Visited 3rd July 2021
High up the northern fastness of Scotland, nearly as far north as you can get on the British mainland, the windswept bleakness and sense of isolation makes a visit to a site up here take on an extra poignancy.
So close to the main A9, and the town of Thurso, Achavanich is an easy place to visit if you’re in these parts. On our regular trips up to Orkney the sight of the small brown signpost signalling the turn off the main road, often enticing us to stop and visit if we had time to kill before the ferry, became as it were a touchstone, an indication that we were almost ‘home’.
Today the weather is mild, and blue skies emerge through scudding clouds. A walk round the stones, looking down towards the loch of Stemster, and the stones feel like nowhere else. The side on alignment of the orthostats is puzzling and must have some purpose behind it, but the stones aren’t telling and the place remains as enigmatic as ever.
It’s nice to see how over the years the site has become better kempt, my first time here over 20 years ago, involved clambering over a fence, and trying to make out the stones amongst the overgrown spiky grasses which thronged the site. Now a smart but small layby, along with some unobtrusive information boards make visitors feel welcome. There is even a gate now to access the chambered cairn which sits nearby overlooking the site.
We spend some time with the stones, a couple of campervans turning up and providing a few more visitors, and things just feel a bit otherworldly here. It’s soon time to make our way off to get the ferry, and Achavanich has provided a fine reminder of some of the megalithic riches that can be found in Caithness.
Photo taken on 3rd July 2021.Sweep of the stones of the wonderful ‘U’ shaped setting of Achavanich. The remains of the chambered cairn is visible to the left of the shot.
Some idiot has seen fit to engrave some graffiti on to one of the stones at Brodgar.
Report and picture of the damage in the Orcadian
A crowdfunding campaign has been launched to help fund this year’s excavation and post-excavation at the Ness of Brodgar archaeological site.
On July 2, archaeologists and volunteers will return to the Neolithic complex after ten months of careful planning and research.
But with the costs of the annual excavation and subsequent post-excavation work increasing as more needs to be done, the trust behind the dig is looking to online crowdfunding to help meet those costs, and is asking if £25,000 of those costs can be raised by public support.
Funds will not only go towards mounting post-excavation analysis of finds but will help with scaffolding platform hire, specialists, tour guides and transport as well as equipment for the annual excavation – from plastic bags to safety equipment.
Plans for 2018 include the further investigation of an enigmatic structure on the outskirts of the site – possibly a chambered tomb – as well as extending existing trenches to look at earlier buildings and, hopefully, find more evidence of the massive stone wall that once surrounded the complex.
orcadian.co.uk/ness-of-brodgar-crowdfunding-campaign-is-launched/
Photo taken on 21st June 2017 at 4.17 am, about 10 minutes after sunrise.
Here comes the sun! Photo taken at sunrise on the summer solstice, 4.17 am, 21st June 2017.
Photo taken 20th June 2017. Note the holed stone lined up with the entrance, which may have been re-used from an earlier monument and incorporated into the site.
Photo taken 20th June 2017. The souterrain chamber just outside the broch walls.
Photo taken 20th June. One of the buildings in the exterior village complex that contained two furnaces. Look at the quality of that stonework!
Visited 20th June 2017
As the dig season for the Cairns draws towards its end, and the sun makes an appearance through the clouds, it seems like the right time for a trip down to South Ronaldsay to check out the excavation. There is a small parking spot down at Windwick bay, full when we arrived, so we squeezed the car onto the verge, please make sure you don’t block the drive of the neighbouring house though, fortunately we didn’t, but during our visit someone else had, prompting a visit from the irate householder unable to get his car out, giving a bit of a haranguing to the archaeologists!
Soon we were approached by a friendly archaeologist asking us if we would like a tour, and along with a small group of other visitors he proceeded to take us all around the site giving us a fascinating explanation of the various features, before taking us into the finds hut to show us some of the most recent finds, including a lovely bronze ‘Hand-pin’ found a few days ago.
