Fair Isle & Mousa, Shetland
Fair Isle is a lone throne, exactly midway between Orkney and Shetland. Dished like a sandstone bowl, it has high cliff ramparts round the rim. Here the slopes are nibbled by sheep and rabbits, and the moist peaty soil is riddled with puffin burrows.
Once ashore, we followed the island wardens across maritime turf as close-cropped as a billiard table. At the cliff edge our patient pilgrimage was rewarded: dapper tuxedoed puffins strutted, their bright parrot beaks and orange flippers brilliant against the green turf and dark peat of their burrows. At regular intervals, a head would emerge, or a homecoming bird would land on whirring wings, pausing long enough for us to see a bristling beakful of tiny silver fish before ducking underground to feed the hungry chick. For many this was the highlight of the trip: a ringside seat at the home of the arctic’s favorite seabird, the sea-parrot or North Atlantic Puffin.
From this high cliff perch, we descended to follow the island’s one road south. Along stone walls, by ancient water-mills, by Heligoland traps used to catch the dazzling array of bird migrants which descend on Fair Isle each spring and autumn, by yelping Arctic skuas and ticking wheatears, a Shetland mile to the community centre. Here our happy tramp was rewarded by scones, oatcakes and tea in the village hall, time to mingle with the island community and buy postcards, teatowels, textiles and the world-famous Fair Isle Sweaters. This is a happy, vibrant community of around 70 folk which, despite its isolation, has strong links with the outside world.
Once back aboard, Steve Blamires gave us an excellent introduction to “The Picts,” the northern tribes encountered by the Romans when they ventured north of Hadrian’s Wall. The Romans built a second, less famous barrier, the Antonine Wall, to keep out these fierce, proud people who repulsed and raided the intruders.
Our afternoon destination was to visit the most glorious example of their architecture, the Broch on Mousa. Constructed and occupied between 100BC and 100AD, it has survived 2000 years of Atlantic gales intact. It is an unforgettable shape: a perfect potter’s mug, 40’ high, 50’ across the base and with lovely tapering curves to the top. Ironically, it is occupied still, for each summer thousands of storm-petrels nest in the crevices between its sandstone flags.
Running the gauntlet of fierce, stuttering Arctic terns, we crossed the island to see gray and common seals (the latter suckling newborn pewter pups). Pausing at a gate to gaze at the seals, we were thrilled to hear pizzicato purring of courting storm-petrels coming from a pile of stones at our feet.
Our return to the ship was an unforgettable image of wild Shetland: plunging gannets offshore, black guillemots pattering out of our path, and a whirling cloud of Arctic Terns falling like knives into the sea to pull silvery sandeels from the waves.
