voar

That spell of snow in March hindered the return of colours all around us.

And as Ostara came and went, the promise of spring – wir voar – eventually appeared in spite of cold air still around. Father Sky has its own sense of humour – call it the sword of Damocles… Jekyll & Hyde.

Yet Mother Earth has her own agenda, and urge to burst in many forms. Vegetal or animal, Arcania is waking again. And as April is unfolding, our quintessential harbingers of spring appear under our eyes, filling our hearts with that same joy.

From leaf budding to flower blossom, da voar is surrounding us. Already, my most immediate garden is speaking,

I need to watch when I’m treading when reaching out to the washing line (!) as daisies, dandelions and bluebells (awaiting to flourish) are erupting all around…

At the start of the spring holiday, young Alfie cleared the remnants of last summer’s quadrats of tall grass in an effort to regenerate the meadow. Already, sparrows and blackbirds have begun to make use of cut grass blades left behind for nesting material. Our garden dwellers are establishing territory all around each corner of da tun (groups of human settlements).

Further afield, da voar displays its many threads of magic. Added to the kindness of Father Sky, light shines in every eye and every heart.

As far as the eye can see, the island is welcoming life again. Our avian summer visitors are gradually making way back to their ancestral breeding grounds. Cliff ledges, clefts, skerries or stacks – hillsides, lochs, mires… Heath or peatlands.

They are investing the homeground we share. What more joyous than renaissance?

Every new meeting with a hill sporrow (meadow pipit) laverick (skylarks) sten-shakker (northern wheatear) raingjus (red-throated diver) or a tammie norie (puffin) proves enchanting every time. Our reunion with our natural world.

Those iconic creatures add to those arrived a little earlier in the year: from the multicoloured shelduck to the shalder (oystercatcher) that have been toiling to display love through their courtship. A new cycle of life restated in earnest.

And yet da voar is showing signs and question marks. Whereas swallows and swifts, chiffchaffs, siskins, goldcrests and willow warblers have erupted around the island in precocious ways, entire cliff faces famously occupied by certain species, including gannets and common guillemots or kittiwakes remain deserted in places… Last year’s spell of avian influenza notably decimated gannets & great skuas, da bonxie, so notorious as a thief, and yet so crucial as a muckraker – usually keeping bird colonies healthy by predating on unhealthy, sick or injured birds… The irony. Their function on Earth as keepers of healthy colonies in times of plenty for its own species (the great skua, like its cousin, the Arctic skua) is above all a fisher bird, yet fell prey to a virus created to regulate numbers…

More surprisingly, common guillemots looked a little late back on their stack at my favourite headland on Saturday evening. They usually invest their ancestral breeding grounds before puffins arrive… Only a pair sighted at Smithfield Stack. Unless… Unless, they stayed at sea when I reconvened with their cousins, since guillemot and puffin (together with razorbills) belong to the same family.

Kittiwakes also missing on their abrupt cliff face…

The island’s most southerly tip – Sumburgh Head – so famously renowned for its bountiful wildlife is yet to home a new generation of seabirds, delighting us all.

A point so famous to travellers and sailors, made safer by Robert Louis Stevenson’s father & family builders of lighthouses around Scotland, my favourite headland has this feeling of a world end. It is so precious for life.

I will come back and keep vigil, for every new visit sparks light and excitement in my heart.

It is a magic place to watch the world unfold in its precious and yet at times rawest moments.

Fitful and Quendale Bay from Sumburgh Head, 8 Apr 2023.

nature diaries

Note: All photographs credit to the author and already published on Instagram & FB.

Drinking from the sea…

Some swans from my neck of the water world drink from the sea from either side of the island.

A photoshoot from Peerie Voe (Spiggie) and Boddam Voe (Dunrossness) this spring.

