Journey to Hjaltland.
Seeing the jar of blackcurrant jam slowly rise from the space where it had been wedged, hover in midair and then crash to the floor, breaking into a million glittering shards was slightly surreal. The slowly expanding pool of stickiness testament to the weather knocking us around. Making our way around Copinsay to Kirkwall the swell knocked the boat over to 45 degrees, a bloody long way, making everything in the galley slip and slide, clinking of plates and glasses all trying to break loose and cause havoc.
And so begins our journey to Hjaltland, the old name for Shetland, meaning High Land.
Sunday dawned bright and sunny, and we head out to dive the Disperser, a wreck in Kirkwall Bay. The white bulk of two cruise ships leave the safety of the harbour and head out via the String, we watch their bows for a hint at how the swell might be.
Dolphins.
Lerwick High Street
Soon enough we are heading out of the String ourselves, the gentle waves pushing us up and down. Heading North we ride the gentle rollers, the boat taking it all within her stride. Ahead of us appears Fair Isle, a dark shape under a plume of clouds. The double lighthouse of Sanday is off to the West, and we power onwards over the deceptively smooth sea. It may be glassy surfaced, but this hides some huge rolling waves.
If Elvis ever had a bike, i reckon it would be like this……
Towards Fair Isle the sea becomes much more confused, the tides pushing and pulling the boat as well as the swell and we pass to the west, the spectacular cliffs rising above us like a giant monolith. Looming from the shroud of mist comes Sumburgh head, with the Roost - a massive tidal race - below it. We plan to pass well to the east avoiding it totally, but the direction of the waves means we have to pass much closer, being once again bounced around by the swells. Night slowly creeps up on us from the east, the last dying rays of the sun turning the high clouds vibrant orange, the glassy surface of the sea reflecting it back. Silvery light turns the before welcoming sight of Sumburgh into a daunting black shape under the pale blue skies.
Lerwick High Street
I take the wheel while we motor up the side of Mainland Shetland, only waking Hazel when we are level with the bottom of Bressay, where the harbour limits come to and we have to radio in. Finding our berth in the Albert Dock, I first set foot in Shetland at 3.30am, dropping the thick yellow spring rope over the white painted bollard. Walking to the stern to grab the stern line I come face to face with a huge seal, later named Nick (Neck seal….nick seal….ok, it was funny at the time), he looked at me as if to say “oi, you woke me up, got any fish?” which is what I have decided that most animals up here say - Bonxies (Bonksies - the Great Skua) definitely say it, as do Malliemaks (Fulmar) which follow the boat hopefully wherever we go. A long lie in followed, making sure that we are awake for the days diving.
Lerwick High Street
Fish Fish Fish and you can even tell what it is! Its a scorpion fish by the way.
An urchin…
The first day and we decide to dive the Lunokhods, a Latvian Klondiker which ran aground in a fierce storm. The white lighthouse and radar station sit on top of the cliffs, and just to the south of them lies the wreck, in some kind of irony. Dropping a shot onto what we identify as the bow, we drop the divers in and reverse off, to see the shot disappear below the waves. Bugger. The bow is some distance from the rest of the wreck and is in fairly deep water. The divers we asked to tie it in say it was being dragged away from the wreckage and they were unable to tie it to anything.
A spectacularly ugly fishie thing i found while wandering around town.
We head back in to Lerwick for the surface interval and sit along the Albert Dock quite happily pumping bottles while the divers make the most of the town.
Dan E struggling into his kit.
In the afternoon we venture to the Pionersk, another huge Klondiker wrecked on the treacherous rocks of Shetland. The bow still protrudes from the water like a huge rusted shark fin, pointing to the skies. The majority of the wreckage lies to the west of the bow, and we find a shotline attached to one of the huge block sections of the wreck - probably the accommodation. A long slow swell makes loitering for the divers uncomfortable, plates slipping and sliding and we nearly lose a few. Divers surface astounded at the size of the wreck and the intact sections. Good vis makes for an excellent dive, we head back to Lerwick for the night.
A bloody great plumose anemone.
Next on the list is the Glenisla, a small freighter carrying coal which was sunk in a collision with the Glenelg in Bressay sound. Lying in around 45m of water, she is renowned for excellent visibility. Dropping the shot into the wreck, we watch the blue line snake out into the dark, and soon divers are dropped to check it out. An hour or so later they reappear with tales of 25m vis, the numerous “cheese wedges” of phosphorous lying amongst the beams and plates and the huge numbers of tiny fish swirling inside the deck spaces.
