land of extremes

Iced fisherworld


The further north you go, the icier the island. I did not want to believe it, but, I left home in a glorious sun. By the time I reached my friend's crofthouse on the eastern headland, the sun had already vanished. Cold rain was threatening as we picked up A at her home at the T-junction... Heavens began to darken and by the time we travelled along da Lang Kames - this corridor of gales fashioned by the last great ice age, which ridges (the very meaning of "kames") are eroded by the long labour of the elements - trillions of snowflakes wandered as free as poltergeists... Surreal, we thought, and then we retracted the very thought, since we all knew spring on the island feels and behaves as wild as it wants. Yesterday was a classic example. Today confirmed how volatile the sky can turn.

Ronas Hill, on approach to Urafirth

Eshaness, the edge of the (dormant) super volcano, was to be our destination. On our way there, blotches of snow littered the vast peatlands from Brae to Urafirth. Ronas appeared a gignatic whale before our eyes. The rounded giant took my heart back to Glen Etive for a second, as we stopped the car for a moment. The road twists and turns so frequently it does only leaves one speed choice to any driver. The many lochans,  on each side of the single track road,  were scanned with care, although I did not expect to discover a lone rain goose (red-throated diver) so early in the season. As lunchtime loomed on the horizon, we relished the idea of a nice hot plate at Breiwick en route to the edge of our world, only to find the café closed on arrival... The view onto the Drongs, or Dragon's teeth, leave an iconic memory in your heart. Surprised though undefeated, we turned round and drove southbound, as unknown to me till we reached Tangwick, P had to deliver a fire extinguisher to a friend of her's. Lunch would wait a little longer, as P proposed we take a loop to Haylor, on the shores of one of the most impressive mini-fjords, Ronas Voe. 


And the magic began again.


I love that road in any season. Lushness of summer, bleakness, eeriness of winter,  though majestic at all times. The old fisherman's booth by the pinkish beach remains a magnet to any visitor,. I call it a gem well hidden inside the treasure chest.  By that time, cold rain overrode wet snow showers and we pushed it to the very shore. Closer to the old bod and boat. P once parked her caravan just by the beach in some past summer. I guessed the place would always turn very popular due to its sheer beauty. The old stony pier caught my eye. So many fishermen must have landed on the shores of this deep voe to download their cargo of herring and other fruits from the North Atlantic. Tens, if not hundreds of hands must have toiled to gut and pack the very fish into barrels filled with flesh and salt... The local folk from the parish must have traded wool, knitted socks, shawls, hats and gansies (jumpers) for basic commodities (bread, butter or alcohol - if not anything slightly illegal!) Today, the stones remain silent and mussel farming has changed the face of the long & narrow inlet of water.



And where did we have lunch, you may wonder? Well, we ended up inside the warmth and comfort of The Mid Brae Inn in the settlement of Brae. Although we arrived late, we were not refused a table and delicious food. Highly recommended to anyone eager to explore the northern parts of the island, together with Frankie's Fish & Chips, Busta House and The St Magnus Bay Hotel in Hillswick, should you be unfortunate enough to find the Breiwick Café "closed". 

Rain might have washed off icicles, 

it is a day to relish and treasure :-)

once upon a big sky

...how many words for snow?


Up to four seasons in one day we can enjoy on the island. April feels capricious. If I can start to remember what an after 6 p.m. sun can feel, a sudden U-turn to Svalbard (without the polar bears) still surprises the most astute and tolerant mind... So is our fate in the Far-far North. The forecast hardly changed since the past week. I looked at my flowering redcurrant shrubs and thought, argh, weel...


In an effort to break the spell, I played Kate's 50 Words For Snow, though in vain. Since Saturday, a determined sky began to spit flurries that warned us of more to come. I pit-stopped at the main country shop in the southern part of the island to get basic necessities (including those precious firelighters) as part of my effort to spot an early Northern Wheatear around Spiggie. The bird having been reported on Fair Isle, I took my chances. However, I came home without our felines' favourite food...  (NOT the bird.) Peewit looked at me with disdain. Baboo walked away through the flap and Tystie nearly broke a lamp! 
With snow forecast, I can't afford to mess around. Second shopping spree in the town to return home with a jute bag filled with delights, fit for felines and our own needs :-)

Then north wind began to gust around the walls of our Shetland Hut. N/NNE, as time went by and our hearth began to work on a constant basis once more. From those directions, it really feels cold! My other half later joked about Yule time... "Why not set up the tree again and bake mince pies?" I laughed in the face of whiteness! Snowflakes flew in diagonal and by this morning, we opened our door to a mini-version of Svalbard, or mini-mini Canada, not so unusual for April after all, though still slightly disheartening at first sight. Sparrows still sing during snow showers, though blackbirds vanish from their pedestal and wonder if they won't lose out on courtisanes... 


first view this morning

 Although I expected flurries, I did not imagine so much would stay overnight... Snow does not stick long enough to the ground after the equinox. Still tucked in my fleecy blanket with two hot water bottles at my feet, I did not really feel like getting up at 0830 - especially since I am free from timetables! So I lingered in bed a little. All three cats did not make any fracas on the other side of the door. White, white, white, white!

