The Shetland Islands
This morning we continued our passage from Norway to her first outpost in the Atlantic, the Shetland Islands. Seas were impressive, but the ride was comfortable for most, and the ship was filled with activity. Many of us enjoyed seeing seabirds, the steady masters of this moving gray world. Gannets, pied and pointy, soared around us, and fulmars, looking intelligent, if slightly indignant, were common.
Midmorning, David Barnes spoke about the people of the British Isles, preparing us for the intricate layering of history and culture that we will experience in our travels over the next two weeks.
Near noon, deeper gray emerged through the cloud; this was land, already a strangely unfamiliar element. We passed the Cliffs of Noss, and turned into Lerwick, "capital" of the Shetlands.
Like the seas around them, the Shetland Islands undulate in waves of rock, rounded by glacial ice. The hills are blanketed in a calico of green and purple vegetation. Streams, peat-strained to frothy espresso shades, wandered or tripped down the hillsides.
We bussed to Jarlshof, a significant archaeological site. The casual eye might excuse this place as isolated and bleak, but more careful consideration reveals rich soil and a ready supply of marine food. Then it is no surprise that all sorts of people have inhabited this spot through the ages. We saw circular and daisy-shaped stone-age dwellings, stacked and intermeshed like the workings of some great smashed rocky clock, and lying atop them, the linear structures of Vikings and 17th century Shetlanders.
At Sumburgh Head, we viewed a distant lighthouse. Peering over windy cliffs, we saw the rocky breeding grounds of seabirds. While most had gone off to their pelagic homes, the fulmars remained. Hunkered down in grassy alcoves, or soaring adroitly through the fierce wind, the birds seemed perfectly at home in this seemingly punishing environment. More surprising were their neighbors, the rabbits. They pondered us with their blank and friendly stares, or scuttled, in their goofy see-sawing gait, down slopes that would make a mountain goat hesitate.
While traversing the island, we saw a number of Shetland's best known inhabitants: the ponies. Calm, scruffy and matter-of-fact, they seem to reflect the island's character perfectly.
Back on the ship, we enjoyed the Captain's welcome aboard cocktail party and dinner before an evening leg-stretch in Lerwick.
This morning we continued our passage from Norway to her first outpost in the Atlantic, the Shetland Islands. Seas were impressive, but the ride was comfortable for most, and the ship was filled with activity. Many of us enjoyed seeing seabirds, the steady masters of this moving gray world. Gannets, pied and pointy, soared around us, and fulmars, looking intelligent, if slightly indignant, were common.
Midmorning, David Barnes spoke about the people of the British Isles, preparing us for the intricate layering of history and culture that we will experience in our travels over the next two weeks.
Near noon, deeper gray emerged through the cloud; this was land, already a strangely unfamiliar element. We passed the Cliffs of Noss, and turned into Lerwick, "capital" of the Shetlands.
Like the seas around them, the Shetland Islands undulate in waves of rock, rounded by glacial ice. The hills are blanketed in a calico of green and purple vegetation. Streams, peat-strained to frothy espresso shades, wandered or tripped down the hillsides.
We bussed to Jarlshof, a significant archaeological site. The casual eye might excuse this place as isolated and bleak, but more careful consideration reveals rich soil and a ready supply of marine food. Then it is no surprise that all sorts of people have inhabited this spot through the ages. We saw circular and daisy-shaped stone-age dwellings, stacked and intermeshed like the workings of some great smashed rocky clock, and lying atop them, the linear structures of Vikings and 17th century Shetlanders.
At Sumburgh Head, we viewed a distant lighthouse. Peering over windy cliffs, we saw the rocky breeding grounds of seabirds. While most had gone off to their pelagic homes, the fulmars remained. Hunkered down in grassy alcoves, or soaring adroitly through the fierce wind, the birds seemed perfectly at home in this seemingly punishing environment. More surprising were their neighbors, the rabbits. They pondered us with their blank and friendly stares, or scuttled, in their goofy see-sawing gait, down slopes that would make a mountain goat hesitate.
While traversing the island, we saw a number of Shetland's best known inhabitants: the ponies. Calm, scruffy and matter-of-fact, they seem to reflect the island's character perfectly.
Back on the ship, we enjoyed the Captain's welcome aboard cocktail party and dinner before an evening leg-stretch in Lerwick.
