Ravenfeather

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.

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.

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’.

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...

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.

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.

Visited 30th April 2016

I would never have known about this place without the handy ‘sites nearby’ drop down on the TMA website. I’d been looking to see if there was anywhere to combine with a visit to the Druids Circle at Ulverston, and being only a couple of miles away this seemed to fit the bill perfectly. I’d done a bit of Google Streetview scrying before we set out and located what looked like a suitable layby to park up in on Hooks Lane just to the south of the village on the way towards Little Urswick. Being too busy scanning the fields for the chamber we initially overshot the site, and if you reach a crossroads on Hooks Lane you’ve definitely gone too far. Managing to turn the car around in the narrow lane we eventually made it to the pull in, and walked back down the road looking for the chamber.

It’s difficult to spot from the road but soon we reached a likely looking gate with pubic footpath sign, directly opposite a small stone building and noticed that actually there was space to park the car right next to the field gate. It’s always nice when a site can be accessed via a public footpath as it just makes the whole visit more relaxed, allowing you to enjoy the place without feeling like an intruder. So crossing the field we soon reached a stile over a stone wall with the slope on which the burial chamber stands behind it.

The burial chamber is cunningly concealed by a tree, which not so much as hides the chamber but erupts from it, pushing aside the stone orthostats as if in a time-lapse arboreal explosion. From the blocky stone facade the burial chamber resembles the result you’d get if you asked someone to build a chambered tomb in Minecraft, chunky stone slabs of grey stone forming the proud remains of a frontage, whilst behind the chamber layers of limestone outcropping rise in a wide shelf.

It’s really peaceful here, a few cows going about their business cropping the grass in a nearby field, and I squeeze into the remains of the chamber and sit in the dappled shade soaking up the atmosphere and writing some fieldnotes. Although small and ruined this is a lovely place. It’s certainly an unusual site, of what I’m sure antiquarians would have referred to as a ‘rude’ construction, and reminded me a bit of the Brane burial chamber all the way down in Cornwall. The top stone of the chamber seems to support a little ecosystem of its own, with various mosses, ferns and even a small tree growing there, and standing back from a certain angle the chamber resembles a giant turtle, the bushy greenery of the central tree forming the shell.

Decamping over to the limestone ridge to survey the view the sun is out, and the chamber blends nicely into the landscape, almost as if it’s a natural feature. I could happily stay here all day, I just wish we’d got a picnic with us, as it’s getting late into the afternoon now and we’ll need to move on soon to find somewhere to eat.

Crossing the field back to towards the car we encounter a couple of walkers examining an O.S. map, ‘Don’t suppose you know where the burial chamber is?’ they ask, I point them in the direction of the tree hiding the stones, they initially look at me askance, probably having expected something more along the lines of West Kennett, but head off anyway another two visitors for this engaging little site.

Visited 30th April 2016

The Druids circle always strikes me as a bit of a Cinderella site, always overlooked for the more glamourous sites of Castlerigg, Long Meg and Sunkenkirk that lie further within the heart of the Lake District. It’s always been the case previously for me too, with never time to detour off as there always seemed bigger sites to see. Now it’s time to put this right and the circle is first on our itinerary for our weekend in the Lakes.

Engaging in the traditional British bank holiday pursuit of dodging both the showers and the traffic it’s not long before we turn off at Ulverston and are on the A5087 hugging the coast. I’d previously Google Street Viewed the hell out of this road, to make sure I’d recognise the sharp turning onto Birkrigg common, and so had no trouble in finding the un-signposted lane we needed. Pulling in on the grass next to a couple of other cars I was amazed to find I could just about make out the low shapes of the stones. I’d worried it might be harder to find, having read some of the previous fieldnotes, and the ominous pronouncement ‘needs an O.S. map’ from the papery TMA, but it seems the previously obscuring ferns have been quite brutally hacked back.

It’s a lovely setting for a site, and the circle’s not bad either. Blue skies stretch over the expansive stretch of Morecambe bay, and the tower of Bardsea church in line with the circle draws the eye, a fine juxtaposition of the old gods and the new.

The circle itself is intriguing, the small pristine ring of pockmarked stones initially looking like they tell the whole story, and only at a closer glance do you make out the outer circle of recumbent stones around the perimeter. It may be natural, but it almost looks like the circle sites on a henge, vague traces of a raised platform and embanked ditch catch my eye, but it’s probably wishful thinking on my part. As a site it makes a complex picture, and I sit amongst the stones and ponder.

The breeze is mild and the warmth of the sun is pleasant when it makes an appearance between the scudding clouds, and I’m struck by how nice it is here. Sadly there is still some traces of red paint on the stones, but it’s barely visible, and the circle will persist unbowed long after the existence of the idiotic vandal responsible is forgotten. A small piece of amethyst has been left in the centre of the circle as an offering, but it’s nice to see everything else is clean and tidy with no signs of litter about.

I walk to the nearby limestone pavement to get a slightly elevated view, serenaded on my way by a skylark, and have to concur with Mr Cope, that this truly is a ‘righteous hangout’, even in this region of spectacular circles the Druid’s Circle holds its own. It retains a certain charm of the plucky underdog, and is surely worth the visit in its own right. I like it here!

Visited 2nd May 2016

When visiting King Arthur’s Round Table I’d make two suggestions. Firstly the little village of Eamont Bridge is surprisingly busy, and there isn’t really anywhere designated to park if you’re coming to see the henge. We squeezed in amongst some other cars at the side of the A6, outside what seemed to be a rather busy hair salon and garage that seemed to be holding a yard sale. In hindsight it would probably have been better to park up at one of the two nearby pubs, where a leisurely drink, as opposed to a continual fear of getting the car bumped, might have proved more conducive to a pleasant visit.

Secondly make sure you come here first before visiting Mayburgh henge. Having just come from there it’s fair to say that after the grandeur of the amazing Mayburgh, which exceeded all expectations, there’s a palpable sense of let-down when you first see King Arthur’s table. Huddled between the intersection of two busy roads, on first appearances it bares more resemblance to a village bowling green, or King Arthur’s picnic spot perhaps? Like Carl before us we were somewhat disappointed with this place.

Shadows from the late afternoon sun pick out the gentle undulations of the earthworks. It’s a shame the northern edge of the henge seems to have been barbarously shaved off, along with the second entrance, but walking around the neatly trimmed grass of the lumps and bumps of the ditch and mound everything was pleasant enough, there just seemed to be something missing. The tree adorned top of the bank at Mayburgh is visible on the horizon, and as I wander around the circular centre of the henge I try to imagine how the sightlines must once have been between the two monuments, but it’s hard to strip away the modern trappings of the road and village.

I can’t quite put my finger on why I’m not so taken with this place, perhaps if it sat in splendid isolation, with just the majestic embankments of Mayburgh on the horizon, or in a way just felt a bit more ‘wild’ I’d appreciate it more. I was interested to read in Fitzcoraldo’s notes that it was once turned into a tea garden, as it still feels a bit like that now, perhaps just a little too manicured?

Still it’s so close to the road and near to Mayburgh it seems rude not to at least pay a visit when passing, but I think it’s perhaps best taken as an appetiser to the wonderful Mayburgh just up the road.

Visited 7th August 2015

Machrie Moor is nothing less than one of the megalithic marvels of Britain. Within the protective embrace of the surrounding hills the moorland harbours a wealth of fine stones, and the whole area is like some sort of pre-history park.

It almost resembles a showroom for the types of megalithic monument seen across the land. Walking over the moor I can almost hear the monologue of a Neolithic salesman;
“Ooh looking for the latest in contemporary design, well just step this way! Now here we have your traditional style stone ring, very popular nowadays, and room for conversion if you fancy an en -suite burial cairn, whilst just along here we have the more chunky boulder-style of circle with interior ring, very handy for resting your cauldron in if you’re of the giant persuasion. If sir is on a modest budget let me show you the four-poster, compact and suitable for all ritual needs, or if you really want to make an impression how about using some really tall stones…” the scope and type of monuments you will see here is unprecedented.

As with all moorlands things can get a little bleak in poor weather but today we are blessed with bright sunshine and the rain which has plagued us throughout a week in Dumfriesshire has blown itself away. There is still evidence of the recent wet weather though, as Carl mentioned in the previous fieldnotes one of the circles has temporarily turned into a marsh, although this only seemed to add to its magical atmosphere, the deep spiky green grass poking through the water providing ample perches for dragonflies, which continually buzzed around us during our visit.

The good weather has brought out the visitors and a steady stream of walkers cross the moor, the little car park at the start of the walk filled to capacity, but there’s plenty here for everyone, and some solitude to be found if you want it.

There’s not much more I can add to Carl’s excellent previous fieldnotes, funny to think he was here only the week before!

Soaking up the wonderful megalithic atmosphere of the moor, the blue sea shimmering behind us in the distance, time slips by quickly, and like a fine malt whisky Machrie Moor needs to be savoured and so we’ve elected to spend most of our day on Arran here, despite the wealth of other lovely megalithic sites in the area.

When I first visited here fifteen years ago I was totally blown away, it was the first really ‘premier league’ site I made a pilgrimage to after getting Mr Cope’s big orange book, and further opened my eyes to the prehistoric wonders that were out there. I still feel the same being here today as I did then, this really is somewhere very special indeed. Until next time Machrie Moor…

Visited 26th June 2015

After leaving Halliggye fogou it seemed rude not to visit the Dry Tree menhir as it was only a couple a miles away and so seemed a fitting way to finish off the day even though we didn’t really know what to expect.

I made the mistake though of first taking the turning into the Goonhilly Earth Station, and on arriving into the eerily deserted parking area it became apparent we were probably in the wrong place. I got out of the car for a scout around but was unable to spot anything vaguely megalithic. The area had a strange feel to it, the giant dishes of the listening station looming mute above the perimeter fences and with no visible signs of life inside the compound, it felt like the sort of place the survivors of a post-apocalyptic alien invasion film would end up at.

Getting back into the car we were almost ready to give up and come back another day, but fortunately we had a signal on the phone (would have been somewhat ironic if there had been no reception here of all places!) and a quick check of the internet suggested that we actually needed to park at the old RAF site next door.

So back down the B3293 and in minutes a brown sign indicating ‘National Nature Reserve’ pointed us into a turning which leads to a sizable parking area. Here several paths lead out over the downs, and information boards and some very good leaflets are handily available to guide the way.

Following the path which shadows the perimeter fence we soon see the stone ahead of us, and it’s much taller than I expected. From the angle we approach it reminds me a friendly giant with a tiny head perched atop his wide body. As I happily wander around the menhir taking photos from every conceivable angle I’m struck by the way the stone has such a different appearance from each side you view it from.

