Each month we will be featuring a guest writer and this month is Tom McMahon from Tucson, Arizona He said about this story. The following was written as part of a series of trip reports posted on the AOL Scotland Travel Board. I have now divided them into each of the four days we were in Shetland. The first day's report is by far the longest and that has been divided into two parts in order to fit in e-mails. Tom and his wife Liz visited Eshaness Lighthouse last week.

Wellies, Whisky & Warm Welcomes"
Saturday, April 22 (Part Two)
Part One can be found here.

Well, Liz and I had a lot of fun running this scenario before we left on our trip, but it really doesn't matter one iota once Jim strolls into the room. He is one big teddy bear of a guy with a beaming smile that is encircled by a Thor-like full beard. He has a grand sense of humor which he frequently uses on himself. Liz and I can't help but like the man from the moment we meet him.

Jim's first question is one that we would be asked over and over while we are here: "How was the crossing?" And when we reply that the ferry trip was calm, there is almost always a response of quiet amazement. It appears a gentle crossing from Aberdeen to Lerwick is not an everyday occurrence. And in Shetland, too, nearly everyone has a horror story or two to tell about a ferry crossing.

Over tea, we set plans with Jim for our fishing trip, and then he asks what our plans are for today. We tell him that we thought we'd explore the southern part of Mainland and take a boat across to the island of Mousa.

John MacRae suddenly makes a totally unexpected suggestion. "Would you like to have a personal tour guide today?"

I am taken a bit by surprise at this and don't quite know how to respond.

"My son, Sandy, is quite familiar with the places you want to visit," he continues. "He'd be happy to go along with you."

John calls a young man into the room. His name, too, is John and we would come to know him as "Young John." He is a good looking fellow with what at first appears to be a sort of intense and serious demeanor. Young John is John MacRae's right-hand man at the inn, sharing duties of cooking, waiting, tending bar, looking after guests' needs, and who knows what else. "John, go wake up Sandy."

Well, my heart sinks a bit. Liz and I are childless and not used to being around youngsters. Plus, we are not at all into tour guides, preferring to just poke around sites at our own speed. Now we will not only be traveling with a guide, but a "young'un," at that! "Oh, geez," I think to myself, "What have we gotten into here?"

Rousing Sandy is easier said than done, as he is used to sleeping in on Saturdays, but eventually he makes his way down the stairs to greet us. He is not at all what I expected. He is, as Liz describes him, "an absolutely adorable 11-year old." This is not just because he is a handsome, sandy-blonde, fair-skinned and freckled young man, but because he is also charming, friendly, bright, communicative and incredibly articulate.

While John calls the people who own the boat to see if they have started sailing to Mousa, Jim says his good-byes and is on his way.

John returns to tell us we are in luck for this is the very first day of the season for the boat. It leaves around 2:00. He encourages us to be on our way, but first he notes that Shetland has received quite a bit of rain this year and Mousa is especially wet. "We'll need to get you some Wellies."

[ANOTHER FLASHBACK]
Once Jim Ivens had become our official ghillie, I had a number of fishing questions for him. John was nice enough to play middle man in communicating messages back and forth for a while, but eventually Jim got on the computer and sent us a message himself allaying a number of my concerns. Anyway, near the end of his message was the following sentence:

"The ground here is Heather and Peat bog, so you will need some good waterproof boots..."

I reply something to the effect of, "You will excuse us, but we live in a desert. We don't have much use for waterproof boots. Can we buy them there?" [END OF FLASHBACK]

John has tried to beg, borrow and steal footware for us, but his attempts have not been fruitful. So we will go down the road a bit to Weisdale and purchase our wellie boots there.

First, though, we unload the car. It is more than obvious that we have arrived well before the tourist season in Shetland as we head down the hall toward our room. Only one other room in the inn is occupied today and that is by a businessman up from Edinburgh.

I don't think I would be talking out of school here to say that The Westings is not a Hilton or a Sheraton hotel - and thankfully so. They would be woefully out of place here. There is an admirably warm and rustic quality to The Westings that is perfectly suited to the wonderful setting that surrounds it.