No snowday disrupted the winter term (oh, barely a February weekend) and, gosh, now it's arrived!


White out, psycho-hail, twisting, ankle-breaker, blackbird's Braille, drifting, avalanche... Stellar tundra, crème bouffant, Hunter's dream, hooded wet, terror blizzard, vanilla swarm, sorbet de luge, as  through the lips of Stephen Fry. 

Let me hear your 50 words for snooooowwwwwwwww! 

My world had vanished once again under late winter's white blanket. This morning's Shetland Times did not read too encouraging either...

the other side of the coin in one day

Trillions of snowflakes melting at the speed of light!

Just by magic, as a bitter NE began to sweep away snow shower clouds, a more dignified spring-like blue filled our afternoon  sky.

This time, white light filling our world!

The garden still bears a few remnants from this morning's  capricious sky - with scarfs around trees and shrubs, blotches of crystals dispersed and and there in the shade... But nothing serious. The cats' passage looks safe from grass level. 

From Arctic spell to spring Technicolour!

I love the island. Its light changes all the time. Now time to listen to Good Evening, Shetland, just in time for the weather forecast :-)

from merrie dancers to the haar

Not a same spring blossoms the same...  

This year's is a precocious one.


A wander round the the eastside of the island revealed not only celandine, but unexpected primrose in bloom at Fladdabister. 
Our greylag geese still grace our world, together with a plethora of summer visitors in search of a great pedestal for courtship display. The fertile pocket of lushness that is the Tingwall Valley was littered with shalders (oystercatchers), common & black-headed gulls in full regalia... Summer's definitely on its way! 

And on the theme of green...

Two nights ago, we still marvelled at auroras in much calmer conditions. Oh, not the draping, shimmering ones in my Sandwick sky, but a green glow in this late March starry night. Wonderful moment, for northern lights do remain one of my favourite earth spectacles, together with sunrise & sunset, and storm petrels trading places on the isle of Mousa during the Simmerdim. 


tied a'da noost


The Haar, as this maritime natural phenomenon is known in Scotland, has come early as this year's spring buds. Today, we reverted to summer time in white, as seafog veiled most of our shore on the eastside of the island. Every building turns a ghost shape, every silhouette, a spirit. Yesterday, west and east were heavily shrouded down. The drive to Weisdale proved an eerie journey from start to finish... Today, the Haar turns in to mist, and as I type, begins to lift around my township. 

Magic, mystical, as our world gradually warms up, we watch in white; listen for birdsong, calling gulls  and the sea in a cullen skink sky... I redesign the horizon. 


Kiss of life from our cold North Sea!


We can only hope for a sun that is strong enough to burn it. My friend Debbie, who lives in Aith, on the westside, recorded a morning of sunshine. Mind you, the Haar is a trickster, for wicks and voes vanish and reappear at will.   it wanders around each bay, and engulfs long narrow inlets of water at amazing speed! It could be called Loki... I much prefer a more feminine persona, as Lady Mist. 

Arctic Sunday

back to whiteworld


We have been warned. That exotic (anything above zero Celsius) air would not last long... Kate's 50 words for Snow is playing inside the hut, as am I'm savouring a bowl of warm porridge. The island once more caught in some Arctic spell, with a thin, though icy sheet of snow, has clad every meadow, garden and geo. Our three felines ventured fully clawed on the icy blue.


Peewit the Cat clambered over the crab basket and watched geese in mid-morning sky from his post. He looked a sphinx in this ocean of ice.  Frozen garden in glorious light on Sunday morning. Overnight gales let us enjoy more magic from our Nordic sky, with yet another luminous display of aurora. Mirrie Dancers delighted eyes late in darkness. So cold though through this Arctic air. If at the start of February, I felt on the shore of the Labrador, today makes me think of Svalbard, or somewhere near the horizon of South Georgia, South Shetland or Orkney Islands, or even Iles Kerguélen...  A short walk around my patch transports my heart to those desolate freezing realms. Scott, Charcot and Shackleton  belong to this catalogue of famous polar explorers, and yet, other names, no so well remembered, adorn this list. No leopard or elephant seal, just common and grey ones can be found all around my shore. Each print of snow boot has its rewards. I heard a snippick (snipe) in the nearby field, and geese calling above my head. So was the theme of my stravaig before lunchtime.


