by As I ascended over a step-ladder, the sea heath of Papa Westray opened up ahead, colonies of Scots primrose creating a handsome island scene, flowing gently on three sides of the coast.
Here, there are steep slopes of large up-end slabs of rock cut deep inland. Large skunks, known locally as Bonxies – large birds with sharp eyes – were watching me fiercely.
But it was another bird that I would come to pay homage to. At the aptly named Fowl Craig, a pile and claret-coloured carving of a large carafe – “the penguin of the northern hemisphere” – stood staring blankly out to sea.
Unfortunately, I was more than 200 years too late to see this magnificent carafe, as the statue is an exciting tribute to the last known example of this flightless bird in the UK, which was shot nearby in 1813 .
The auk encounter concluded my journey through the outer Orkney archipelago of the North Isles, a collective term for the islands located in the waters north of the island capital of Kirkwall: Westray, Papa Westray, North Ronaldsay, Stronsay, Sanday and Eday.
They vary in size, some you can walk or cycle but others you’ll need a car. Focused on farming, isolated dwellings and low-tide settlements around the safer harbors are distinguished. Rich in archaeology, bird life and often violent coastal scenery, exploring them can feel like being in another country.
Papa Westray – affectionately known as Papay by Orcadians – is 20 miles from Kirkwall, more or less at the latitude of Stavanger in Norway. Empty? Remote? Far from it. Not only is there a vibrant community of around 90 islanders but there is plenty of interest for the visitor.
Birdlife – from puffins to oysters – is plentiful, but I made for Knap of Howar, a two-room Neolithic farmhouse with a stunning location on the west coast.
It is from the year 3600 BC. is the Knap, whose walls stand first, and is the oldest stone house in northern Europe, dating back to the large-scale Orkish Stone Age site of Skara Brae.
Only the Knap’s distance from Kirkwall keeps it from being overlooked by visitors – a principle that applies to the Northern Isles.
I would start my journey on Eday, which is located in the middle of the North Island – in Old Norse, Eday means “isthmus isle”. I arrived by ferry but there is also an airfield near London Bay, making it the most northerly London airport in the UK.
Eday felt like a real island, where people live and work, where tourists are not the main event. I went on to the unmissable Stone of Sweden, one of the largest galleons on Orkney.
At 15 feet tall, the monolith resembles three fingers held up in salute. At worst, it may have been part of a wider site where the dead were ritually cleansed before burial.
Eday was full of the unexpected. I dropped into Eday’s Old North School Classroom, where like Mr. Benn, I found myself walking through a reconstructed 56ft long, 10ft wide submarine, complete with sleeping quarters, forward torpedoes and the original HMS Onyx toilets , who served in the Falklands War.
Mike Illett, a retired submarine mechanic, reassembled the components of the submarine HMS Otter. “I collected a few bits from the submarine and put them on the mantelpiece,” he told me. “Then, as I got more, I put them in a drawer; then I needed a bigger shed.”
The next ferry took me to the most northerly of the islands, North Ronaldsay, 34 miles north-east of Kirkwall. Another odd stand here: this one is called the Stan Stane and – 13 feet high but 3 feet wide – is perforated with a hole in the middle.
The believer blames a witch for thrusting her finger through; scientists think the stone is a finder to calculate a prehistoric calendar. Standing next to the Stan Stane, I was struck by the lack of man-made noise. The air, however, was full of bird music, as the island is of global importance and firmly on migration routes.
Punting hoofs, drowned in sand, broke the silence. North Ronaldsay sheep band scooted by. They are famous for living almost entirely on the beaches, subsisting on a diet of seaweed, kept off the center of the island by a 19th century stone wall 13 miles long.
I spent a day going around the wall. At the South Bay, a gorgeous crescent of half a mile of sand was drawn out, between harbor and green seals. The beach is a popular “run” for the sheep, and as I hit my picnic with a receding tide, they ran past in search of freshly exposed seaweed to nibble on.
Halfway around the island, I reached Dennis Head lighthouse – at 109 feet the tallest land-based lighthouse in the UK. On a busy day, Billy Muir, the lighthouse keeper for 50 years, will be there to cheer you on. As I ascended the 176 steps, I understood why Billy is understandably reluctant to greet each guest at ground level.