Our room is cozy and comfortable. The focal point is a double bed with dark wooden night stands on either side. In the corner off to the right of the bed is the sink. Off to it's right is the toilet and shower, separated from the sleeping quarters by a sliding door. Oh yes, and the toilet has the largest pipe I have ever seen running out of the bottom of the bowl. It certainly makes one think... On the wall opposite the bed is a full length mirror, a built-in writing desk that holds a coffee maker and a number of goodies to go with it, and a closet. And on the one remaining wall, a window that looks out on that same tremendous panorama of Whiteness Voe.

It's just a quick pit stop and then we meet Sandy and John out in back of the inn. It's hard to believe, but the day has become even more beautiful. Our jackets are really not needed. We can't help but feel that Shetland has rolled out her best for us.

After a few whispered words between John and his son, we pile into our Renault and start out in search of the wellie shop.

Sandy is the first to admit that he likes to talk. And he does. Continually, delightfully. He is animated, funny, smart, and uncommonly open to adults. He is, in fact, so verbose that we find ourselves on the far side of Weisdale Voe before he realizes we have long since passed the store we are looking for. It's okay, because there is a pull-off high on another hill that overlooks this spectacular voe.

Liz and Sandy chat and laugh away while I attempt to capture the scenery with our camcorder and then snap still photos of this and that. My wife is obviously smitten by this young fellow. And I can't blame her one bit.

We turn around and head back down the road that hugs the shoreline until we spot "Robinson & Morrison General Merchants" on the right ahead. Besides being a general merchandise store, it is a BP gas station. I opt to refill the car while Liz and Sandy scope out the wellies.

I meet Liz and Sandy inside. Sitting high on a shelf on the far wall of the store is a row of dull-finished yellow, green, brown and black pairs of calf-high molded rubber boots.

Liz says to Sandy, "I'm so excited. I've never bought a pair of wellies."

Sandy's eyes grow wide in amazement and he exclaims, "We LIVE in them!"

With our new purchases tucked away in the trunk, and with Sandy regaling us with local folklore, we follow his directions toward the southernmost tip of Mainland. Today's adventure will begin at the extraordinary ancient settlement of Jarlshof.

"We call them ‘old wives tales' because they're stories that the women of the old times would have told when they were sitting around the fires, and their husbands would either have been fishing at sea or even battling the Vikings."

Young Sandy MacRae draws us in with his tales as we spin down the road. As we listen, there is no way for us to know that the £16.77 we have just spent on wellie boots is, hands down, the wisest investment we will make during our entire four weeks abroad.

"In Shetland," Sandy continues "we have what is called the Trow...which, in other words, is a Troll. It is a little green creature about so high" he says, indicating perhaps a foot. "They are very, very shy of humans and always keep to their own business. But if you ever do anything to torment the trows, they will thieve things from you - objects of gold and silver...even your children!

"In the night it is said you can hear them playing beautiful music of fiddles and harps in the hills. And if you ever hear it, then they will enchant you. You will follow the sound and find an opening in a hill. They will invite you in and give you food and drink...and they will keep you forever as their prisoner - dancing for eternity!"

We have skirted Lerwick altogether and now make our way down the road that clings to the eastern side of the island and overlooks the North Sea. We pass through or near places whose names are sheer exercises of joy for the tongue: Brindister. Easter Quarff. Fladdabister. North Voxter. Offshore we can see the island of Mousa where we will journey this afternoon.

"I've heard something about Silkies," I say to Sandy. "Tell me about them."

"Well, Silkies were creatures fishermen would have talked about when they were out fishing to keep themselves amused. At night, the seals would come up on the shore and shed their fur. Underneath the fur would be beautiful maidens and they would dance on the beach. Now, if you ever find any of them dancing on the beach, you must look for their skins. And if you find their skins and hide them, then the maidens cannot return to the sea. They are yours forever to keep until they find their skins again."

Sandy is deep into describing "The Stranger Who Came Ashore," a book about Silkies which he has read three times, as our road approaches Sumburgh Airport. This is notable in that there are, essentially, stoplights on either side of a swath of the road which come on to halt traffic while airplanes land or take off.

He is still deep into his description as we tool right on by the entrance to the Jarlshof Settlement and find ourselves on a wee road at the far end of the airport.

"Oh," he says, looking around. "I think we should go back." We do.