Shetland Coastguard - this is where all the nice people who tell us what the weather is doing are. We paid them a visit and it was great, they didnt even chuck us out of the control room when they got a shout!
The Pionersk is our target for the afternoon once again, the weather thwarting our attempts at diving anything outside the shelter of Bressay. The long but powerful swell from the east has hardly let up at all, and once again the contents of the galley slip and slide all over the place. Everyone gets to see bits of the wreck they missed last time, and much questioning is had over the various mysterious bits of wreckage left from this huge ship.
The view from the Knab.
Dives completed during the week are as follows: Pionersk, Glenisla, Gwladamena, Samba, Lunokhods
Lerwick High Street
Friday. The day I have been waiting for - I get to dive. Look out Shetland, here I come. Kitting up I am last to leave the boat, only to connect the dry suit feed and find the nipple connection has been cross threaded and leaks profusely. Cursing enough to make the sky a definite shade darker and possibly make the wood of the bench before me start to smoke. Swapping it for Hazels inflator unit, I finally enter the water to dive the Glenisla, a dive where they previously got 25m visibility and had decided they wanted to do it again. Dropping down the line I know I am seriously stressed out. Arriving at the deck I take a moment to take stock, calm down and chill out. The vis is far less than 25m, more like 10 or 12 at the most, and I make my way forward, quickly arriving at the bow, dropping down over the side to the seabed. The wreck is far larger than I thought it would be, and the drop down to the bottom seems to take forever. Resting on the seabed is the anchor, but at 45m, I dare not linger long. Back up to the gunwhale and back aft, I peer into her holds, the wooden decking long gone. Boilers like small round bombs sit underneath the silty ribs, huge shoals of tiny silver fish swirl and dance. Further aft I start to see the cheese wedges of phosphorous which are mentioned in the guide book white and innocent looking among the silt and broken bits of mental. Glancing at my computer I see that I am into deco already and decide to call it a day, grappling with my new SMB (a very tidy small one made by Halcyon) I set it off, watching the spool spin in my hand it slowly dawns on me that this is not right….I have the wrong spool. Bugger. This one has only got around 25-30m of line on it, the one in my other pocket connected to my main blob is the one with 40m of line on it. Buggeryfuckit. The line comes to an abrupt end and the spool vanishes off into the green above me, I curse a fair bit and decide to spend a couple of minutes searching for the shot which has to be close by, but while I swim I get the other SMB ready for deployment just in case. Seeing the blue line heading up into the green I ascend to my deco stops, to surface elated at the dive. A couple of hours later I get to dive the Lunokhods, dive with loads of life and i play with the camera. Jumping in and swimming up the geo (a small inlet), i can see wreckage below me. Descending down i am among bits of plates, pipes and a surprising amount of brass. Lots of it infact. Making my way deeper i start to see more and more bits, but also the vis improves and there is more life. I get all snap happy and take lots of pics.
The ferry and Shetland in the background.
Big Beautiful skies.
Ooooo dolphins!
Lying in my bed, the warm arms of sleep finally embrace me, only for the alarm to bark its wake up call and drag me back to reality. 1am, time to get up. Releasing the last of our ropes we motor out of the harbour and start our journey south, timed to give us the easiest ride with the tides, their immense force pushing us onward and south. Taking it in shifts, I take the wheel at 6am, cranking up the music and chilling out, scanning the horizon for fair isle and any ships.
Weather just like home.
Alun who is 6′4 and his drysuit, which was made for someone who was probably very good at basketball.
Us, in Lerwick Harbour.
The shining gray fin breaks the surface and surges onward, disappearing from view. Wondering if it was my tired brain playing tricks on me I get off the seat and take a closer look, only to see two more fins. Checking the auto pilot I dash out onto the whaleback and stare down at 6 or 7 dolphins riding our bow wave. For a few moments I wonder who is watching who, they are alone in their joy, playing, jostling for space at the very bow, cutting around each other, weaving and dodging. This is a site I have to share, and so I holler down into the accommodation that we have dolphins on the bow. Soon there are 10 divers stood on the bow, pressed against the railings all armed with cameras. The pod stays with us for over an hour as we pass the dark brooding shape of Fair Isle. A fantastic way to start the day, we remain hopeful of seeing more cetaceans.
Arriving back into Stromness I wave off Hazel and some of our group and crawl into my bed, thoroughly knackered but with the warm glow of knowing we have been somewhere new, somewhere exciting and somewhere i absolutley want to go back to.
The motley crew for the week.
The Lunokhods-1 no idea what this bit of it is, its waaay too big to be a liferaft holder which is what it looks like - its around 6m long to give you an idea of the vis.