Even without a tour though the site would be well worth a visit. The first thing that struck me was the size of the broch, walls at least three metres thick, with the fine sweep of its circular stonework and its interior orthostats clearly showing dividing partitions within the structure. Just seeing it partially emerged from the ground, and coming back into view for the first time in over 1,500 years was amazing. I was particularly struck by the holed stone orthostat which stood aligned with main broch entrance, the archaeologist suggesting it may have been a stone taken from an earlier neolithic monument from the surrounding area and re-used.
Outside of the broch work was proceeding on the large trench investigating the surrounding village complex. Two furnaces and a number of parts of broken moulds for bronze pins have been uncovered in this area, suggesting production of jewellery on a large scale, and suggestive of an obviously important site.
We learned so much about this fascinating place, particularly intriguing to me was the fact that apparently the broch had at one point been de-commissioned, the upper floors taken down, and used to infill the interior of the structure, but done in a careful way without destroying the internal partitions. Even more mysteriously a souterrain was then built outside of the structure which linked to a chamber built into the infilled broch.
We must have spent at least an hour with the archaeologist, who gave us a fantastic tour of this enigmatic site, and if you ever get the chance to visit during the Cairns relatively short excavation season I can’t recommend it highly enough.
Visited 16th April 2017
With all the gems of the world heritage site of Brodgar to see a visit to the mound of Skae Frue might seem like something to be undertaken only by the dedicated stone-ticker. But if you are taking the time to visit the Ring of Bookan (and I really suggest that you do) then it seems only polite to walk a little way down the slope toward the loch, the green undulation of the tumulus peeking enticingly above the fence line to the adjoining field. There’s even a handy gate nearby, so no danger of ripping the trousers whilst negotiating the fence.
Although the cairn is little more than a grassy lump it’s not so much about what you see at the cairn, and more about what you see from the cairn. The hills of Hoy dominate the view, the slot between Ward Hill and the Cuilags notching the horizon, and you realise the perfection of the placement of this site. It also feels really nice here, particularly on a sunny day like today. Hidden from the road, the loch spread out beneath you, and from the top of the mound, looking back, the earthen ramparts of the Ring of Bookan dominate the next field.
Whilst lacking the grandeur of its nearby neighbours it’s no less worthy of spending some time here to relax and contemplate the mysteries of the Ness, stretched out before us as we sit atop the mound.
Sadly not a magical rejuvenation of the Thorn tree, but an old photo I found taken on 5th February 2008, showing the tree in happier times :(
Report from the Orcadian with details of the new visitor centre.
Photo taken 5th February 2017. The perfect cairn circle at Soussons Common. Recent rains meant a pool had formed in the depression of the cist, but the top of the cist stones could still just be seen poking through the turf.
Visited 5th February
It’s getting on in the afternoon, so looking for an ancient site that was a) easily accessible, with no massive hike required, and b) somewhere we’d never been before, limited the options somewhat. However a cursory look at the OS map seemed to show a likely candidate in the temptingly close to the road form of the Soussons Common cairn circle.
Heading south from Moretonhampstead on the B3212 we initially missed the turning, which probably in hindsight was a good thing, as it’s a very sharp left turn, which almost doubles back on itself. So turning around in the ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ village of Postbridge, and back up the road, we headed down the lane signposted towards Widecombe.
Within a couple of minutes the circle was visible off to our left in a clearing screened by forestry. There’s plenty of space to pull in, and I scamper out of the car and into the perfect little circle of twenty-three stones.
It’s almost too perfect here but I’m immediately struck by the atmosphere, it feels so welcoming and homely. Sheltered but not overpowered by the trees, seemingly remote but accessible on the quiet moors, pristine but not over-restored, there is just something about the place. An old camper van is discretely parked on a forestry track nearby, and the smell of wood smoke emanating from its chimney, along with the sound of wood being chopped for the fire, somehow just adds to the cosy air of domesticity.
It’s too damp for sitting, but I stand in the circle and ponder, surrounded by the sounds of the wind in the trees, birdsong, and the aforementioned crusty’s axe work. The central cist is well grassed over now, with only the top edges of the cist stones remaining as a faded outline, such a shame that people fail to treat these places with the respect they deserve, but at least this part of the monument is now protected as it slumbers beneath the turf.
