Sanday and Stronsay - Teacakes and Rum

  Following another pleasantly peaceful night, this time cocooned in the surprisingly warm little wooden böds, we woke up energised and after a quick wash-and-nosh we were back on the bikes. Our plan for the day was to head north towards two connected tidal islands known as the Holms of Ire, before heading towards Lady Village to find some interesting looking places to explore. 

The well appointed Ayers Rock facilities

Sanday Coastline

We had a gentle ride of an Orkney mile or two, which terminated at the edge-of-nowhere pair of wild tidal islands on the north-west end of Sanday, bleak, desolate and strewn with ruins (St Colm Chapel accounting some of the ruinous items), nautical junk, wrecks (“Alex Hastie” trawler accounting for some of the wrecked items), ominous, solitary dog walkers and such. The causeways were passable at the time we got there but the tide seemed inbound and the terrain tough. Accordingly we made as much haste as possible scrabbling over the slippery, sea-weed covered rocks, avoiding deep, dark pools of seawater and generally having a classic bagging time while getting the obligatory photos along the way! 

Holms of Ire #1

Holms of Ire #2

 Another unhurried ride through rolling green countryside and we were at the local shop in Lady where we replenished our snacks and supplies (Irn Bru and Tunnocks Tea Cakes) and found our first ILP, the nearby Croft Museum, notable in my humble opinion for having an awesome old hootsamaphone – in full working order

Sanday

We poked around the house for a bit, which presented a little snapshot of croft life, massacred Für Elise, and signed the guest book (donating to the honesty box of course!) before heading off to see what other gems we could find. The next ILP was the Heritage Centre, its focus on Viking discoveries and lost walruses. 

Inside the Croft

Outside the Croft

 We had a go with the props as always, the Viking shield, sword and helmet combo seemed to be a popular staple of most Orkney museums (part of a museum starter pack perhaps?!), read about the remarkable Viking discoveries made at Scar and elsewhere, and checked the highly detailed maps on display for any other islands we might reach prior to our first Loganair flight.

Where all the heritage happens

Viking Liam

 Alas, there were no islands near enough, so we embarked on our final Sanday bike ride back to Ayre’s Rock to grab some food, pack, and get kindly taken by Paul himself to the airport to catch our flight to the neighbouring island of Stronsay. No passport control here, just a small room, some dedicated islanders (who already have several jobs) taking time out to sort our baggage and carry out safety checks on the airfield, and photographic evidence that they are rehearsed in quelling any flames that may arise should everything go wrong. The flight went perfectly – of course! “Five minutes isn’t long enough for anything bad to happen.” I said.

Flying over Sanday

Welcome to Stronsay

We touched down, hubris justified, offered the pilot a tea cake as a thank you, and were swiftly swept into a car with a pair of kind gentlemen who offered to take us to the Fish Mart Hostel, our exact destination, located in Whitehall just a few miles from the airport. Too good an offer to pass up, we jumped in and drove down the hill towards the small picturesque fishing village, which included the island’s only shop, pub, hostel and pier. 

Not a soul stirred along the main street where its houses lined the quay silently on one side and humble boats bobbed lazily in the water on the other. The shop showed some signs of activity; from here we were directed towards one of the houses further along the quay to get the hostel key from the hostel keeper, who sure enough let us in to the basic but comfortable accommodation, which appeared unoccupied aside from us. 

The ill-fated mission while we were here was to try and get to Papa Stronsay, a neighbouring island viewable across the quay and inhabited by the Sons of the Most Holy Redeemer. Immediate attempts were made to contact the harbour-master, then the monks themselves. We left some messages on phones and in houses, then hit the shop again, this time to buy some food. In the shop we were told by several people to look out for the monks as they were often coming back and forth between the two islands and apparently happily take visitors to show around. To kill some time while we waited impatiently for news from the monks, we had a little walk around the peaceful coastline, before going back to the hostel to make tea. 

Due to some unfortunate mix up, there wasn’t the facilities we thought there was and we were unable to cook the food we had bought, so we ended up eating at the Stronsay Hotel. However, this turned into a happy accident as it was some of the most delicious home-made lasagne I’ve ever had, I’m serious, and for only a fiver! The barman yet again was English seeking a quieter life from all the hustle and bustle etc, but was very welcoming and served us a number of delectable “Dark and Stormys” while we shot some pool and regaled our adventures to him. A great end to a great day. “But what about the monks?” I hear you ask. I’ll let Sam finish that story because it still niggles me.