20th to 23rd June 2021
About midday we left Stromness. As we headed out through Hoy Sound a gentle wind persuaded us that we would be able to cut the engine and sail; but it immediately got even gentler and ten minutes later we put the engine back on. As we emerged from the mouth of the Sound, the island of Hoy with its prominent high hills was on our left, to the south, and we could just see the tall thin stack of rock known as the Old Man of Hoy, a perennial challenge for the most accomplished of rock-climbers. But our course was to the north.
At 1319 I recorded in the log that we had reached exactly 59 degrees north - certainly a record for Goldfinch, and the furthest north I have ever sailed. (Since I am writing this back down in 58 degrees and 59 minutes north, it's now safe to mention that 59 degrees was also the limit of our insurance!)
By 2pm the wind had returned and we were once again a sailing boat. Almost all of the rest of the passage up to Westray was under sail, in a fine Force 4 on the beam, with a flat sea - perfect sailing conditions.
Our course took us through a very narrow gap between the south tip of Westray and a tiny island called Holm of Faray. As we were sailing through this gap, a very fast motor vessel approached and started steering for the gap, apparently not caring much about a mere sailing boat trying to pass through at the same time. There are rules about what vessels should do if there is a risk of collision, one of which is that motor vessels should keep out of the way of sailng vessels; but sometimes you just have to swallow your pride, so we fired up the engine and got the hell out of Dodge.
We arrived in Pierowall harbour on Westray in the early evening. Parking the boat proved a little tricky, as by now the wind was a little brisk, and tended to push the boat in the wrong direction at the wrong moment; but in the end we managed without breaking anything or anyone, in a tight gap between two other substantial boats.
Pierowall is in a substantial bay with a half-moon shaped beach of pale sand. The marina, where we moored the boat, is on the other side of the bay to the town, so getting to shops, the cafe and the hotel/restaurant/pub was a good fifteen minute walk each way. The first evening we were there we walked to the hotel and had a beer before returning to the boat for supper.
Bryan's friends on Mainland had given us the number of someone who runs a taxi service on the island (he also runs the shop; everyone here has a number of different jobs). On Monday morning he took us up to Noup Head, on the north-west corner of the island. High on the headland is a lighthouse, and from here there is a truly spectacular walk along the coast, keeping the sea to your right as you go. In the dramatic red stone cliffs are perched hundreds of sea-birds - assorted gulls, guillemots, terns, gannets and puffins. It was a fine breezy day and the whole lot of them were having a grand time wheeling about in the wind. Joe had more or less promised his two sons some photos of puffins, but they are small and fly quickly, so the time between spotting one and taking the picture was too short.
As we walked back down towards the town at the end of a great morning, we met someone walking up and started chatting. Like everyone in these parts, he was very friendly and interested in what we were doing. Like many people who live here he was not originally from Orkney: he used to be from Harwich, just down the river from Goldfinch's home port of Ipswich. It's been funny how many people we've met from that part of the world: many of the boats we have ecountered have been based in Ipswich, or Levington, or Wolverstone. The East Coast of England must be deserted.
We had lunch in the hotel and went back to the boat. On days when we are in port, the afternoon snooze has become part of the rhythm of Goldfinch life. We are, after all, on holiday.
On the Tuesday we visited Noltland Castle, built in the 16th century for Sir Gilbert Balfour. We were wondering who or what the castle was protecting him from, but all was made clear on the information boards around the place: Sir Gilbert was an all-round baddy who argued and fought with just about everyone, and seemed to make enemies just for the fun of it. The castle is spectacular: it was never finished, and is now partly ruined, but you can still get a feel for the grandeur of the place.
Our original plan had been to return to Stromness on Wednesday, so that we could leave Goldfinch there in readiness for the next leg in July. But when Wednesday dawned it was grey and blowy. We chatted to some of the locals and mentioned our plans, and they were unanimously of the opinion that it would be a mistake to go to Stromness then. The passage takes you outside the Orkney archipelago, with nothing to the west of you but open ocean; it had been flat and serene on our way up, but by now the swell had built up and by all accounts our journey would have been extremely uncomfortable. A better bet, we were told, was to wait till 5pm and go to Kirkwall instead. This passage takes you down the middle of the islands, where we might meet some uncomfortable waves as the fast tide meets the wind, but it would probably be bearable.
It's always a good idea to listen to the locals, so we decided to follow their advice. By the time we left Pierowall that afternoon, the wind had moderated, and for most of the passage we had almost ideal sailing conditions. Some low-lying clouds clung to the islands and occasionally the visibility was poor, but much of the time the sun shone. We had felt a bit of trepidation setting out, with rumours of tidal races and bone-shaking confused seas, but in the event we had a peaceful passage. Joe even managed to get a picture of some puffins.
Once again we had to pass through a narrow gap between two islands. This time we had picked a slightly wider one than on the northward passage: the Sound of Faray, between Faray and Eday. As we sailed towards this gap Bryan saw something that made him exclaim loudly: a tall black fin breaking the water, followed closely by another. This time there was no doubt: they were orcas, swimming along in the same direction as the boat, close enough to be captured clearly on camera. Awesome is a much over-used word, but it's the only way to describe the sight of these creatures.
The crew had set me the challenge of getting to Kirkwall before closing time. Helped by favourable tides (thanks to the advice of the people in Westray) we made very good time and arrived just before 9pm.
As I write this Goldfinch is safely in the marina at Kirkwall, with a northerly gale blowing in. The boat is rocking, the fenders are squeaking as they take the weight between the hull and the pontoon, and we have about seven ropes securing us to the shore. We've had mostly glorious weather while we've been in Orkney, but now it's really quite unpleasant, and we are all glad not to be at sea.
We'll be back in July for the next leg.
Total distance covered since Ipswich: 636 nautical miles.
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