7-8 July 2024

I love an island. So when, in spring 2024, my cousin Sarah shared a link to an ad for an RSPB summer job volunteering on far-flung Egilsay, in Orkney, I leapt on it – undeterred by my non-existent ornithological knowledge. Not surprisingly, my application was not successful but, picking up on my enthusiasm, the RSPB warden, Vicky, suggested a 2-week house- and cat-sitting gig while she took a couple of weeks leave. It was a deal. 

So here I am at Euston Square, an hour earlier than I need to be for the overnight sleeper to Inverness – out of my comfort zone amid the diverse cultural mix that is London.

Joining the boarding queue I am excited. And then relieved at how congenial the seating seems, complete with comfort pack that includes – usefully – an eye mask. I can’t remember the last time I overnighted in this way. I wonder how I will fare.  

It is a strange night of stops and starts and dozing. At 3 am, we seem to be parked up at Edinburgh for several hours. At 6 am the view from the window is sun-drenched Perthshire forests. A short while later we lose the sun and the Cairngorms are austere under cloud. The verdict is that this is still doable – but support cushion(s) are the difference between no, and some, sleep.

At Inverness I have a pucker FSB, surrounded by larger-than life characters. In the high street I resist the Rohan sale. 

Continuing north in a second train I am regaled with landscapes as we contour around the firths, and then inland. A sinuous route brings me to Thurso five hours before the 7pm sailing from Scrabster, a mile along the coast. It’s not a question of, “Where’s the best coffee in town?” but “Is anything open in this dour little place?”. One café is closed on a Monday; the one overlooking the beach is up for sale. It looks as though Thurso’s position on the North Coast 500 route has only benefited whoever is running the motor home campsite – no boost to the town’s economy.

I abandon coffee and follow the pedestrian route to Scrabster, the ferry terminal a mile or so west. Along the coast are lovely views of wildflowers and distant, smudgy Orkney. It’s hard to imagine we are peak holiday season. 

The terminal is closed until 2 hours before departure. I am lucky to get access to a workmen’s loo. And then loiter on the edge of the terminal entrance reading Close to Where the Heart Gives Out (a year in the life of an Orkney doctor) until the doors open.

After the desert of Thurso there is a run for food. The second part of the crossing to Stromness gives wonderful views of the Hoy cliffs, and the Old Man of Hoy. Click click click.

A bus ride on from Stromness to Kirkwall and I am shattered, but energised by precious late-evening sun, still out at 10 pm. The streets are quiet around the harbour when I prowl around post check-in.