This is a lovely stone, I was a bit worried that close proximity to the perimeter fence might spoil the ambiance somewhat but the counterpoint of the modern dishes with this lovely stone just sort of works. I’d love to explore some more of the walks across Goonhilly, perhaps spotting some of the many barrows around which dot the landscape, but that will have to be for another time, only Cruc Draenoc barrow will be close enough for a visit today as I can see that one from the stone!

It’s nigh on 8pm now as we bid farewell to the stone, and hunger pulls us away home for supper. As we walk back we’re escorted by Meadow Brown butterflies that flutter along the path in front of us, a magical end to a lovely visit.

Visited 26th June 2015

Cruc Draenoc is one of many barrows which dot the landscape around Goonhilly Downs, but this one benefits by its close proximity and intervisibility with the Dry Tree menhir.

From that stone the unmistakable lump of the barrow looms to the south west, easily distinguished by the trig point and concrete post which crown it.

We poke about the barrow, the late evening sun still blazing down on us. The mound itself is quite low, but it stands on the highest point of the downs, and the view out and down to the sea is wonderful. It’s difficult to discern the exact size and shape of the barrow due to the ferns which mask its outline, but it’s mercifully free of the thorny gorse which covers much of the downs, and no longer lives up to its old Cornish name, Cruc Draenoc, which means ‘barrow of the thorns’.

It’s a strangely beautiful landscape here, and a nice bonus to stumble across a barrow of this size at the end of a pleasant walk.

Visited 26th June 2015

We weren’t intending to visit any megalithic sites today, a thick sea fog blanketing everything in a damp muffling duvet of cloud when we awoke this morning in St. Just, but during a day spent in Falmouth the clouds finally burnt away leaving blue skies and blazing sunshine. So over a pint of Hobgoblin in ‘The Grapes’ a quick check of the TMA site on the phone (isn’t technology a wonderful thing!) produced a list of nearby candidates for a visit.

By far the most promising was Halliggye, somewhere I’ve never been before, and an impressive looking site to boot. So setting course for Garras on the B3293 we soon managed to find the Trelowarren estate and driving up the main drive (beware of the stealth humps though, which nearly ripped my car’s exhaust off!) soon the information board and layby appeared. It’s then only a short walk to the lovely enclosure surrounding the modern steps which lead down into the fogou.

As soon as we stepped inside we could tell this one was going to be something special. Ducking down to get through the entranceway, the passage soon rises enough to just about stand upright, and the feeble glow of my torch, desperately in need of some new batteries, struggles to illuminate the end of the corridor. Inching my way along due to the uneven floor, a long curved passageway soon opens up to the left, and I’m straight down it like a rat up a drainpipe.

The curve of the walls is disorientating as you carry on walking, the corridor seemingly wending its way into the depths of the underworld. It reminded me of the Tumulus de Rocher in Brittany, which had a similarly long and winding interior passage. Like Carl mentions in his fieldnotes, the stygian gloom of the surrounding darkness seems to suck the very light from my torch as I proceed, and only Ellen bringing up the rear with the light from her phone helps to penetrate the dimness.

Soon we reach the ‘stumbling block’ a raised stone ridge protruding from the floor, which marks the passage’s end, and I shuffle forward, crouched over, down the southern creep to the end of the fogou. Here I sit, Ellen waiting in the corridor nearby, and we turn off our lights. The darkness is all consuming. Total blackness surrounds you, and the atmosphere of the place becomes even more tactile. I become very aware of the sounds of my own breathing, and nearby an occasional squeaking sound, possibly from the bats that often roost here. I was expecting a damp, dank place, but it’s nothing like it. I can smell a faint but lingering scent of incense, then overlaid by a subtle lilac fragrance, and through the darkness I become more aware of all my other senses. If ever anyone needed help in practising mindfulness this is the place to come, something about it is affecting, sharpening your awareness of your place in this place, only the here and now seemingly existing as you float in the comforting darkness which surrounds you.
After maybe minutes or maybe hours, it’s hard to tell, the pinpricks of our torches come back on and we head back toward the entrance. Before leaving I wedge myself into the smallest northern creep, toward the original entrance to the fogou. It’s tiny but I can just squeeze in, although so wedged I fear I’ll ever get out! Happily after a bit of scrabbling I manage to ease myself back into the more spacious passageway, where we take more photos, before reluctantly taking out leave.

Although there is a suggestion fogou’s may have had a purpose as a place of storage this just doesn’t make sense to me, why construct such an elaborate and impractical cellar? I imagine it would be one hell of a hassle for an Iron Age farmer having to nip down the creep each time they wanted to retrieve an item! Visiting Halligye just strengthens my view that there was more likely some form of ritual purpose involved, seeing how an experience of the fogou can affect you psychologically I can only imagine the impact it would have had on people in that long ago culture.

Well I might have gone on a bit about this place, but it’s just that I haven’t been so blown away by a site visit for some time. There’s certainly a power here, and even for those less enamoured with the mystical mumbo jumbo a visit to Halliggye provides you with possibly the finest example of a fogou you could wish to see, so it’s a definite must visit.

Visited 22nd May 2015

Scouring the OS maps for obscure Orcadian sites I’d not yet visited, I spotted a promising looking standing stone at Spurdagrove. So parking up at the nearby Loons RSPB reserve, and armed with some binoculars, we took shelter from the biting wind inside the bird hide, and scoped out the landscape looking for the stone. A plethora of fence posts and tufty grass made it hard to identify our target, and despite spotting some Tufted ducks amidst the wetlands, and a very cute gaggle of goslings with their Greylag goose parents, the lesser spotted stone of Spurdagrove continued to prove elusive. Checking the O.S. map it looked as if the stone should be fairly close to the road, so braving the icy breeze we walked along the lane from the hide.

Just a short way along the road we noticed a newly tarmacked layby, next to a short path which led to a seat looking out over the Loons and sheltered by a semi-circular concrete wall as a windbreak, the whole structure looking newly built. From here Ellen spotted the small stone, tucked away down by the fenceline.
A nearby gate gave access into the field which sloped down toward the stone, the ground becoming more wet and marshy as you approach the fence and the wetland beyond. Marsh marigolds lined the bottom of the field, and amidst the wonderful view across the flat marshland plenty of birds could be seen.

Approaching the stone the small ‘recumbent’ paired with it becomes visible, although at first I didn’t realise it as such, thinking it was just a natural stone outcrop. I’d been gingerly picking my way through the boggy ground, and now reached the fence, the small standing stone tantalisingly close just on the other side.
As I’ve said before in many fieldnotes, when I visit a megalithic site I always have an urge to touch it. Somehow it just doesn’t seem as satisfying if I don’t, it’s hard to explain. I think somehow it just gives me a sense of connection, touching the stone, my hands making contact with the same surface that, thousands of years ago, another pair of hands, those of a distant Neolithic ancestor, had toiled and struggled to move and set up the monument in this place for their own unknowable purpose. So I’ll often go to great lengths to have that physical connection. On this occasion it takes little more than donning some wellies, and carefully stepping over part of the rickety gate which is gently sinking into the marsh, in order for me to get up close and personal to the stone.

Practically abutting the fence, it’s a small and wide stone, with a sloping top, of a grey rock with cracks running diagonally across it and pale lichen growing over it in bands. The stone itself reminds me of a stunted version of the Comet stone at Brodgar.

Hunkering down near the stone out of the wind I watch Lapwings wheeling overhead, the sound of their mournful cries carrying on the wind and giving the place a melancholy air, but still I love it here. The earth smells rich and loamy down by the stone, and out of the wind even the sun has some warmth. I’m glad to have found another of Mainland’s standing stones, they’re all different in their own ways, and though Spurdagrove won’t win the award for most impressive, it’s got a great atmosphere in a lovely location, and I know I’ll be back!

Visited 17th May 2015

The earlier rain has blown over now, but the brisk wind remains (well what did I expect, this is Orkney!) Now that the sun’s out I decide on a walk to the Long Cairn from the centre of Kirkwall. Taking the East road out of town you’re soon in the countryside, with the town spread out behind you as you head along the coast towards the Head of Work.

Once past the sewage works and a couple of gates negotiated, a vague path follows the shoreline to avoid the soggy moorland which comprises the rest of the headland. The walk grants superb views of the island of Shapinsay, seemingly only a stone’s throw away across the Sound, and allows me to get a good view of the chambered cairn atop Helliar Holm, the uninhabited island which practically connects to the south of Shapinsay, probably as close as I’ll get to it without a boat!

Skuas wheel around me as I walk along the headland and on arriving at the cairn I’m dive bombed by a tern, which obviously must be nesting nearby. The outline of the Long Cairn looks suitably chunky on the O.S map, and it’s just as substantial in real life. The large mound is visible on the headland from some distance as you approach. Some of the cairn stones are still visible amongst the grassy tumulus, particularly atop the mound where a small dip in the top has been accentuated by the piling up of stones around the depression by someone to create a partial windbreak.

I hunker in the dip to write my fieldnotes and marvel at the site. Another fine promontory location for a monument, and looking out to the west the dark heather clad slopes of Wideford hill draw the eye. The Long Cairn seems to be one in a chain of great burial structures, Wideford and Cuween atop the high ground and the Long Cairn sitting at the edge of the land, perhaps once a large landmark cairn on the coast like Midhowe was on Rousay.

The length of the Long Cairn can still be made out, as can the vestigial remains of the horned enclosure at the front of the cairn. I love the solitude here, so near to Kirkwall but seemingly so remote, one of the places I love to walk to in order to escape the hustle and bustle of Kirkwall when a cruise ship is in harbour!

Visited 17th May 2015

I’m told there are twenty-three standing stones on Orkney Mainland, and being determined to visit them all I turn to Stembister. It’s been on the radar for a while, and inspired by Wideford’s pictures and fieldnotes I’d attempted a visit before, driving up the track off the A960 and getting as far as the entrance to the farm, before finding I’d have to park in the farmer’s yard should I wish to walk onwards to the stone. Not wanting to intrude, and being a somewhat unsociable creature, I decided then against knocking on the door to request access, and turning the car around decided to find a different approach another day.

That was nearly a year ago, but today I’m back and having examined the 1:25,000 scale O.S. map it looks as if it would be possible to walk along the coastline to reach the stone therefore avoiding having to disturb the farmer. Taking advantage of some brief blue skies amidst the recent showery weather, I drive out to the car park at the wonderfully descriptively named beach at Sandi Sands. There are lovely views out here both to the north and south of this thin spit of land, with the large green mound of Dingie’s Howe, itself an ancient Norse ‘thing’ or parliament, built on the remains of a broch site, dominating the approach to the southern shore of the beach.