Another of Dartmoor’s many gems, the circle is intimate in size, yet still gives a feeling of the specialness of the place. Once cairn stones would have filled this space, but today instead it feels a place of life, a small posy of heather placed by one of the stones showing it still holds a significant meaning for some, of which I am one.
Visited 4th February 2017
There’s surely nothing better than a pasty, a pint, and the prospect of seeing a hitherto unvisited stone circle. So as we finish up our lunch in the Tors Inn in Belstone, and I peruse the O.S. map, I couldn’t feel more content.
Leaving the car at the pub we head off up the road past the old chapel/telegraph station (honestly!) towards the moor. It’s been a while since I’ve tried to track down a new site with a map, and I’m hoping my navigational skills are not totally rusty, particularly if I’m looking for somewhere on a trackless moor, but at least the Nine Stones looks reassuringly close to the village.
Soon we reach the gate which opens on to the moor, there’s space to park here if you want, but it’s only a couple of minutes closer than where we left the car. Now checking the map I can see that we just need to head south-west to find the circle. It’s been so long since I’ve been out in the field that I couldn’t find my compass before setting off, but never fear, with modern technology to the rescue I turn to the compass function on my phone, only to discover that I first need to ‘calibrate’ it, which of course, requires a phone signal. Drifting between half a bar and emergency calls only, I manoeuvre the phone around as if attempting to signal by semaphore or perhaps deter a particularly persistent wasp, until just enough connection is made that the compass will now work.
Striking off across the moor we pass several walkers coming the other way, and quite a distinct and well-trodden path to follow. It’s a crisp cold day, but blue skies soar above us, and the horizon is given a gauzy, soft focus look by a lingering vague mist in the distance. It’s not long though before the stones of the kerb circle make themselves visible to our left, and I realise I probably didn’t need the map and compass after all, so close are they to the path.
The first thing I’m struck by is the setting. The granite tops of Belstone and Higher Tors commanding the view as they overlook the circle, the landscape seeming very ancient indeed as you stand here amongst the stones.
Although called Nine Stones there are at least twelve by my count, and probably at one time even more. Nine I’m sure relates more to the sacred trinity of the number three in Celtic myth, as I’m sure does the etymology of the name Belstone itself, after the Celtic god of fire and the sun. Inside the circle there is an obvious depression in the centre, probably the remains of a cist, but it’s really the setting and sense of place that affect me here.
Dramatic and windswept it feels remote, but is actually only about a ten minute walk from the village, hidden atop the moor, with the only sign of life a remote farmhouse to the west, a small stream and waterfall glistening as it cuts across the deeper green of the fields below us, and then of course the huge tors, like the fossilised remains of ancient leviathans as they dominate the moor.
Sadly I note that I must have missed the stones capering’s, as it’s 1pm now and everything is still, but you can’t be too disappointed. It’s a perfect place on a perfect day, the sky remains, dare I say it, a hazy shade of winter, but Bel must be pleased someone is taking an interest in his stones, as standing in the circle, the gentle warmth of the sun reminded me that the first stirrings of spring are at hand, and as life returns to the land, so I too feel alive here, such is the power still of ‘old stones’.
Photo taken 4th February 2017. The circle in its dramatic moorland aspect.
Photo taken 4th February 2017. Nine Stones, with the looming granite of Belstone Tor behind.
Photo taken 4th February 2017. Looking north-west across the, undoubtedly more than, Nine Stones.
Photo taken 13th June 2016.
The info board, attached to the brick ‘chimney’ which sits atop the mound.
Photo taken 13th June 2016.
Looking back at the tomb whilst trying to find Holm of Papay Centre.
Photo taken 13th June 2016.
The zig zag patterns in the tomb.
Photo taken 13th June 2016.
Looking down the length of the chambered tomb.
Photo taken 13th June 2016.
The famous ‘eyebrows’ plus loads of cupmarks!
