Disaster Averted and our first Nightbag! A long, long day in Cornwall

 So first of all the good news, I have today purchased a spanking new computer, as the old one was starting to get so slow that uploading photos took an absolute age, and made keeping this blog up to date a real chore. Now I've caught up with the decade technology wise, things are much easier and I should be able to add more islands much more frequently. I thought I'd celebrate with some pictures and writing about a recent trip Liam and I took to Cornwall, where we braved the decidedly autumnal conditions to seek out a set of very different and individual islands...

Kynance Cove

We left Bristol at seven after only about four hours sleep, having watched the excellent Stewart Lee live the night before, and not got to bed until about two, so we weren't exactly bright eyed and bushy tailed, but a cup of coffee and the sight of the empty M5 southbound finally got us going. Our first and most distant target was the mysterious Asparagus Island, not featured in any of the many books about islands that we've been collecting, it was only a devoted scan of googlemaps that alerted me to it's existence, but as a sizable tidal clump with beach access it certainly looked worth a go. 

Asparagus Island

Derelict Cottage at Kynance Cove

 We finally got to Kynance Cove around eleven, after a long slog through Devon and Cornwall, and parked up at the National Trust car park on the clifftop, and after paying the one pound charge for members who haven't got their cards (really, really need to remember to get a new one) we set off on the trek down to the shore. There are two paths here, a short one for when the tide is out, and a longer one for when it's in, as there is a short section on the short path that gets cut off when the sea is high. The fact that we had been sent the long way around suggested we hadn't timed it exactly perfectly to cross on the sand to Asparagus Island, and as expected after winding down to the beachside cafe and across the headland we could see some serious swells running over the thirty metres or so that separate the island from the shore.

The Sea was still there

Still there...

Knowing that we'd have a wait of at least an hour, we decided that we'd check out what offerings the cafe might have for breakfast. Lots, it turned out, but then reason #1 for a 30 minute round trip back up to the car park, I'd left my wallet in the car. Long walk back up to the National Trust car park, but when we arrived, the car was open but Liam's keys were nowhere to be found. Not in the bag, not in the pocket, nowhere. Therefore, reason #2 for another walk, retracing our steps back down the long path to the cafe, over the headland, back up the path again and all the way back to the car, no sign of the keys anywhere. As a last resort, asked the guy in the National Trust car park booth. Keys were handed in within a minute of us parking up. Silly sods dropped them on the floor. We'd just about come to terms with the prospect of calling the AA to do something to resolve the situation, hundreds of miles away from anywhere, but it wasn't a fun idea.

But now it was retreating

Enough for us to make it to the top!

So for the second time we walked down the long path to the beach, but at least we'd wasted some of the time whilst the tide was going out. Not all of the time, it seemed, as whilst the actual causeway across to Asparagus Island was drying, we also needed to get around from the beach as there was no path down from the nearest headland. After an hour of me watching and Liam snoozing it was close to two, but then finally I decided that the time was right to go for it. The sea still covered the path but it was shallow enough that we could just about dash for it if we didn't mind getting wet legs. Although I possibly went a little deeper than I wanted, belly-button deep with my only pair of trousers on, we got around and onto the sand ready for an assault of the steep cliffs of Asparagus Island.

One of the best caves I've ever seen

Ready for the running the sea-gauntlet

Quickly to the top, some photos and a look around at the other free standing stacks in the vicinity, all of them too steep for any habitation, then a descent back to the beach, where there are several proper sized caves to explore. After braving the deeps of the path back to civilisation, we completed our third ascent of the cliff path to the car, and off to more adventure.

Next up we were going for St Michael's Mount. You may recall from our trip to Scilly in 2012 that we were left staring wistfully across the causeway as the waves whipped over. This time, it was just as wet, but most of it was coming from the sky. The causeway was barely passable, and by the time we got there the tide was coming in again, but the rain had begun lashing down, and it wasn't really fun to do anything other than run over, take some pictures and run back again. It looks like an awesome island to explore, but sadly we just didn't have the right day.

The slightly wet causeway

The Harbour at St Michael's Mount

On the way back, we jumped up on top of Chapel Rock, in a flagrant lack of attention to our own self imposed rules, Liam decided that as it had steps on it it must count as an island, but the presence of some tufts of grass on the top and the fairly substantial size means it will get a place in the list.

On the Mount

Fairly Wet

Wetter

After these triumphs, a couple of failures. Firstly we made a highly speculative attempt to reach Samphire Island. It's definitely somewhere off the North coast of Cornwall, south of Newquay, but we got as far as driving along the road in the general region before realising the absolute gale was going to make any attempt at running over the mile or so of fields to the coast absolutely miserable. We carried on to Newquay.

