Orkney! Day 2: Rousay to Hoy!

We awoke on Day Two to blue skies, refreshed from the journey north (mentally if not physically), and although I knew Sam and I would be keen to get back outside to explore Rousay some more, I wasn't sure how the new recruits were holding up. After all, yesterday's "leisurely stroll" to the broch and cairn had left our legs and feet in shambles and was now affectionately dubbed “The Hell March.” Resilience shone through, however, and the consensus somehow came to be that we would scale the tallest peak on all of Rousay, Blotchnie Fiold, a staggering 249ft, via a nature walk around the Trumland House estate.

The well appointed kitchen at the hostel on Rousay

The view from the front door

 Spirits remained high for at least half an hour before doubt and fatigue set in, once again we had set off without drinks and snacks, our limbs sore and time scant. Rob remained optimistic, the champ, but the rest of us voted bail. So, we continued along the colourful nature trail around Trumland House, evading the occasional bee, grabbed our bags from the hostel and headed back to the Pier Bar to requisition appropriate bagging victuals – pies and Irn Bru. 

The path through the nature reserve

Looking out over Wyre with Shapinsay beyond

Trumland House

 On our way, incidentally, we ran into the postman who we had met on the ferry previously, and he assured us we would still be able to hop on and off the ferry at Egilsay and at Wyre to take a photo. This was some relief to me, as a ferry timetabling quirk had interfered with my perfect itinerary, which had originally included an hour or two on each island. The gang seemed content with the new arrangement, Irn Bru was drunk, pies were ordered, balls were sunk, while we waited for the ferry. Quick stops at Egilsay (3), then Wyre (4), photos, back to Rousay briefly then returned to Tingwall.

Leaving Rousay

Wyre (Brief Stop)

Egilsay (Brief Stop!)

Pies on the quay

 Whilst on the mainland, we had a go at being tourists and stopped by the Maes Howe Chambered Cairn. The friendly assistant behind the desk was incredibly helpful, redirecting us with a hand drawn map to the nearby Cuween Chambered Cairn, which was both free and accessible at all times, and therefore suited our schedule better. Off we went to hunt down another spooky cairn. It was becoming a thing! Cuween’s shape was different to those we had seen on Rousay, access was through a low, narrow tunnel opening into a chamber, with smaller chambers huddled around the sides, and all shrouded in darkness save for the dim glow of an island-issued torch – until the gang whipped their phones out. Didn’t make it any less creepy though.

Liam in the burial chamber

 That night’s accommodation was booked at the Rackwick Hostel on Hoy (5), so after checking out around Cuween it was time to drive on down to Houton and catch the evening ferry to Lyness, Hoy. This crossing was so uneventful Terri didn’t realise we had left until we were well over half way, testament either to the Flow’s calmness or Candy Crush’s enchanting nature. Leaving the ferry port, we decided to head towards South Walls (6?), and so began The Great Question. Is South Walls a distinct island that we could count?

A-Hoy!

 Leaving that hanging, we crossed the causeway, hit the pub, was told South Walls wasn't a separate island, then went for a walk along the coast. We were greeted with amazing views of the Scottish mainland, the Southern Isles, Stroma and Swona, and even lucky enough to spot some finned marine creatures and a seal or two.

First game of Orkney pool

Here we saw seals and possibly sharks (not in the picture though)

Taken on South Walls (for evidence in case it turned out it was an island)

 More breath-taking scenery awaited us on our journey to the hostel as the road took us through Rackwick Valley, with dramatic hills rising steeply on either side, past the Dwarfie Stane, and finally giving way to the wide bay in which Rackwick itself is situated. Despite a brief misunderstanding about our booking, we still had time to have Bangers and Mash for tea. Pro Baggin’! 

(By Liam)

Orkney! Day 1: Mainland and Rousay!

So here we are, back again for our third annual Scottish island bagging tour. This year, a week in Orkney was the plan, with an itinerary put together skillfully by Liam, a long long drive to Scrabster to start us off, boats, planes and hostels all worked out, and a haul of more than twenty islands the intention. First of all, an introduction to the 2013 Orkney crew. You've met me and Liam before (if you haven't, there's a lot of reading for you to do!), with us this year were my charming (not to mention very patient and all round good sport) girlfriend Terri (previous island count - about five; island bagging skills - photo taking, hiking, and being a good tide-coming-in spotter), and Rob, who has known Liam since forever, and who I first met when they both accidentally went to the wrong class at school about sixteen years ago (previous island count - not many; island bagging skills - snacks). You can see them in the picture below practicing their very best thumbs up poses. 