Photo Taken 13th June 2016. Looking down the length of the mound, the horrible concrete roof spoiling the view somewhat!
Photo taken 13th June 2016. The full length of the mound becomes apparent as you approach.
Photo taken 13th June 2016. The approach to the Holm of Papa Westray.
Visited 13th June 20016
There are some places that you want to visit for so long that getting there becomes akin to a pilgrimage. Holm of Papay was one of those sites that took on an almost mythic quality for me. I’d figured that out of everywhere in Mr Cope’s big orange book, this would be one of the most difficult places to get to. I spend a lot of time on Orkney, but even from there it seems impossibly remote, and from the mainland a trip involves a jaunt on a number of ever smaller boat trips, like a matryoshka of ferries.
But today the stars are aligned, and we are standing under glorious sunshine outside the Co-op on Papay, looking down to sea, the holm dominating our view, with the distinctive green lump of the cairn unmistakable due to the curious chimney like structure poking out of the top.
Inside the Co-op a handy poster advertises trips to the Holm with a contact number to call, and an enquiry with the lady at the shop (whilst perusing the rather good selection of single malts) suggests that I first contact the Papay Ranger to see if anything can be arranged and she gives me his number. Outside I can just about get a mobile phone signal and eagerly enquire as to when it would be possible to get over to the Holm, ‘Well’, comes the reply, ‘I’m not sure whether anyone is heading over there today, and I’m not around this afternoon otherwise I’d take you over’, instantly my heart sank, with the reality that perhaps I should actually have tried to arrange things before coming over to Papay and expecting to automatically get a boat to the Holm, the luxury of being able to regularly hop onto ferries to pop over to the other islands having blinded me to this fact. ‘Leave it with me’, says the friendly neighbourhood Ranger, and I’ll phone Tim the boatman and see if he’s about’.
So with some hope restored we walk down to the shore, just to be tantalised further by the cairn smugly filling our view, across an achingly narrow gap of water. I’ve been in this position before, when we visited Shetland we tried to get across to Mousa broch, but the weather was so windy during our stay (what a surprise!) that all boats were cancelled, and we had to content ourselves with staring wistfully at the nearby object our quest. Today the sun sparkles off the sea and there is so little wind that for Orkney it may as well be dead calm, and to be prevented from a visit by my own lack of forethought would be the final irony. We daren’t wander too far away, as the vagaries of the phone reception means that the signal bars on my phone are flashing on and off like a strobe light. We decide to head back up to the Co-op, feeling a bit in limbo, but at least there we know we can receive calls.
It isn’t too long before the Ranger calls back, to tell me that Tim is going over to the Holm later to shear some sheep, so to head down to the pier at the allotted time and we could come along.
We have a wander around Papay for a couple of hours while we wait for our trip before making our way to the pier. Moored at the end is a small boat, The Dunter, looking like a mini landing craft, with around eight seats and a small ramp at the front, and soon a lady accompanied by a sheep dog turns up and introduces herself as Tim’s partner, and we chat amiably for a few minutes until Tim turns up accompanied by his son and daughter, also here to help with the shearing.
We clamber down some very sleep and slippery steps at the end of the jetty, and step into the boat, doing our best not to plunge into the water, and then donning life jackets we set off! The crossing is a short but exciting one, the small size of the boat makes you feel very close to the water, as small waves slap against the bow spraying us all with salt water, and Tangle the sheepdog stands at the prow like a figurehead. We pass close to seals hauled out on the skerries, who regard us curiously, and Tim slows the boat to give us a better look, also pointing out gannets, terns and eider ducks as we pass them.
Nearing the beach the chambered tomb looms ahead of us, looking longer than anything else I’ve seen on Orkney (save for Midhowe, concealed within its shed), and as the boat grounds on the sand and the front ramp is lowered we step gingerly through the brine onto the island.
