September 23rd

Weather wise, if you had to sum up the past couple of weeks in Orkney, the word you would use is wet. The rain has occasionally felt almost biblical, closing roads and washing the stone from rough tracks. The horseshoe shaped ditch that protects the garden from run off from the hill is in full flow, rushing peat stained water, dark as strong tea, to a nearby burn and then down to the sea.

On one of the drier days I took myself off to the coast of South Walls, Hoys smaller island neighbour. The forecast wasn’t great, heavy showers with rain setting in as the day went on. The sky was leaden, grey scudding clouds cut occasionally by brief shafts of sunshine

I went to the bay of Osmundwall, it’s home to a small sandy beach and there’s a footpath that follows a lichen clad stone-dyke that skirts the field boundaries and eventually leads to the islands Eastern coast. Once on the coast there are places, if the tide is out, where low shelves of rock stretch out into the sea. A great spot to watch wildlife and listen to the crescendo of surf against stone. In the photograph below the shelves can be seen to the right of the frame .The barrel and old cart axle in the foreground of the picture would once have been an ad hoc strainer post for a wire fence. The axle will be set into the rock, the barrel itself, along with the rest of the fence, has long since disappeared, only the concrete that filled it remains.

As you walk out onto the rocks care has to be taken, wet bladderwrack is lethal to walk on, the seashore equivalent of black ice. More than once I’ve done the splits or gone down on my arse. The stone is also alive – in places detours are made to avoid walking on sea anemones. Anchored to the rock they wait for the tides return – a dot painting brought to life.

Fulmars were feeding close to the shore, it was a breezy lean into the wind sort of day with a heavy swell on the sea. They showed with ease their mastery of the water and the air, rising and falling with the swell, feet in the water, wings on the breeze, delicately picking up their prey.

Further out from the fulmars Grey seals were seen, they too must have been feeding, popping up for a few seconds before diving again. In November the females will haul out into cobble strewn geo’s and give birth to doe-eyed pups.

When rain started to patter on the hood of my coat I took shelter in one of those cobble strewn geo’s. There’s a snapshot of the islands history writ large on its wall – a volcanic vent. Formed in the Devonian period when Orkney sat close to the equator. It’s harshly beautiful and a little bit awe inspiring, making you realise just what a brief click of a finger and thumb a human lifetime is. Not far from the geo lie the remains of an Iron age Broch, a 2000 year old structure built of 400 million year old stone.

Back at Osmundwall the tide had gone out. Beyond the sand, out on the black-ice bladderwrack, dog-collared Ringed plovers sat out the day. Like the anemones they were waiting for the tides return. They’re small easily overlooked waders that in Summer, if you stray too close to their nests, will feign a broken wing, fluttering helplessly along a few yards in front of you. Once happy that they’ve drawn you out to a suitable distance the wing will miraculously heal and off they will fly, back to eggs or chicks hidden amongst the sand and shingle.

Beyond the plovers dozens of young Shags were seen, at this time of year they form up in loose flotillas, learning to dive and fish in the bays sheltered waters. The collective term for them, probably appropriate for a group teenage birds, is a “hangout”