.
Visibility was excellent; we could just about make out the cliffs of
Shetland 35 miles away. In all we could see around 4000 square miles of sea
- and we were the only boat in it all. Around 5 in the afternoon, we were
joined by a pod of porpoises; after toying with us for half an hour they
left in a swirl of tails. Dinner was beef and potato stew simmered with bay
leaves over a low light. As darkness, or what passes for it, descended, we
shortened sail to mizzen and reefed Genoa. 
A libation was poured to Neptune
with thanks for his compassion as we crossed the Greenwich Meridian. A
couple of ships passed in the night. Just after dawn we started to pass
through the Beryl and Bucklands oil fields, then later John and Vaughan
executed a close sail past the Norwegian gas platform Heimdahl. 'Goddag
Norweg!' The second breakfast was boiled ducks eggs with brown bread and
butter and coffee. After lunch (roast beef and tomato sandwiches) the wind
lightened and we started to motor sail. George, our loyal and faithful
helmsman of so many trips has finally gone on strike a few minutes earlier; we
hope to change his mind when we get to harbour, but for now its all hands
to the wheel.
As I write Vaughan is preparing a light curry of Austrian sausages, swede,
potatoes with wild rice onions and tomatoes; to be followed by fruit and
the Voltair cheeseboard.. The plan is to anchor in the North Harbour of
Utsira in the early hours of Thursday and have a whisky. If you receive
this you can assume we have.
'Skol!'
Love to all, from the reduced crew of Voltair: Frank, John, Robin and Vaughan