Climbing up past the Howe, and following the cliff edge I’m buffeted by a brisk wind as I walk along the vague track that runs next to the fenceline. It’s probably not a route for the fainthearted or anyone afraid of heights as it takes you pretty close to the edge, and I found myself having to keep one eye out for my footing, despite the distractions of the plentiful birdlife, and the desire to spot the pod of Orca’s that have been seen around the coasts of Orkney over the past few days. After negotiating the odd gully, and a quick clamber over a piece of fence which extended out to the cliff edge, the stone itself became visible.

Soon I was there, at a typical slab of Orcadian sandstone around 6’ tall, the tip bent at a jaunty angle, and somehow reminding me of the fin of a whale. The ever present tufts of sea moss ubiquitous on Orcadian megaliths tickle my neck as I sit with my back to the stone looking out to sea. It’s a wonderful view, with the island of Copinsay bold on the horizon, the stone wonderfully placed on its promontory, and reminiscent of the stones I’ve seen on South Ronaldsay in size and shape.

As with many other standing stones there is supposedly folklore surrounding giants attached, the oversized inhabitant of Stembister was said to have flung stones as far as Copinsay, presumably the standing stone here was the result of a duff throw, the name of the farm itself also coming from the old Norse, stein-bolstadr, meaning ‘stone-farm’.

As lovely as the view to the south-east is the same can’t be said of the opposite aspect, with the shabby agricultural outbuildings of the farm a glowering presence, and the farmhouse only a few feet from the stone. Such a close proximity does ruin the atmosphere somewhat, but as long as you fix your eyes out to sea you can forget the trappings of modernity and enjoy the stone, which I do until the clouds I can see sweeping along the coast whisk across me to unload some more rain, forcing me to hurriedly make my damp way back to the car.

Visited 7th March 2015

Third time lucky! Twice before I’ve fruitlessly searched for this cup and ring marked stone, but given the preponderance of gritstone rocks strewn around Gardoms Edge it was like looking for a needle in a huge pile of needles. Today I’ve got Andrew Johnstone’s rather excellent ‘Prehistoric Peak’ book with me, which gives excellent directions and maps, and once we had arrived back at nearby standing stone we fanned out and walked back along the edge of the woodland, where just before coming level with the Nelson monument atop Birchen Edge across the moor a likely looking large flat stone became visible.

On the edge of the trees, long afternoon shadows pick out the intricate inscribed whorls and indentations of the cups and rings on the stone. I know the visible stone is a fibreglass copy, but it’s done so well, the naturalistic colouring and speckling of lichens giving it an uncanny realism, only broken if you tap the stone. Normally I’d be in two minds about such a replica, but the fact that the original stone is still here albeit buried out of sight, and the quality of the reproduction means that things seem to work, and the original location means you don’t lose the context of the placement as you would if the stone had just been unceremoniously dug out to be placed in a museum.

The patterns on the stones are intricate and intriguing, and some the best I’ve seen in Derbyshire, so I’m glad the decision to protect them this way was made. I don’t suppose we will ever know what inspired someone several thousand years ago to take the time to carve out these markings, but they still hold the power to make us wonder today, and enjoy the beautiful surroundings in which they are set.

It’s a pleasant place to sit by the stone, whilst Ellen sketches the designs, and the sun sinks lower, bringing the motifs into even sharper relief. I’m so pleased to have finally found the place, the efforts have been worth it, and after enjoying the rock art there is nothing else for it but to head back to the Robin Hood Inn for a celebratory pint of Hobgoblin before heading for home after a great day out.

Visited 7th March 2015

Last time I was here was in the gloaming of a summer evening after a frustrating couple of hours searching for the nearby rock art, and when the stone hove into view after my fruitless search it was an ample consolation prize. Today things are a bit more relaxed though. After a nice lunch at the nearby Robin Hood Inn (lovely veggie quiche) a walk up Gardoms edge past the Three Men cairns, brought us to the woodland where lurks the stone.

Easily hidden amongst the trees, we nevertheless managed to find the stone with a little searching. It’s an interesting menhir, charismatic and bent over like a stooped old hag as you approach through the birch trees, whilst deep curved erosion of its other face gives it a raddled aspect.

Long afternoon shadows only add to the atmosphere, but the closely surrounding trees make it difficult to discern the orientation from the penumbra of the stone, so whether it was selected to act a gnomon for a sundial, or merely because it had a distinctive shape is something for conjecture.

It’s a fine stone whatever it may have been used for, and certainly worth a visit amongst the fine walks and rich archaeological heritage of Gardoms Edge.

Visited 7th March 2015

With Spring seemingly having arrived the pull of getting out and about to visit some megaliths proved irresistible. Even better was the fact that Five Wells was somewhere I’d never been before. Not sure why it had taken me so long to visit, I’ve been coming to the peaks for the last twenty years, but perhaps Mr Cope’s terse directions of ‘requires an OS map’ in the big papery TMA had put me off in the past, possibly expecting the requirement of advanced navigation skills, or at the very least somewhere safe to leave the car. Today I’m armed with Andrew Johnstone’s terrific ‘Prehistoric Peak’ book, and its detailed directions and map make finding the place a piece of cake.

Traveling east on the A6 towards Ashton in the Water, a right turn into a lane (opposite the sign for Beech Croft Lane Caravan Park, if you get to the brown sign for Tideswell you’ve gone too far!) takes you to the Taddington recycling centre, which although operational is now fortunately nice and tidy, rather than the open sore of a landfill described in much earlier fieldnotes. Here it’s easy to park right by the start of the footpath which leads up to the hill to the chambered tomb.

It’s an impressive place, another of those hidden delights of the Peak District, and I berate myself for not visiting it before. High on its hill the substantial remains of the mound which once covered the tomb spreads out around the two chambers which remain, still giving a good impression of the circumference of the tomb in its pomp. The craggy grey stones of the uprights looking suitably time worn and ancient, nevertheless provide an excellent shelter, as I sit within the surprisingly comfortable eastern chamber to write some fieldnotes.

The construction of this place reminds me of a smaller scale Bridestones, perhaps due to the portal stones flanking the chamber, although the setting at Five Wells is much more open and airy.

As the wind feels its way around the outside of the chamber providing a soothing soundtrack, I remain snug inside with a thermos of coffee, and feel a real sense of peace and tranquility. A skylark hovering overhead serenades me, and there is something about this place, nicely situated away from it all, that seems to encourage a sense of introspection, and a feeling of being at one with the elements (or perhaps it just my old hippy sensibilities coming to the fore). It’s certainly helped by the fine blue skies today and an actual touch of warmth from the sun when out of the wind.

Views from up here are lovely, although the quarry to the north is still a bit of a blot on the landscape, but it’s nice to see that after reading the early fieldnotes about this place, how the surrounding environment and access has improved, and somewhere as special as this really deserves it.

There’s a real sense of the quickening of Spring today and of life returning to the land, and there’s no better place to experience it than at Five Wells.

Visited 11th May 2014

This was near the top of my list of must visit places on Shetland, and with the sun making an appearance through the clouds, bringing some warmth to the day, and our time left on Shetland fast diminishing, we headed for Shetland’s ‘wild west’ and the enigmatic Stanydale.

On what felt like a road to nowhere a sign and parking spot soon makes itself visible, and we squeeze the car into the layby. It feels remote here, and is one of the few places on Shetland where we’re not able to see the sea.

Setting off across the slightly squelchy moorland it’s not long before we arrive at the Neolithic house not far from the temple. Like Carl before us we sit in the remains of this ancient dwelling, and just take in the atmosphere. Cracking open the Thermos we have a cup of tea, drinking in the peace and quiet as much as the PG Tips, and wondering what the venerable farmer who constructed this place would have thought about a pair of visitors supping tea in his house some four millennia later?

As we press on for the temple, shadows from the clouds and ever changing light play across the heath and with only the lonely cries of birds as a soundtrack we feel as if we’ve stepped into another world. Soon the structure of the ‘temple’ is visible, the small wooden gate guarding the entrance opening into a well-kept interior, the grass mown to a standard that wouldn’t look out of place on the greens of a championship golf course.

It’s certainly an unusual place. Thick stone walls delineate a horseshoe shaped building, which apparently, according to the conclusions of an excavation in 1949, was similar in size and plan to temples found on Malta, hence leading to Stanydale’s ‘temple’ epithet. Inside the enclosure the large stones which make up the walls are chunky blocks, rare in this vicinity, and so again according to the 1949 dig, must have been brought some distance, a lot of trouble to go to if it was purely meant as a domestic structure perhaps, as there are plenty of suitable other types of stone for building nearby. Looking closely at the large upright stones as well I’m struck by the natural patterns on them, different coloured shapes on the stone caused by lichens giving a mosaic like effect. There are also two large postholes inside, from which charred spruce was found, the nearest source of which in Neolithic times would have been Scandinavia, unless of course they were found as driftwood?

I have a wander around the exterior, taking in the standing stones which are dotted around the perimeter of the temple. There appears to be a defined arc of stones to the south, perhaps the structure was once surrounded by them, but now it’s difficult to make out the overall layout of the stones.

Sitting back inside Stanydale to write my notes I’m struck but what a strange and unique place it is. It seems much more than just a grand dwelling, or even a fancy ‘village hall’ type of meeting place, something about its layout, the exterior stones, and three fire hearths (which again according to the excavations were not typical of domestic settings). It strikes me that I’m reminded of the main structure at Barnhouse, near Stenness on Orkney, where I was sitting only a week ago. Although the design of the two structures are very different, something about them feels the same, and I’m convinced this place had a ritual function, an old cliché I know, and based on little more than my own ‘feelings’ of the place and some sketchy evidence (no wonder I never got that Archaeology degree!)

What I can say with certainty is that Stanydale is most certainly a great place to visit. It feels both remote and welcoming, certainly unique, and a perfect place to spend some time, sheltered here from the wind, with the sun overhead, we just don’t want to leave. Magical.

Visited 17th May 2014

I’ve heard the Stone of Setter described as the finest standing stone in Orkney, now that’s certainly some claim given the lovely menhirs I’ve seen around the islands, so I was eager to put the claim to the test and hang out with the stone on my visit to Eday.

