The Brough Of Birsay

“True Friends are the lighthouse in life’s storms” Musiety

This was my first stop after arriving on the ferry in Stromness, Orkney. The crossing was a little choppy but not to ‘The Deadliest Catch’ proportions.

Well, actually it wasn’t the first stop but the place I pulled up to initially, Yesnaby, wasn’t very hospitable, it was so windy outside the safe haven of my car, that it was rocking from a battering of North Atlantic ocean wind. I tried to open the car door and it was swiftly blown shut again, feeling unwelcome here, I thought I would move on for now and come back to this place later.

The Brough of Birsay, easy to find and well signposted, I wondered if I would receive the same blustery welcome there but luckily a little more north and further clockwise round the island the wind was… less windier. Parking was free but not abundant and I did think how busy it would be in the summer months when the island is infiltrated with tourists from far and wide.

I had checked the tide times and lowest tide was around midday, which worked out perfectly for me. The causeway was really obvious, straight across to the island, inhabited only by birds and a disused light house. The rock formations were jagged and layered like a Viennetta, in rows, pointed up at 30 degrees like they were poised, ready to defend the island with all their might. After a short climb across the rocks and up to the raised grassy area, the remains of a Picktish and Norse settlement peeked out from the wild flowers, grasses and moss, there was also some useful information about the lives of the people who lived there hundreds of years ago. A very noisy pair of birds squawked vigorously, staking their claim to this land and warning visitors off by flying and then diving around the heads of us trespassers.

Behind a more modern building (formerly the visitor centre) is a small gate in the fence line which gives access to the footpath leading up a steep hill towards the lighthouse. There were three paths to choose from, left, right or straight on, I chose straight on, not really understanding why people would choose the long way round to the main attraction. I started with a healthy march on, but soon decelerated as the incline continued to steepen. I knew it wasn’t far and I wanted to push up the hill without stopping. There was a small flock of birds who were resting in the grass, they would take flight for a moment making their way up the hill as I pursued them. Predicting an encore, camera ready, I managed to get a lovely shot of them in flight with the lighthouse on the horizon of the hill.

The light house was customary white and had a yellow ring, like a collar underneath the glass bowl which would have emitted the warning beacon. It’s impossible to know, but I wonder how many ships and souls on board the light house saved since it was built 100 years ago in 1925, especially before the navigation tools of sea vessels had the benefit of modern warning systems of their own. The modern benefit here, was a solar panel system which kind of spoiled the aesthetic look but supplied essential power for free.

The wind was strong and gaining ferocity, but I really wanted to take a look over the highest edge of the sloping, wedge shaped chunk of rock. The sea was groaning and roaring, the power this water held was immense. It crashed into the shear rock face with such force, but also seemed to caress the vertical surface at the end of its reach as its white hands stretched up and stroked the Old Red Sandstone. I precariously shuffled as close as was comfortable to the shear drop, feet away from my own feet, to capture some great images, I spoke to a few folk who were also there for the same reasons. A gentleman I walked by was quick to tell me, In a half whispered voice, he had spotted a puffin and pointed down toward a ledge. He added he was petrified of heights and his legs were trembling, but he was thrilled to have spotted this famous bird. As I too leant over a little to try and see the Puffin, directed by the mans pointed finger, I was surprised to see it was much more petit than I imagined. About the size of a young rabbit, around 3 metres down on a small shelf. I had always thought they were more like the size of a seagull, but no, this compact little bird was sat preening itself without a care for the raging sea or the onlookers baring over him.

I returned using the northern cliff edge path, shaped like the spines of a dragons back from a birds eye view, I enjoyed the views this offered between the jagged V shaped rifts . The cold air filling my lungs, taking my breath like the first dip into a swimming pool. Pretty, wild flowers danced with the grasses. Seabirds taking advantage of the gusts to keep flight then plunging like a sky diver, head down, wings back before leveling out. Like the carbonated spray from a shaken can just opened, the sea exploded and fizzed at the base of the vertical rock.

The descent provided a growing shelter from the winds, feeling calmer and more protected. I understood now why other visitors to this exposed spot had gone left and right. The views from the edge were well worth the more perilous route.

Taking the route less direct, the path that takes more time, more physical and mental energy, the one that looks less appealing , may also be the journey that brings the biggest sense of discovery, connection, wonder and reward.