Here we wanted to go to Towan Island, the picturesque tower of rock just off the cliffs in the middle of the town, with it's very own suspension bridge and guest house on top, but we got as far as the door that said private and that didn't open with a welcoming face when we knocked. Nobody to explain the quest to, nobody to let us in with welcoming arms and allow us across the bridge. Pants.

The closest we came to Towan Island, you can just see the bridge

 Finally, just a mile or so up the coast, a sure fire bag was on offer. Porth Island is another landmass connected by a short bridge over a channel washed to soaking at high tide. By this time it was both stormy and completely night time, and we enjoyed the prospect of our very first island visited in the night time. No idea what Porth Island looks like, other than it's dark and it's quite hard to not step in puddles of mud. Still, we did it, took the photo, got the (wet) T-shirt, and as soon as we got back to the car it was a swift dash back to Bristol.

He's putting on that smile, it was horrible

But was it worth it?

 Left at seven in the morning, got back close to eleven at night, managed to bag four Cornish islands in varying degrees of comfort, but a great day was had by all (both)!

 Liam's Mousa Memory: Daughters and Crabs

Another departure from the Orkney trip report here, Liam has supplied me with this reminiscence of our last day in Shetland last year, and as I failed to get to the end of the series myself, this rounds off the matter nicely. More tales from Orkney next week!

 

Our last day on Shetland provided us with an opportunity to correct a minor itinerary error. Sam and I resolved to get up early (around six I think), shoot up to West Burrafirth to get the ferry to Papa Stour, shoot back down to Sumburgh Head to pick up Fran and Mike with time spare for the officially planned Mousa day trip. With an improved familiarity with the roads of mainland Shetland and the tribal cacophony of Animal Collective blasting from the car stereo, we sped to West Burrafirth and boarded the Papa Stour ferry. And lo and behold, our fisherman friend from Vementry was one of the ferry fellas! 

Papa Stour Ferry Terminal

Liam on Papa Stour

Sam on Papa Stour

He was quick to introduce us to the other members of the crew, "These are the island baggers I was telling you about," said he to his friends. We felt pretty good about ourselves just then, maybe it was that we hadn't fully woken up and were still a little dreamy in the brain. Whatever; it was an awesome coincidence. So Hamish said it was cool for Sam and I to hop off the ferry at Papa Stour for a quick snap before joining them on the immediate return trip back again, as we were pushed for time. This meant that we didn't get to look around the island, but I'm sure we will in the future when we inevitably return to Shetland. 

From the Mousa Ferry

The last island of Shetland

Walking on Mousa

Car, back down the road, picked up the others (Fran was lost somewhere looking for puffins I seem to recall) and then on to the jetty in Sandwick to catch the boat to Mousa. This boat trip is run by the RSPB for a cost of about £15 per person, however, we were not heading there to look at birds (although watching the terns divebomb into the water was pretty cool), but to check out the rather interesting looking Iron Age Broch, easily visible from the mainland due to its surprisingly unweathered stature.

Mouse Broch

Back then we were broch noobs, and were thoroughly impressed by the size of the structure, and of how much remains in tact. It was absolutely fantastic; strangely adorned keystones, scary cubby holes, stairs that you could actually go up, all helping us to feel close to the past; tangible history that gives you a special feeling. The experience blew our broch fuses, and none since have come even close. Sorry to all of Orkney (even the little child-made model brochs, which I still hold as being better than some of the actual ruins), but there it is, all other brochs seem mundane by comparison. 

Inside the Broch

Outside the Broch

After a brief stomp around the island and a debate as to whether our morals would stretch to us jumping the wall and entering forbidden territory to bag Mousa's satellite island, we were treated to an excercise by the Oscar Charlie helicopter crew. A person was lowered down to the very island we were coveting, to be "rescued" a few minutes later. It seemed like a lot of trouble to get to that particular island (by the way Oscar Charlie crew, if you EVER need volunteers for that exercise, we're your men!), so we put a pin in it for the time being and settled on the beach for lunch. Well, sausage rolls and that, wholesome bagging fayre! And something about crabs and daughters at the end there, but it's faded from memory.

Mousa Cliff Architecture

That's the story of our last day on Shetland, after Mousa we headed back to Lerwick for the ferry home, excitedly planning our next adventure!

The Isle of Sheppey!

    Just a brief interlude from the continuing tales of our trip to Orkney, to report on a little jaunt we took on    Sunday, a most civilised affair, bagging a brace of islands with a nice meal and all home before dark.