At first it’s hard to believe I’m actually here. Tim and family head off to a ruined shieling along the coast, and we are left alone, with just the sea birds wheeling overhead. Trekking up the short distance to the tomb we get fine views out to sea, the water deep ultramarine around us, and Papay and Westray both visible behind . The original low entrance on the east side of the tomb is now blocked to access, instead relying on ingress through a ladder from the roof. Atop the mound I’m surprised to see the brick ‘chimney’ structure, so visible on the tombs profile, is actually just a plinth for an information board! It strikes me as somewhat bizarre that wasn’t placed at ground level set back form the tomb itself, rather than going for the silhouette of a submarine look, but I suppose the roof isn’t original anyway so it doesn’t really matter.
Hauling open the hatch I’m into the tomb like a rat down a drainpipe, and in the cool dim interior I drink it all in. It’s lot lighter than I was expecting, several skylights providing a good level of illumination, but just in case, tucked onto a ledge, is the good old municipal torch, so beloved of sites in Orkney. Also though just like the vast majority of such civically provided accessories the batteries have run out. I ponder on whose job it would be to change them, and whether there is a position vacant within Orkney Islands Council for a Chambered Tomb Torch Maintenance Operator (if so can I put in my application now please). Rather more helpfully there are also several rolled up sleeping mats, not for those who fancy overnighting in the tomb, but to lay on the gravelly floor in order to enable you to crawl into the very low side cells within suffering multiple puncture wounds.
The plastic sheeting mentioned in the Fear’s fieldnotes is nowhere to be seen, but it’s still a little damp in here, and once again I’m disappointed to see that a build-up of green algal growth is starting to accumulate on the stones, a sight seen across all of the concrete topped chambered tombs in Orkney. It’s doubly tragic here, where it makes the unique carvings found within the tomb all that much harder to make out, and I wish the roof had been re-constructed in dry stone instead. I’m not too disheartened though for this place is still amazing!
There are seemingly endless chambers to explore, and with my phone’s flashlight in hand I inch into the low openings to several of them on my back, the mats definitely proving their worth. As I shine the light around inside the dark side cells, scanning for carvings, shadows fleeing across the walls, all of my Indiana Jones fantasies come to life and I’m elated. Scurrying from one chamber to another (there are 12 to choose from) I try to pick out any patterns or carvings amid the slimy green film covering the walls. It’s then I find it, the unmistakable ‘eyebrows’, along with some cup-marks on a lintel of one of the side chambers. There are also hatched, vaguely diamond shaped scratches into the stone, visually reminiscent of some of the carved stones recovered from the Links of Noltland that we saw in the visitors centre on Westray a few days ago.
We end up spending some considerable time in the tomb, its light and roomy interior making it a pleasant place to spend a while (if you’re into ancient burial sites that is), but with always half an eye on the clock, we know there is still a plane to catch back to Kirkwall later, and we will need to go and find Tim to interrupt him from his shearing before he can take us back, so regretfully it soon becomes time to leave.
I hope to try and catch a glimpse of the remains of other two chambered tombs as we walk across the island, but the large cleft of a geo cutting across our path on the way to forces us to backtrack and there’s just not time.
Before long we’re climbing back aboard The Dunter, on our way back to Papay. The trip to the Holm has cost £25 each, the flights from Kirkwall another £35, but the experience is priceless.
I can’t recommend it enough for anyone who gets a thrill out of these ancient places, and more than likely you’ll have the island to yourself! My one tip would be to plan the trip way in advance though. Luckily everything fell into place for us, and although the whims of the Orkney weather are not something you can plan on you can at least check things out with the Papay Ranger (he’s on Facebook) or phone 01857 644224, you won’t regret it!
Visited 13th June 2016
The Knap of Howar is somewhere that captivated me as soon as I saw it in the papery TMA. A finely preserved ancient house seemingly perched at the edge of the world, inviting exploration. So it was with no little sense of excitement that as an anniversary treat Ellen had booked us a flight to Papay and a visit was on the cards.
Flying to the island is an experience in itself, and a flight from Kirkwall actually costs no more than taking a car on the ferry to the outer islands, but the small size of the aircraft and limited number of flights mean that it gets fully booked very quickly, so it pays to plan ahead and book well in advance. This meant we had to take a gamble on getting a good days weather, but fortunately this gamble paid off handsomely.
