Most things in Norway are expensive. Public transport, however, is not one of them. Our bus back to Tromsø airport this morning cost 50 krone each, which is about £3.50, and for a 90-minute ride through stellar scenery that is undoubted value for money. Farewell to this very beautiful place: I hope it is not 2032 before I return.
I sort-of promised another landscape from our last full day here in Norway, so let’s call this one — at the micro-scale, anyway. Sommarøy doesn’t have much of a social life and you’d think you might be able to get some decent food here (fresh fish, for a start), but it is a staggeringly beautiful place. Look, even the shingle is pretty.
Climbing to the summit of Hillesøya, the sibling island to Sommarøy, made for some needed exercise in the morning, for me, Clare and the two hikers you see here, as well as a bunch of others who hauled themselves up its rocky and awkward slopes. Still, it’s undoubtedly an easier walk than Håja, in the background. This pointy little island apparently inspired the shape of the ‘Arctic Cathedral’ in Tromsø, which can be seen on the left-hand side of the first picture I took of the city back in March 2017.
One full day to go here, and you’ll probably be seeing another landscape tomorrow — but there are reasons for that.
Time to get out of the big city (well, Tromsø) and out into the countryside for the remainder of our time here. The name of Sommarøy means ‘Summer Isle’, which is appropriate for the time of year, but not for today’s weather, which certainly reminded us that we are at 69º 37′ N. On the other hand, who doesn’t like a Wicker Man reference. Somewhere over there a policeman may or may not be landing his seaplane on the loch, sorry, fjord and dropping by to make inquiries about a missing girl. OK, we are in the real Norway, not a fictional Scotland, but the scene is reminiscent enough.
The Bay in question being Morecambe Bay. I wonder how often these get used — going on the state of the sail of the one on the right at the back, I assume, not very often, even when the tide is in. Perhaps this shot is a little too over-contrasted but I was playing with settings on the camera, and it was a rather moody day of weather — note the chunk of rainbow to the top left.
Only in Britain do we really try to create seaside resorts on north-facing coasts at latitudes like 56º above the equator: but Redcar, near Middlesbrough, just about gets away with it thanks to having a really excellent beach that stretches for miles. Even when the sun is out, though, you still need to be quite hardy to make a day of it, but obviously this family have the necessary genetic qualities.
Another landscape, but why not. This was the last view seen of Orkney on this trip, as the 6.30am ferry back to Thurso turned itself around and gave its passengers one final chance to admire the photogenic qualities of Stromness, with the hills of Hoy behind. I would come back here with no qualms at all. Orkney is a great place and there should be more like it.
By a total coincidence, the picture taken ten years ago today was also timed as 6:40am. I remember this because it was another rather fine landscape, captured near the summit of Kilimanjaro on 2nd August 2015.
At the start of World War 2, a good portion of the British Navy was berthed in the immense natural harbour of Scapa Flow, the entrances of which were defended by a range of methods including the sinking of obsolete ships in the channels. That these defenses were inadequate was proven when a U-Boat snuck in anyway and sunk HMS Royal Oak with the loss of hundreds of lives. As a result, Churchill ordered the building of the barriers that now bear his name and block off all entrance to Scapa Flow on its western side — though, in a move typical of many public works projects, these were not in fact finished until literally four days after the war had ended. Anyway, the Barriers now act as causeways linking Orkney’s south-eastern group of islands to the Mainland, and the blockships still sit there, rusting away and playing home to the occasional lobster pot.
For those that don’t know, signs like these on British roads indicate one can drive at the ‘national speed limit’, which is no less than 60mph. Anyone doing so on this road, however, may as well presume to end up in the cemetery to which it leads, visible over there on the sea shore. Perhaps the road traffic planners of Stromness, Orkney, have a morbid sense of humour. Or perhaps my using of this photo suggests that it’s just me.
The Old Man of Hoy is around 450 feet high and probably Britain’s most well-known pillar of rock, thanks in large part to a famous televised climbing of it in the late 1960s. Plenty more people have subsequently made it to the top, including an 8-year-old, who thereby demonstrated more desire and ability to propel themselves up sheer rock faces than I ever will. But the Old Man is not some durable phenomenon. A map drawn in 1750 shows a headland here but no stack. The first known painting of it was completed in 1819 and shows him with two legs, and looking much bulkier. And when he’s seen now — as from the Scrabster to Stromness ferry this afternoon — it does look like the next really big storm will take him down. Will the Old Man last longer than the Old(ish) Man now blogging about him? We’ll take bets…. after all, if I lose, I won’t be around to collect.
Being 42 