The Shornkeys: Noss and Bressay on the Dunter III

(Note: "Shorkney" is not a real word. We're just using it to write about our recent trip to Aberdeen, Orkney, and Shetland.)

We're coming to the end of our Shorkney posts, which is probably good, since we're also coming to the end of our time here in Scotland (more on that later).

But we've saved one of the best for one of the last: a day trip on the Dunter III to the Noss National Nature Reserve in Shetland.

We hadn't originally planned to take the Dunter III "seabirds-and-seals" cruise, but all our other attempts to get out on the water (in sea kayaks, on a big sailboat, etc) were scrapped by rough seas. But on our last day in Shetland we had calm seas and two empty spots on a last-minute wildlife cruise.

And I am so glad all those other plans fell through! The Noup, which is the local name for the largest of the seabird cliffs on Noss, is truly a world-class natural wonder. As we were pulling out of Lerwick Harbor, our guide and skipper kept lamenting all the tourists on the pier who had "come to Niagara and missed the falls." I have to admit, at first I dismissed this as the hyperbole of a fanatic naturalist--but he was right, the Noup really does belong in the same category as Niagara Falls.

Of course, the bubbling (even childlike) enthusiasm of the Dunter III's crew--much touted in every review I've read of their service--only added to the sense of wonder. Nana and I peppered them with questions throughout the trip, and there wasn't an answer they didn't seem delighted to share.

Seriously, if you only do one thing in Shetland, do this.

Now, to the tour . . .

We started out by going north out of Lerwick, passing a seafood processing plant where the old seals like to hang out (for the free food).

From there, we flitted back and forth between some of the smaller islands in the harbor area. Some of these islands, unlike the larger islands, were sheep-free, with overgrown thickets of wildflowers and grasses providing a perfect habitat for wildlife.

At the little island above, we even caught a brief glimpse of an otter, trying to keep his catch away from a black-backed gull. Otters are famously shy, and according to my dissertation adviser (who has advised me on so much more than my dissertation!), in Scotland seeing one is kind of a big deal. Unfortunately, I could only spy his little head for maybe a second before he got away, but Nana got a much better look. Alas, I couldn't manage a photograph.

From there we circled the rest of the way around Bressay and passed through the narrow strait between Bressay and Noss. This strait, called Noss Sound, is a major breeding and feeding ground for sand eels, which are an important source of food for many of the seabird species around Shetland. Here we were lucky enough to see a puffin in flight. They're much smaller than you'd expect--not much bigger than the span of your hand. They love sand eels, so they make their nests in the hills above the strait.

Apart from its wildlife, Noss Sound is also just a beautiful spot. The ruins of an old WWII signal station crown the hill to the west, but otherwise all is green, blue, and gold. Noss itself has been uninhabited since 1939; it's now all pasture and nature reserve.

Noss Sound is also where the "ferry" crosses from Bressay to Noss. You can see the ferry here:

It's the little inflatable outboard tucked away in those rocks.

From Noss Sound we continued around the southern side of Noss. We passed a few small seabird colonies as we rounded the southeastern tip of the island--black guillemots mostly, whose markings make them look kind of like little penguins, though of course these guys can fly!

The coasts of Noss and Bressay are also shot through with sea caves like these.

But the Noup itself was clearly the highlight. After a look at what I thought were some pretty impressive seabird colonies near the southeastern tip of Noss, we passed a small headland and the Noup came into view.

Words fail me here. The cliff is enormous, bleached white by droppings, completely covered with black guillemots and northern gannets.

(Gannets are beautiful birds: white with black wingtips and pale gold around the head and neck.)

(Wikipedia image--I didn't manage to get a good shot.)

 

Overhead, the gannets circled in numbers so great that the sky was literally darkened by them. They were flying off to find nesting material--we even saw a pair of them fighting over a particularly desirable scrap of netting.

