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North Ronaldsay
People,
fascinating and diverse people make travel constantly . . .
fascinating.
Thursday
September the 7th
A brush
with the British Transport police, which may lead to a problem with
the law, started my journey north. I refused to get off a Virgin
train in Wolverhampton. I had a ticket for the train. I had a seat
reservation. My ticket stated I had paid £105 for both. I was on my
way to Aberdeen. This was train number three of a five train
combination. If I missed this one I would miss the other two and
therefore miss the overnight ferry to Orkney and therefore the
daytime ferry to North Ronaldsay.
What I
didn't have was a reservation for the bike! Naively, stupidly I
didn't even know I needed one. I have never required such a thing
before. I needed one today.
I stayed
put, politely arguing that surely my little bike, loaded with four
very full panniers, a large sleeping bag, a tent, a large projector
for future talks and of course, The Lads, could fit in the space
behind the driver's door. No chance.
Twenty
minutes later I left the train. Details were taken and the ominous
words, “we'll be in touch!”
Having
missed the first major train connection I decided that instead making
my way to Aberdeen, as per my expensive tickets, I would stop at
Edinburgh and attend a hastily organised protest at Holyrood, the
home of The Scottish Parliament.
A laughing
chat with a couple from South Wales, the journey from Wolverhampton
to Edinburgh went quickly and soon I was booked into the Edinburgh
Youth Hostel.
Friday
September the 8th
Next day,
at Holyrood, around twenty five of us stood, met a couple of Green
Party MSPs, Alison Thomason and Andy Wightman, and protested the fact
that yet again another juvenile had been murdered whilst flying over
a driven grouse shooting moor. I won't use the word allegedly here.
It was murder. After two weeks the satellite tag on Calluna, the
juvenile Hen Harrier had stopped working. The grouse shooting
proponents have tried to claim that the bird's disappearance is due
to a faulty satellite tag. Strange then how two other juvenile Hen
Harriers, tagged on The Isle of Man, who each sadly died had their
tags found still working even when one of them had died whilst flying
towards the Scottish mainland and had landed in the sea. The decaying
corpse was found on a distant beach with tag still signalling. Weird
how they only stop working over grouse shooting moorland.
The
protest attendees including Shirelle, an enthusiastic bird lover and
artist from Aberdeen. Shirelle and made a couple of painted banners
for people to carry and a few hundred leaflets to give out to passers
by. Other people included Caroline, who talked about Fair Isle and
her dreams about the fair isle.
The
protest finished so back to the hostel to prepare fro another change
of direction. An American Redstart, a bird that had been possibly
pushed across the Atlantic by the remnants of the Texas hurricane,
had been found on Barra, the southern most inhabited island of the
Outer Hebrides, west of the Scottish mainland. I wouldn't be able to
get to North Ronaldsay before next Tuesday so I had a few days to get
over there and see the mega.
Saturday
September the 9th
7:15 a.m.
I am on a train to Glasgow, ticket is for Oban. I sit with a lovely
Norwegian lady, Hanne, who talks about her belief that William didn't
do what all think William did but it was indeed a group including
Francis and
Shakespeare
didn't write his plays, didn't write his sonnets, didn't write his
poems. Links to webpage evidence were shared, names of authors
explaining the conspiracy were given also.
At Glasgow
I had hoped that this conversation would continue but no, the dreaded
you can't get on this train with that bike, reared its head again. A
kiss on each cheek from Hanne and I was off to try to find out how I
could get the next train. Missing this one would mean that I would
miss the only ferry to Barra that day. Thomas, the train conductor
who refused me access, even, I thought at the time, told me to start
peddling! His strong Glaswegian brogue had actually told me that he
could get me to Crainglarich and I would have to start peddling from
there, around forty miles from Oban but I only was able to discern
the last part of that sentence.
Off into
Glasgow centre, to explore now that I had two hours before the next
train to Oban, I sat down with a homeless woman, Marianne. She told
me that she only received £43 as benefits every two weeks! Maybe Ian
Duncan Sith, oops I mean Smith, could boast in Parliament that he
could live on that.
Onto the
train to Oban, I am surrounded by lads on a stag do. Gary, Gary the
soon to be bridegroom, Colin, Alan, John, Brian, Mark and Zander were
all great company until they left to take a boat trip along the
centre of Loch Lomond to a secret island with a pub.