Whereas mute swans favour lochs – such as Spiggie, or Strand at Gott to name but a few – to live by and feed from, they appear to have developed a taste for sea water.

https://goodmorninggloucester.com/2016/01/30/do-swans-drink-saltwater/amp/

And the exotic visitor in early March…

Jet streams, storms and other follies from the wind being a myriad of birds to the island…

An annual or so occurrence, Spiggie Loch homes great white egrets. This one arrived in early March, and had to share the NW corner with a grey heron (wir haigrie) for a few weeks.

Such birds are both majestic but they compete for food.

Haigrie vs egret at Spiggie Loch, Mar 2022.

Both species usually do not mix as I have observed them in Camargue… Here, the grey heron feels on home ground, and displayed it a few times to the exotic visitor…

Canadian among greylags…

The joy when patience is rewarded: their backs so similar in any field, when foraging…

And yet what separates the two species becomes obvious when they lift their heads in the open air!

Canada goose, Spiggie, Mar 2022.

A joy to see!

First meeting of 2022 with a N. Wheatear

They, together with skylarks and meadow pipits announce the return of better days, da Voar, spring and longer sunnier days –

A renaissance and hope for life, as they return to their ancestral breeding grounds.

Every spring migration seems more and more precious and precocious, for our summer breeders appear to respond to the urge to fare chicks earlier and earlier every year… Mother Nature has her own ways.

Eye catchers

Magic encounters so far…

And from the sea…

My second sighting of a deep diver – a sperm whale that seemed to be stranded in some bay on the Atlantic side of the island.

Am incredible encounter with a happy ending.

brigant

April not a fool, just a joker … This is hame clawed in icicles since April’s first weekend.

April feels a brigant, with its hoards of dark clouds filling our springtime skies with their trillions of icicles, haily puckles, sleet, snowflakes… As if wir voar (our Nordic spring season) was trapped and confined to each afternoon.

Yet, tis not about our abominable moorie caavie (violent blizzard) this blog post is devoted, but to a book review I had longed to complete.

Long awaited.

Time is both a blessing and a curse.

In Brigantia

A.J. Murray’s second collection of poetry opens with the gentle and yet vibrant title poem, in which he begins his imaginary journey by the river, setting a vivid scene and a strong sense of place, inviting us, each reader, to ready for this journey,

“sitting by the river, / rounded aesthetics / rolling down a verdigris valley”

taking us back deep into times where Caesar’s legions clashed with a queen he names later,

“Coins, unearthed in soil / Roman – no hoard”

…That sense of place, geographical as well as in time.

Murray’s strong sense of place is echoed in the second poem, Valley. The poet brushes a very dark and mystical nano-universe by addressing a queen:

“Cartimandua, / history has not been kind to you” (…) this glade holds the bodies of ancient warriors, / fallen in forgotten battles”.

Murray the Mancunian feels eager to transcend time itself when he feels that urge to step into Brigantia, his Narnia:

“I need to come here / I’m urbanized”…

A feeling he develops through the subsequent poems Moor, Hillfort, The Way Trees Speak, Hinged Moments or Motorway, in which Murray also flirts with a certain sense of entrapment:

“Our country is too small for road trips.”

A powerful statement.

His own modern version of Brigantia emerges from sprinkled poems throughout the book, Something Urban, Stone Shale Earth, Rainy Day Blues, Nocturnes, and the beautiful Kittiwakes,

“Kittiwakes on iron girders, / man-made cliff edges / to which they return to breed, / away from the tumult / of the North Sea”.

So evocative of my own Nordic world.

Murray the poet wishes us to travel with him through his dreamy Brigantia whilst bumping into iconic or notorious personalities, Marylyn Monroe, Hitler or Elvis (!) notably through Salted, Routes, Journey, Night Poem, Eddie or Mytholmroyd, to close with Cranes,

“Cranes in the sky / and I wonder why (…) embroidered words / on an unraveling sky.”

Well chiselled, dark, poignant with a pinch of Mancunian humour itself descendent from a brigant, A.J. Murray’s second collection transports us in his Brigantia.

My question is, where next? Orkney Birds seem to point the way.

In Brigantia is available on Amazon, ISBN 9781731271365.