We spent a good long time at the Noup, just watching. (Our guides were kind enough to remind us that, despite the jaw-dropping power of the place, it was probably best for us to keep our mouths closed. Luckily, no one was hit!)

It's hard for me to describe just what made the Noup so awesome. I think it was the complexity and the drama of the place, tucked away only forty minutes out of Lerwick Harbor, a hidden but not-so-secret metropolis where thousands upon thousands of creatures lived out lives so different (and disconnected) from ours. And there are places like this--though not many quite so grand--all around the North Atlantic. It makes the world seem so vast and miraculous.

After we left the Noup, a great skua (a "bonxie" to Shetlanders) chased us in the hopes of nabbing a biscuit. (It would not be disappointed.)

Then we passed under an arch called the Giant's Legs . . .

. . . and moored in a sea cave, where the crew fired up their submersible to give us a look at life under the sea.

It's much more colorful than you'd expect under there--coral, sea anemones, crazy varieties of starfish. You think of the North Sea as a cold, desolate place, but in sheltered areas like this sea cave, life abounds.

We were delayed a bit leaving the sea cave (basically, we lost track of time), but still made it back in plenty of time for our ferry to Aberdeen. I say this because a few potential passengers ditched just before we left port because they were afraid they'd miss their boat back to the Scottish mainland. The crew of the Dunter III guaranteed our connection, so to speak, and even with our delay we got ourselves to the ferry terminal with about an hour to spare.

So the Noup, and the Dunter III? Both musts, both absolutely worth it, both the highlights of our Shetland trip for me!

The Shorkneys: Orkney and Shetland in the Renaissance

(Note: "Shorkney" is not a real word. We're just using it to write about our recent trip to Aberdeen, Orkney, and Shetland.)

 As I mentioned in our previous post, Shetland and Orkney both used to belong to the Norse. But when the King of Denmark (who was also the King of Norway) fell into debt, he was forced to forfeit the islands to Scotland in 1468 in lieu of a dowry for his daughter Margaret, who was sent over to marry King James III of Scotland. A year later, Christian I pawned Shetland to the Scots, too.

Under the Scots, the islands enjoyed a kind of golden age. They benefited from trade connections with Germany, the Netherlands, and Denmark, and the Scottish crown pretty much left them alone.

This wasn't always a good thing, however. Around 1600, Patrick Stewart, the 2nd Earl of Orkney, after brutalizing the local peasantry and spending himself into debt, actually went to war with the Sheriff of Shetland to back up his claim to ownership of the islands.

(What the 2nd Earl of Orkney might have looked like.)

For a while, things went pretty well for Patrick, but the escapade eventually landed him in prison in Edinburgh--and his son was hanged by the Sheriff of Shetland and a band of local malcontents. 

So Patrick Stewart: Petty tyrant? Mad genius? The greatest Star Trek captain of all time? You be the judge.

The Earl's Palace, Kirkwall (Orkney)

Most of what we know about Patrick Stewart comes from unreliable sources, and recent scholarship suggests he wasn't the huge jerk everyone makes him out to be. 

But whatever the size of Patrick's jerkitude, we do have him to thank for two of Scotland's most impressive Renaissance residences. The older of the two is Patrick's fortified palace in Kirkwall, Orkney.

The palace boasted both form and function: it included an enormous great hall, where the Earl and co. presumably got their respective grooves on . . .

(Historical reenactment.)

. . . and the place was built to withstand an attack from his next-door neighbor, the Bishop of Orkney.

Yes, the upstart Patrick set up shop right next door to the King's most powerful agent in the Northern Isles. You know the drill: keep your friends close and your enemies closer.


Patrick clearly bested the bishop as far as style was concerned: the Bishop's Palace is a tall, narrow, grim sort of a place, decidedly Medieval next to the Renaissance splendor of Patrick's new pad.

But apparently the bishop had Patrick beat in terms of function: the Earl's Palace was the site of Patrick's last stand, and had to be surrendered when opposing forces fired a cannon into one of those beautiful windows.

