Blogging at 21:20 on Tuesday 2nd April from intended overnighting spot N 59.09746°, W 03.34628°/ http://maps.google.com/maps?q=loc:59.09746%2C-03.34628
Then things got more eventful. We checked in at the ferry-crossing booth without any drama and were instructed to make our way first to a weighbridge, and then to a section of the port next to a few commercial vehicles that were being readied to be loaded onto the boat. When we arrived there, a really pleasant lady checked our boarding cards and then her alter-ego - a really sour bloke - started walking round the truck, sucking his teeth and shaking his head. He had every appearance of a jobsworth on a mission.
Post amateur dramatics, he seemed to revel in glee in telling us to prepare for the possibility of not being allowed to embark because - at more than 7 tonnes - we needed dedicated lashing points in order to be chained to the deck once aboard. I was about to make a case that the front and rear tow hitches (plus other suitable points) were very capable of accepting a shackle and were very much extremely securely attached to the vehicle, but before I had chance he dismissively turned and disappeared off in the direction of the boat saying he'd have to 'see what 'they' said'.
A very stressful ten or so minutes followed before he reappeared and started waving a trailer shunter driver parked next to us onto the boat. He made no attempt to make eye contact with us and had left us in a position where we were entirely unaware if our holiday was effectively over before it had begun. I was just about to jump down from the cab to try to establish the definitive word from 'they', when he simply said 'OK folks' and waved us on as if we'd never seen him before in our lives. I suppose some people have to make their long and unfulfilling days pass by somehow or another.
Once aboard two things happened: 1. The lorry was shackled and chained through the front and rear tow hitches, and 2. I wish they hadn't let us on. The crossing was dreadful. It was a small boat and the swells out to sea were of just the correct height and spacing to have us bobbing about like the proverbial cork. I felt absolutely dreadful, in a very ashen faced kind of way. It was enduringly awful.
Thankfully, after nearly two hours of this abject nightmare, we drew up alongside the leeward side of the Orkney Isles (the island of Hoy as it happened), and things had settled down just enough so that I could grab a quick peek at The Old Man of Hoy: without old-man hoying myself. It was worth the nauseous effort, it's one spectacular sea stack.
Emma-the-Salty-Seadog wasn't particularly troubled by the crossing, and was good enough to minister some calming lemon and ginger 'tea' as soon as we made landfall at Stromness; just before heading off for a giddy-spaniel type run. I graciously watched birds from terra firma until at least some of the colour returned to my face.
A steady bumble in the truck followed taking in a few of Orkney's archaic monuments, a few RSPB reserves, and a bit of gentle sea-watching.
In only a few hours we'd racked up a thoroughly impressive species list, the more noteworthy of which (to us) were: hen harrier, red-throated diver, red-breasted merganser, turnstone, and a solitary long-tailed duck.
First impressions of Orkney are very positive. Everyone seems pretty chilled, drivers are mainly steady and patient and the locals we've met so far seem tolerant and welcoming.
The landscape on Mainland is pretty interesting and not like much we've seen before: on this scale, anyway. It's very green and largely consists of obviously substantially 'improved' arable and pasture land. Trees are essentially absent and there's a gentle roll to the vistas in general. Farmsteads and dwellings are dotted around here and there, as are more than a few abandoned buildings. At a first casual glance the whole thing (away from the coastlines) could look quite featureless and barren. It doesn't help that it's currently biting cold and the howling wind relentless.
As above, though, this is simply not the case. When you look more closely those apparently featureless arable feels are teeming with gulls, lapwings, curlews, pink-footed and greylag geese, skylarks, meadow pipits, oystercatchers, rabbits, mountain hares... the list goes on.
To this point, there seem to be very few people moving around in campers / motorcaravans and discreet and respectful overnighting opportunities seem reasonably plentiful. There are a few VW T5/6s around and a slack handful of flimsies, but no sign (yet) of anyone in the sort of van that might habitually use hashtags to describe how life has treated them so badly that they're 'forced' to continuously travel around in a fashion that many people might consider a pretty enviable life of nomadic leisure.
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