Anticipation built when the distant form of the stone appeared on the horizon as I walked north up the island’s main (well only really) road. The watery expanse of Mill loch borders the stone to one side, whilst the xanthous gorse filled slopes of the high ground of Vinquoy hill provide it with a suitably dramatic backdrop. The stone itself sits on a small saddle of land, raised and distinct from the surrounding landscape, and almost like a marker delineating the sacred area of tombs clustered at Eday’s high northern end, perhaps in a way analogous to the Watchstone on Mainland marking out the start of the Ness of Brodgar?

It’s always exhilarating when a place is in sight, and as the stone grows ever closer, I reach the Eday community shop, and stopping only to fuss a very cute cat hanging around outside, I turn left and follow the road by the loch. A sign pointing toward the stone indicated the start of the path for the Eday heritage trail, and this close up the scale of the Stone of Setter becomes clear. A great block of ruddy red sandstone standing fifteen feet tall rearing up before you, huge weathered grooves eroded into the top of the stone which is enshrouded with Orkney’s familiar lichens. It is both dramatic and beautiful.

I sit down at the base of the stone, so happy to be here, and tired after the walk. The sun is out, but with plenty of clouds about threatening to encroach on the day. I write my fieldnotes and eat my packed lunch, before embarking on the photographs. The stone takes on a different shape from each aspect. From the front on it seems to resemble a giant hand emerging from the earth ordering you to halt before it, whilst from the side it appears like a figure staring out over the loch.

Nearby are the low outlined remains of a handful of structures that the nearby information board ominously refers to as ‘de-fleshing’ chambers which may possibly have been used in rituals associated with the stone (ah the old ‘ritual use’ explanation again!) . It gets me wondering whether this was an excarnation site, similar to that postulated at the Tomb of the Eagles (although I know there is some debate as to whether excarnation did actually take place there). Given the proximity to the tombs which are scattered about Vinquoy hill, (indeed one of them, Braeside, is directly aligned with the stone) it doesn’t seem beyond the realms of possibility that the stone symbolised a transformative place where the dead were turned from their earthly fleshy form to the stone-like bones of their skeletal remains, then to be placed amongst the ancestors watching over them.

This is one of the things I love about visiting our ancient and enigmatic monuments, thinking about what role they may have played in the lives of our forbearers and their place amongst the landscape, it’s fun to speculate. If it was once the marker for a place of the dead there’s certainly no sinister atmosphere here, quite the opposite in fact though, it feels more of a joyful, transformational place.

So the best standing stone in Orkney? At present it’s indubitably the Stone of Setter, but I won’t take that as being set in stone!

Visited 17th May 2014

It’s only possible to get to Eday and back in a day on Saturdays, it’s also rather extortionately expensive to take the car. So since the island is only 8 miles in length, and I like a good walk, then an epic trek taking in as many ancient sites as I could in a day trip on the island was the plan. The downside of this of course is that time has to be carefully managed, one eye always on the clock lest you miss the ferry home (I had the misfortune to do that on island of Rousay once, and wasn’t keen to repeat it!). This also means you just don’t get long enough to spend at somewhere as good as Vinquoy.

Vinquoy is the highest point on Eday, and the mound atop the hill has been prominent for miles. This is the main event for me on today’s trip, so I’ve walked briskly nearly the whole length of the island, not having seen a single soul in the last three hours. After passing the wonderful Stone of Setter, I start on up the hill toward the tomb. Vinquoy hill, whilst not exactly a Munroe, is taking it out of me now, my rucksack feels as if the Trows have put a few rocks in it whilst I wasn’t looking, but as I approach the mound, atop the hill, the fine masonry of its entranceway enticingly visible, all the fatigue falls away.

I open the small gate which bars the passage, and stoop into the long, slightly curving entranceway. Wooden planks have been placed along the damp passageway to avoid having to shuffle through the mud, and soon I’m in the inner chamber and able to stand up. Inside it’s wonderful. A tall corbelled roof, and four side chambers, two to each side are visible. But it’s the atmosphere inside this place which is sublime. The warm red colour of the Eday sandstone used to construct the tomb, provides a russet glow, whilst ferns cascade from the upper masonry of the walls, and a strange white lichen almost glows in the gloom.

A circuar skylight admits some illumination, along with a small vent, which is visible from outside the tomb, sticking up like a little chimney atop the mound. This combines to give the inner chamber an airy quality, and lets the place breathe, much better than the stuffy concrete capped burial mounds you can see on Rousay, thank goodness Callender and Grant didn’t get their hands on this one!

I take a look into the side chambers, their entrances are very low, and trying to squeeze in with backpack, camera and assorted accoutrements, would leave me plastered with mud for the day, so I’ll leave that for next time, a valuable excuse to return, as if I needed one!
I spend quite some time inside. Vinquoy has one of the most special atmospheres of any tomb on Orkney. I think the combination of a well preserved internal structure, the warm coloured stone, and fantastic vegetation all combine to make it somewhere truly special. I really have to force myself to leave, it feels as if I’ve stumbled into one of those fairy entrances to the otherworld.

When I emerge back out I’m pleased to see that hundreds of years haven’t elapsed since I went in (although looking at the landscape, you’d probably be hard pressed to tell if they had, so unspoiled is it, only a handful of wind turbines letting you know you’re in the 21st century at all.) Looking around from atop the hill the views are great, the Stone of Setter still prominent below by Mill Loch, and islands scattered around to either side, a truly fantastic place. It may require some effort to get to, but Vinquoy stands there proudly with the best chambered tombs that Orkney can offer, it’s really something special.

Visited 17th May 2014

This is yet another impressive tomb on the Eday Heritage trail in the Vinquoy area, the yellow of the gorse on the hillside contrasting with the blue of the sea ahead, and the denuded remains of the tomb are clearly visible as you head towards the hill.

Dug into but still large, the remains of the bank around it giving an idea of the size it would once have been, which would have been a substantial mound by the looks of it, a shame that only an adumbration of its form remains. A southern entrance passage is still visible which opens into a narrow stalled chamber, a couple of orthostats still standing to show where one of the compartments was. The entrance passage is particularly interesting in that is offset slightly, by 10° from the axis of the chamber, so that it aligns directly with the nearby Stone of Setter.

Standing in the entranceway you get a great sightline of the standing stone, or rather you would if someone in the past hadn’t built a stone byre directly in the way! It’s still possible to see the alignment though as long as you move yourself off centre slightly.

I manage to find a small information sign about the tomb attached to a post, which had fallen over and now lies prone in the grass. This indicated that there would have been three pairs of stalls within the chamber, and that it was excavated by Farrer in the 1850’s, probably leaving it in the state it’s in today.

Although battered it’s got a certain charm. In some way it reminded of a truncated version of the Cairn O’ Get in Caithness, not sure why as it’s different in layout, it just had that ‘feel’ to it that some of the tombs you find in Caithness have, I also find it interesting that on the slopes of Vinquoy hill we have three very different designs of tombs, the stalled cairn of Braeside, double-decker special of Huntersquoy, and mini Maes Howe style Vinquoy. I wonder why that is? It’s almost as if this part of Eday was like a chambered tomb showroom, where you could pick out the style of monument you’d like for your own Neolithic community! Or it could be I suppose a very special place where different communities came together, each bringing their own style of tomb to the area.

I still think it’s a very special place, and a nice appetizer for the delights of Vinquoy just atop the hill ahead.

Visited 17th May 2014

On the slopes of Vinquoy hill an intriguing entranceway seems to open up into the heart of the hillside. Once it was a fine rare double-decker construction, but now all that remains of the upper chamber is a few stones to delineate the skeleton of the top part of the tomb.

There is a small information sign from the Eday Heritage Walk attached to a post nearby, which indicated that the upper chamber had a west facing passage, whilst the lower chamber faced to the east, just like Taversoe Tuick. It’s an intriguing design, and I wonder if there were any more tombs built like this which are lost to us now, or was this incredibly specialised design purely a local innovation amongst the folk of the northern Orkney’s? Farrer excavated here in 1855 but didn’t seem to come up with any answers, I wonder if there’s been any investigations since?

The sign, as well as prior fieldnotes, indicated that the lower chamber was generally flooded, but I’m ever optimistic, and there’s not been much rain on Orkney the past couple of weeks (well not much by Orcadian standards anyway!). When I bend down to take a look though it’s clear there is a fair amount of water in the passageway. Some tentative prodding with a nearby twig lets me gauge that there is about a good three inches of water in the interior, certainly high enough to come over my boots, and as I’d have to stoop I’d probably end up with sodden trousers too . It generally takes a lot to deter me on visiting somewhere, but lacking wellingtons, waterproofs a towel or change of clothes, the thought of tramping around for the rest of the day soaked to the skin and slowly becoming hypothermic is enough to stop me today.

I settle instead, like Ubik before me, for shining the torch down the passage to take a look. It’s swathed with ferns which grow along the entranceway, and the light of my torch reflecting off the water does little to drive away the shadows which occlude the chamber. According to the information sign it’s supposed to be a Bookan type of cairn, with compartments set around a central space. Although incredibly adept at dry stone construction, drainage obviously wasn’t the Neolithic Eday folks forte, and it’s frustrating not to be able to go in and check it out, as I’d love to see how similar the lower chamber was to Taversoe Tuick’s, but in the immortal words of Arnie ‘I’ll be back!’

What I am pleased to see is that there is no sign of any of the rubbish as mentioned in Ubik’s fieldnotes, although copious amounts of wool bob about on the water, so obviously sheep aren’t put off entering (or perhaps they just want a bath?). It’s an intriguing place, the entrance passage which seems to lead into the bowels of the earth reminds me a bit of the Rhiw burial chamber, and the placing on the slopes of the hill, with the Vinquoy tomb prominent on the horizon, and the Stone of Setter standing proud to the south, obviously mark this part of the island out as having some special significance.

Huntersquoy is an intriguing site on the Eday Heritage Trail, just don’t expect to get inside without a wetsuit!

Visited 14th May 2014

As anyone who’s read some of my previous fieldnotes will know I’ve got a pretty blasé attitude towards trespassing in order to visit an ancient site. Of course I always make sure never to cause any damage to anything and act in a considerate manner at all times, but there are some occasions where I would draw the line, and one of those is where I feel I would be infringing on someone’s privacy.

Quanterness is one of those cases, the mound of the barrow sitting in what looks like a small walled garden next to a farmhouse. In these situations there is nothing for it but to either settle for a view from a distance, or knock on someone’s door. I’ve settled for a distant view before, and as I’ve written in the past I never feel as if I’ve had a satisfying visit unless I’ve been able to set foot on/in or otherwise touch the site. I can’t really explain why, I just need to feel that sense of ‘connection’. Now being a somewhat reserved and unsociable type there’s nothing I dislike more than having to ask a stranger for permission to visit part of our cultural heritage, but knowing that in general the Orcadian folk are friendly, and not wanting to appear the worst kind of ferry-louper, I man up and approach the farmhouse, getting ready to try explain exactly why I would like to more closely examine the undistinguished grassy lump in their garden.