Jarlshof is one of three particular places that drew us to The Shetland Islands. I had read articles about it, seen photographs - even aerial shots - of it, but really all they were able to do was entice. Nothing quite prepares you for the actual experience of being here.

Like Skara Brae on the Orkney Islands, Jarlshof was uncovered by tremendous storms that pummeled the low cliffs at the southern end of Mainland. But unlike Skara Brae, what was ultimately revealed here were structures dating from more than 4,000 years ago right up to the 17th century - all packed into a little more than three acres! Jarlshof is an absolutely extraordinary archaeological find.

It is such a complex place, it is difficult to describe. Dwellings of the various eras were built on top of each other, so there are many levels to this site. In some cases, foundations and walls had to be removed in order to expose other buildings beneath.

Sandy leads Liz through a number of the structures while I lag behind seeing much of the site through the viewfinder of my camcorder. Two colors dominate Jarlshof. The greens of the grasses that cap the walls of many of the structures and separate one ruin from another, and the greys of the thousands upon thousands of stones that were used in the construction of the various buildings here.

Our trek does not take us through the site in chronological order, but before we leave we will have stepped into or viewed at close range structures from the Bronze Age, Iron Age, the era of the Picts, the Norse era and the Middle Ages.

Tucked away in the corner of the site are the few and broken pieces of an ancient house. It is not known for certain how old it is, but pottery uncovered from the lowest level of a rubbish dump here has been dated pre-2500 BC.

There is the oval house of a bronze smith who plied his craft around 800 BC. Clay molds found here indicate the smith had cast swords and axe heads. And it appears the smith had been trained in an Irish bronze-working tradition. There are the remains of an Iron-Age village, with its round houses and somewhat more spacious living quarters.

Part of a broch, one of those Iron-Age circular double-walled towers that are unique to Scotland, resides here, too. The sea has washed half of it away and the remaining low walls of the structure give absolutely no hint as to what its height may have been.

Parts of four wheelhouses from the period of the Picts remain at Jarlshof. In the most complete one, the roof is now open to the sky, but in its time it would have been sealed with turf. Inside, stone walls extend from the outer round wall toward the center of the structure sort of like the spokes of a wheel. This design created definite living cells within the wheelhouse while providing support for the roof.

The remains of a Norse settlement sprawl across a large segment of Jarlshof and represent the growth of and changes in the community from about 850 AD well into the 13th Century. Remnants of houses, barns, smaller outbuildings and walls are found here. It appears that the Norse built long houses, much like the Vikings had their long boats.

The most prominent of buildings at Jarlshof, though, is "The Old House of Sumburgh" which sits above the excavations. In 1469, Shetland fell under Scottish rule. Up until then Shetland had been governed by the Norse or Danish crowns. Well, it seems that King Christian of Denmark could not make good on a 60,000 Danish florin dowry promised as part of his 12-year-old daughter's marriage to James III, and so put Orkney and Shetland up as sort of a bond...which he never made good on.

Anyway, in the 16th Century, the lordship of Shetland was claimed by Earl Robert Stewart. He built what is known as the "New Hall" at Jarlshof. Between 1604 and 1605, Robert's son, Earl Patrick - an undeniably contemptible human being - had possession of the New Hall and built "The Old House of Sumburgh" adjacent to it. Sir Walter Scott christened the building "Jarlshof" in his novel, "The Pirate." The name stuck and now encompasses everything found at this site.

Even now, "The Old House" is an imposing sight. My, what it must have been like in its heyday. However, it was already a ruin by the end of the 17th Century.

The western wall is the one that is most intact and a stairway leads up to a viewing platform several stories high. Liz declines the climb, but Sandy and I scurry up to the top. From up here, all of Jarlshof is laid out before us. Our eyes sweep across a three-dimensional snapshot of four millennia. It is both fascinating and eerie.

Time is working against us. We must not be late for the boat to Mousa, and we all feel the need for a bit of lunch. So, Jarlshof is really a bit of a whirlwind tour. As we leave, I feel we must make it back here again before we leave Shetland.

We are walking up the path to our car when Sandy excuses himself and runs back to the ticket office/gift shop. He meets up with us in the parking lot and presents us with a gift - the souvenir guide booklet to Jarlshof. He is a great kid.

