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. Tom and his wife Liz visited Eshaness Lighthouse last week.

Part One here. Part Two here, Part Three here.

The best preserved of all the brochs in Scotland, Mousa stands forty-two feet high and forty-nine feet wide at its base. It was built during the Iron Age from sandstone. Again, no mortar was used. It is a complex structure built entirely by laying stones on top of one another. A variety of vegetation has taken root on the outer wall of the structure. Sections of it are covered in a carpet of furry green plants. A concentric inner wall has openings into several chambers at the base of the broch. And between the walls a stone stairway leads up to the top.

Liz opts to stay at ground level with Fiona, Lucy and Eliza. But Timothy grabs a torch (flashlight) that resides by the entrance and Alice and I join him to inch our way up the steps to the summit. Sandy has already made the trip and he is off exploring the broch's rooms.

Even with the beam of the torch it is unbelievably dark on the staircase. The steps are neither uniform nor deep and a foot needs to tentatively explore each one before moving on to the next. Little needles of wind pierce the outer wall of the structure as we feel our way upward. Eventually faint light begins to sift in, then an opening appears, and we are at the top.

From up here, one has not only a view of the hills of the island, but an expansive view of Mousa Sound and Mainland beyond. There is an inexplicable feeling of accomplishment and pleasure simply being here...at the top of Mousa Broch.

It is time to meet the boat.

The considerably shorter hike to the pier is no less challenging than the rest of the island. There are rocks to balance on, streams to ford, walls to clamber over. Solan IV is waiting for us. And we must all wait for a few folks behind us.

Sandy and Alice while away the time at the water's edge, collecting shells and stones. Fiona tells us that until just recently Alice was incredibly shy. She has just begun to come out of her shell. Considering her obvious enthrallment with Sandy, we all agree she's blossomed quite a bit today. In fact, Fiona says, "I'm going to have to lock my daughter up!"

There is time to take photos of each other and exchange addresses before paying the Captain and boarding the boat. The boat backs away from the pier and I take my final close-up looks at Mousa, reminding myself that what we experienced here today was really real.

The Solan IV hugs the shore of the northern half of the island for awhile. Someone has spotted a sheep stranded on a rocky shelf jutting out from a cliff. A murmur rolls like a wave through the boat - whispers of "oh no," "poor thing" and "rescue."

The boat creeps its way forward toward the craggy shore. The sheep, which has been nervously pacing the ledge, takes one look at the boat full of blue coats, yellow coats, red coats, and black coats - essentially, more Gortex® than you could cram onto a "Sale Rack" at K-Mart - and leaps up to another ledge and another and then saunters away. There is a communal sigh of relief.

Before turning back to Mainland, the captain pilots the Solan IV a bit further north along the coast; just far enough for us to catch sight of a hole that has been drilled clean through a jagged promontory by eons of pounding surf and howling winds.

Liz, Sandy and I have been sitting across from Fiona and Timothy's family, but as the boat turns its prow toward Mainland and picks up speed, Sandy hops over to a seat at the side of the boat. Immediately, Alice's smile vanishes, and she continues to mope until Sandy returns to us. Then..."Voila!" That golden smile returns. I don't know, maybe Fiona is wrong. Maybe it isn't Alice who should be locked up, but Sandy. He is a braw lad who has all the earmarks of becoming a heartbreaker.

Back on Mainland, we say our goodbyes to Fiona, Timothy and their youngsters, doff our wellies, and climb back into the car. Sandy chooses a scenic route to take us home. We stop for a few minutes at a pullout on the side of the road that overlooks the town of Scalloway, once the capital of Shetland. The end of the town closest to us is dominated by the shell of Scalloway Castle. I hope we can get back here before we have to leave the islands.

We are off again, this time down a wee single-track road that cuts through the interior of Mainland as Sandy points out this and that and gives us more insights into life in Shetland. "Gossip," he says, "spreads like lightning here." Well, I think, ya gotta do something. After all, there's no cinema.

In what seems like no time at all, we have met up with the main road to Whiteness and are turning in to the parking lot of The Westings. We thank Sandy and John and head down the stairs to our room where we take a little bit of time to unpack and get situated. Then we go upstairs for a drink.