Terri, Rob and Liam on the ferry to Stromness

Anyway, so it was, after meeting in Chesterfield late on Friday night, and a twelve hour drive through the night we got to Scrabster just in time for the ferry, an hour and a half to Stromness, across the Pentland Firth and past the Old Man of Hoy - one of the most iconic landmarks of Orkney, and although when we passed it was pretty misty and damp, half the people on the boat were out taking photos - mine wasn't the best. Soon after, we were cruising into Hoy Sound and docked on the mainland (1) at Stromness. 

The Old Man of Hoy. Better pictures are available!

 We were immediately drawing comparisons to last years trip to Shetland, Orkney is an archipelago of similar size and population, but it's situation so much closer to the Scottish mainland initially gave it a feel less remote and perhaps more accessible. The mainland itself contains the two main towns of Kirkwall and Stromness, as well as a whole host of world class neolithic sites, listed as a UNESCO heritage site because of their archaeological significance. More on them later, however. The rest of the sixty or so main islands of the group are split into the South Isles and the more remote and more sparsely populated North Isles, with both ferries and planes providing connections between them all. 

We didn't get a chance to have much of a look at Stromness, however, as the itinerary demanded a quick blast in the car around the western mainland to the ferry port at Tingwall, where we parked up and set out on foot on a second smaller ferry to Rousay (2), where we would be spending our first Orkney night. Rousay is an island 13.1 miles around, if you go on the road, we knew this because of the upcoming race around the island, and is home to slightly more than two hundred people. It's one of the hillier and more rugged islands of Orkney, to the north west of the mainland, separated by the narrow Eynhallow Sound. 

Terminal

Ferry number two - Tingwall to Rousay

We jumped off the twenty minute boat and carried our bags up the hill in the direction of the hostel, at the Trumland Organic Farm just a few hundred yards from the pier. However, we had only made it an even shorter distance before we were accosted by a man coming out of the pub. Who were we, where we staying, did we want a lift? Did we want a drink? He said he would arrange it all for us, so we happily joined him (Jock) for a mid-afternoon pint. Whilst we waited for our lift (it turned out just a lift for the bags, but it was hardly that far anyway) we talked to Jock about the smaller islands around Rousay, and whether we would be able to get there. 

Rousay - Island #2

Eynhallow is a small island in the Eynhallow Sound (obviously) with a ruined church and it's used for sheep grazing, but apparently the man with a boat that might have been able to take us had family visiting from New Zealand, so perhaps he might be too busy (too bad). The Holm of Skokness, situated around to the East and in between Rousay and Egilsay is smaller again, and to get there we would apparently have to traverse the land owned by new blood in the island and it didn't seem likely that we'd be able to get there either. It seemed therefore that we would have to settle for getting to know Rousay instead, so after getting our bearings at the hostel we decided to take a leisurely stroll along the road the the Midhowe Broch at 

Westness. 

The view from the hostel

The view of the hostel

 This is one of the more important sites in Orkney, let alone Rousay, with a huge burial chamber preserved under a modern cover, the Broch itself (pretty good, but not as good as Mousa, we've clearly been spoiled on the Broch front) and a chain of further ruinous buildings along the coast, tracing history from neolithic man, through vikings settlers and medieval farmers right up to the present day.

Blackhammer Chambered Cairn. One of many Chambered Cairns you will see

I hadn't slept for thirty hours and had just walked five miles. Tired face.

Midhowe Broch

Looking down Eynhallow Sound from the Broch

Neolithic living room

It was a long long time, however, before we were able to find any of this out, and this is probably a good time to introduce the concept of the 'Orkney Mile'. Whenever someone on Orkney says something is a mile away, it takes three times as long to walk it as it does anywhere else, so the five miles from the hostel the Broch, a half hour poke around, and then the five mile walk back again, after a night in the car without a bed, and a full days exploring on top, left us more than ready for a simple meal of pasta, a glass of wine and a game of cards before winding down for bed. Day one done, two new islands, but this was just a gentle reintroduction to the island bagging ways (and with the 'hearty' walk, a bit of a baptism of fire, perhaps? Tomorrow? A-Hoy!

Sunset over Eynhallow

 Essex Part 2

Our second trip to Essex was planned solely to visit Foulness Island, being turned away the first time due to its restricted access only made it that much more alluring. So, as the first Sunday of July rolled around, Sam and I headed back down to the south-east coast, through a surprising amount of day-tripping traffic bound for Southend-on-Sea (I presume?) and then onwards to Great Wakering, just north of Shoeburyness. 