Every North Isle invites you to linger, but on Stronsay I only had time to cycle to the excellently named Vat of Kirbuster, a natural arch representing an elemental slice of geology that deserves its place in the great Orkney pantheon of terrifying cliff-top architecture. The edge of the cliff curves inland in a wide arc, 150 feet in diameter, a single block of sandstone that acts as a natural lintel. Inside this amazing geological donut is a gloup (or blow hole), dropping 60 feet to the sea.
The nearby island of Sanday is well named (pronounced “sand”, unsurprisingly it means “sand island” in Old Norse) and is characterized by almost 30 striking white beaches. The island offers, in my opinion, the most unusual Neolithic tomb site in Orkney at the end of a walk that is hard to beat for raw beauty.
I started at Machair Fidge, a watery meadow at the head of Cata Sand, a sandy tidal bay stretching two miles, flanked by 30-foot-high alpine dunes of glittering sand. One after the other, the dunes made their way down the bay, the interplay of light and water amazing, the waters so shallow that the colors of the aquarium resembled a montage of the Caribbean Sea.
The dunes eventually collapsed, giving way to the bird-lined headland of Tresness. Where it tapered to a finger, I reached a pile of Stone Age shamrock, which was at the mouth of the sea. I scrambled down wave-cut ledges to the beach and stared into the tomb’s entrance, a low passage flanked by stones. Free from modern day signage, the tomb is a more pure experience than many archaeological sites, and can provide endless insight into why Neolithic people chose certain places for burial.
Westray, the penultimate island on my journey, felt different from its neighbours. With the largest population – around 600 – after a few days out on this route its lone village, Pierowall, seems like the bright lights of the city. You’ll even hear bits of a local version of Old Norse, called The Norn.
Nestling behind the village was Noltland, perhaps the most dramatic castle in Orkney, its classic Z-plan appearance carved by narrow holes. It looked exactly the sort of place that someone with a bad reputation would come home to – which was true. Built around 1560, the castle was owned by the famous Gilbert Balfour, master of the household to Mary Queen of Scots and was described as inspired by “neither the fear of God nor the love of virtue”.
The wildest and most elemental landscapes in all of Orkney can be found on the northwest coast of Westray. This is the cliff walk here: only the coast near the Head Noup lighthouse was guillotined by nature. On a ridge below the lighthouse I sat and watched the seabirds. You’d certainly see puffins between April and July, but the jewel-toppers returning to their nests, beaks full of fish, were chutes.
All that was left was to go to the Pope. There was a passenger ferry, but who could resist the chance to travel on what is known as the world’s shortest flight – a distance of 1.7 miles, shorter than the runway at Heathrow airport? Understandably, the Westray airfield “terminal” is hardly more than a garden shed. The briefing and safety taxi took longer than the flight, which was very beautiful, gliding over Papa Sound.
Eight of us were pressed into a juddering Britten-Norman Islander, and we went up, up to the skies – shows Orkney poet George Mackay Brown described as happening “slowly, like a soft moth in a dove”.
Less than two minutes later, my own moth plummeted to the ground, landing with a merciless thump.
Fundamentals
How to get there
All the Northern Isles are served by daily flights and ferries from Kirkwall.
Loganair (loganair.com/) flight times range from 8-15 minutes, and fares start at £17 one-way. Tour fees apply to Papay and North Ronaldsay, with a return fee of £21 if staying overnight.
Ferry times (orkneyferries.co.uk) range from 80 minutes to 2 hours 30, depending on stops. You don’t need a car on Papay or North Ronaldsay – bikes are available for hire locally or in Kirkwall.
Where to stay
All islands have good hostels with private rooms; some also have B&Bs and pubs. Here are some excellent options:
Beltane Hostel, Papay (01857 644224; papawestray.co.uk)
North Ronaldsay Bird Observatory (01857 633200; nrbo.co.uk)
Stronsay Fish Market Hostel (01857 616401; stronsaycafehostel.weebly.com)
Braeswick B&B, Sunday (01857 600708; braeswick.com)
Eday Community Hostel (07789 900950; hostellingscotland.org.uk)
Pierowall Hotel Westray (01857 677472; pierowallhotel.co.uk)
Mark Rowe is the author of Orkney, published by Bradt Guides (bradtguides.com). Telegraph readers can use code ORKNEY25 to get a 25% discount.