We set off from Milton Keynes at about eleven, we being Me, Terri and Liam, Liam having already driven up from Bristol early in the morning, and followed in the footsteps of two of our previous days out down the M1 and onto the M25, but this time we carried on around the orbital, over the Dartford crossing into Kent. It was unfortunate that it was the first time that we'd been bagging in Kent, because if we had been before we might have known that we would need two pounds in cash to pay for the bridge. As it was we made do with holding up the queue for a while as the helpful chap wrote us an invoice. Apparently fourteen pence didn't have sufficient bargaining power. 

Sheerness - Sheer Exhilaration

"Groynes" - haha

Safely over the border and into England's Southeastern-most county we headed east towards the large and well populated Isle of Sheppey. The way onto the island is over the fairly long, high and imposing bridge, scene of a recent accident involving around 100 vehicles who got all smashed up in the fog. No such issues for us today, and we cruised around into Sheerness town centre. 

Sheerness clock

Stopping for a walk along the seafront looking out over the Thames estuary, we reflected that this was not the most impressive, exciting, secluded or picturesque of islands that any of us had been to. It may even have been at the bottom of all of those scales. Little more needs to be said on our impression of Sheerness, aside from a brief positive mention of a really good pet shop, where I went quite close to a tarantula and Terri enjoyed a lot of guinea pigs. 

Harty

From here we carried on around the island's fairly un-islandy landscape along to the east, before taking a side-road into the wilderness that is now known as, and used to technically be, the Isle of Harty. In the past this would have counted as a separate island (apparently, with the similar Isle of Elmley, the area used to be known as the "Isles of Sheppey") before the channels between them silted up and now they are all connected. Our destination here was the Harty Ferry Inn, located on the Sheppey side of one of the ancient ferry routes across the channel known as the Swale, which also lends its name to the district of Kent where the island is found. Here we had a most pleasant roast, and a little wander down to the waterline for a look at what was about. Not much else. This being seemingly the sum total of the excitement on offer on the Isle of Sheppey, we decided to head for home, but on the way we did make a detour into Chatham for our first island duplicate. 

The landing point of the Harty ferry

St Mary's Island is a large, rural island, home to the capital of Scilly, Hugh Town, and lots of orchards and flower farms. It is also a great big housing estate in Chatham, Kent. We crossed the bridge onto the island, drove around the ring road that linked all the parts of the estate, and then drove off again, only stopping for a picture. 

3 out of 4 thumbs?

 Some days, island bagging is a pursuit that puts you at one with nature, some days you meet the most interesting people who have stories to tell to inspire you on your quest, sometimes there is mild peril, most days there is adventure, you see landscapes from paintings and wildlife from Attenborough shows. Other days you go to Sheppey. Stay tuned for more interesting islands soon.  

Wahey!

Orkney! Day 4: South Ronaldsay to Sanday!

Day Four began wet, grey and unremitting, but I’m think I’m safe in saying that it was the first good night’s sleep we’d all had so far, sorry Sam! We had a quick breakfast and headed back along the only road to Kirkwall to catch the ferry to Shapinsay. As we were leaving the car this time to save costs, we needed to find somewhere to park it reasonably cheaply and within walking distance to the ferry. This turned out to be straightforward and we found Kirkwall to have a variety of short (cheap) and long (free) term parking (not sure on logic there) close to where we were headed. 

Shapinsay!

On the way to the causeway to Helliar Holm

The sailing was fairly run of the mill, again the waters were calm despite the slightly stormier weather, but as we approached Shapinsay, Helliar Holm came in to view with an alluring causeway seeming to stretch from one island to the other. Being the baggers that we were, we made a bee line for the beach closest to Helliar Holm, full of cider and optimism, navigated slippery rocks and stranded jellyfish before coming to the realisation that both the tide was coming in and the rock causeway had a rather large break halfway along. 

 No we weren’t up for swimming, though the idea was floated (for old time’s sake), so we continued east along the road to see if we could find any of the arbitrary landmarks I had selected for the itinerary to lure new recruits Terri and Rob:

“Landmarks include a standing stone, an Iron Age broch, a souterrain and a salt-water shower.

In 1905, The Orcadian newspaper reported that a strange creature had been seen off the coast of Shapinsay. It was reportedly the size of a horse, with a spotted body covered in scales. Opinion on the creature's origin was divided, with some islanders believing it to be a sea serpent, while others opined that it was merely a large seal.”

The harbour at Shapinsay

 So it was with great disappointment that after ten minutes, the rain and the wind picked up enough to harry us back into town to seek shelter and warmth, which was found in spades at the Heritage Centre. We ordered some ballast (sausage, egg and beans) and the staff kindly offered to hang our coats to dry near the boiler, explaining that we could go upstairs to look around the exhibition and she would call us when the food was ready.
 