At this moment I’m saved by the arrival of the postman (no not the veteran TMA contributor!) who on attempting to deliver a parcel to said address quickly determines that there is no-one at home. The gate leading to the mound clearly stands open, so I decide to take a closer look, vowing that if I see anyone returning to the house I’ll come out and ask for their permission.

Through the gate the mound sits in a clearing surrounded by trees. Bluebells and wildflowers are scattered around the perimeter, and the dappled sun under the branches casts a warm light over the area. It’s quite wild here, the fact that it’s not a manicured garden both puts me at more ease about visiting, and also adds to the atmosphere of the site. The perfect mound ringed with flowers looks like something straight out of The Shire, and as I approach the grassy hump, and happily sit on its flank I almost expect to find a hobbit sized door in the side. There’s nothing more to see than the green mound nestled amongst the trees though, but it’s nice to be here on a sunny day, experiencing that sense of connection again with our ancient past.

When compared with the embarrassment of megalithic riches on offer just a stone’s throw away around Mainland, Quanterness is probably unlikely to top anybody’s list of must visit sites. You can catch a glimpse as you pass Quanterness farm on the main A965 near Kirkwall (just look for the trees and you’ll see the mound peeking out) which will probably be enough for most busy modern antiquarian’s, but I’m glad I’ve finally stood here, at just another reminder of these isles rich Neolithic history.

Visited 14th May 2014

Wideford Hill holds a special place for me, I must have more fieldnotes from this place than any other ancient site, its combination of fantastic views, impressive construction and overall sense of presence, makes it a one of Orkney’s best chambered tombs.

I see the tomb perched on its hill often as I pass by on the Stromness to Kirkwall road, and I always make a point of visiting here at least once each time we are in Orkney, and as today, I like to walk from the house in Kirkwall out of town on the Old Finstown Road, before ascending the hill to the cairn, like a pilgrimage of sorts.

The day is filled with beautiful sunshine today, the hill a beacon ahead of me as I walk. It’s a good hours trek from Kirkwall, although of course you can drive and park near the top of the hill if you want easier access. The path that curls around the flanks of the hill which leads to the tomb is dry today after the recent clement weather, but at times can be difficult going, its peaty, muddy surface often rough, so a good pair of boots is advisable. The old gate with the woollen ‘offerings’ mentioned by Carl is still next to the path, and just beyond in the distance you can make out the fence that surrounds the tombs enclosure.

As you circumvent the hill the views open up over the Wide Firth looking out down Mainland, with Finstown spread out around the bay, and the sister tomb of Cuween hill just visible on the horizon if you know where to look.

The layered wedding-cake like construction of the tomb stands out, the stonework exposed and giving a fine example of how these corballed tombs would look beneath their grassy mounds. Checking on the ‘municipal’ torch (how many of these would find ‘doon sooth’?) I’m pleased to see it’s all present and correct, and in working order, although once I slide open the rooftop entry hatch the bright morning sunlight floods the chamber and its clear no torch will be needed today.

Inside the cool damp exterior I sit and soak up the vibes. The corballed stonework is exquisite and two low entrances enticingly open into side chambers. Today I’m content just to sit in the main chamber, not wishing to get myself too muddy by squeezing into the side cells. It was in one of these cells that I experienced what I can only describe as a presence, the first time I was ever here some fifteen years ago. As I sat inside the chamber in total darkness, I became convinced there was someone else in there. I could even hear their breath in the silent chamber, but as I reached out, all I could feel were the cold chamber walls. It didn’t feel at all threatening at the time, quite the opposite in fact, and I felt a real sense of welcome and belonging, and since then I’ve always felt Wideford Hill was a special place.

After a while I emerge back into the sunlight, and sit atop the cairn to write my fieldnotes. Mainland seems stretched out before you and it’s easy to recognise why this was designated as a sacred space. It still feels that way now, come and visit and experience some of Orkney’s magic for yourself.

Visited 12th May 2014

This was the highlight for me of our visits to Shetland ‘old stones’. After seeing some pictures of it in Charles Tait’s Shetland Guidebook (an excellent guide by the way, we found it indispensable on our trip) and reading that it was one of the best preserved examples of a heel shaped cairn on Mainland it was a place I really wanted to visit.

Our first attempt was two days ago, under grey clad skies, spitting rain, and the kind of incessant biting cold wind you only get at 60? north. We walked to Mavis Grind and looked around the headland to see if we could spot the cairn. It didn’t look far on the map but knowing from bitter experience that this can be deceiving, and lacking any visual point of reference we soon have to retreat to the car to thaw out.

What a difference a couple of days make though, today you couldn’t ask for better weather, the sun feels positively warm, and although a constant wind still blows it is light and lacking in any bite, so a return to Northmavine is on the agenda.

Parking at the large layby right next to Mavis Grind the deep azure of the North Sea and Atlantic, flank us to either side. I thought to bring the binoculars today, and standing next the remains of the dragons teeth tank traps left over from the war at the head of Minn bay I scan the headland, and spot the cairn.

We set off around the coast, at first the going is steep as you have to first climb and then descend the high headland, but as we came down the other side with the cairn in view and the sun sparkling on the beautiful waters of the bay I can’t think of a finer place to go for a walk.
A path is visible, with the occasional stile over a fence, and we encounter a sheep, which looks as if it has just given birth, its lamb still tottering on unsteady legs and being licked clean by its mother. Trying not to disturb the pair we detour slightly around, the cairn now tantalisingly close.

When we reach it I’m taken aback. Although a small heel shaped cairn its frontage remains, nine smallish stones forming a curved forecourt, which opens into a short entrance passage and chamber. The siting of the monument is exquisite, overlooking the Atlantic side of Mavis Grind and sheltered in its own bay you couldn’t wish for a nicer view to look out at over eternity.

I sit in the cairn, which turns out to be a right little suntrap, and completely sheltered, possibly one of the cosiest little cairns I’ve ever seen. Movement by the rocks next to the water below suggests the presence of otters, but today they are hiding from us. We find a bone talon amongst some rocks near the shore, and it leads me to wondering whether there was any similarity between burial rights and customs seen here with those such as at the Tomb of the Eagles on Orkney? I resolve to look up any information on excavations or finds made here to see what current theories are.

The chambered cairns and tombs found on Shetland tend to be much smaller and less complex than their Orcadian contemporaries, the forecourting and shape seemingly sharing more similarities with monuments found in Caithness, but something in the siting of these places, and how they fit in the landscape seems to resonate with the Orcadian monuments, perhaps because they are both island communities?

We spend quite some time here, and don’t see another living soul, it’s only a one mile walk from the car, although certainly steep in places, it only took us about twenty minutes, and yet we could be in the middle of nowhere. This is one of the nicest places I’ve ever been, perfect natural beauty and peace, combined with the fine remains of a lovely little chambered cairn. The only sounds are the calls of birds and the lap of the sea as it enters the bay via a narrow passage, and these are the perfect accompaniment to the absolute feelings of peace and restfulness you can experience here.

We leave Shetland today to return back to Orkney, and this has been a magical way to end our trip, if you ever make it this far north come here and see one of Shetlands lesser known megalithic gems.

Visited 7th May 2014

It’s a gorgeous day as we head down to South Ronaldsay on my obsessive quest to visit every little mark on the O.S. map that could possibly be an ancient site. Today will be a treat though, as I’m on the hunt for a standing stone, which should hopefully be more visible than some of the indeterminate lumps and bumps I encounter when looking for some of the more obscure sites I’ve yet to see.

Traveling south down the main A961 on South Ronaldsay the red phone box, just after the turn to Sandwick, makes a good indicator of the left turn you need to take into the lane which leads to the stone. The lane narrows and becomes more potholed, looking as if it will peter out at any minute, but putting our faith in the O.S. map and persevering with the bumpy conditions brings us to a handy parking spot at the end of the road. You can access a path down to the beach from here, but our destination lies in the opposite direction, as we head towards the stone that we’d spotted on our approach, near the crest of the hill behind us.

Clambering over a field gate just up the lane, back the way we’d come, gave us access into the field adjacent to that which held the stone, clearly visible and beckoning us on, and an open entranceway took us into its field.

The stone at Stews is around 6’ in height, fenced in behind a low and rickety barbed wire enclosure, the reddish stone is almost entirely swathed in Orkney’s ubiquitous lichens. I step over the barbed wire fence so as to get up close and personal with the stone, and settled myself down, relatively comfortably perched amongst the chocking stones visible around the base.

The siting of the stone is divine, fine views open out to sea, looking out across Newark Bay. The mossy stone is cushioned against my back, the sun warm on my face, the honking of Greylag Geese strutting around the moorland at the top of the hill the only sounds to be heard, and I could almost doze off sat here in the little barbed wire pen.

I take my typical variety of photo’s from every conceivable angle, whilst Ellen photographs me looking like an exhibit in a human zoo, (the rare lesser spotted megalith enthusiast in their natural habitat!). This is another of those stones that takes on a different appearance from each angle, looking like a stout pillar from the side on, the other faces being triangular and fin-like. It’s a lovely spot here, easy to get to and a stone that’s well worth a visit. On a day like today we take advantage afterwards and head down to the beach, a lovely stretch of sand that we’ve got completely to ourselves, well if you don’t count the Oystercatchers!

Visited 11th May 2014

Winding our way around the scenic west side of Mainland after a visit to Staneydale Temple, and the landscape is like Scandinavia in miniature, each turn of the road allowing a vista over another fjord like sheltered inlet, and occasional coloured wooden houses clustered together around the coast. I’m navigating whilst Ellen drives, and I suggest we head towards Aith, a village our information leaflet optimistically describes as ‘a large township in a scenic setting’. Whilst Ellen has visions of a little coastal town replete with coffee shops, my ulterior motive is that I’ve spotted those magical words ‘chambered cairn’ on the O.S. map right next to the road we will follow out of the village.

While I wouldn’t exactly describe Aith as large in any shape or form, it’s certainly in a picturesque setting, but sadly lacking anywhere to get a coffee, so onwards we go around the coast of Aith Voe, before the promised cairn appears in a field to our left.

There is a handily placed passing place right by the fieldgate, so we pull in. Ellen stays in the car, worried me might block the road should we be caught up in the Shetland rush hour, but given that the volume of traffic along this road seems to be at best one car per hour, I think we’ll be pretty safe.