Iced (2)

Imbolc was veiled in icicles… ❄️

Imbolc welcomed Brigid as a maiden, clad in immaculate snowflakes.

Tis beautiful, so beautiful to look at. Who has not ever marvelled at such wondrous land, sky and ice scapes? Till now, February has been generous to us in terms of calm white & blue days. Yes, we just need to leave home a little earlier to de-ice the car… But what a pleasure to breathe in that crisp air and allow the sun to warm our epidermis and our hearts…

And even if our boreal sun strengthens in power through longer daylight and elevation, we, islanders from the great far north, have to make do with these polar conditions. As weird as it might sound, we have yet to learn that waddling technique so natural to penguins to stay up on our feet (!). A recent report from one of our local newspapers recorded a higher incidence of some 40 admissions to A&E linked to ice… Broken limbs, strains & sprains – as well as sledging accidents. Whereas folk still seem to favour the famous wellies (those yellow or khaki rubber boots) to tread on ice, I have adopted snow boots and grippers… And they have proven so lifesaving on many occasions.

And if wellies, waddling or grippers fail, then, our Antarctic flightless birds have also shown us another safer way to move swiftly… The belly sliding technique, as frequently used by, notably, Emperor penguins (!). And what more fun than this? Just look at kids having fun on ice… They use a similar technique. Note: I very much doubt many of us – human bipeds – adopt such a technique except for fun. 🥶

We have been so iced since January the whole Kingdom Animalia (including us, humans) depends on adaptations for survival.

Ice has continued to infiltrate our lives around our island world, and no creature is spared. Our winter survivors have to endure such harsh conditions. They may have developed their own adaptations, yet they still have to bear the brunt of it all.

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Whereas ponies have thick winter coats and thick hooves to provide insulation from iced ground, air and wintry showers & storms, birds rely on their respective layers of feathers called down. Some often stand on one leg to maximize insulation from freezing water or ground… All need to shelter to ensure survival. They don’t dwell very long on open ground, unless heavily coated – like ponies or highland cows – or fleeced like sheep.

Birds need all the tall grass, thickets and trees they can find around our valleys, hillsides and human gardens to survive.

Recently, I have not only noticed more visiting starlings, sparrows and blackbirds to the feeders at home, but far less common visitors, such as a young Song Thrush and a Redwing.

The human obligation to work from home (even on a part-time basis) allows for better nature watching from the comfort of our own home, as well as providing food for avian ground feeders on a more regular basis. Our Chief Executive encourages us to reconnect with nature for our own wellness… In my case, she is preaching the lifelong converted (!).

Each sunrise feels a new adventure!

Like you all in the northern hemisphere, I am becoming a little eager to welcome Ostara, the Vernal Equinox. It will come in due time, however, I am also savouring the magic of snowflakes, as well as Mother Earth’s slow re-awakening and the gradual return of some of our summer migrating visitors… Our avian friends!

Jul, Yöl & Aa

Spirit of Yule

Yuletide is a magic, signalling a new life cycle start – a slow return to light, the sun, currently at 6.6 degree elevation at its zenith… And in those times of darkness, the faintest spark feels a treasure.

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The island, engulfed in some 5 and something hours of light on 21 Dec., is already scraping seconds away. Snowflakes dusted every inch of sand, heather and grass this polar felt 24 Dec. 2020.

Yule, Yöl Eve, julhaften, or réveillon, here comes two poems – one in Shetland dialect from Vagaland; the other, from my own pen.

Fae Mr Robertson, aka Vagaland,

Santie’s Reindeer 

Da Göd Man hings da starns 

Laek peerie lamps sae bricht,

Sae Santie Klaas can fin his wye,

Whin he comes here da nicht.

Dis nicht he yoks his reindeer up,

An drives dem trowe da sky;

Dan he taks on his muckle bag

An leaves his slaidge ootbye.

An, Maamie, whin you mylk da coo

You’ll geng an tak a 

O hey, or maybe twartree 

An laeve dem lyin furt.