We had a brief chat with the guys on the gate at Qinetic again to explain our quest and confirm which islands we could and couldn't go to (further confusion abound), signed in, and received our laminate pass that would give us access finally to Foulness Island from midday.

Super Secret Access Pass!

Super Secret MOD Convoy

We weren't allowed to stop for photos on Havengore or New England islands

The drive from the main land to Foulness was uneventful, aside from the volume of potentially illegal photography being committed in order to properly document our adventure, and the additions of Havengore (1) and New England (2) islands to our lists (despite the gate dude's mis-information).
We followed the signs in Churchend to the Heritage Centre, the only place on the island it's possible for visitors to go, and promptly showered ourselves (and the car) in Lambrini to celebrate our first island centenary on Foulness (3). Hurray! Things were looking good, and a friendly old Essex man explained where we could walk without mixing ourselves up with "unexploded material."

The most difficult to access village in the UK?

Celebration Times!

We definitely were there

After the celebrations, self-congratulatory pats on the back and excitement over the possibility of tractor rides, we strolled over to the Heritage Centre to get the skinny on this recondite island. Now, whether it was the Lambrini coursing through our veins or not, we found the Centre hilarious - "punt-gunning" being a particular highlight, along with some ill-placed no-entry signs and travellers itineraries harking back to a more mysterious time, where one straw hat just wasn't enough. Tipsy or sober, it's one of those delightfully quaint museums that covers such a small uneventful area, so that every last bottle, bit of combine harvester and correspondence gets put on display.

Punt Gunning!

Well Boring

The funniest thing ever to happen on Foulness

After the Heritage Centre, and perusing the guest book for our island bagging competitors, we decided to head for another of Essex's islands, Bridgemarsh, rather than hang around for a tractor ride on Foulness. So, back in the car, we headed back to the mainland and around to Althorne to see about this next island. 

When we arrived at Bridgemarsh Marina, there were a lot of boats but not a lot of people. Sam and I again debated whether we should just jump in the water and swim across. Yet again we chickened out and instead went to search and accost whichever innocent boat-owners we could find. Our luck was still running strong, leading us to the another super friendly and helpful Essex guy waiting by the shore, who, after explanation of our quest, was able to hook us up with a short hop to Bridgemarsh Island (4) on his buddy's boat.

Leaky, Muddy Boat-Ride

Bridgemarsh Island

As we waited for said buddy (who was out in the boat with prospective buyers), the guy told us an interesting story of a boy who used to live on the island. Apparently he would row across to the mainland, walk ten miles to school, walk back and row home everyday! The remains of some sort of building still stand on the island, although as we were relying on the kindness of strangers, and ignoring RSPB "Keep Off" signs, we didn't have time to check the island out. The boat hop was fun though, the island bleak and muddy. The prospective buyers seemed to enjoy helping us too, which was amazing and finalised our u-turn on Essexian approachability. Those Essex lot are all right, really.

Knee-Deep

Next we drove to Bradwell-on-Sea to see about getting to Pewit Island. We tried everything, from asking Daniel Radcliffe look-a-likes for help, to asking marina managers, to having the classic debate about swimming to it. All options exhausted, we headed to the pub for a swift glass of cider before heading home. A shame to end on a fail, but we were already putting plans in place for Orkney and Anglesey and clinking glasses to the next hundred islands.

Baggers be Bagging 2013: A Long Day Out in Essex!

After a long and pointlessly cold and wet winter, we finally got around to arranging a trip to try to draw us closer in to the magical three figures, only twelve islands to go to get to the hundred. The trip didn't start well, Liam was supposed to be driving from Bristol to Milton Keynes to stop over and get an early start, but after setting off without either a map or a particularly good understanding of the way, and at least two phone calls from roundabouts in Oxford, he finally turned up just before midnight, so it wasn't quite the early night we were expecting.

So it was at seven we weren't exactly bright eyed and bushy tailed, but we got a good start down the M1 and around the M25 into Essex, where we arrived at the easiest and least interesting island either of us had visited in a long time, Canvey Island (1). Knowing that we had a long day ahead of us, we only stopped long enough to park up at a leisure centre and dash across a busy roundabout to what was probably the best thing about Canvey, it had a really good island sign. It's difficult to see that there is much difference between island life and that on the mainland when there are such good (multiple) bridges across the marshy gap, no feeling of isolation or dependence on the sea, although admittedly we didn't spend a lot of time searching for the true heart of Canvey. One to tick off rather than one to remember.