Into Oban
and along to yet another Youth Hostel. Greeted at the reception with
a “welcome back, Mr Prescott,” it was nice to know that one makes
an impression.
Sunday
September the 10th
I am on
the ferry to Barra on time for a change and am talking to a Father
and Daughter cycling pair when Lee Evans, the famous twitcher comes
towards me. With him are a few birders unknown to me. Sit and chat
for the next hour or so, we all head outside to seawatch once we get
past Mull and the Ardnachmurchan Peninsula.
Not many
birds to be seen; a few Manx, three passing Whimbrel, four Arctic
Skuas, a couple of Bonxies and Gannets and a few auks.
Two
birders kindly offer me a carbon lift to the Yankie passerine and so,
after hiding bike and possessions behind an office at the harbour, I
am soon watching the special one with ten others all leaning gently
against a dry stone wall.
UTB with
all features scanned and general jizz of the rarity enjoyed, it was
time as darkness fell to head back to Castlebay with the hope of a
place to bed down.
The first
Bed & Breakfast was full but the proprietor phoned a nearby
hostel and a bed was found.
Monday
September the 11th
A day
spent searching the village for birds, clearing plastic to pay my eco
dues for the mega and dodging heavy showers. Into the Post Office
Cafe, I met Cyril from Stoke. He talked abut how his wife died five
years ago and since then he had travelled, mostly in South America,
listing of the countries he had visited. Back at the hostel the other
guests staying there were mostly cyclists who were heading along the
Outer Hebridean islands.
Tuesday
September the 12th
I sleep on
the floor of the lounge in order not to disturb the other seeping
guests in the dormitory. At 2:00 a.m. A very drunk young man comes
into the lounge, crashes onto a settee and proceeds to spend the next
half hour telling me of his woes as a lobster fisherman on South
Uist. He then tells me that he has put some sausages and fish fingers
in the oven. He then promptly crashes out and I rush to the kitchen
to find smoke coming from within the oven! Removing the charred
remains, I open all windows and luckily the smoke alarm doesn't go
off and everyone else sleeps on obliviously.
Daylight
arrives and I am just in time to catch the ferry. It is close mind as
I have to shout at the workers not to raise the drawbridge.
Once the
bike is stowed and breakfast is in order, I meet the couple from
Chile who arrived at the hostel the previous night. We sit together
and I divest myself of my coat and RSPB sweatshirt. The Chilean
woman, Camilla, looks at the logo and say that she has a friend who
works there. Now the logo is for Dungeness Bird Observatory. To the
best of my knowledge only three people work there. What is the chance
that a chance meeting with a young woman from Chile would bring about
a mutual acquaintance? Three people to my knowledge work there.
“Who's
that?” I ask.
“Lee
Gregory.”
It is a
good job that I didn't have my mouth full of porridge because the
crumbs would have been splattered across the table.
Lee
Gregory is one of the major reasons why I broke the European Green
Birding Year List (F) last year. Lee is a great friend and Camilla is
saying she knows him and not just knows him, she counts him as a
close friend also.
Questions
pour forth and the answer involves the Fair Isle.
Camilla
had carried out research on the island this summer, surveying the
plants. Lee had helped her and became good friends.
Cath
Mendez is mentioned and we both laugh in celebration at the pending
marriage of Lee and Cath this November.
We both
talk about our mutual love of Fair Isle and talk about the crofters
there with affection.
Camilla's
partner has been sitting quietly through all this. Kenny McLoud, a
great Chilean name, has his own story to tell. Kenny is a travelling
sheep shearer and has just spent the summer sheep shearing in
Scotland. Kenny is now on his way to The Falklands Islands for the
southern hemisphere summer sheep shearing there. Another amazing
coincidence, maybe not quite of the scale of the Dungeness – Lee
Gregory – Fair Isle one yet important all the same, especially for
a future Biking Birder adventure; Kenny runs a bike business in
Chile!
A birder
who I had seen at the American Redstart and also had a brief chat
with yesterday, joins our table, Daryl from Essex. The conversation
gets around to cycling and 'hit me with a peat bog,' Darly used to be
a British International cyclist! Unfortunately a heart condition gave
him the choice, continue cycling and die or stop cycling. Daryl now
uses an electric bike to go birding to his local patch. Now when
electricity for such bikes is provided by renewable power sources,
will that make them available for Green Birding? I feel a new
category coming on and more Green than with my use of ferries last
year.