Da reindeer haes sae far ta geng;

Dey’re maybe hed nae maet,

An he’ll be blyde if he can fin

A grain fir dem ta aet.

A’ll hing my sock apo da 

Jöst in below da brace,

An whin he’s trivveled trowe da 

He’ll aesy fin da place.

He’ll never come till A’m asleep,

Sae A’ll pit on my goon

An up da stairs ita da 

A’ll geng an lay me doon.

You’ll pit da claes aboot me noo,

Becaase he’s gittin late;

An, Maamie, whin you mylk da coo

You’ll mind da reindeer’s maet.

Vagaland.

Hame, at Yöl.

And if Vagaland leaves food for the reindeers, I will gladly leave some for a Norwegian character…

Julenissen

Julenissen loves julaften,

smell of hot porridge in a bowl

somebody left right by the barn.

His eyes peep through

edge of his cap,

that long

red

stocking to the floor;

his dwarf-like

size nearly

makes him invisible,

scraping a living with a cat,

a vole family and

owl...

Julenissen loves his barn,

each farmer, child and animal,

yet hot oatmeal on Christmas Eve 

will bring favours to

humankind -

this hog goblin is a guardian,

he, safe-keeper of

men’s farm world;

windows will be dressed with candles,

decorated in his honour.

Oatmeal or porridge for an oath,

Julenissen feels generous, with

auroras above reindeers.

© Nat Hall 2020

Have a joyous, safe and peaceful Yuletide/holiday 🌲❄️✨

wind of change

We are never fully aware of things until they skelp (slap) you in the face.

My first drive back north to catch the sunset at Mavis Grind – the gateway to Northmavine, the north end of the main island – turned far darker as I caught windfarm ground work in progress with trucks at rest at the foot of hills along the A970 off Sandwater Loch. My heart sank. So far, I had only gazed at stills and drone footage in social media… All of the sudden, it became real.

For years, I have marvelled at Central Mainland – Sandwater, Kergord, da Lang Kames… Nesting, Voe – legendary places of wilderness teeming with rich and varied life. For years, we have been wrestling with a nightmare that will change life and lives – wild as well as human – forever.

For years, I have walked the shore and shared it openly: take a picture of it all before it is changed for ever.

We have lost a battle.

Yet instead of the expected pictures taken from the roadside, I thought of friend & artist Paul Bloomer’s current project entitled Shadowed Valley.

Whilst Paul has been developing his response on canvas through the main medium of charcoal, selected recent pieces of his work struck me over recent time.

Shadowed Valley by Paul Bloomer

Shadowed Valley by Paul Bloomer

In turn, I am expressing in words as my response to his work. With gracious thanks, Paul, for your kindness & powerful work.

Da Death Valley

Winds of change,

listen to the silent valley.

Through the darklands we now wander –

round da paets’ broos, where

whimbrels nest,

gigantic claws obey men’s will;

among heather & crowberries where

merlins hide their love and genes,

metallic claws slash & plunder deep through

this land where

redshanks call, protect their youngs between a loch and

Peta’s print,

way past the ridges of wir Kames,

Lottie’s Half-Way Hoose and

Nesting.

Shackled men to demon-money only

see gold, far away vaults,

far too oblivious to

ravens,

whimbrels, merlins or

mystic mountain hares, Heather Ling or rich purple bells,

the divine sanctuary of life.

Men dunna ken,

they come with trucks as giant claws rage through wir laand,

rape in peace to satisfy needs

whilst

nearby folk dread the shadows of longer blades,

Don Quixote’s nightmare

far north.

© Nat Hall 2020

Poet’s Notes

da paets’ broos: (Shetland dialect) the edge of eroded peat (turf); da Laang Kames (place-name): the long valley shaped from Sandwater Loch to the Village of Voe and Nesting area; Peta: (from O.N. & Shetland folklore) name given to a giant that fell asleep in the valley of da Laang Kames; “Men dunna ken”: (from Shetland dialect) expression meaning “people don’t know”; wir laand: our homeland.