Everything belongs to the ice.

In defiance to eyes and claws of February, sparrows and starlings sang during snowfall on Saturday. So eager to chase this spell of desolation, they stood and chirped all around us. Every tree began to feel the weight of winter. Sticky snow whitened our world. But still, birdsong filled in sound this myriad of snowflakes. My Nordic world sounded so light. 

Such desire to feel alive and sing in Saturday's bleakest moments...

June & Richard's Old Manse looks so romantic clad in white. The old stone walls harbour comfort and secret worlds fit for a starling, gull or wren. They too feed birds that come to shelter from harshness. Among bits of twisted branches and frozen garden, tubes of peanuts hang from bareness. Birds know it so well. later they will find a suitable tree to love and fare for their offspring... In the meantime, they have to make do with whiteworld.

Recent haiku & tweets from 60N

Morning distorted by raindrops that could crystallize by Saturday - will have to tell curlews & wrens... #Geopoetics  

Magic words -

 inside book of incantations, 

one spell for snow.

 #haiku fae #60N #Geopoetics #flâneur #snow #dérive

Garde-barrière - 

sur le rebord du monde, 

deux étourneaux attendent la neige.

 #haiku fae 60N 

Now found your footprints in the snow - echoing round the 

whole island! 

Stravaig is out!

Geopoetics in motion


Feel free to click. The Scottish Centre for Geopoetics, led by Scottish poet & essayist Norman Bissell, released Stravaig online. Issue 1 has found freedom inside the cyberworld and its content is exciting! Friends, poets, writers, essayists, artists, photographers, designers and filmakers creatively mapped, chartered inside one world. It's... Exciting! There is a place for everyone who practises the discipline of intellectual nomadism. 


I still remember a friend who once asked me, "what is Geopoetics?" My poetic heart & mind attempted to describe something like "the natural art of opening to a world, finding our place within it and celebrating our connection with this very world within the realms of every rock, mountain and shore... This natural, real world, in which every rock, shell, sandgrain, snowflake, birdsong, flower counts. Not somebody's delusional mind - but the very cross-disciplinary movement to this world in which our human intelligence interacts. The widening of our knowledge to cross-cultural bonds, just like the crossing of continents via the ancient (now submerged) land bridges... Kenneth White speaks of walking away from those motorways of western civilisations in which too many generations of our ancestors met a dead-end by keeping their scope on one-way roads. Geopoetics offers freedom to wander whilst embracing a world intelligence, the human spirit and creative genius, irrespective of civilisation. This international movement has found many adepts over time, and The Scottish Centre for Geopoetics belongs to this Archipelago of current, practising intellectual nomads for our region (and beyond), which remains, White's native homeground. 

Stravaig, this wonderful Scot word meaning stroll, wander, will cross your way, I hope. 

Place, culture, world,  in the words of Kenneth White.

waiting for white

ice inside grass


It's barely 3 o'clock, and light is vanishing beyond the great sub-arctic lid that settled in our sky. The wind might have died by morning, but winter's claws now in firm grip of the island. We have been warned, a strange-shaped yellow bubble engulf our shores by the Met Office... So we've nailed apples on the edge of the composter and scraps litter the iced grass blades since mid-morning. 


Latest tale from the Far-far-north


The garden never quite sound asleep,

Long-Eared Owl, photographed
at Hoswick - Dave Hall

Last night alone, at 0026, a Long-Eared Owl graced our sight, as it perched for a while on June's tree, just opposite our kitchen window. I lit the garden for a last check of the grass when the nocturnal predator flew into the spruce. Its silencers makes it a ghost. Magic moment! I just could not really believe my eyes, as the bird landed so gracefully and turned its eyes towards the lit backdoor. Majestic. 



Earlier on today, Mr Robin was visible again, as it played around June's drystone wall and our fence posts.  It whizzed and darted around stones and long grass, as elusive as a kingfisher perched on the bank of some river... Starlings and blackbirds made a meal of the half apples well before dusk. Precocious roosting time, de rigueur on this latitude.