After only twenty minutes in the air, the Orkney’s spread below, verdant islets amongst the shimmering sea in this beautiful clear weather. After landing on Westray we get to stay on the plane as it makes the world’s shortest scheduled flight to Papay, a mere five minutes, barely seeming to get airborne before putting us down again in this remote rural enclave.
The Knap of Howar is only a few minutes walk from the airfield, and after disembarking along with the two other passengers aboard the tiny eight-seater aircraft we turned one way down the road along the spine of the island whilst they headed off in the opposite direction, and within minutes we were alone.
It’s hard to describe just how peaceful it is, there’s no sound of vehicles, and no-one else in sight, only the calls of the birds and the gentle susurration of the sea. It’s also distinctly warm, especially so for Orkney, and I begin to regret bringing my coat.
Soon we reach a crossroads around which are clustered some historic looking farm buildings. One direction seems to lead towards civilisation, or at least a couple of houses and the Papay Community Co-op shop, the other, helpfully signposted to the Knap of Howar, leads through the farmyard. It all seems strangely quiet here, no sign of animals or people, but soon a fenced off part of the field near to the shore is visible, which obviously contains the structure themselves, and they’re every bit as good as I’d imagined.
The two buildings form a dwelling with attached workshop/barn, right at the edge of the sea. The low doorways and the way the buildings seem to settle into the ground are reminiscent of Skara Brae (minus the crowds), but here you are free to explore the interiors at will, and really get a sense of the place.
The interior is finely preserved, a large worn saddle quern sits opposite a recess in one of the walls, which I lean against and look out through the doorway to the sea. The thought of someone thousands of years ago bending down at this very spot to grind grain, with perhaps an occasional wistful glance outside just as I’m doing now, is really affecting. It’s also the little details you spot that really bring the place to life, such as a recessed shelf, the backing of which is a darker slab than the rest of the wall, a fine piece of flagstone covered with fossilised stromatolites, providing a rich textured backdrop against which to display some treasured possessions.
As Kammer says in his fieldnotes it is serene here, you feel completely cut off from the modern world, and I could happily hang out here all day, especially in such lovely weather. I settle for having a sandwich whilst sitting by the quernstone, and thinking of those people who would have spent their lives here so long ago. But the lure of possibly visiting an even more remote and exciting site soon pulls us on, as we set off in search of someone to take us across to the Holm of Papay...
Photo taken 13th June 2016. The wonderful Knap of Howar on an equally wonderful day.
Photo taken 13th June 2016. The interior of the smaller northern workshop building.
Photo taken 13th June 2016. In the wall of the southern house is this niche, the back of it a contrasting dark slate, covered in stromatalites. Perhaps a spot to display treasured items?
Photo taken 13th June 2016. Inside the larger southern house, a saddle quern still lying in situ at the bottom left of the shot.
Photo taken 13th June 2016. The dwellings of the Knap of Howar, the island of Westray just visible in the left of the shot.
Visited 12th June 2016
Now how have I missed this place before! It was only on a trawl through Canmore, trying to establish just how many standing stones remained in Orkney, that I noticed one on South Ronaldsay I’d previously missed. A further check on TMA showed this stone looked rather good, and armed with Wideford’s directions, on another fine sunny day, we headed off over the barriers towards St Margaret’s Hope.
The single track lane signed to St Peter’s Kirk leads you down toward the sea, the grey stone of the kirk itself soon appearing on the horizon, seemingly floating on the sea like grey stone ship. To the left of the road as we descend the slope the towering megalith of Sourquoy stands proud, furred with sea moss, and keeping its lonely vigil.
Down at the end of the road there is plentiful parking at the kirk, the stone clearly visible on its hillside just up the road. A short walk back up the lane shows the stone stands in a narrow gap between two fields now separate from the fence line. The narrow path seems to form some sort of drainage ditch, a gully running up the side of it, currently dry due to the recent fine weather, and there is just enough space to either side of the ditch to walk next to the fence towards the stone, and shortly the drainage channel ends allowing more space to approach the megalith.