Two trains
get me to Aberdeen and an evening push gets me to yet another Youth
Hostel for the night. How it has changed though. Recently
refurbished, the décor is contemporary with a clock theme. I am not
too enamoured by it as the rooms look more like a Travelodge than a
Scottish Youth Hostel. The kitchen and dining room are the same
though, and the dormitories are now en suite with excellent showers.
Wednesday
September the 13th
A
day spent relaxing, washing clothes and washing self.
Thursday
September the 14th
The
evening ferry to Kirkwall, I sit with around twenty knitters from the
US of A. They. All ladies, sit knitting and discuss . . . knitting.
They are on the way to Shetland to do things knitting. Lovely ladies
with a great sense of humour and you can bet you bottom dollar they
know their stuff. Can't pull the wool over their eyes.
A
film, Despicable Me 3 is on in the cinema and I see half of I. I fall
asleep!
A
meal as the crossing isn't too rough and we reach Kirkwall about
thirty minutes late. I cycle into Kirkwall centre and find that my
usual overnight abode is locked. I sleep somewhere less comfortable.
Friday
September the 15th
I
watch as the ferry to North Ronaldsay, the one I should be on, leaves
the harbour! My record with Orkney Ferries continues. Twit.
Thinking
that I won't be able to get to North Ronaldsay until next Tuesday, I
go to the Kirkwall Youth Hostel. An Australian visitor lets me in and
gives me a warming cup of coffee. Outside heavy rain falls and a
strong northerly blows a fine gale. Her name is Sharon and her
accompanying friend, Sandy joins us in the kitchen. Both are retired
teachers and both have a passion for science and archaeology. We talk
about the demise of Cassini into Saturn's clouds due to happen in a
few hours. The most incredible un-manned space mission ever is close
to coming to a spectacular close.
Reception
opens at 8:00 a.m. I prepare to book in for the night thinking about
how I can explore the islands.
The
nearby noticeboard has a timetable for Loganair.
Wait
a minute! I can fly to North Ronaldsay. I am still in the Biking
Birder frame of mind. I never even thought of flying there.
I
fly out of the hostel. Half an hour later I have placed my bike and
possessions in a large shed on the quayside for it all to be ferried
to North Ronaldsay and I am enjoying egg on toast in a Kirkwall cafe,
The Pamona, flight is booked for 2:30 p.m.
The
cafe owner chats but I will be honest and say I can't understand
everything he says; his brogue is strong Orcadian.
Off
on a local bus to the airport, more carbon transport, the flight low
over so many of Orkney's isles is wonderful. Over with a view of
the RSPB reserve at and then with yet another RSPB
reserve. Over the sea, so shallow that one can see kelp beds on the
bottom, to Westray and beyond to land on Papa Westray. Now this
airport used to be the home of the World's shortest commercial
flight; Papa Westray to Westray with its three minute flight. No
longer flying, our plane takes off once more after seat changing for
different customers and a short while later we land on North
Ronaldsay.
George
Gay, the heart of the SpokesFolks (google this for details of the
SpokesFolks team's success in the Champions of The Flyways event
earlier this year) is there to greet me and take me down in his car
to the famous and fabulous North Ronaldsay Bird Observatory.
Erin
Gavin and Sam are there, hugs, Bryony also, hug, and new faces; Simon
the new assistant warden and two volunteer interns, Harris and Lewis.
Yes, two young men sitting next to each other just like the two Outer
Hebridean islands of the same name.
Alison
and Kevin arrive with their new electric car, very smart too . . .
all three of them.
Great
to be reunited with the team and the Bird Observatory staff once
more, I go birding, looking for a reported Ortolan Bunting from
yesterday. I don't find it but do enjoy the close attention of Common
Seals and finding six Purple Sandpipers.
A
young couple are camping beside a dry stone wall next to the
observatory. James and Sarah spend an hour sharing the story of their
three year cycle run from Alaska to Tierra del Fuego!
People,
fascinating and diverse people make travel constantly . . .
fascinating.