The Westings has its own pub, "The Palm Shack." It is a real ale Pub. That is, it is one that specializes in serving real ale...you know, the stuff the bartender pumps by hand. Since it is not yet high season in Shetland there is not the usual multiple choices of ale tonight...and, of course, we all know what happened to the keg of "White Wife." On tap tonight is "Fremlin Bitter," and Liz and I each order a pint from Young John. It is a good, tasty brew.

A young couple are finishing up their pub meals at a table and we say hello. They are Olga and Alan and they are open and friendly. Alan asks how we arrived, and as soon as Liz says, "By the ferry," the next question, of course, is "How was the crossing?" We chat briefly and then wander into the pub's game room to enjoy both our pints and the fine music that is being pumped through the speakers. Olga and Alan wave to us as they are leaving and wish us a good visit. Nice folks.

Liz and I examine the menu. John MacRae comes in and asks us if we'd rather have dinner in the dining room, but we feel relaxed and comfortable here. He takes our order and hurries off.

Our glasses are running low and I order a couple more pints from Young John at the bar. He brings them to our table and tells us that Alan had paid for this round before he left. Both Liz and I are at a bit of a loss for words over this act of hospitality from someone we had spoken with for barely a few minutes. This only adds to the warm feeling for Shetland and its people that has already begun to take root in us.

I ask Young John about the terrific fiddle music we are listening to.

"That's Aly Bain," he replies.

"Ah," I say, "I thought it might be."

"You know Aly Bain?," he says with surprise.

"Yes, we saw him in concert with Phil Cunningham in Tucson last year."

"He's from Shetland," Young John says with just a hint of pride.

As he returns to the bar, I suspect we may have just inched up a notch in Young John's opinion of us.

Dinner arrives. Liz begins with a creamy-red Crab Bisque which she pronounces "delicious!" I have the Cream of Cauliflower with Shetland Salmon and Leek Soup. It is killer!! This is followed with Guinness Pie, John MacRae's own rich beef recipe topped with a light, flaky crust, and...the ever-present CHIPS!!! For dessert, we sample Orkney ice cream. This stuff is so good it's hard to believe it isn't illegal. Liz has the "Toffee Fudge" while I scarf down the "Vanilla Honeycomb."

Completely sated, we inform John of our intention to go sit on the bench out in back of The Westings and watch the sun go down. He immediately suggests an alternative idea - "a lovely little walk over on the other side of the road."

Later, Liz would comment, "It's always ‘a lovely little walk,' but it's always uphill. And it always hurts!" Then she concedes, "But it's almost always beautiful, too."

It is no different this time.

We pull on our wellies, climb over a fence and start up Wormadale Hill. It is wet here, too, and we find ourselves side-stepping puddles, pools and an occasional pond. With just a tad of grunting and heavy breathing we make it to the top of the hill to discover...another hill. And another after that. Sheep either scramble out of our way or gather together to give us a group "what-in-the-world-are-you-doing-up-here?" look.

Eventually we reach the summit, and what is waiting for us here is definitely worth the climb. There is a lone standing stone up here called "Soldier Stone." It looks out on an incredible panorama that sweeps all the way across the breadth of Mainland. From here we can see the North Sea to the east and the Atlantic Ocean to the west. We can also see a number of the voes that penetrate the island, giving Mainland its magnificent coastline.

But we're losing light and we wouldn't want to be out on the hill in the dark. We weave our way back down the hills and knolls, and over and around (but mostly through) the sheep droppings to The Westings.

Now we feel truly deserving of a pint, so we dump our wellies in the trunk of the car and return to The Palm Shack. We are met at the door by two dogs, one a whippet or greyhound-type, the other a wiry, sweet thing. They belong to Roxanne and John. Roxanne is a transplant from Nashville, having moved here to be with her husband three or four years ago. She still carries a bit of the Tennessee dialect in her voice.

Jim Ivens, our ghillie-to-be, is at the bar with his wife, Pam, a lovely woman with sparkling eyes and generous smiles. Pam works in the hospital lab in Lerwick.

