A long-held wish has been to see the standing circles of Brodgar, a 5000-year-old ring of stones on the Isle of Orkney, which lies north of Scotland in the North Sea.

There are many stone circle and standing stone locations around Scotland but since these were the first stone circles I heard about, it was these stone circles I must see, no other would do!

It didn’t take long to discover that travel in Scotland during peak travel season doesn’t allow much scope for spontaneity.

Accommodation is booked well in advance, vacancies would disappear before your eyes, and summer of 2022 Covid staff shortages compounded an already tight season.

Bridge over the River Ness

Banks of the River Ness

Lock near Loch Ness

Terrace in Inverness

So, by the time I decided to go to Orkney, any naïve illusions about the need to do more than two or three-day-ahead planning were stripped from me. That might have worked earlier, but not here, not now.

Standing outside a fully booked hostel on a rainy Scottish evening in some far-flung Scottish town with nowhere to sleep was a consequence of those naïve illusions I had witnessed and didn’t want to replicate.

Thurso is such a far-flung town, being on the far north coast of mainland Scotland. It has an Orkney ferry service and is accessible by train.

My plan was in place:

Book accommodation in Thurso
Catch the Inverness to Thurso train
Catch a ferry to Orkney
See the stone circles
Revel in my mission accomplishment
Box. Ticked. You legend.

The route from Inverness to Thurso runs along the northeast coast, sometimes literally only metres from the beaches.

It gives you plenty to stare at over the four-hour train ride, as you wonder whether it’s worth coming this far — or leaving the charm of Inverness at all.

Thurso has that sleepy and deserted this-was-a-place-back-in-the-day-but-now-seagulls-outnumber-humans feel.

In this part of the world ‘back in the day’ could mean anything from the Norse in the 1200’s to the 1800’s when it served as more of a fishing town. It was the latter back-in-the-day that I was reminded of.

Remnants of old fishing boats decorate the docks and lawns of nearby houses to let you know it was once a fully-fledged fishing village.

Today, only a few boats seem remotely functional, with only the presence of nets and traps suggesting that Geordie-Boy might actually get its hull wet.

It was fair to say that outside of the ferry to Orkney, Thurso didn’t have much to offer.

The ferry itself left from Scrabster, which is a couple of kilometres outside of town.

The plan was made, rise in the morning, walk with camera pack to Scrabster and get the 8:45am ferry to Orkney and return on the 16:45 service, the last of the day.

But circumstance had other plans. That far north, the sun doesn’t set until very late. Golden hour stretches on and on - irresistible for a photographer.

Northern Scotland summer evening. Enchanting and alluring.

Enchanted by the soft light and long shadows, I wandered later into the night than I should.

Sleep didn't come. My body-weariness just could not overcome my mind-alertness.

Come morning, it had hit home - I’d overslept.

A calm “all good, I can make it” was quickly followed by “oh shit, damn you Google Maps!” How did 10 minutes get added to my walk between yesterday and today!?!

Like watching your ferry leave without you.

Quick calculations of bus times offered little hope. I had to leg it, fast.

With an aching Achilles tendon (a consequence of 3 months walking) I started run-walking (or is it walk-running?) the 3 km’s to the ferry port with my camera bag and 6kg of equipment bouncing unhelpfully.

It started to drizzle and then rain. Of course.

I extended the hitchhiker’s finger in hope. It worked. I jumped in the drivers van next to a black and white border collie and thanked my ride profusely for picking me up.

We pulled into port, it was 8:30am. The ferry’s engines were running but the rear ramp was still down as vehicles loaded - I’d made it!

In Oban, on the west coast, when I needed a ferry to Mull, I fronted up and bought a ticket. To get to Kerrera from Oban you walk up, buy a ticket from the Glaswegian transplant and get on the ferry.

Why would I think it would be any different here!? It was.

“Did you book a ticket?” I was asked when I presented myself at the ticket window.

“Um, do I need to, can’t I just buy one now?”

“You need to book” came the deadpan reply.

“Well, can I buy one now? I’m here and so is the ferry.”

“No, it’s too late. You have to book and be here half an hour before departure” came the utterly indifferent reply, clearly ignorant of my 4-hour train ride, 3km morning run-walk in the rain, hitch hike, and fixed this-is-my-only-chance schedule.

“Are you sure, the ferry is just there, the ramp is still down for cars…” I pleaded, a little pathetically.

I looked around for moral support; disembarked passengers waiting in the ferry terminal for their connecting bus watched without sympathy or amusement.

She called someone to ask if I could get on the ferry in a half-hearted, going through the motions, appearing to give a shit, sort of way. It was a foregone conclusion.

Up came the vehicle ramp and I watched as the ferry departed at 8:35am, ten minutes ahead of schedule!!

Like some naïve traveller standing outside a fully booked hostel on a rainy Scottish summer evening with nowhere to go, I was standing at a ferry terminal on a rainy Scotland morning watching my ferry sail off.

“You can book the next ferry, it’s at 13:15.”

It took a millisecond of calculations for me to realise that plan was pointless.

There would simply not be enough time to get to Orkney, out to the stone circles and back at 16:45 for the last return ferry of the day. Well, 16:15 really, as I needed to be at port 30 minutes before departure - at least that lesson had sunk in.

“Well, there’s always tomorrow” she consoled. There wasn’t. With my return journey and accommodation all booked there was no ‘tomorrow’ to try again. ‘Tomorrow’ was a return train to Edinburgh.

That was that. The remainder of my Thurso ‘adventure’ was spent doing my washing at the only service station laundromat in town.

Four hours sitting on a train to get to an outreach Scottish seaside town just to sit in a plastic chair and watch my underpants in spin cycle.

The next day I woke up and travelled 8 hours back to Edinburgh, stone circles unseen.

Box. Unticked. You pillock.

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