I open the gate and am approached by two curious rams, who look at me expectantly as if I’ve brought them some food, and follow me at a distance to the nearby cairn.

It’s a small structure, a ‘peerie’ mound as they’d say in these parts, but despite being dug into, denuded and raddled with rabbit holes, enough of the form remains to give a good impression. Large stones outline the central chamber, and again the siting of the monument takes in a lovely vista overlooking a sheltered bay, in this case East Burra Firth itself.

I really like it here, I know I always seem to wax enthusiastic about each new site I find, but it does have an indefinable atmosphere, a certain pull here which gives the place a presence beyond the size of its actual physical remains. Maybe it’s the setting, or perhaps the joy of finding somewhere new but I loved it. I do my usual thing of taking photos from every conceivable angle and sit in the dip of the mound to write my fieldnotes, sheltered from the wind. I don’t want to leave Ellen on her own in the car for too long, and she’s still reticent about entering the field, more so now due to the rams still giving me the eyeball from near the gate, so before long I bid my goodbyes to the cairn, farewell East Burrafirth, it was lovely to make your acquaintance.

Visited 9th May 2014

When picking a megalith to visit just on the basis of that intriguing gothic script saying ‘standing stone’ on the O.S. map you never know quite what you are going to get. But in the case of Mid Field what you get is a fine stone in a beautiful setting looking out over South Voe.

On the drive down West Burra we had a close encounter with an otter, which ran out across the road right in front of the car (fortunately we managed to stop in time!). It really is picturesque here.

As Carl mentions in his fieldnote the stone is easy to spot from the minor road south of Bridge End. We pulled up in a passing place almost adjacent to the stone, and at first I head down to the end of the fence to access the field via a gate. On getting there though I notice an assemblage of sheep pen fencing forming an enclosure next to the gate, with visions of the whole lot collapsing were I to clamber over it, I think again. Never one to be deterred though when it comes to visiting stones I turn to plan B, and looking as if I’m about to emulate a John Cleesesque silly walk, manage to step over the relatively low fence.

There are no sheep in the field today though, only three rather friendly Shetland ponies. The stone is fin shaped and angled towards the loch below, with the surrounding hills providing an impressive backdrop. With this stone it’s all about the location, the relatively modest proportions of the stone belying the overall impact it has when you are here.

Burra is only around ten miles from Lerwick, and easily accessible, and I can only echo Carl’s words and say come and pay it a visit!

Visited 10th May 2014

Heading up Mainland for Northmavine the clouds were gathering in already overcast skies, but you don’t come to Shetland for the weather, rather for its wild landscapes, wildlife and of course a rather generous selection of standing stones.

The Busta stone is one such impressive monolith, and easy to spot from the A970 just past Brae.
Turning off the main road we parked in a small layby next to a cattle grid, the other side of which was the gate allowing access to the field, empty today apart from the stone itself.

The wind was whipping at us as we approached, the bulk of the stone looming high above us, and providing a seemingly warming embrace, as we huddled in its lea out of the wind. The stone is huge, it’s difficult to get an idea of its scale until you stand next to it, the ever present shrubby lichen masking its top half.

This is a great location for a standing stone, looking out over the waters of Busta Voe, and one face of the stone does indeed seem to take on the aspect of a head rising from the ground, the lichen like a blindfold over its eyes. Canmore mentions a possible second stone, now fallen, to the east, and whilst I did notice a smaller stone nearby protruding from the ground, I didn’t really think to check it out, thinking it probably natural.

The huge granite lump of the stone seems somehow smaller as we walk away, swallowed in the wild landscapes of Shetland, but it’s certainly one of the more accessible menhirs here, and a must visit in these far flung northern parts.

Later on returning from the hinterlands of Northmavine we pass the stone again as we follow in Carl’s footsteps and call in for some chips at Frankie’s, and have no hesitation in recommending both the chippie and the stone!

Visited 6th May 2014

Gorgeous day at Brodgar. I walked over to the huge mound of Salt Knowe, still currently fenced off, to see how the anti-rabbit proofing was getting on. It didn’t take long before I had my answer, as several families of bunnies could be seen happily enjoying the sunshine on the slopes of the mound.

The green matting used to cover the Knowe currently gives it a threadbare appearance, and several holes leading to burrows were clearly visible gnawed through the mesh, so it looks like a rethink may be in order!

Visited 7th May 2014

Hunda is a small uninhabited island attached to the larger isle of Burray by a causeway. As well as being a great place to see birds, seals and apparently one of the best spots on Orkney for otter spotting, it also sports the remains of a hulking great cairn.

The weather today is as good a day as you could wish for, lovely blue skies, some genuine warmth to the sun, and the warm zephyr like breeze is most un-Orcadian. So after a nice lunch at the café of the Burray Rock & Fossil museum a walk was in order, and even better one that takes in a visit to an ancient site. A short drive south past the waters of Echna loch, brings you to a right turn signposted to Littlequoy, and following the lane to its end, near the farm of the same name, gave us a bit of verge on which we could park the car.

The sea sparkled blue below us, and we could see Hunda stretched out across the narrow sound, with the causeway of Hunda reef cutting through the water. A walk down the farm track allows you to access the foreshore without having to walk across the farmyard, and we walked along the pebbly beach to the causeway accompanied by the echoing cries of Oystercatchers.

The causeway is a permanent one, not cut off by tides, so no danger of stranding on a barren island today, although care must be taken on its slightly uneven surface, and I certainly wouldn’t attempt to cross in bad weather, as I’m sure it could be fairly easily overtopped by waves, so as ever on any visit a certain amount of caution is required.

The cairn at Cairnhead is clearly visible on the southern tip of the island as we cross the causeway, two modern cairns at either end of it sticking up like small ears. A clearly trodden path leads all around the coast of Hunda, and we follow it across a small stretch of heathland up to the cairn.

Up close its size is impressive, the top is now heavily denuded of stones, looking as if someone’s taken a giant scoop out of it, but it does uncover what might be the remains of a cist. The two modern cairns at either end delineate the width of the mound, and make it an unmistakable landmark. We sit at the cairn and relax for a while enjoying the lovely views out over Scapa Flow. The blues of sky and sea are almost surreal, and the bright pinprick of light from the Flotta flare at the oil terminal to the west marks the horizon. Due south the cairn of The Wart, atop Hoxa Hill on South Ronaldsay is directly in line, and I wonder if there is any significance in the alignment?

Canmore reckons The Cairnhead may have been a broch, but I just don’t see it myself, I can’t find any features that are vaguely ‘brochlike’, yet a cist chamber is visible? Hmm, well they’re the experts I suppose.

Whatever it may have been (and sometimes the uncertainty just adds to the mystery of the place) this is a lovely spot, made all the better by the solitude. Ellen and I are currently the only human beings on this island, and relaxing here, contemplating, and just watching and listening to the myriad of birds that make this place their home, pervaded by the atmosphere of this ancient place, the magic of Orkney has us captivated once again.

Visited 3rd May 2014

There’s a wildness to the far north of Scotland, a bleak beauty and atmosphere quite unlike anywhere else, and surprisingly more ancient remains than you might realise. On our regular trips back up to Orkney we’ve been making an effort to try and visit at least one new place each time. Today the lucky site was Dunbeath broch, a nice and easily accessible site to break up our ten hour drive.

The A9 normally thunders past the village of Dunbeath, but if you take the time to turn off and park at the Dunbeath heritage centre, an old mill signposted from the turn and a mere minute from the A9, you’ll be right next to a nice footpath which leads to the broch, as well as, according to the nearby information board, a few other enticing megalithic sites.

The walk along the Strath of Dunbeath is beautiful, the babbling of the river a gentle accompaniment to your stroll, with little sound other than that of birds to be heard. The trees flanking the path are shrouded with a pale green moss, which hangs from the branches in wisps, and adds to the ethereal atmosphere.

Soon we are confronted by a slightly wonky looking Indiana Jones style wooden suspension bridge over the river, which despite my remonstrance’s to Ellen about its structural integrity, wobbles and creaks in such as precarious manner as to cause her some consternation. I scoot across it, and with some encouragement Ellen joins me on the other side, where the path forks. Directly ahead the path heads up a steep incline, at the top of which a dry stone wall is visible enclosing a stand of trees, and within which I know the broch can be found.

The broch is not the biggest or best preserved I’ve ever seen, but any shortcomings it might have are more than made up for by its atmosphere. Inside the enclosure of the dry stone walls a circle of moss covered trees protectively surround the remains of the broch. The open tower interior faces you, with the highest remaining parts of the walls at the back, and a small entranceway to a chamber built into the thickness of the wall encouraging you in. Although a low stoop is required to enter the chamber once inside it’s possible to stand upright, the roof, displaying fine corbelling, must be a good 7’ high.

I’m impressed with Dunbeath. As I walk around the exterior of the ruined broch wild primroses can be seen growing in clumps at the base of the walls, the sheltering trees reach out skeletal, branch like fingers over the tower, and mosses and grass colonising the still firm masonry give a sense of the broch gradually settling into the landscape and becoming another part of nature. I feel like I’ve stumbled upon something from a landscape out of Game of Thrones, but of course this is better because it’s real, and I’m here, enjoying just another part of Caithness’ rich historic remains.

We’re conscious of the time, having a ferry to catch, but it’s been much better spending time here rather than hanging around in Scrabster waiting for the boat (if you’ve ever been to Scrabster you’ll appreciate why!) and it’s a place that definitely warrants a return visit, especially since a visit to the broch can be combined with a lovely tree lined walk which continues along the river and on to some chambered cairns and a standing stone further down the valley.

Visited 9th March 2014

Another session of Google Earth scrying along with Ocifants excellent directions, led me to believe this site would be easily to visit on the way home from our holiday in Cornwall. So with the sun blazing down from a clear sky, and with the car packed and ready for home, we started our journey north with at least the promise of a stone circle on the way to keep our spirits up.

Heading north we took a left turn off the A30 signposted ‘St Breward 4’, which I recognised from my earlier Google reconnaissance, and heading across the small moorland road, we first saw what appeared to be several small standing stones dotted about, along with a variety of other interesting looking lumps and bumps.

Soon we spotted the circle itself off to our right, the telegraph pole right next to it providing an unmissable landmark. I’d intended to turn right at the first crossroads up the farm track towards the circle and park near Hawkstor farm, but on arrival the track looked in a poor state, a huge gouge out of the surface leaving a nasty dip to be negotiated in order to pass. Fearing for the car’s suspension, and with still another 250 miles to drive before getting home, I decided not to risk it and instead turned left towards Treswigga, and taking the example of another couple of cars, pulled up on the spacious verge.

