Smooth roads on a remote island just a 20-mile ride from Caithness…
OUT AND ABOUT WITH RALPH: Two ferries and a 20-mile cycle away from Caithness, the intriguing Orkney island of Rousay is well worth exploring
One of the best things about Scotland is that you are never far from places of amazing scenery and wildlife. You do not need to travel to faraway countries to discover some of the best in the world.
After cycling no more than 20 miles and catching just a couple of ferries, I found myself on a late morning of improving weather on the Orkney island of Rousay.
It’s a place I’ve visited a few times, but only ever for a few hours – there has never been time for more than a quick cycle round the island or a look at a few of the ancient chambered cairns. This fascinating island deserves more than this, you could happily spend a week exploring.
Orkney, unlike Highland Council, believes in looking after its small and remote communities, and Rousay is very well served by ferry and connecting bus services. There are no potholes here!
I’d booked a couple of nights at the little Trumland Hostel and had the place to myself. You can sit in the dining area looking out across the glittering sound past the green isles of Egilsay and Wyre, to more distant Shapinsay and Stronsay, and watch the ferry shuttling between the isles and Tingwall. So different and so near.
On my first afternoon I sat in the sun at Scabra Head, a big swell breaking against the low cliffs and sea-arches, the roust on a spring tide roaring past Eynhallow. Just along the coast are Midhowe chambered cairn and broch, some of the best-preserved on Orkney, also various ancient settlements, churches and farms.
The hilly road around the island is a cyclist’s, or a runner’s, dream. An e-bike takes the sting out of the steep hills and Orkney winds, and you can just enjoy the tremendous views out over the sea to all of Orkney’s northern isles.
From Westside the road, flanked by dry-stane dykes, climbs over heathery moorland between low hills very reminiscent of the Yorkshire Dales until the sea appears again ahead. Ruins of old crofts remain from when this area was cleared for sheep in the early 19th century, the only part of Orkney to suffer from the clearances.
From the green fields and loch of Wasbister the road climbs steadily across the side of Kierfea Hill with the sea far below, the view from the highest point has been called the very best in Orkney. There is then a steep descent through Sourin (hard on the brakes to keep the speed under 40mph!), before climbing up again past the community school and on above Rousay Sound with Egilsay just opposite.
On Rousay, as in the rest of Orkney, many farms have their own small wind turbine but these have little impact on the landscape at large. Big onshore developments have not been allowed, there are a few medium-sized turbines on the north-east mainland but absolutely nothing on the scale which is blighting so much of the rest of Scotland.
Orcadians have their heads screwed on right. There is but one medium-sized turbine on Rousay and this is mostly hidden by the much-higher Knitchen Hill.
My first afternoon had shown me lots of places I wanted to visit the next day, when the forecast was for sunshine! First off was the old free church at Sourin, which I’d noticed before from Kierfea Hill and looked an intriguing building.
In 1841, 316 people lived in Sourin alone, now the population of the whole island is around 250, with maybe 60 in Sourin. So you might have expected some decline from the days when 80 pupils went to school in the building, but maybe not closure. Evening soirees and church socials would see the church packed out.
Even in the 1950s the line of people leaving the church after the morning service stretched as far as the crossroads, over a quarter of a mile away. But the church and its ministers failed to move with the times and it voted in 1967, by 16 votes to 4, to close.
Now, the roof has largely fallen in on the mouldering pews and all the windows are out. The ceiling, weighted down by tons of pigeon guano, has collapsed. You carefully pick your way down the aisle between leaning and fallen rafters and pews buried under guano. The pulpit area, up rotten dung-covered steps, looks out over a scene of total dereliction. It’s a parable in stone for today’s churches.
But outside the sun was shining and the air clear. Next stop would be the heather-clad hills of Knitchen and Blotchnie Fold, the highest on the island.