And a fine stone it is, towering above you and with that particular aspect that South Ronaldsay stones have, whereby they appear to be standing sentinel and staring out to the ocean. Like the Moai of Easter Island they all seem to be faced toward the sea, in some way to watch out over the shore and peoples of the island, and perhaps the reasons for their erection were not dissimilar to those of the inhabitants of that far flung island.
There is certainly a fine view from the stone, the lucent sparkle of the sun on the sea causing me to don my sunglasses (who’d have thought I’d need them on Orkney!) and the warmth of the stone on my back promoting an overall sense of serenity.
Pulling myself away we wander back to the car, and just off down past the kirk is the lovely sandy bay of Newark. Sand Martins skim the beach and Oystercatchers nest in the fields along the shore, and I catch a glimpse of some chicks as they run between the shelter of overgrown tufts of vegetation, the warning peeps of the adult birds echoing across the sands as they wheel overhead. Just behind the church on the shore line stands a modern standing stone, erected to commemorate the millennium, a fine memorial carved with a variety of Pictish symbols and well worth a visit. It stands almost in line with its ancient neighbour, a handful of millennia separating the two, but the sense of sacred place remains, a connecting thread through the ages.
Photo taken 12th June 2016. The standing stone at Sorquoy currently stands between two field boundaries.
Photo taken 12th June 2016. The stone seems to stare wistfully out to sea, a sentinel on the South Ronaldsay coast.
Photo taken 12th June 2016. Blue skies over Sorquoy.
Photo taken 9th June. The stone on a perfect Westray day.
Photo taken 9th June. Looking west at the stone from just inside the field. The cairns atop the flanking hills are just visible to either side of the stone.
Photo taken 9th June 2016. Looking south the stone has a bit of a phallic aspect!
Photo taken 9th June 2016. Stone of Quoybirse, with the village of Pierowall in the background.
Visited 9th June 2016
A glorious sunny day on our trip to Westray with barely a cloud in the sky, and in my continuing quest to track down all of Orkney’s standing stones I notice one marked on the O.S. map enticingly close to the road. I try to spot it in the fields at the side of the road whilst simultaneously trying not to fall off my bike or veer into oncoming traffic (fortunately not much of a problem on Westray) but the stone proves elusive, and I figure it’s probably one of those small stones not easy to spot unless you’re right on top of it, how wrong I would turn out to be!
The rest of the day is pleasant though, visiting some of Westray’s other archaeological treasures and on our way back down the island I cast a final longing glance towards the spot where the map indicates the standing stone and just spot a tantalising glimpse of what could be the tip of a menhir peeking above a rise in the field. We are next to a farmhouse called Braehead Manse & Reid Hall, and propping the bike at the side of the road I follow a rough track up the side of the farm buildings which seems to lead toward another derelict house. Soon though I encounter a barbed wire fence across the track, placed to corral a herd of somewhat truculent looking cows who now seem to be the derelict building’s inhabitants. Although there is no way through I get a better view of the stone, and it looks a whopper!
Not to be defeated in the hunt for a site I head back to the road, where Ellen points out a gate into the field to the south side of the farmhouse, a field thankfully free of bovine interlopers, and just visible ahead the top of the stone. And what a stone it is, a slate-like finger, squared off and rising around 11 feet from its base of packing stones. The top is covered with a bristly growth of lichens, whilst the lower corners are rubbed to a polished smoothness due to its use as a cattle rubbing post. The menhir stands atop a small rise close to a stone fieldwall, looking down to Pierowall to the north.
The ‘front’ of the stone, or at least its widest face, draws the eye toward the western hills of Westray, hills that are topped with a line of cairns. I wonder if this stone sentinel in some way was meant to delineate this area, signifying a boundary with the sacred high grounds beyond. In this way it reminded me of the Stone of Setter on nearby Eday, which also seemed to signify the start of an area rich in ritual sites. Standing here I can see the cairns atop the hills to either side framing the stone.