The Shetland flag is flying over the entrance to Jarlshof and we begin to notice that there is very little that can truly be identified as Scottish in Shetland. No kilts. No tartans. No rampant lions. Shetlanders seem to relate more closely with Norwegians than with Scots. Considering the island's historical ties to that country, as well as being geographically closer to Norway than the mainland of Scotland, it really isn't too surprising. Norse influences abound here. Over the next few days, the impression I would come away with is that Shetland often feels like a neglected, stepchild of Scotland. Political feuds with the Scottish government do not seem to be uncommon.

Sandy directs us off the main road onto a secondary one toward the wee village of Spiggie. The letter ‘i' on Shetland road signs can (at least to me) be easily confused with the letter ‘l.' Thus, I read off the name as "Spiggle" and Sandy finds this hilarious. Hmph, at least I stifled a snicker at a wide spot in the road called Boddam.

We learn a number of things from Sandy as we ride along on this less traveled road. First, that you are never more than three miles from the sea in Shetland. Second, that in Shetland, one does not tuck one's pants into one's wellies. You'd be undertaking quite a feat if you did, as the word "pants" here refers to ladies knickers or panties. One tucks one's "trousers" into one's wellies.

We also learn, much to our surprise, that there is no cinema (movie theater) in Shetland. Sandy tells us there once was one, but it has now been converted into a club. He complains that there is not much for young people to do here. He is a member of a bowling group, but the season is now over. Boredom seems to be a force to be reckoned with on the islands. Especially for teens. And boredom instigates mischief.

We turn in to the small parking lot of the Spiggie Hotel and enter the pub. We are waited on by a kindly, but overwrought gentleman who is constantly on the go, scuttling through the hotel doors to deliver a meal, dashing behind the bar to pour a drink, scooting over to a table to take an order. He reminds me of a comical character I once saw in movie based on a Charles Dickens novel, appearing endlessly flustered, but never quite going over the edge. Liz and I take a great deal of pleasure in watching him.

Liz and Sandy order "Cheese Macaroni" which is served with chips.

[In previous trips to Scotland, we have come across pizza and chips, and Chinese food and chips, etc. I have a theory that the entire British Isles are riddled with hundreds of "potato mines" where miners hew out bazillions of pounds of chips each year. And to ensure that there is never a surplus, restaurateurs are coerced by the government into serving chips with every last item on every last menu!]

I have a "Tuna Mayonnaise Stuffed Baguette." And chips.

Glancing over at the bar, Sandy says, "Oh, you could have a ‘White Wife' here." He goes on to explain that White Wife is a highly regarded ale that is brewed in Shetland. His father had ordered a keg of White Wife delivered to the pub at The Westings specifically because we Americans were coming to visit. Well, the regulars at the pub killed the keg before we ever made it ashore. This leads me to believe it must be good.

Sandy is keeping an eye on the clock and hurries us along. But before we can go, Mr. Clews, our waiter and the proprietor of the hotel, invites us into the front dining room because he has an ongoing debate with Sandy's father over whose establishment has the best view in Shetland. The view from up here takes in the patchwork fields of the countryside, the nearly oval Loch of Spiggie which is separated from Muckle Sound and the Atlantic by a narrow bridge of land, and the brownish, low hills of the nature preserve at the far side of the loch. It is, indeed beautiful, but we refrain from voicing our opinions and thus getting caught up in the debate.

As we are walking back through the lobby, we can't help but notice a colorful collection of orchids growing in a large, oblong glass aquarium/terrarium-type thing. This is Mrs. Clew's hobby, and it is apparent she is quite good at it.

It is becoming apparent that Sandy is very, very good at a couple of things, too. Those are either missing turns we need to take or taking wrong turns altogether. On the way to the boat he has us turn off onto an even skinnier single-track road to see one of his favorite places - St. Ninian's Isle, famous for the tombolo (a sort of sandbar) that connects it to Mainland. But after traveling a short distance he concludes that we are on the wrong road. We turn around and continue on our way.

Now there are only two roads into Sandwick, the village where we will board the boat to Mousa. We get the right one on the second try.

To Be Continued

The author can be reached by email.

More guest writers can be found here.