Balfour Village, Shapinsay, in the rain

The most memorable part of the museum for me were the reports written by local children of events that had happened to their grandparents; fishermen being stuck on Auskerry, memories of the German warships, that sort of thing. Also, there was a fantastic model of Burroughston Broch, the first of many great models we encountered around Orkney, mostly made by school children I believe. Those kids have some serious talent on their hand. Or time. We ate, Rob bought some delicious spicy ginger treats, and we headed back to get an earlier-than-planned ferry as the weather had made it difficult to do much except a quick stop at the salt-water shower.
 

Burroughston Broch model

On the boat

A slightly more interesting sail back as we were sharing the ferry with the very school children whose work we had been perusing in the Heritage Centre and they told us they had seen some orcas swim by their school earlier in the year and elucidated on the subtle complexities of Top Trumps. A nice life for some I suppose.

Our next destination was Sanday, but later in the day, so we spent the intervening time exploring Kirkwall, stopping in at the St Magnus Cathedral. I scoured the place for “mushroom art” amongst the intricately decorated stained glass in the hopes of finding some validation for my flatmate Jake’s theory, but alas none was found.

Hanging out in town

St Magnus Cathedral, Kirkwall

It turned out fortunate that we had caught the earlier ferry back from Shapinsay, as industrial action was taking place within the ferry operators and were therefore running an amended timetable. This meant an earlier ferry to Sanday and without calling in at Eday on the way. Luckily we had no real plans for Eday aside from jumping on and off the ferry a la Egilsay and Wyre, so only marginally dismayed, we boarded our last inter-island ferry (flying from here on out!) for Sanday, leaving the car and the mainland proper for the Northern Isles. 

We were informed by a fellow passenger that it would be wise to book seats on the Sanday bus to take us to the Ayres Rock campsite, to avoid a nine (Orkney) mile hike with all our gear. Seats reserved over the phone with ease, the bus met us directly after disembarking from the ferry and dropped us at the campsite for less than £2 each. Ayres Rock’s Paul greeted us and showed us around, offered to hire us bikes for just £5 between us, and directed us to the pubs in Kettletoft.  

Liam on his bike

 We set off in an excitable mood in the wrong direction, got corrected by a passing car, and continued cycling in leisurely fashion. The island seemed remote in every direction, low hills and sea around us, no obvious village/town and in the distance the neighbouring islands of Stronsay and Westray either side. It was a deliciously peaceful ride with the bikes lending the evening a Famous Five air. We enjoyed our drinks and pool at both pubs, and blindly navigated our way home in the dark, the only lights being the occasionally rotation of a nearby lighthouse beacon. Paul’s Camping Pods were up to comfy-cosy code, and another great night’s sleep finished another great day’s adventuring! 

Downhill to Kettletoft

Somewhere on Sanday

Orkney! Day 3: Hoy to South Ronaldsay!

 

The Hostel

Day three started beautifully, waking in the bright sunshine in the deserted but serene Rackwick Valley. After a quick breakfast we ignored the path leading up into the hills for the Old Man (we simply didn't have a whole day to cover the seven miles there and back), and drove the short distance from the hostel down to the seafront and strolled along past farmhouse and bothy to the beach. The sound of the Atlantic surf was constant, washing the giant pebbles that made up the foreshore, with a wide, but narrowing with the tide, expanse of flat golden sand beyond. A perfect venue, it could be said, for the 2013 All Britain Rock Boules Championships. You may have read about the 2012 championships which took place on Muckle Roe in Shetland, and so Rackwick beach in Hoy proved a worthy setting for the next installment. 

 

The mouth of Rackwick valley

Early morning sunshine

Over the rickety bridge to the beach

 After briefing Terri and Rob on the very brief rules, marking out a target, and selecting our stones from the ample store to hand, Wales (me) quickly established a lead, Ireland (Liam) almost failed to register entirely, and the two newcomers England (Terri) and Scotland (Rob) fought it out in the middle. All looked set for a big Welsh victory until it came down to the final five stones, with Scotland needing three direct hits on the central rock target to pip them at the post. Two direct hits later it was all very tense for the final stone. It missed, Wales won, and the rest was history (until next year....Hirta Rock Boules? (is that a clue about our next adventure!?)) 

