You know you’re in the right place when there are two
Vikings waiting for the ferry.
Near the statue to Dr. John Rae, Ragnhild and Hlifolf (usually Mark) are loading bags and
long iron rods on to the little MV Graemsay, ready to spend the day on the
Orkney island of Hoy. Gathering on the quay at Stromness on the Orkney mainland
are their customers who have signed up to go Viking Hiking for the day.
Mark wears a handwoven tunic with a tablet-weave belt (made
by Ragnhild), while Ragnhild is in a long overdress with the traditional shouIder
brooches and beads, with little woven bags on the belt at her waist.
We spend
the thirty-minute ferry journey getting to know one another, while the boat skims
between islands to our harbour, a small pier at the bottom of a hill.
Mark
loads the gear on to one of the two local buses (one is driven by the post woman,
and the other by Albert, who scoots about the island picking people up and
dropping them off with no fixed route). We make sure we have pIenty of water and
comfortable clothing. It’s a hot day, and the sea behind us glows deep blue and
turquoise as if we are on a tropical island.
The vehicles disappear, leaving only the wind and birds for
background noise, and we set off on a steep climb, at first by road, to reach
the valley between Orkney’s two highest hills, Ward Hill at 479m and Cuilags at
433m. The road is scented with wild roses and meadowsweet, while tall yellow
flag irises and cow parsley pool in the fields just beyond. Sheep graze, some
already shedding their fleece in the hot weather.
As we walk at an easy pace, Ragnhild
tells us more about flowers and plants we pass and their Viking medical uses,
and when we take a break at the top of the pass she gives us a history of the
Viking involvement in Orkney, from invasion to settlement to Denmark giving the
islands back to Scotland as a queen’s dowry. It’s idyllic in the sun, the grass
sprinkled with tiny flowers in yellow, white and purple, but we have a good
distance to go yet.
The road disappears. Our path skirts a lochan, a small lake
nestled against the hill, and becomes a little tougher, rocky and dry. I’m glad
I chose walking boots over hiking sandals, regardless of the heat. The route
feels old: there is no sign of habitation, no helpful signposts. We brush
through clumps of heather, brightened by thin purple ragged robin, the orange
and yellow of bird’s-foot-trefoil, even dark little orchids. ‘That one is an
analgesic,’ Ragnhild tells us, pointing to the tiny flowers, like miniature
buttercups, at our feet – tormentil, with lots of medical uses. It’s worth
looking closely – beside it is the little violet lousewort, known sometimes as
money-in-the-box.
Easier to spot as it catches the sunlight on its
wind-dancing, white-bearded heads is the broad-leafed
cottongrass, only found
on Hoy in Orkney: the flatter ground around us glitters with its white strands.
Larks rise from the heather, singing into the intense blue sky, and great auks,
locally called bonxies, sweep slowly around the hillside on broad brown wings. Occasionally
on an abandoned fence post there is a stonechat calling.
Ragnhild is
knowledgeable about all things Orcadian, not just Viking times, and answers
lots of questions from her hikers, though now and again she strides ahead (the
path is easy to follow) and it seems almost as if she has wandered off to a
time where she really is an Orcadian Norsewoman, blonde hair flying behind her,
crossing the island to the bay and her longhouse home.
We pass Berriedale, Orkney’s oldest native woodland, birch
and rowan – not much use to the Vikings for boat building, though. Orkney has
very little timber and today the woodland is carefully preserved with
firebreaks. A waterfall tumbles through it as it lies tucked into a fold of the
hill. In the distance we can see the glittering sea on the other side of the
island, cupped in the valley we are walking. Our goal is in sight.
After two or three hours we cross wetland on a narrow
boardwalk, rejoin the road, and reach the end of the journey, the beautiful
Rackwick Bay, where Mark, or Hlifolf, has the fire going on some stones and a
huge horn of ale to welcome us. It’s very well received!
Then Ragnhild produces
a long lump of beremeal dough - bere is an Orcadian form of barley, still much
in use today and very tasty. She chops it into sections and we form our own
bannocks, or flatbreads, and lay them to cook on a sandstone slab over the
fire.
Mark has been making chicken stew - he’ll make a vegetarian one if
requested. His Viking name, Hlifolf, is the name of the cook who was ordered to
execute St. Magnus, the Viking earl of Orkney – the most famous cook in Viking
history! As we wait for the meal to be ready Ragnhild tells us other tales from
the sagas that have us laughing or awestruck, tales of battles and giants and
mythical whirlpools. The stew is delicious, simple and very welcome, and the
bannocks soak up the gravy.
The wind rises a little so after our meal we find a
sheltered spot to try axe throwing, which is very popular, but requires some
practice!
We try writing runes with charcoal on some slabs of stone, then Ragnhild
shows us how to do tablet weaving, stretching the threads, turning them with
squares of cardboard and running the weft between them, so that we can make belts
like hers or Mark’s. Mark takes his turn to demonstrate how to make string from
nettles, fearlessly stripping the stem and twisting the fibres against
themselves to form a strong cord, then he gives us some tips on firelighting
without matches, Viking-style.
Ragnhild takes over and plays two replica instruments for
us, a sheepbone flute and a kind of Pan pipe based on a wooden instrument found
at York’s Coppergate excavation. The sounds are pretty, delicate for warriors
around a camp fire. Then, as she sings a particularly blood-thirsty Viking song,
we join arms and dance in a long winding string, giggling. It’s a great way to
end the Viking experience.
To save us the walk to the ferry, Albert the minibus driver
collects us and takes us back by the road, where we’re lucky enough to stop by
an RSPB station to watch sea eagle chicks and see the father bird soaring
above. Further on Albert stops the bus again to point out a hen harrier in the
valley below us. We reach the little pier in comfortable time for our ferry
back to Stromness. We stand on the open deck, the wind in our hair, and in our
imaginations, instead of the modern engines, there is the sound of ancient oars
beating the water and a dragon on the prow.
Viking Hiking runs a few times in the summer, full days or half days, and is much to be recommended!