Shadowed Valley by Paul Bloomer

Resistance

Da Lang Kames, Shetland Mainland.

Da Lang Kames, from O.N., “Long Ridges” . This is a part of my island. A magical gateway to this last corners of wilderness, as BBC Wildlife broadcaster Simon King once defined Shetland.

There is a deep blanket of peat, a rich, precious, protective and fragile habitat about to be destroyed in the name of greed by a few. In spite of a seven year campaign or so, wir community ignored when alternatives exist. A too grand-scale project and areas of special scientific interest decimated by bulldozers… Folk impacted notably involve Nesting, Aith and up to Vidlin, as da Kames extend East and West.

Central Mainland, Shetland.

They want a 103 turbines of that size scattered from wir Lang Kames to Vidlin.

Do not take me wrong.

Not against renewable energy – but against the sheer size of a wind farm in such a small gem of archipelago & impact on my local environment: destruction of peat blanket, loss of precious & fragile habitat… Wir rural community ignored for years in the name of money, as well as long-term impact on tourism, incl. eco-tourism. A terrible mistake for Shetland.

There are alternatives that could have made us independent from this hellish national grid: peerie community turbines (tidal or wind). Instead, sold out to a giant parent company (SSE) for snap short-term profit… Utter Disgrace.

I want to believe it is not too late. Too late to save the rest of Shetland from those who want to destroy it.

If you too have visited my islands,

You will have marvelled at these magical places… Maybe you drove/were driven along the N/S road along da Lang Kames to reach magic places like Eshaness, Uyea or Toft on your way to Yell and Unst or Fetlar, wir North Isles…

Thanks to Billy Fox for the graphic images.

Shetland is world famous for its many natural and archaeological treasures –

To plunder it this way is both eco-genocide and damaging to our community.

Please share the logo and help us save Shetland. Thank you.

Working-Class Heroes

Every morning, the same pavement.

Working-Class folk don’t wear medals, just a clone mask.

They feed the belly of the ship with such ardour, ore, mighty coal,

invisible on

upper deck, their eyes unknown,

left to silence…

Shackled to shovel and

furnace,

their only world,

fire -darkness, prisoner to

plates and rivets, air filled with smoke, soot and carbon –

the nemesis of pink champagne,

silk on pale skin, untouched

China.

Unaware of night and

iceberg, as

they fuel insatiable mouths; revel in rags, hail to the steam whilst the captain dines at

table with officers and

courtisanes.

They’ll never know the mundane world, but will perish with their own ship in the name of

blind Britannia.

Working-Class Heroes behind

masks, look at your hands bruised with

blisters – you are sole key to

the engine, the feisty

beast and

propeller

© Nat Hall 2020

Hairst

Seasonal gathering of silage.

Hairst

Da shalders* have moved on. Da playing fields, once

more silent.

Their flight calls,

memories.

As

summer’s

sliding into Hairst,

wir hame sky changed

its song; tis now

time for

sheepdogs,

shriek calls from

young blackbirds still

clad in brown

feathers;

mass

gathering of

life around cliffs and

headlands, our

first sign of

winter.

Now

silage

rolled in bails,

the winged world can

move on, our

gulls will

fill a

sky and

join Aeolus in

his quest for new songs.

8 Aug 2020.

NH

#

Golden Plover in cotton grass

Poet’s Notes

Hairst means harvest, and is also the Shetland name for autumn, derived from Norwegian Høst & German Herbst…

Shalders, the Shetland name for oystercatchers.

wildaboutshetland

Sumburgh Head, our most southerly headland, where nature blends with RLS and his family of lighthouse builders.

When Viola invited me to contribute to Island Dreams 2020, I felt honoured and jumped at the opportunity to pen my love of this archipelago for her project. Shetland is this very special place where I live, love, share and celebrate without bounds.

Hjaltland,

From the O(ld) N(orse), Hjaltland is above all the Old Viking name to my home islands, wir Auld Rock, as we love to call Shetland.