The zoomed-out view from my kitchen door pedestal did not look too dramatic this morning. However, hailstones littered the garden and white dusted the nearby hill NW of us (not visible on the photrograph). I heard a gaggle of wild geese, very possibly Greylags, calling from Brakefield, as starlings gathered on my neighbours' ramskull and washing lines, June's and mine's. Such a familiar sight. Light remained dimmed through such short days. 

If winter, as a season, selects the fittest of survivors, a hand from our part helps to limit the damage through this yearly carnival of death. Mother Earth and Father Sky have their way in dealing with the natural world, and many plant and animal species have adapted to cope with the gradual or sudden change of temperatures. For those who stay in one place all year round, they have no choice but face the perils of sedentary life, or rather, survival. 
Like many thousands of us, friend & local wildlife photographer, Paula Moss, based at Girlsta, north of the town, invests in her local patch by feeding her local birds. Although she confessed she was "plagued" by over some "forty pigeons" (mix of Collared & Rock Doves), she found so much delight in mixing sheep fat with seeds & nuts. Her avian friends certainly appreciate her generosity, as they depend on such helping hand! Such gesture is now embedded in our hearts, and nature gives back in beauty what  is so graciously offered to it. 

Each solstice and equinox make 

the very fabric of our world. 

Meantime, we prepare for whiteworld as much as we can.

Coal, bagged and stacked against one wall, 

the hearth now glows till late in the night. 

Fat water-filled roasting dishes provide a little bit of goodness to our avian friends when left around during the day.  Now  night has overridden dusk, it will be emptied, washed and re-used for tonight's dinner.                                

Still keep  an eye through the window, with a thought for my little feathery friends roosting in the trees of the nearby community garden, as well as those, such as wrens and robins, tucked in  between stones of walls. Daily survival has its price.

Pirate

Changement de pavillon linguistique


Le nomadisme ne connaît pas de frontière!
Cela me chatouillait depuis quelque temps... A bon traducteur Google, salut!
C'est en surfant sur le blog copain québéquois de La Taversée que je me suis dit,

"Eh bien quoi, pourquoi pas un petit détour géopoétique SPECIAL FRANCOPHONE POUR UNE FOIS?" Après tout, cela ne fait de mal à personne!
Que mes lecteurs se délectent dans une langue qui fait le bonheur des deux côtés de l'Atlantique Nord :-) 


Pour toutes celles et tous ceux qui ne connaissent pas cet atelier de géopoétique, allez donc surfer sur le lien suivant (que vous trouverez également sur le côté droit du blog sous l'inscription: "Constellations")

La Traversée - Atelier de géopoétique québéquois

Benoît, Victoria et les amis de La Traversée, bonjour du milieu de l'Atlantique!

Mr Kenneth White ne cesse d'agrandir son archipel et regarder le monde à partir d'une île se révèle à la fois fort agréable et aventureux, puisque la longue vue vous permet, à partir d'une péninsule, la vision hyper-grand angle... Une longue vue, voire un télescope! Quel bonheur de se trouver balayé(e) par les vents, maquillé(e) par les embruns tout en se disant que, de toute façon, mieux vaut les odeurs d'iode et de kelp pourri que celles des abattoirs ou des longues queues aux embouchures d'autoroutes... Ha-ha, la vie d'insulaire sur cette latitude a le goût de sel! 


Chers amis du Canada, et du monde francophone,
je vous suis sur vos blogs respectifs, et j'aime vous lire quelque soit la langue choisie.
Ce mode d'expression reflette assez bien l'esprit de Kenneth White, qui se plaît à converser oralement ou à l'écrit dans ces deux langues, que je considère "jumelles".

A bon voyageur, salut, et bonne traversée!

Hissez haut, hissez haut!

pictorial

...Can you hear it, can you hear it screaming? Oppressive, with shafts of madness, burning white. It holds bolts of hailstorms; unleashes ice, surgical blades, beyond belief and darkens wings of all angels... It holds hostage our precious sun, and will not beg for redemption.

Island anchored in Ice

chou,

genou, hibou, 
caillou...caribou

I saw antlers when I captured this view of the island this morning. Eyes were riveted to small tracks, but if you look at the shadows, you might just see solid deciduous horns, usually branched, of an animal of the deer family. 

Hence, caribou :-).

I often compare the island to a mini Canada or a mini Svalbard every time it is anchored in ice.  

A more wide angled 

view,

looking

S-SW,

towards

another island,

equi-distant

between

the Northern Isles,

allows the eye

to appreciate the majesty of our white world.