Canvey Island

We had come with only vague plans of where we were headed, no proper map, and only my smartphone with patchy reception to show us where we might find some offshore delights, so it was perhaps with a bit of luck that we managed to navigate our way to Leigh-on-Sea, and the flat, marshy nature reserve of Two-Tree Island (2), joined by a bridge and home to an RC model club, who were flying tiny aeroplanes overhead as we arrived. Most of our time here was spent discussing the difficulties faced in island bagging in this part of the world. Rather than these being individualistic landmasses with cliffs and well defined borders, we seemed to be traipsing over muddy flats with water snaking in and up and around in all different directions, so much so that it was difficult to tell what was connected to what, what would be covered by the tide, and whether any of it was really an island at all. After scouting around the edge of a particularly labyrinthine bit of marshland we gave up, agreed that Two Tree Island would definitely only count as one island, and headed back to the car to travel on to our first disappointment of the day.



Two Tree Island

We knew before we left that we might have difficulties reaching Foulness Island, owned as it is by Qinetiq on behalf of the MoD, and maintained as a live firing range, but the available info online was conflicting, some of it said that we couldn't go at all, some said that there might be some places we could access and some we couldn't, and we figured the best way to find out would be to rock up at the entrance and ask.

Apparently not, was the answer, though we tried to blag it as best we could, apparently no we couldn't phone people living on Foulness at random and ask them to invite us to visit, nor could we just run over the bridge, take a photo and run back again, nor could we get a lift with the security guards when they did their security patrol and pop out to grab some pictures. I don't particularly want to criticise an agency who possess massive guns in an open post on the internet, but come on, it was hardly like we were going to infiltrate the camp and commit some military espionage (though that would have been pretty exciting too!) - suffice to say, we got a leaflet for the open day, first Sunday of each month (which it wasn't) and said we'd come back then (which we will!)

The biggest disappointment was that to get across to Foulness we would have been able to cross New England and Havengore islands, and had the guards been particularly kind, nearby Potton and Rushley islands also form part of the forbidden archipelago of south east Essex. We'll get you all one day. Still, we'd been out since half seven, it was nearly lunchtime, and we'd only been to two islands. It was starting to feel like a bad day's bagging, and it was a while before it got much better.

Next up was Wallasea (3). Apparently they are planning on turning it into a bird sanctuary. It has a marina with a cafe and a farm with big warehouses. We weren't sure if it was an island because there are ditches everywhere but no obvious channel, and also because there aren't any signs that say Wallasea Island, and we needed a sign to take a photo in front of to prove we'd been there, in the end we had to make do with an address on the sign at the marina. Pretty uninspiring. I can see the argument that there is a quiet beauty in the bleak landscapes and flat horizons, it's just not very exciting, is it.

Wallasea Island

Wallsea Island Sign

We also didn't get a particularly welcoming impression from the people of Essex. I'm sure there are lots of lovely people in Essex, but on previous visits to more far flung destinations we've explained our mission to people we've met and they've been only too keen to help us out, point us in the right direction and give us a hand. Essex was full of blank faces and signs that said private. Maybe because the islands around the coast of Essex are so easy to get to, the people haven't developed a sense of kinship with visitors in that they've both had to make the same efforts to get there, there's no secret accomplishment shared, just a bridge over a ditch. Again, sorry good people of Essex, but you weren't the most encouraging (apart from one notable exception, but we'll get to her later.)

Stuff at Wallasea

Next came a long drive around the coast, got a bit lost in Rayleigh, up the A12 to Chelmsford and on to Colchester, where we took increasingly smaller roads to St Osyth and further to Lee-Over-Sands. Without knowing why, both me and Liam had independently of each other got the impression that there was an island off the coast here, called Ray Island, apparently according to Wikipedia it's popular with picnickers and daytrippers. I think we must have got it wrong, as this was easily the most unwelcoming place we had ever been. I have never been to a settlement before where you have to pass so many no entry signs to get there. How does the postman cope, can you get online shopping delivered? The road to Lee-Over-Sands stops being tarmac a long way before you get there, and the atmosphere on the two streets was something similar to the set of a gritty London gangster film, and this was the desolate place where the hero finds himself when the bad guy opens the boot of the car holding a shotgun. Or something like that. We couldn't find any island (indeed we couldn't make it to the coast, we got scared by one no entry sign too many), and not wanting to interrupt the one or two people going about their business, we left to take the trip back up to Colchester and back down to Mersea Island. No idea about that Ray Island.