There’s nothing better than finding a site for the first time, particularly when it exceeds your expectations, like this stone has. The calls of Curlews and Oystercatchers, for me the soundtrack of Orkney, ring out around us, the sun warmed stone on my back providing a sense of snugness, and I think how perfect it is to be here. It’s more than just having ‘bagged’ this stone, but instead having found somewhere I’m captivated. One day I’ll return and walk to the cairns in the hills, to look down on the stone from above, but until then we’ll have to leave, with just enough time to spot some Puffins on the rock stack of the Castle O’ Burrian nearby.
Visited 6th June 2016
Cuween hill is one of the most wonderful chambered tombs on Mainland, like a scaled down version of Maes Howe, without the attendant crowds of that site, and somewhere you can spend time to take in the atmosphere of the place.
Today is a glorious sunny day, with no wind, almost unheard of on Orkney. I take the opportunity of the fine weather and long northern summer days to cycle from the house, out along the Old Finstown road, passing the brooding flanks of Wideford Hill, its chambered cairn hidden from view at this angle, towards the hills surrounding Finstown and my destination. Soon the great bowl of Heddle quarry becomes visible, like a giant bite taken out of the hillside, and in the foreground the green lump of the Fairy Knowe, highlighted by the strange piles of rocks which have been constructed behind it. When I first visited Cuween Hill I got very excited by what looked like a line of standing stones arrayed above the top of the chambered cairn, only to find stacks of stones instead of fine megaliths.
I leave my bike in the small parking area at the foot of the hill, and head up to the tomb, the heat of the sun, and the echoing call of a cuckoo, give the evening a very summer idyll. Clambering over the stile allowing access through the fence which surrounds the tomb I notice the little municipal torch provided outside the entrance is still in situ, but lacking in batteries. No matter, the sun directly over the mound is bright enough to illuminate the entrance passageway, and even provide a dim glow into the interior.
A low shuffle down the entrance passage brings you into a surprisingly tall chamber, the ceiling arching overhead in a wonderful corbelled construction. My eyes adjust to the gloom enough for me to make out the darker squares of the small openings of the side chambers, one on each wall of the tomb. I crouch down and enter the side cell opposite the entrance. Inside this side chamber opens out, a smaller cell partitioned by a low stone step, and now turned away from the main chambers tenebrous interior the blackness ahead of me becomes almost tangible. It’s difficult to know how far this chamber will extend, I reach out gingerly, touching the wall, further away than I thought, and hunker down. Now the sensory deprivation seems total, sounds muffled to an almost inaudible extent, and the darkness enveloping me like a shroud. I relax, the stone beneath me not uncomfortable, and the chamber dry for once due to the lack of rain over the past week. Soon I think I hear the sound of dripping water, although none is there, and small dark shapes seem to flit before my eyes. Oh yes there are fairies here, though not the twee winged creatures of children’s stories, but the needle teethed mischievous peedie trows of the Orcadian landscape. Visions come easily here and as I mediate time seems to take on a fluid nature, and I’m unsure how long I’ve actually been here.
Eventually it’s a cramped feeling in my legs that brings me back to reality, and I uncurl myself and stumble outside into the sunlight. The site of cars on the road below reassure me that I’m still in 2016, and the sun overhead doesn’t even seem to have moved, although a glance at my watch shows I’ve been inside around half an hour.
I sit atop the mound to write my fieldnotes, And gaze down to the Wide Firth below, and try to make out Wideford cairn hunkered into its hill to the east. Whatever our distant ancestors had in mind when designing these tombs we will never know, but what’s clear to me is that they still retain an ability to affect us in the here and now, whether in wonderment at the dry stone construction, or as a place of shamanic journeying, they are still places of inspiration seen through whatever filter we want to put on them. For those venerable people who were buried here along with their dogs, a finer resting place can’t be imagined, and our continued wonderment now is surely a testament to the ancient builders.
Before I set out for home I soak in some more of the evening sun, the cuckoo has stopped now, but it still feels like summer.