At the lonely port of Scrabster and the very edge of mainland Britain, a large ferry waited. On her side a 7-deck-tall painted Viking pointed across the Pentland Firth towards where, according to the map, the southernmost of the Orkney Islands stood. But really all that lay in front of me was a wall of grey from sky to sea.
Eight hours earlier our train had left Glasgow, passing quickly out of the city into fields and farms beyond the Central Belt. It lumbered through the wilder Cairngorms National Park, where, framed by the train window, rapeseed fields were a shock of neon yellow in an otherwise earth-toned landscape. Heathered hills grew steeper as we moved northward and lively creeks cut rogue paths across the land…Continue reading at Orkney.com.
Taylor St. John 