Headin' Doon Sooth

As Ieft the B&B the owner asked "Are ye headin' back doon Sooth?"  Well no I thought, thinking of London and 30 degrees: but yes I said,  I was heading back to Orkney. John O'Groats was 170 miles south, never mind London.

I realised I would miss Yell.  A calm, grey windless morning, 13 degrees.  As I cycled along the undulating, empty road down the west of Yell, the oystercatchers said goodbye with their pip, pip, pip alarm call, and a couple of arctic terns half-heartedly attacked me.  Lambs scurried to hide behind their mothers, alarmed at this strange MAMIL lumbering up the hill.

To my left a panorama of the thin strip of  sea separating Yell and the mainland, maybe a dozen low grassy islands dotting the calm water, and an orange flare from Sullom Voe on the horizon.   I crested the hill to see the ferry at the terminal half a mile away: this had happened with every ferry crossing to Yell and Unst, and 3 out of 4 times I had missed the ferry.  But it didn't matter: ferries were frequent and it was a nice day.

Lerwick was achieved by a series of detours on minor roads near the east coast: each going nowhere in particular but with lovely views.  I stopped at a shop where two locals were telling how it had been much too hot when they visited Edinburgh: 23 degrees.

Over the now familiar big hill and there was Lerwick, glistening like a jewel in the afternoon sun against a bright blue sea