A day on Papa Stour

There is no such thing as the perfect arrival. Easing into Papa Stour’s harbour of Housa Voe on the MV Snolda, accompanied by a pod of playful common dolphins and a curious seal, as the famous stacks and sea caves of this rugged Shetland isle soar ahead, comes pretty close to perfect.

Everywhere I look on Papa Stour, there are soaring arches, deep inlets, piercing stacks and – always – the foaming, relentless power of the roaring Atlantic.

Stepping ashore, I’m cheerily welcomed by Andy Holt-Brook, who has lived and crofted at the heart of the community on Papa Stour since 1973. I ask him what he likes about this bijou island – Shetland’s ninth largest island – and he beams, “Just look at it, Papa Stour is just a wonderful place with all this scenery, but also rich history, culture and our community”.

I see the fruits of the community in impressive action at the Papa Stour Kirk, a sturdy bolthole that dates back to 1806. This wee church has recently been revamped as not just a place of worship, but also an active community space with state-of-the-art audiovisual equipment. The highlight is the remarkable stained glass window, fashioned to immortalise the half dozen brave souls who left the isle to fight in the First World War, but never saw home again. Religious heritage runs deep on Papa Stour, whose name in Old Norse translates as ‘Big Islands of the Priests’, after the Celtic missionaries who did their work here as early as the sixth century.

Andy is generous with this time and hospitality – his wife shares some of a hulking pot of Cullen Skink and delicious homemade scones – but I’m keen to bash out in the glorious nature that abounds all around Papa Stour. I hike out of Andy’s croft and am instantly immersed in a wild and wildly beautiful world where seabirds outnumber people, not hard to be fair as I only see one other soul all day.

Another seal pops up to check me out as I admire his dramatic home of elemental rocks and the sheer rock stack of Muckle Fru. It’s also known as the Maiden Stack after the daughter of a Norwegian noble – Lord Thorvald Thoresson, who is said to have been imprisoned her here for refusing an arranged marriage. She is said to have made her escape thanks to her real love – a plucky local fisherman who scaled the stack and saved his maiden.

The Maiden’s tale touches on Papa Stour’s strong Norse links. Shetland’s earliest written document hails from the isle, dating back to the days when Norse assemblies were held on Papa Stour. The story told in the document from 1299 is of Lord Thorvald Thoresson (yes, him again), this time accused of corruption, who fought and won a duel on Papa Stour in an attempt to regain his honour. At Da Biggins the Papa Stour History Group has worked with the Norwegian Craft Academy to resurrect a Viking house using Norwegian timber and traditional construction techniques, with an information board telling the story.

Papa Stour is a Tardis of an island. There is the Dutch Loch and its stone windmills that were used deep into the twentieth century. I find these dotted elsewhere in an island where mankind has made his mark for over 5,000 years, with several Neolithic burial chambers. The ghosts of generations long gone whistle in the wind, old croft houses huddle in sheltered spots, and the ruins of a shop that was once the beating heart of a community are slowly losing their battle with the elements.

What first piqued my interest in Papa Stour, though, were photographs of the spectacular scenery of the Atlantic-ravaged west coast. I yomp out in search of it from the sheltered inlet of Hamnavoe. I’m not disappointed. After working my way around the shores of Hamnavoe the ground ascends towards the most dramatic of dalliances with the cobalt Atlantic.

I can never decide if Eshaness in Shetland or Yesnaby in Orkney is my favourite stretch of coastline in the Northern Isles. I now have a trio to ponder. My breath is firmly taken in all senses as I approach the cliffs. Below the ceaseless Atlantic breakers pummel into the rock shelves and engage into their ancient battle with the land. I’m just a fascinated bystander to the duel, savouring the delicious results. There is the vast cave of Kirstan’s Hol, which vies with epic Aisha Stack and Aisha Head for attention. Everywhere I look there are soaring arches, deep inlets, piercing stacks and – always – the foaming, relentless power of the roaring Atlantic.

The big skies and endlessly changing light of Shetland stay in my heart wherever I travel. And in Papa Stour they are in overdrive. From the western cliffs, the jet black hulk of Foula threatens in and out of view through the ocean spray, while on the island’s other flank the star in the distance are the aforementioned rugged cliffs of Eshaness. The west of Shetland Mainland also glowers in a volley of ruined cottage-slashed hillsides and sweeping cliffs. It’s a scene more dramatic, more life-affirming than any high budget BBC nature documentary and in summer it would have David Attenborough purring as the Arctic Terns swirl around the cliffs.

Sitting here I think of Vikings trying to forge a life on Papa Stour, of later inhabitants milling their grain by Hamnavoe, and of Dutch traders making off across the North Sea with their treasure of salted herring. I think too of the savvy islanders using the cliffs and caves below me as hiding places when the Royal Navy barrelled in to Papa Stour with their baleful press gangs.

My arrival into Papa Stour was nigh on perfect; the journey back is even better. Eshaness glistens to port, while Papa Stour eases off behind. My new common dolphin pals come back too for a last cameo in the low-slung early evening sunshine. I resolve to come back as well. With a sea kayak next time to explore the miraculous coast of a gorgeous isle that, like all good books, offers a glorious beginning, a deeply satisfying middle and a rewarding, spirit-soaring end.

By Robin McKelvie
Robin McKelvie is an award-winning travel writer and broadcaster who has been published in over 200 magazines and newspapers worldwide.

Pin it!