No maps were needed today, the visibility perfect, the stones of the circle beckoning to us across the moor. The pull of a previously unvisited site causes me to hurry past what looks like a small stone row, but I vow to investigate on the way back, and soon I’m here in the centre of the stones, looking out over the empty moorland and soaking up the atmosphere. As Postie says, there is a feeling of ‘bigness’ here far out of scale with the actual size of the stones or circle, probably the wide skies and open moorland give it a sense of a larger landscape.

The circle of eleven remaining stones (or is it twelve, we seemed to get different results each time we counted!) looks as if it’s had a battering over the ages, but I’m pleased to see that currently there are no signs of erosion by livestock around the stones themselves. A small central stone, and two further outliers which line up to it intrigue, but on closer investigation it’s clear that they don’t fit with the rest of the circle, the carvings of ‘M’ and ‘C’ on them pretty much confirming their use as boundary stones across the moor. Normally this sort of interference with a site would annoy me, particularly when it’s a result of the imposition of artificial fences or boundaries that impact on things (I’ll stop there before I start on a rant about the ‘ownership’ of land!), but here it just sort of fits in. In fact there is an absolute air of relaxation about the whole visit. Maybe it’s the unseasonable warmth of the sun, maybe it’s just the vibe of the place but I’m feeling particularly laid back, and just suffused with an aura of happiness and wellbeing. Ellen feels it too, so it’s not just me coming over all hippyish, and we sit in the circle with a flask of coffee and some very lovely chocolate muffins from the bakers in St. Just, and just chill out. On a day like this people will be flocking to the Cornish beaches, but nice as it is to be beside the seaside, I’d rather be here on a lonely moor, away from the crowds at this lovely ancient place. A couple of dog walkers are visible in the distance, but no-one else seems to pay the circle any mind, or intrude on our blissful solitude.

While Ellen goes off to take photographs I recline on a recumbent stone and feel so completely relaxed I’m almost drifting off to sleep, the gentle susurrations of the traffic from the nearby A30 and the tweeting of birds providing a soothing soundtrack, and from my prone position looking around it’s almost as if the circle sits within a natural amphitheatre of hills, with the rocky outcrops of Carbilly and Hawk’s Tor looming large on the horizon, and the moon visible in the sky hanging over the circle only enhancing the numinous atmosphere.

I’d love to have visited the nearby Stipple stones while we were here, but we’d already spent nearly two hours at the circle, and with a pint at the Jamaica Inn calling, and a further four hours of driving ahead of us before reaching home, we had to drag ourselves away.

This place has been a revelation though, probably the perfect combination of fine weather, the endpoint of a great holiday and the giddy excitement of going to a site for the first time, means it’s exceeded all expectations. Knowing now how easy it is to get to, I can see this being a regular stop off when we come down to Cornwall again.

Visited 8th March 2014

This was another site on my must see list for this trip down to Cornwall. With some judicious Google Earth scrying beforehand, in conjunction with a trusty O.S map, I’d identified the parking spot on the bend mentioned in Carl’s notes.

We approached down a narrow lane off the A30, a signpost warning that the track was unsuitable for HGV’s, and even in our little car it was tight going. Ellen drove as I navigated, somewhat fretful in case she met something coming the other way, as there were few passing places, and reversing on the narrow twisty roads would have taken some doing.

Following the signs towards Carn Euny we reached an even narrower track, this one with a no through road sign at the start of it. Ellen was reticent about taking it, but I encouraged her to take a drive of faith and so we carried on. Within minutes there is a thick band of grass growing up the centre of the road, but we’d come this far so there’s no turning back now! It’s not long though before I recognise the pull-in next to the public footpath sign I’d seen on Google Earth.

Parking up here Ellen decided to wait in the car, worried in case we ended up blocking the way for some huge agricultural machinery, and also being a bit more wary of trespassing than my blasé attitude towards it. I happily hopped over the gate however, and walking up the edge of the currently empty meadow, again followed Carl’s directions into the neighbouring field.

As I entered the field I was taken aback, the burial mound, so perfectly small and round sitting there incongruously in the field, just looked so unreal. Getting up close I could see just how different this chamber seemed from other barrows I’d visited, looking more like a roundhouse than a tomb (perhaps that’s the idea?).

Either way it’s lovely, probably the first chambered tomb I’d describe as cute. The gorsey toupee just adds to its character, and the vegetation growing around it gives the place an organic quality. As I bend down to look into the entrance it’s almost as if the stones of the entranceway are reaching around to give me a hug. Squeezing into the chamber, no slugs are in evidence today, but creeping tendrils of bramble are starting worm their way in, grabbing at my coat, and I really wish I had a pair of secateurs with me just to keep the chamber clear.

As I lean against the side of the mound to write my notes everything seems a bit illusory here, the sky is perfectly blue, the grass low cropped and gently rippling in the breeze, the lonely cawing of crows overhead, and not a sight or sound of the modern world in evidence. It’s like some bucolic idyll, and it feels as if nothing has changed since Borlase was here, if ever a site had a palpable vibe, it’s this one.

Utterly enchanted I forget the time, and feeling a bit mean about abandoning Ellen, I drag myself away, only to find on my return she’d dozed off in the car, so I could have stayed a bit longer I suppose! Anyway I will be back!

With all the abundance of megalithic wonderment crammed into this small part of West Penwith it’s interesting that this little burial chamber seems to have affected me most of all the places I’ve been so far this week, I can’t recommend a visit to this hidden gem highly enough.

Visited 8th March 2014

My quest this week was to visit the four West Penwithian stone circles, and the Boskednan Maidens were the last elusive stones to find. Our intention had been to park at the Men-an-Tol lay-by and walk from there to the circle. On arrival though our plans were foiled by due to a plethora of horse-boxes and 4x4’s disgorging the local hunt, and blocking up the pull in and nearby verges, and clogging the road with all the arrogance and inconsideration that only a bunch of red coated buffoons can exhibit.

Continuing up the lane we spot a place to pull in just on the left, opposite a track to a house called Dakota. A quick check of the O.S. map shows we can reach the stones from here, and then head via Ding Dong back down to Men-an-Tol, the engine house of the ruined mine providing a useful landmark with which to orient ourselves. We set off along the path onto the moors, and before long I’m delighted to spot the stones on the skyline.

Tramping across the moorland it’s a great walk, but very muddy, wellingtons again proving their worth. After walking for about twenty minutes, and fixedly gazing at either the stones on the horizon, or our feet lest we tread in a muddy bog, I look back and notice Men Scryfa some way behind us. I’m annoyed we missed it, but would rather spend more time at the circle than go back to visit it now, so as always, there’ll be another time to visit I’m sure, and it’s always a good excuse to return (as if I need one!).

We steadily climb up the ridge of the moorland, the circle temporarily hidden from view, before coming upon some stones, which I initially take for the circle, and am a bit taken aback, as it seems a lot smaller than I was expecting. It’s only when Ellen points out some more stones ahead, that I check the map and realise we are at Boskednan cairn, a nice bonus to stumble on as I didn’t even realise this place was here!

It’s been a walk of just under two miles, but the circle is soon reached, and what a lovely atmospheric place it is. The eleven stones (the nine maidens in this case coming from the magical symbolism of the number, rather than the extant number of stones), lean attractively in that romantic ruin type of way. The dun winter shades of the moor make it look as if the stones are sprouting organically from the ground. It’s still windy, but also seems surprisingly sheltered, and the circle has a warmth about it, a welcoming sheltering place atop the bleak moors.

The contrast between the Boskednan maidens and the Merry Maidens couldn’t be greater, for all the manicured perfection of the latter, here is a wild elemental place, raw, lonely and magnificent, and all the preferable for it. A truly wonderful circle.

Visited 8th March 2014

I’d been itching to get back here all week, seeing as it was just a five minute walk away from where we were staying, however every morning I got up to be greeted by either grey rain swept skies, or cold dank sea mists. Today however I was woken by bright sunshine peeking its way through the curtains. So enticed by the thought of a barrow before breakfast, I was up and out by 8am.

Just a short walk along the top of the headland above Priest’s Cove and I arrived at Carn Gluze, and now knowing why the sea mist had vanished, blown away by a bitter wind of such incessant force it made me homesick for Orkney!

The barrow itself is big. Standing in the shadow of an old mine chimney which looms nearby, it could at first glance be mistaken for the remains of one of the old industrial buildings, or the remains of a spoil heap, which is not helped by the 19th century ‘reconstructions’ of William Borlase, which only seek to confuse the layout of the site. Climbing onto the outer stone ‘collar’, I’m almost blown off by the wind, but clambering down into the space between the dry stone walls allows me surcease from the icy gusts, and the ability to inspect the cists a bit better and write my fieldnotes.

It’s certainly an impressive place, and amazing views are to be had out to sea, looking down to the Land’s End peninsular, but I find it difficult to get a handle on this place. It is very different in layout to most barrows and chambered tombs, and the radical alterations undertaken by Borlase in 1878 obfuscate the original layout to such an extent the monument as a whole loses something for me. I’d love to see a more sympathetic modern archaeological restoration undertaken to more properly bring out the wonder of this place.

My hands are freezing by now, even in the shelter of the barrow, and I’m too cold to stay much longer, so clambering out I bid the place farewell. I’m sure I’ll be back, I’ll need at least few more visits to try and work out this place!

Visited 8th March 2014

On previous visits we’d just parked up in the lay-by and walked down the track to the stones, but today Men-an-Tol came at the end of our circular walk over the moors.

We approached down the path from Ding Dong mine, and all was well until we reached the dip at the bottom of the hill where all the accumulated rainwater runoff from the moors had collected into a swampy morass. Ellen was a bit perturbed about crossing the quagmire but with the famous last words of ‘Don’t worry I’m sure it’s not that deep’ I strode forward and plunged knee deep into sucking mud. Fortunately Ellen was able to extricate me from the bog whilst miraculously managing not to loose my wellingtons, and we gingerly picked our way through some tussocky areas just visible above the water.

After this it was all plain sailing on the rest of the walk. The stones are so small though they’re not really that noticeable from this direction until you get right up close to them, then seeming to magically appear from the moorland in front of you. We’ve got the place to ourselves, a rare occurrence, and it’s nice to rest in the sunshine by the diminutive stones. I’d forgotten how small they were, and despite lacking the grandeur of some of Penwith’s other sites, and if you wanted to be unkind, perhaps looking a bit like a garden feature (although this is exactly the sort of thing I’d give anything to have in my garden!), there is an indescribable something to this place, that grants it a magic all of its own.