Mersea Island

Waiting for Stace on the pontoon

Mersea (4) was a proper island, crossed by the causeway known as "The Strood", with it's major settlement at West Mersea, predictably enough on the western side. We parked up next to a long row of grand looking houseboats stuck deep in the mud along the coast road, with long ramshackle gangplanks leading across to their open-decked sun terraces, nice spot in the sunshine. What we could also see, in the bay formed at the end of creeks, was at least one definite island, and probably some more. The closest we learned was called Cobmarsh Island, and it looked from a distance like only a little paddle would get us there. However as happens so often when we get hopeful, the closer we got, the wider and deeper the channel seemed to become. Liam was a little more gung-ho that I, maintaining that we would be able to swim there and back if we really went for it, but even he didn't actually get as far as dipping a toe in the water. Frustrated we toyed with the idea of 'borrowing' one of the rowing boats on the foreshore, but this would definitely be wrong, so we decided instead that we would try to find ourselves a ride in a more legal fashion.

Boats at West Mersea

Realising that no boats were going to come to us, we wandered up the road to the boatyard where we saw a sign advertising boat trips in the bay on the Lady Grace, twenty minutes, two quid each. Perfect, now if only we could hijack the route to include some landings! After an absolutely necessary stop at the pub (to get cashback, which they would only let us have if we bought a pint, oh well!) we spoke to Stacey who said she'd be more than happy to take us on a little trip, but we'd have to be quick as she had a wedding to go to. Already she had the "most helpful person in Essex" award in the bag, and we hadn't even got in her boat yet. Negotiating dozens of crabbers on the pontoon we climbed onto the Lady Grace and set off.

Cobmarsh Island

The Packing Shed at Packing Shed Island

First stop was Cobmarsh Island (5), though nothing more than a jump on and jump off, with no real landing place (or really any reason to land) Stacey had to try to draw her boat as close to the muddy shore as she could to avoid us getting wet. She then swung us around and carried on to Packing Shed Island (6), then Sunken Island (7) and finally further up the channel separating Mersea from the mainland to set foot on the very tip of Ray Island (8). Is this a different Ray Island to the one we were looking for earlier? It didn't look likely that there would be many daytrippers on this one, with the mud and seabirds pretty much ruling the roost, but it all remains a mystery. We tried to keep as much as the mud as possible from transferring from the islands to the boat, but this wasn't exactly easy, we're sorry again Stacey for dirtying your lovely boat! She dropped us off at the pontoon and we headed back to the car to see what other plans could be made.

Sunken Island

A Ray Island

On Board the Lady Grace

The time was about seven, we'd managed to turn a bad prospect into a good haul of islands visited, but we weren't ready to give up yet. Back along the Blackwater estuary towards Maldon are two more islands, separated by causeways from the mainland. It was soon after high tide and we weren't sure if they would be passable, but we wanted to have a look. The first was Osea Island, which is most definitely private. I've previously contacted them, told them about our quest and asked if we can pop over for a day, I was simply told no, you can only cross the causeway if you're willing to pay to stay in our properties. Hardly fair when all I want is a photo or two. Me and Liam were considering just dashing for it and hoping we didn't get seen, but when we encountered signs saying that trespassers would be prosecuted even before we could see the sea let alone the island, we decided against it. We will definitely go to Osea island one day, but perhaps it will need to be on their terms.

Northey Island (Tide=In)

Wading the channel

Just a bit further on through Maldon, however, leading from the most unassuming driveway in a gap between suburban houses on the edge of town, is the entrance to the road through a farm and down to the causeway leading to Northey Island (9). This one is national trust owned. Whilst we're both members, we were supposed to get a permit to visit. Sorry, we didn't, but we only stayed for five minutes! The causeway when we arrived was still fairly deeply under water, but a helpful couple walking their dogs told us that the tide would go out quickly, in less than an hour we'd be able to cross. Had we not known this, we might have given up, it was getting late and the light was starting to fade, but we persevered. Eventually tiring of waiting for the short causeway to dry out completely, I decided it was time for shoes and socks off, shorts on, getting wet. Liam was a little more reticent but we slowly made progress across the gap, it wasn't too deep but the pull of the tide rushing out made it tricky to keep going in a straight line. We definitely didn't want to leave the safety of the track and slip into the weeds, but we couldn't exactly see the bottom very clearly. Tricky going, but we made it in the end, took a quick photo for posterity, ran back again (in the five minutes we had spent on the island the tide had gone out significantly) and got back to the car in time for a trip back to Milton Keynes, getting home about ten.

On Northey

A long day, a bit of a mad scramble, nine islands, not a lot of inspiration or assistance, but we did draw ourselves so close to the magical hundred figure, only three more to go!



A Low Sun over the Blackwater Estuary