In such horrid climatic conditions, my first instinct is to check out our enclosed patch named our garden. Starlings were feasting on yoghurt pots filled with homemade bird cakes and were dangling like gifts of love... Sunday morning felt so serene. Not a flying flurry or grain of ice in sight. I kept a packet of oatmeals for ground feeders. Snow's like a quilt, but to our feathered friends, autumn became invisible. 

Without a sigh, the afternoon unleashed the dark side of the postcard! Wonderland turned hellish outside - starlings sought shelter from the monster blowing ice...

A strange arctic blue filled our sky, as wings fled away in terror.

The island vanished in the snow.

This constant game of hide-and-seek lasted till dusk - and as I type, flurries still knock at my window from time to time. 

I dare to imagine starlings roosting away from ice... How many will see next morning, as more oatmeals will adorn snow.

Today's haiku fae 60N

Precocious Yule,

bird cakes adorn our willow trees -

our gifts of love for wings to come. 

Metasaga

finding our place

Geopoetics, intellectual nomadism, metasaga...

When selecting my training courses for my October two-day In-Service Training last September, I came across one that immediately spoke to my heart. Its description read fascinating - its title said it all. Metasaga.
My new term began with a bang, as I met with a very inspiring course leader and group whilst on a on that particular course at school. Firstly, I was a little astonished to find the course under-subscribed... However, I felt far less surprised to find two of my fellow local poets/artists among our group, Fair Isle based Lise Sinclair and Hebridean bard & writer, Donald S. Murray, who teaches English in Sandwick. As a matter of fact, all participants were involved in the Arts at educational level. 

Wunjo, rune of joy, light

A token of somebody's love... Friendship engraved on a stone, which finds its place around my neck. I made sure I would not forget it on my journey through autumn term. Metasaga is a compound word formed out of two words, meta, from metaphor and saga, from our neighbouring nordic friends. Storytelling is very much interwoven in the history & cultural heritage.  As soon as our course leader began to explain what we were to undertake, my geopoetical heart began to sing deep inside!
Uyesound School headteacher Kate Coutts spoke very much like Kenneth White, father of Geopoetics, the albatross and intellectuial nomadism; she aims to help us  find our place in the world around us by taking us on an inner journey.

Metasaga does not answer questions - it enables each journeyman to ask much deeper questions about him/herself in this world through culture, heritage and physical landscape.. 

Needless to say we did not stay very long in the classroom, for some adventure was waiting for us! Re-starting school in late October in not so clement weather conditions, I would have been surprised to spend an afternoon at Ninian Sands or even more nearby beach...Instead, we found ourselves meandering in and around our local museum and archives in Lerwick. Perfect! The museum houses everything we needed to undertake this shared inner journey. We each  picked a spot, an object, a moment. Delight. We thought of themes, values, packaged the lot in some educational and/or more personal context... Dressed it with questions, pictures. We used our creativity, poetics, to make it happen and found joy in creating our group metasaga. 


Result: two fabulous days. Geopoetics, metasaga in the making. Please click! Shetland Metasaga

What a formidable tool to respond to individuals, young or slightly older to find themselves. Although Kate re-iterarted this was in no way a new concept, she nonetheless packaged it with grace to notably meet the needs of all, including those of our Scottish Curriculum for Excellence. 
Next step? To introduce colleagues and pupils at my school and start sharing all its benefits! It has started. Our world is in motion.

Kenneth White will smile again. We, the intellectual nomads, have an additional way to find our place in the world. 

Metasaga belongs to us.

Please click on this link Metasaga Home

The sea is my homeworld

moored and adrift

That rope ties us to our own world.

In a recent conversation with a friend from a slightly lower latitude, a round trip on that imaginary 60th parallel as we become funambulists would prove a cracking adventure! I once pinned this magic number on my Google Earth screen and imagined drifting off like a titanic iceberg.  I, vagabond on great oceans, floating freely, what a wild ride! I'd need to trek with a light boat and hike across miles of tundra, encounter reindeers, elks and caribous... As names change through the meridians.

Boreal autochthons as well as ancestors and intrepid adventurers have made such treks - crossed landbridges, straits and isthmi in an attempt to follow life, pursuits or dreams.

water-land

It sometimes feels a treasure hunt! 
Friend, environmental artist and boat builder Ruth Macdougall has rekindled a childlike dream. We are destined to row a craft that will take us beyond the edge of the mainland. As her beast lies belly-up, ready for ribbing,  young Jim Hawkins lives in my heart, as I follow the waterline. We may not trek around the earth but we shall share a poetics as we live through the elements, firths and sounds of the Atlantic and become one nomadic island in the world. Each oar becomes an extension of ourselves, each humli baand, a ring of determination. The more we share, the more excited we become!