A Magical Day Out

by Marsali Taylor

It was back in July, when the BBC was warning the UK to wear ice cubes under their sunhats. Forgive us here in Shetland for the lack of sympathy; our main greeting up here was think we’re ever going to get a summer? had cold through April, grey clouds in May, wind in June and now July seemed settled into gloomy drizzle. My boat still hadn’t had her varnish done, nor her books back in their shelves.

All the same, I’d been watching the forecast and this Monday had been looking good all weekend. I headed out as soon as possible, in summer clothes, ie only one jersey and jacket over my thermals, and taking a bag with a spare jumper and an extra jacket just in case. The wind was from the west, but light enough for me to be able to hoist the mainsail in the berth, and in less than twenty minutes I was in the middle of the voe... becalmed.

There was a sail at the end of the voe, one of the Brae boats, and they seemed becalmed too. I set my sails and had just got moving again when there was a ‘whooo’ puff of air from beside me. I had visitors: a pair of white-sided dolphins who’d come to play.

It was a wonderful experience. I regularly get d only once, briefly, seen a dolphin. This pair stayed with me all the and racing back to roll alongside me again. Peter, on the other boat, came down to see them, and they accompanied him for a while, stopping any chance he had of putting out a darrow, or hand line - any fish in the voe were definitely theirs! When they went off, they disappeared in a series of tail-slapping leaps.

I got out my picnic and enjoyed oatcakes and goat’s cheese as I headed off through Houbansette, for more treats: two pairs of raingeese, or red throated divers; a blackbird-sized Arctic tern harrying a Great Skua five times its size away in a series of angry dives. On shore, a tractor was going in decreasing rectangles round a field: silage. The sun came out.

Round the back of Linga, a chorus of creaky quacks alerted me to a fluster of mother eider ducks hustling a nursery of chicks out of the way. I was particularly pleased to see them, as avian flu was bad up here last summer, devastating the gannet colonies in particular, and I’d heard reports of dead eiders on the west side. dolphins leaping. I hit the stop button, let the main out again and waited. They came over and played for a minute, but then headed out to leap again. ‘Ah, well,’ I thought, and set the engine going again.

The dolphins heard it straight away, and came back in a series of leaps. Any speed I could do, they could do faster, they were obviously saying, and this was more like it! They somersaulted ahead of my bows all the way home, while I watched in disbelieving wonder.

It was a most special day, which I’ll remember heads. The mothers were on patrol, several in front, a couple as rear guard, with the chicks in the middle, protected against maurading gulls.

The not-much-wind had shifted while I was out, so I was running home goose-winged, with Karima steering herself while I put my feet up on the opposite bench and relaxed. When the wind died away entirely I rolled up the jib, hauled the main in tight and started the engine – a run would do it good.

I was only half way down the voe when there was a smack of water not far from me, then the

Marsali Taylor studied English at Dundee University before teacher training. She moved to the Shetland Isles and has stayed there ever since. She’s the author of ten Shetland-set detective stories starring liveaboard sleuth Cass Lynch. She’s published a history of women’s fight for the vote and articles for Shetland Life. She also has a monthly column in Practical Boat Owner. Marsali spends her summer messing around on the water in her 8m yacht Karima S, and her winters involved in the village pantomime.