I believe John MacRae has been blessed with an innate sense of knowing what it is that his guests are seeking. Although we haven't said a thing, he seems to understand that being with and talking with the people of the island is high on our list of priorities, so he sees to it himself that we are introduced to everyone in the pub.

There are Kate and John. John tends to the television mast that sits high on a hill down the road a ways. He is a light-haired, good looking fellow who seems to generate and enjoy a good laugh. Kate is a very pretty young woman with very short-cropped dark hair, a sizeable tattoo on her upper left arm and a nose ring. I am quickly made aware of some prejudices I carry and just how wrong they can be. My first reaction to Kate is "Uh-oh, be careful. This woman could be trouble." Within a matter of a minute or two, though, Kate proves to be a genuine sweetheart. She is smart and funny, and like everyone else here, very welcoming to the two Americans from the desert.

There is Roger, sitting at the bar. He sports glasses, a receding hairline, and one of the dryest wits I have ever come across. Roger is absolutely hysterical.

And there is Dave, another good looking guy with soft eyes who seems to be The Palm Shack's resident expert on just about anything and everything.

I tell you, folks, I can only describe the overall effect here as like being in the middle of Northern Exposure Meets Cheers. And I mean absolutely nothing derogatory in that. Liz and I have been set down smack dab in the midst of a wonderful cast of characters, and it is a giddy experience just being here.

For example, after being introduced, Liz and I grab a couple of pints and take a table near the bar. The conversation at the bar which we interrupted on our entrance continues. It evolves from a discussion of why the Millenium celebrations were wrong (it's not yet the turn of the millenium) into a review of the Gregorian Calendar, and ultimately the problem of Leap Year.

I think it is Roger who asks, "Do you know why we have Leap Year?"

"Yes, yes, of course I do," replies Dave.

"Why? Why do we have Leap Year?"

"Because the earth doesn't travel around the sun in exactly 365 days. It takes about 365 and 1/4 days. So every four years we have to add an extra day to keep the calendar accurate."

They all seem to agree that adding this extra day is a bit of a headache. You know, having to remember it and all. And what about those people who are born on the 29th of February and all they have to go through?

Thus begins an exchange of ideas as to how we might slow the movement of Earth down to exactly 365 days. My two favorites? Someone suggests getting everyone in China to flush their toilets at precisely the same moment. Better still, and my all-time favorite: It is proposed that everyone in Europe face one direction and break wind at the same time!

I practically fall out of my seat laughing.

It is all summed up by someone at the bar who says, "We have gone from intellectual conversation to beer-electual."

A few topics, like "the proper way to eat porridge," are probed with a high degree of mock seriousness, but there are earnest discussions, too, about a wide variety of subjects. I am impressed with just how bright these folks are, how witty they are, how well they know their history, and how well they put forth their arguments. Who needs a cinema when this kind of spontaneous entertainment is available?

At one point in the evening, Jim asks us what room we are staying in. Liz replies, "Number Four." And in unison, like a glee club, everyone says, "OH, THE DOUBLE!"

In response to Liz's and my initial surprise and then subsequent fits of laughter, someone says, "You know how we know that? Quiz Night. John holds Quiz Night here and quizzes us about The Westings!"

By now, my cheeks are aching. We are having more fun with these folks than any tourist should be allowed to have.

Before the night is over, we discover that everyone in the pub tonight has come from somewhere else - most from England. They have all chosen to live in Shetland - a place that is not necessarily easy to live in. We are told of one particularly bad winter and of a family whose house became completely enveloped in snow. They woke up one morning thinking it was particularly toasty for that time of the year. It was - they were experiencing the igloo effect. The packed snow was holding the warmth in!

The winter storms can frequently be intimidating - with winds sometimes topping 100 miles per hour. (John says homebuilders in Florida and the Carolinas could learn quite a bit about hurricane-proof construction by studying Shetland structures. I think he's right.) Wind force is pretty much an everyday topic in Shetlanders' conversations. And then there are those long, long winter nights and days when the sun barely rises above the horizon.

I ask myself why in the world would someone choose to live here? But even as I do, I know one thing for certain: this is one island I wouldn't want to be voted off of.

To Be Continued

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