During the confusion, Nana may or may not have let her hair down in a failed effort to help Patrick escape.

Scalloway Castle, Shetland

Patrick's other house--in Scalloway, the ancient capital of Shetland--is another thing altogether. Where the Earl's Palace is an inviting house set in a small park in the middle of town, Scalloway Castle is a formidable tower house perched on a windswept spit of land. (Windswept even by Shetland standards!)

To access the castle, you have to sign out a key from a local hotel.

Nothing quite like letting yourself into a castle!

The inside couldn't be more different from the palace at Kirkwall: Scalloway Castle is pretty dim and grim. The living quarters would have been packed into the space below, with several levels of wooden floors and a roof that has been long since gone.

In fact, Patrick Stewart's two residences are a good summary of the differences between the two regions themselves: Orkney is by far the milder and the prettier of the two, whereas Shetland is far grimmer--though that has a way of being beautiful, too!

The Shorkneys: Orkney and Shetland in the Viking Age, and St. Magnus

(Note: "Shorkney" is not a real word. We're just using it to write about our recent trip to Aberdeen, Orkney, and Shetland.)

The Viking Age


After about 800 AD, the Vikings began to settle in Orkney and Shetland, though it's unclear whether they conquered the Picts who were already there or simply drove them back to the Scottish mainland.

Shetland and Orkney--but especially Orkney--were extremely important during the Viking Age. First, they lay at the geographical center of Viking maritime culture, situated at the crossroads of the North Sea, the Norwegian Sea, and the Atlantic Ocean.

Second, Orkney included some of the most fertile land in the region, and so developed into one of the richest of the Norse provinces. In fact, as I mentioned in our post on Maes Howe, Orkney is home to the largest collection of Norse runes outside Scandinavia, and the Orkneyinga saga is one of the most important surviving pieces of Viking literature. The bits of these documents I've read are really quite funny: Maes Howe, for instance, is covered with silly boasts about the carvers being the best carvers of runes in the world, and at least one note that seems to compare another Viking's woman to a rabid dog.

Norse culture remains strong in Orkney and Shetland to this day. Though debt forced the king of Norway to give Orkney to the Scottish in 1468, and the Scottish came to dominate Shetland culturally and economically at about the same time, many people in the Northern Isles consider themselves to be about as much Scandinavian as Scottish. There is definitely something Scandinavian about the Shetland dialect, and the modern flags of Orkney (top) and Shetland (bottom) were specifically designed to reflect this Norse heritage.

Compare this to the Norwegian Flag, below, which features the same off-center cross and a similar color scheme.

St. Magnus Cathedral

St. Magnus Cathedral, in Kirkwall, Orkney, is the greatest surviving monument to the Viking Age in the Northern Isles.

The cathedral is dedicated to St. Magnus, a local Viking ruler who was martyred in the 12th century for refusing to participate in a bloody raid in Wales. The oldest parts of the cathedral were built shortly thereafter, in the Romanesque style. This style is characterized by round arches, like upside-down U's, and darker interiors than the later Gothic style (think York Minster or Notre Dame).

The Romanesque style is the same used in Durham Cathedral in England, as well as on Lindisfarne. 

You can see the round arches on either side of the photo below.

You'll notice that the window at the back, however, is a pointed or "vaulted" arch, in the later Gothic style. The ceiling is also vaulted, as are all the windows in the towers. This is because construction on the cathedral continued until the early 1900s. In fact, there's a sign on the building across the street with a diagram of the exterior of the cathedral showing when each section was built:

As it turns out, some of the most "Gothic" features are actually Victorian, part of the Gothic Revival at the end of the 19th century that gave us college campuses like Yale's.

St. Magnus also has some typically Norse features, such as a longboat on the altar . . .

. . . and interlocking arches, which some have argued are an intermediate stage between rounded arches and vaulted arches.

Bonus: There's a Norwegian consulate in Orkney! It must be one of the smallest towns in the world to host a foreign consulate.