I’m pleased to see no signs of cattle damage or erosion as I walk around the stones, although today I’m too tired and muddy to squeeze myself through the holed stone. Instead I bend down and look through the aperture, loving the perfectly smooth roundness of the holed stone as I run my hand around it. I know it was once supposed to be a stone circle, but it just seems to me so unlike any other monument of that type, I do wonder. Making the hole in the stone would have needed tremendous effort, and if the monument was once a circle with the holed stone as a just a perimeter stone set obliquely to the rest, why go to all that effort? I would have expected it to be more of a feature, perhaps a portal entrance or setting within the circle, or perhaps it was the case that the hole was made later in an orthostat, perhaps after the circle had fallen into disuse. It all just adds to the enigmatic mystery of this lovely place.

So after a good long ponder, we finally set off down the track which takes us back to the lane and the end of our walk, tired, happy, and with the prospect of a nice lunch in the Kings Arms at St Just ahead of us, exactly what a day out megalithing should be!

Visited 5th March 2014

This place has been high on my list of must see sites for ages, and I must say it didn’t disappoint. Parking up at the wonderfully named Woom Grumpus common on the B3318, the quoit is visible on the horizon from the parking spot. Wellingtons were an absolute necessity as to describe the path as ‘boggy’ would constitute a gross understatement!

Huge puddles of indeterminate depth straddled the path, but properly equipped for a change we soldier on, the walk up to the stone being just under a mile, soon though we arrive at this most perfect of dolmens. Wonderful vistas can be had from the site looking out over the sea, but skies are grey and murky today, low cloud clinging on and obscuring the horizon.

I squeeze into the chamber, but it’s a tight fit. Inside though it’s nice and sheltered, and some handy stones inside allow a perch out of the mud for me to write my fieldnotes. It’s wonderful here inside the quoit, I can hear the wind howling away around the stones, and I feel far from the mundane world, almost as if I’m about to be whisked off to the otherworld at any moment.

The four closely placed orthostats support a wonderful sloping capstone, and I can’t help but admire the economy of design, it’s a dolmen at its most streamlined. The entrance seems to be aligned south-easterly, and the granite tor of Carn Kenidjack looms away to the south in line with the quoit, and possibly the alignment continues on south to the circle of Tregeseal.

I can’t think of enough superlatives to describe Chûn Quoit, although one of West Penwith’s most iconic sites the necessity for a walk to reach it probably keeps away the casual visitor so the sense of isolation remains. A truly wonderful place, and I know I’ll be back!

Visited 5th March 2014

Although some of the places we’ve visited on this trip to Cornwall seemed very different to my past recollections of them, Sancreed Well felt so familiar I could have been here yesterday rather than ten years ago. As soon as we drove into Sancreed I remembered the phone box you park up next to, at the side of which is the path to the well.

The path seemed very overgrown though, and I began to wonder how long it might have been since someone last came this way. The answer was obviously very recently as when we arrived at the well the small glow of a freshly lit tealight shone out at us from the gloom of the subterranean well chamber, so someone was here very recently, despite us seeing no sign of anyone around, either on the path or as we drove through the village, spooky.

The well itself is a magical place, a little verdant grotto with an otherworldly feeling as you descend the steps down to the clear cold water, your breath misting in the cave like interior. Green mosses and ferns sprout from the side walls, and no matter the antiquity of this well the tranquil atmosphere it exudes makes it ever a sacred place.

I didn’t notice any phosphorescence in the well chamber, but it probably needs to be darker to see the effect. Although nearby is a modern stone Celtic cross, this still feels a pagan place, the overhanging hawthorn tree covered in offerings. I must say the offerings left here are lovely, several pyrographed pieces of wood hang from the tree, exhibiting an artistry that must have taken some time to complete, crystals, ribbons and windchimes are also in evidence, and there is a refreshing lack of mouldy old ribbons or plastic which sometimes blight these places, it’s evident someone cares for and regularly visits the place, and if I lived down this way I would too.

Visited 7th March 2014

The Merry Maidens are almost too perfect. A perfect circle of perfect little stones, in a perfectly mowed field, you almost feel the need to check whether inscribed somewhere on a stone is ‘copyright Disney Co.’ Beautiful but somehow superficially lacking in atmosphere, they are like the supermodel of stone circles, very appealing to look at but somehow a little vacuous underneath.

However on a day like today, with blue skies, and no-one else around (one of the advantages of coming to Cornwall this early in the year) all is forgiven. In fact I’m being a bit harsh as this is a really lovely place, just after visiting the wilder locales of West Penwith’s other circles, it all seems a bit too manicured here.

We wander around the ring though enjoying the sun, now warm on my back, and the gentle cawing of the crows in the next field, and I can see why this place is such a magnet for people, and it’s nice that after 4,000 years it draws folk still.

Visited 7th March 2014

The Blind Fiddler is visible over the top of the hedge which borders the A30, just up the road from the Sisters at Drift. Also handily, almost directly opposite is a layby for convenient parking to visit the stone.

Once over the stile into the field the stone is satisfyingly chunky, and surprisingly tall. The sun glints from flecks of quartz embedded in the menhir, as I approach to give the stone a customary hug. The landscape is too enclosed with hedges to get a proper view so it’s difficult to see any alignments, but the Drift stones seem to be pretty much directly to the east, so I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a link in the past.

The top of the stone is shrouded in lichen, which wraps around its top, like a mossy blindfold, and the stone from one aspect almost resembles a hunched figure stumbling forward, like a petrified Blind Pew (although it has been said I anthropomorphise stones too much!) but standing in this lovely meadow the Fiddler has a lot of character, and deserves more attention than just a cursory glance on a hurried drive.

Visited 7th March 2014

Shockingly on previous visits to the Merry Maidens I never knew that this place existed, yet it is literally two minutes’ walk from the parking spot for that stone circle, mind you that was in the days before I’d discovered the TMA website, and Mr Cope shockingly omits to mention Tregiffian in his magnum opus.

Today though after spending some time with the Maidens it was time to check out the neighbouring burial chamber, and what a pleasant surprise it is. A great curling semi-circle of stones for a forecourt, and surprisingly roomy chamber, make for an impressive monument. It’s a shame the road in effect cuts through the monument, and although the chamber is intact (albeit that the capstone is supported by a hardly subtle beam) when you step back you can see how the original curve of the mound is sadly curtailed. The cupmarked stone is really fantastic, at first I wasn’t sure whether it was a naturally marked stone or not, but the depressions on the stone were so deep they didn’t seem natural, it’s a great stone anyway, and I had no idea it was a replica until I’ve just read the previous fieldnotes! I also didn’t realise how close the Gun Rith menhir was as well, and totally missed out on seeing it, well just another excuse for a return visit, as if one were needed!

The way it’s crouched next to the road reminds me of a slightly more battered version of Arthur’s Stone in Herefordshire, but where as that place stands tall, Tregiffian seems to hunker down and sink into the road.

Tregiffian isn’t the quietest place to sit and soak up the atmosphere, as traffic regularly rumbles by, but it’s still a great place to visit, and so close to the Maidens that there’s really no excuse not to.

Visited 7th March 2014

Ladies and gentleman of the Modern Antiquarian, if I could only offer you one tip for the future, wearing wellingtons would be it.

They were certainly needed here, the field a churned up quagmire of deep muddy furrows, but with our trusty vulcanised footwear we didn’t have to worry. We’d driven past the Drift stones several times so far this week, peeking over the top of the field as we sped past like the coy temptresses they are, and with the return of blue skies and sunny weather today was the day to make their acquaintance.

There is a small car park next to the crossroads in Drift, where we left the car before walking up the A30 (thankfully fairly quite at this time in the year) before reaching the gate to the field containing the stones. I’m a little disconcerted to see half the field swathed in polythene and obviously planted with crops, but a clear path along deeply churned tractor tracks allows us to get to the stones.

They are a fine pair, the southerly stone still providing a shelter for veritable escargatoire of snails, probably distant descendants of those mentioned by Sweetcheat a few years ago. I like the way the church tower at St Buryan can be framed directly between the stones, but it’s hard to get a clearer view of the other aspects from the stones due to the proximity of the hedgerows.

The mud sucks at my boots as I walk around the stones enjoying the sunshine, but cautious not to step on the polythene or sink up to my knees in sludge, there’s nowhere really to just chill out at the stones so once the requisite photo’s have been taken its onwards to hunt out more stones.

Visited 5th March 2014

Since we’ve been in Cornwall on this trip we’ve been stuck under a grey murk of low cloud, but this morning looked as if it might hold something different, with scattered cloud, and yes unbelievably some blue skies to be seen. Since we’re based in St. Just it seemed a good time to search out the nearby circle at Tregeseal.

We left the car in the town square at St. Just and decided to walk, taking the footpath at the side of the church which led to the village of Tregaseal, and then with the help of an O.S. map and the unmissable natural landmark of Carn Kenidjack guiding the way, we followed the lanes up toward Hailglower Farm, having to negotiate some very muddy lanes as we neared the gorsey moorland where the circle was situated.

It’s a walk of two miles, but pleasant in the warm sunshine. Although you could drive up the lanes to get much closer to the circle, I much prefer having a bit of a walk in to a site. It makes it feel a bit more of an adventure, or like a pilgrimage, and allows you to get much more of a sense of the landscape around you, and the monument’s situation within it. In this case the dominant feature of the granite tor of Carn Kenidjack, providing the focal point.

The circle must be West Penwith’s best kept secret, a fine ring of 19 stones, and I’m pleased to see they look in a pretty robust state with none of the erosion visible which was present on some of the earlier pictures posted, and also no barbed wire or nary a cow to be seen, something which greatly puts at ease Ellen’s bovinophobia.

It’s lovely and peaceful here high above the town, the sea just visible in the distance. The circle exudes an aura of peace and tranquillity and I sit within its precincts to write my fieldnotes. It’s not long though before grey clouds start to mass behind us, and within minutes they sweep over the moorland, the temperature dropping dramatically, and making it too cold to just sit around, so we press on to look for some of the other sites on the moorland, on our way up to Carn Kenidjack.

From the higher aspect of the rocky outcrop of the tor the circle can be seen on the edge of the moor, and the stones seem to have a sense of movement to them, the varying lean on the stones around the circle bring to mind the myth of a circle of swaying maidens dancing in a ring.
The wealth of sites which once were, or still are spread across this moorland only emphasize how sacred the area once was to the people who lived here, and the Dancing Stones are the jewel in the crown. It’s a shame the western circle no longer remains, but the monument doesn’t seem diminished by its loss, the stones merely dancing on proudly in their fine landscape above the mundane world, enticing you to join them for a turn.