To get back to da Auld Rock is to go hame, or home… Or heim if you are Norwegian in search of cultural connection, or sailing adventures.

I have always regarded Shetland as a collection of hidden gems inside a blue (or jade… Or metallic grey, as our sky defines it!) casket. Living on the fringe of Scotland – as north as you can go, and yet full of surprises. Together with Orkney, Shetland form the Northern Isles.

Looking towards the Atlantic from the Scord of Wormadale.

Yet each island group remains distinctive in every way – including flags and dialects – and both have to be explored.

An adventurer’s paradise

Nestled between a sea and an ocean on the 60th parallel, da Auld Rock has everything to offer. From history, language, culture, food to nature. And our natural world is magic! After all, it is not for nothing naturalist & TV Broadcaster Simon King once defined it as one of Britain’s last corners of utter wilderness...

Wild and spacious, looking towards St. Ninian’s Isle in the North Atlantic.

Ideally situated at the crossroads with Scotland and the Nordic world (Norway to the East, Faroe & Iceland, North West) we are both the most northerly edge of the UK and the Scandinavian corner of Scotland!

Whilst Orkney has wonderful, lush gentle slopes and rounded heads, Shetland offers both gentle and more rugged landscapes (from mini-fjords to towering cliffs via miles of moorland) with a greater diversity of habitats (due to its own collection of rocks, ranging from soapstone to serpentine, via sandstone, limestone or pink granite to name but a few…) which, in turn, offers unparalleled wildlife at and around 60N… In one word, breathtaking.

Shetland ponies in buttercups

We are a maritime world, and what best but discover it from the sea – highly recommended in summer, as our Roost (the open area where tides from the North Sea and Atlantic collide) feels far friendlier than in winter…

Looking towards Hellister (headland, left) and Norway!

Hame is a land where we lose sight of horizon, as sea and sky become one…

Hame is a land where boats are more than a way of life… If an Orcadian is a farmer with a boat, a Shetlander is a sailor with a peerie (small) plot of land.

Whilst only two inhabited islands are accessible by one-way bridges, a boat will take you about everywhere, including to birds!

Hame is anchored in history, from the very earliest human settlements to today, where we have made a close-knit community.

South Shetland Up-Helly-Aa, a unique fire fest postponed till 2021 due to CO-VID times…

Curious about it? Jarlshof remains one of our most impressive archaeological sites that is so unique in Britain, for it offers us a time walk unrivalled… Another hidden gem!

From Dunrossness to Unst, our most northerly inhabited isle, the land is littered with Norse and pre-Norse treasures.

Nature…

Nature, naturally natural!

Hame is that place to get away from it all! Throw away your watch to the sea, and dare ask time to a selkie…

“Just give me five minutes, will you???”

From flora to marine and avifauna, we are ruled by nature, in turn, ruled by seasons and the sky.

You too are a keen nature lover? Then Shetland is for you!

Shetland so inspiring…

From the darkest nights, at times coloured by our Northern Lights (Mirrie Dancers) in winter to our azure nights (Simmer Dim), where our sky’s filled with birdsong, Shetland is alive.

Aurora Borealis from my back garden.

But in summer..

Blue night known locally as Simmer Dim.

Here, dare to virtually explore further : nordicblackbird60n for I love to record my homeworld as a photographer.

The magic latitude

This is hame, home, as I live and love it. So I speak, share and write about it as a poet with so much passion. When the time is right, and if you too wish to leap to this Auld Rock, stay for a while, and want to walk this shore with me, your adventure will truly start either on board MV Hrossey or Hjaltland.

Eyebright

Et si vous voulez tout cela en français, je me ferai une immense joie de partager ma maison shetlandaise avec vous. 😌

Suivez-moi… Follow me 🙂

See you soon, and fair winds!

Bon vent, et à bientôt !

Literary works: From Shore to Shoormal/D’un rivage à l’autre (BJP, with D. Allard, 1992) and Compass Head (Nordland Publishing, 1996)

Contrasts