A family day out – in South Ronaldsay

This is a paid collaborative blogpost with Visit Scotland.

Winter in the northern isles. The short hours of daylight. The chill of wind that chews at your bones. The darkness that weighs heavy. Over the years I’ve tried to make the best of these days – to appreciate the ritual of lighting candles, unfurling rugs to cosy up chairs, keeping a neat supply of folded blankets at hand for cold toes – but this year, as I’m sure it has many, has taken me by surprise. I seem to be stuck in pre pandemic mode, as though I set life down somewhere in March and have yet to pick it up. A strange pull to go back to those paused months before i go forward. It’s all felt..heavier, this year.

I know myself well enough to recognise the signs of winter doldrums. When I feel this way, nature offers a balm to my weary soul. When my children were babies swaddled in my arms, a momentary step outside the front door in any weather quite often was all that was needed to stem angry tears – a distraction to what troubled them. I’m no different. Blowing away the cobwebs is a simple and doable act of self care. Though winter is a time when we spend more time indoors as the weather is so unforgiving, it should really be seen as an opportunity to make the most of the daylight and the freshness of it all. Although I moan about the wind that blows over these islands, come the summer months my energy feels sapped, in need of a clean whipping of wind that catches your breath and cleanses your mind. I find myself seeking these moments when I recognise my need for them.

The month of November gave lots of opportunity for these such moments. Big seas, gloomy skies, lashing rain, strong knock-you-off-your-feet wind. But our endurance was also rewarded with pinch yourself red sunrises and skies at 4pm that gave the schoolbus driver and I our familiar winter greeting as the bus doors open – “look at that sky!”.

The last weekend of the month was one that had all Orcadians gasping at their luck at living in such beauty – ‘I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else’, ‘we’re so lucky to live where we do’ all did the rounds on social media with accompanying red sky photos, calm seas, chilly faces peeping from colourful knitwear. I love how the weather continues to connect strangers through collective appreciation.

With that in mind, we spent a glorious weekend out and about exploring our very own doorstep. First on our list was a visit to the seals and their pups at the bay of Windwick, pronounced Win-ick, a short drive from our home. The shore is lined with selkies at this time of year, its really quite a sight, and one best viewed from a safe distance so as not to disturb them. We always peer safely from the clifftop which is a handy step away from the car park.

From here we headed to Sandwick, a quiet beach on the west side of the island with views of the uninhabited island of Swona. The midday sun was bright and hazy and hinted at warmth. The boys picked their way over slimy green rocks and ran towards the sea. My eldest son celebrated his birthday here a couple of summers ago, when he and his friends trekked excitedly from the schoolbus and ate chocolate cake and drank lemonade from sandy tumblers. No picnics this day for we had the promise of a hot meal in mind.

We had to have a change of clothes here, for the icy water was too tempting for my sea loving youngest. After a morning of fresh air our bellies were rumbling so we drove north to the village of St Margarets Hope, the third largest village in Orkney, in search of a warm meal. With two pubs The Murray Arms and The Bellevue Inn, Robertsons a charming coffee hoose and bar, two well stocked shops Doulls and the Trading Post, an art gallery and shop and a thriving primary school, it is a bustling and friendly community. We stopped at Robertsons on Church Road. I have eaten (and drank mocktails from a kitschy goose teapot!) here many times over the years but this was my first time eating out during covid times, and quite frankly, I dont know why its taken me so long.

Every detail felt considered which in turn, meant I felt safe. Tables were well spaced and names and contact details were taken on arrival. Though they do take walk-ins, it would be worth phoning ahead to check availability and to book a table if travelling far. There are clear covid instructions at each table (this was important for me; I don’t mind admitting that the thought of mistakenly doing the wrong thing kept me home after lockdown had eased).

On leaving Robertson’s we took a detour on foot through the village. If you haven’t already, take a moment to pause in the community garden. It is a quiet and often empty place ideal for reflection, and always so expertly tended by souls more green fingered than me.

The houses in the village are not dissimilar to the ones I regularly photograph in Stromness and as we walked we were joined by a stranger with binoculars slung round her neck, who’s grandson was also called Oskar “but with a K” and who pointed us to the seals lying belly up along the shore towards the pier. Did I mention seals are everywhere?

There’s a playpark in the village which we used to visit SO MUCH but those park days are less frequent now. Less frequent maybe but non less joyful – the shrieks as the boys were hurled on the merry go round!

We headed back to the car with a plan and a determination to see it through – two more beaches and one more park? Do you think we can squeeze them in before the light falls? Yes! Yes! Let’s get going! With the heater on full blast we thawed a few minutes on the short drive to the Sands O Wright, an expansive stretch of sand in the right tide, and also ANOTHER birthday beach spot (summer birthdays are the easiest!) though I remember feeling quite ridiculous carrying an ill thought out eight tier chocolate cake precariously balanced atop a fine duck egg blue cake stand adorned with 10 birthday candles. What would happen if the damn thing slid off and landed in the shingle? What if a dog ate it? What if the wind blew it to pieces? None of these things happened of course, and the cake was met with “have you really carried that massive cake down here in the wind, stop trying to light the candles, you are MAD” looks from my sons friends. But again, a birthday to remember. Though we nearly all froze that cold afternoon in June.

We left any thought of warmth at the Sands o Wright and headed onwards to our last port of call, Glimps Holm. The Churchill barriers, constructed during WWII under Churchill’s instruction, connect this island to the others and form a causeway, a welcome lifeline for folks like me that live in the south. There main purpose was to protect the British Naval fleet anchored in Scapa Flow. Today, the wrecks of ships deliberately scuttled, lie upended in the waves, their lookouts pointing jauntily upwards into the heavens. Over the years I’ve watched the sand claim the sea: from above, stretches of yellow mirror the green terrain. This area has become more popular too, car loads of determined groatie buckie hunters spill onto the sand, heads bowed, looking for treasured cowrie shells. Controversial: I AM NOT one such scavenger.

By the time we climbed back into the car, the sky was turning the most terrific pink and orange and then red. We stopped one more time (how could we not?), at the bay in Sandwick. Our family day out brought to a spectacular finish. Orkney, you show off.