Surveying the pitch

Final positions

 Following this bit of harmless frivolity we returned to the car and drifted back along the only road to civilisation, pausing for a stop to have a look at the "dwarfie stane", one of the more interesting chambered cairns in the isles. Rather than lug a load of smaller rocks to this unassuming spot on the side of the valley, the ancient men 5000 years ago found a great big one 8.5 metres long already there and carved out the inside, big enough to crawl inside. Stories about as to the use of the rock, and whilst archaeologists seem to think that it was used as a tomb, I prefer the idea that it was used as a prison by warring giants looking to gain control of the island of Hoy from each other. Interesting carvings inside and a good slab for a photo on top!

On the lookout for giants! Or giant dwarfies! (normal sized?)

 Our next stop was Lyness, and we had a few hours until the time for the next ferry, which was lucky because it gave us time to stop and take a proper look around the main site for some of Orkney's most modern and least neolithic history. The Scapa Flow Visitor Centre & Museum comes highly recommended, with a veritable feast of massive military machinery outside, and a hangar's worth of displays and documents detailing the vital rule that the wide natural harbour of Scapa Flow played as the host of the 'home fleet' in the first and second world wars.

 

Rob defending the Flow

Aside from the tales of the seamen posted in such a 'bloody' place so far from home, and the intricate cat-and-mouse strategies employed by the navies who seem to have constantly fought for the upper hand at such close quarters, it was actually most interesting to read about the impact on the local people, not least the money to be made and lost in the salvage efforts, trying to raise the tons and tons of metal sunk in the shallow waters by the German high command. Also worthy of a mention here the giant oil-drum behind the museum, itself another hall of machinery and vehicles, but best of all one of the most incredible echo-chambers you are ever likely to see (or hear). We're sure that the other visitors must have puzzled over the ape-like howls we were making for the sheer awesomeness of the echoes. Again also worthy of mention the excellent cafe, perfect for a lunch on the go (try the tiffin!)

Terri enjoying the dressing up box in the museum

Should have read "Skippers scuttled skiff scuppered at Scapa", can't get the headline writers these days! (I know it wasn't skiff's that got scuppered or scuttled at Scapa, but it's more fun to say if it was. Also how to fit SCUBA in to that sentence?)

 next up, it was time for the short ferry-hop over to Flotta, Orkney's oil island, with a terminal with a constant burning flame and a large peninsula at the northern end of the island solely given over to the works. We were only on Flotta for a couple of hours, and not really knowing where to go or what there was to see, we headed to the end of the road at the south end of the island. It was a bit of a post-industrial wasteland, and we wandered around a disused quarry with abandoned machinery overlooking the Pentland Firth with views back to the mainland. After a while we came upon the abandoned Stanger Battery. There was a certain peace amongst the ruins where so many men prepared for violent battle, but before long it was time to head back to the ferry, stopping by the quay to watch our first close-up Orkney seal.

Flottaliscious

Is this called a travelator? Something for moving rocks from one place to another anyway.

Either a view through Stanger Battery ruins or the front cover of a 1980's folk album.

 After we got back to the mainland at Houton we drove up the coast for our first view of the pretty town of Kirkwall, capital of the isles, revisited in more detail at least once later on, for now we merely stopped at the Tesco to pick up evening supplies before continuing our journey south, over the great feats of engineering works known as the Churchill Barriers. Constructed during the second world war to seal off the gaps between the chain of islands to the eastern side of Scapa Flow, replacing a series of 'blockships' sunk to stop enemy boats getting through, they form a continuous road from the village of St Mary's on the mainland, via Lamb Holm, Glimps Holm and Burra before reaching their southern end on the island of South Ronaldsay, where we were to spend the night. 

Lamb Holm thumbs up time!

On Lamb Holm we visited the wonder that is the Italian Chapel, constructed by homesick POW's in the war. despite being apparently made from just the construction materials that were lying around at the time, inside it is as ornate and colourful as many more traditional churches, and all the more so for its location on the side of a desolate tiny island in the middle of nowhere. From here we went on to Glimps Holm which was unremarkable, and then to Burra where we took a detour from the main road down a side track and eventually just across a field, in search of a tidal island which looked eminently baggable from the map, called Hunda. Eventually reaching a farm we didn't want to trespass, so we knocked on the door and a lovely lady told us the route through the yard and across a causeway, it was just a quick dash and back as we needed to be at the hostel by eight to get the key. It was sad on the way back to see one of her sheep in a most un-natural and stiff position, when we told her she was sure it was just sleeping, but we think it must have been worse (if you're reading, we hope your sheep was OK, also thanks for the eggs!)

The Italian Chapel

A good cow. Not sure where we saw this, maybe Flotta, but I like it

 From here it wasn't far to South Ronaldsay and St Margaret's Hope, where we spent a peaceful night in the backpackers hostel (much recommended) with chicken fajitas and some comfy sofas. That was the southern isles done, tomorrow would begin our assault on the north!