The pandemic that swept the globe in 2020 was a time of unimaginable suffering for so many. As if losing loved ones was not bad enough, millions lost their livelihoods and were condemned to months if not years of poverty and hardship. School children and university scholars lost some if not all of a year’s education, or lost opportunities they will never be able to reclaim. But for many people they were able to adapt their lives and experiment with different ways of living. For those of us in the “developed” world we had to get used to a more sustainable less hedonistic lifestyle less focused on consumption and self-gratification.
The pandemic also curtailed the wanderings of those who had become used to cheap travel. With most countries facing lockdowns travel was restricted to our own shores. People were forced to look closer to home and to explore what was around them. People who rarely holidayed in their own country were forced to do so if they wanted a break. For many this opened their eyes to what was on their doorstep. They began to appreciate the cities, the mountains, the countryside, the coasts of their own land. For some this was a revelation.
Back in 2020 there was always hope that the impact of the pandemic on our lives and on economies would gradually recede as countries learned to live with COVID-19. But as I write this, approaching the Autumn of 2021, the virus continues to wreak havoc around the world. For many poorer countries it continues to be devastating. For countries that have the wealth to hoard vast supplies of vaccine for themselves life has begun to assume some semblance of “normality”, our governments deaf to the pleas of “no one is safe until everyone is safe”. An opportunity to re-set the way we live, to reduce the focus on economic growth through ever more consumption and to adopt a kinder more sharing approach to life, seems to have been lost.
Against this backdrop, we decided to travel to some of the outermost reaches of the UK whilst we still could. To go to places that are remote and where life is more simple. Bearing in mind what I’ve just said I struggled with this. The journey involved a lot of driving, consuming precious fossil fuels, staying in bed and breakfasts, eating out every day. If I were to practice what I preach I should probably have stayed at home. Or perhaps walked there, eating only what I could forage, albeit we only had three weeks! I can’t reconcile this in my mind other than with the thought that by making small changes to our lives it’s more likely that we’ll stick with them and they’ll become habit. And I need to make images to sell. Sure there are interesting and engaging subjects on my doorstep but at times it’s necessary to seek inspiration elsewhere. Normally, we’d be at our home in France at this time of year. Another act of gross hypocrisy? Perhaps, but life is simpler there. We live more simply, consume less, travel less (other than the drive there and back). Do these all sound like excuses to justify my actions? Yes they probably do.
So, to the trip. In 2020 we travelled to the Hebrides. This time we ventured north. About as far north as you can go in the UK. To Shetland and Orkney. Both places that I’ve long wanted to see but the call of France was always stronger. This time we travelled with friends which, whilst we relished their company, constrained my photography. But this was a trip that needed to meet the requirements of four people, not just one.
Road through Glen Shee
The first leg of the journey was to drive to the coast west of Glasgow where our friends live. From there we travelled across the Cairngorms via the epic Glen Shee to Aberdeen for the overnight ferry to Lerwick on Shetland, famed for being closer to Norway and the Arctic Circle than to London. And that distance from the capital of the UK as well as the Scottish capital, Edinburgh, is reflected in the landscape and the people. Whilst many of the honeypot locations in the UK such as Cornwall and the Lake District were inundated with holidaymakers, Shetland seemed remote and deserted even in comparison to my experience of the Hebridean islands of Skye, Harris and Lewis the year before. Under mostly leaden skies the island felt locked in another time. The people, whilst overwhelmingly welcoming and friendly, seemed fiercely independent and proud of their heritage. Most roads were deserted, and as with North Uist in 2020, local drivers waved at us as we passed on the road. Indeed, Shetland had echoes of the Uists about it. I was in my element. I loved this place. The peace, the isolation, the treeless almost barren landscape and wild shorelines. It felt as though I had been cast back 50 years.
Collafirth, Shetland
In comparison Orkney, being closer to the Scottish mainland, felt more contemporary notwithstanding its deep roots in prehistory. Staying first in the smart and cosmopolitan Kirkwall, we spent the bulk of our stay in a bed and breakfast run by the most delightful young couple overlooking Stromness, with island of Hoy beyond. There were more tourists on Orkney, just like ourselves. More of the dreaded mobile homes, more of a feeling of wealth. Property prices are climbing as people seek a better way of life, relocating from the mainland, or because the English are buying up properties there as holiday homes.
The islands around Orkney are more numerous than Shetland and it would take a lifetime to explore them all. During our all too brief stay we didn’t even scratch the surface. I would love to spend time on some of the more remote islands such as North Ronaldsay, Sandhay and Westhay to name but a few. But there is no escaping Orkney’s prehistoric past, which is everywhere. This, for me, was its overwhelming appeal. The civilisations that occupied these lands long before the construction of Stonehenge near where I live were intelligent and highly skilled builders. Scara Bray is a remarkable site. A village comprising a number of houses all with drains, bedroom areas, cupboard space and inside toilets built some 500 years before Stonehenge. I struggled to grasp this concept.
Broch of Gurness, Orkney
On both Shetland and Orkney the flora and fauna were mesmerising. I saw my first sea otter and puffins on Shetland. I was astonished to see orchids in the meadows by the Broch of Clickimin in Lerwick. The extremely rare Scottish primrose on Orkney. I saw my first corncrake on Orkney and watched in awe as a male hen harrier flew alongside the vehicle we were in on Hoy. One evening we sat watching a short-eared owl quartering the field next to our bed and breakfast near Stromness. We saw hundreds of seals, oyster catchers and curlew on both Shetland and Orkney, and sea birds too numerous to count.
The return to the Scottish mainland was a relatively brief 90 minute ferry ride. But still we were only at the northernmost tip of mainland Britain. A long way from home. As we made our way south, the mountains growing in stature all the while, we had a rude awakening as we headed towards Loch Ness for an overnight stay. The huge number of visitors was not something I was prepared for. This continued over the next day as we drove through Fort William, down the Glencoe Pass (for once not blanketed by cloud) and on to Long Lomond on our way back to West Kilbride. I was traumatised by the volume of traffic (of which we were of course part). I longed for those deserted, single-track roads of Shetland.
Glencoe
It’s difficult not to make comparisons with the Hebrides. Orkney felt a little like Skye or Harris stripped of their mountains. It felt surprisingly contemporary, of the present age. Part of the consumerist society we occupy. Shetland reminded me of North Uist. Life stripped back to the essentials. The landscape dominated by open space. Nature in charge. And the people warm and welcoming. If I were transplanted to Shetland or Nort Uist I could be very happy in either.
For more images click on the image below to take you to the gallery entitled The Northern Isles in the Portfolio section of this website.
