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, Part Four here

It is Easter.

I'm surprised to see Young John preparing and serving our breakfast this morning. He was, after all, still serving at the pub when Liz and I decided to "call it a night" last evening. But here he is, intent on taking care of the only guests in The Westings today.

John MacRae joins us as we are finishing up. He informs us that the forecast shows some wintry weather headed toward the islands. This is particularly unwelcome news as we are due to go fishing tomorrow. He also informs us that The Westings will be closed today. Of course, dinner will be available for all the inn's guests. That would be us!

It is overcast as we set off today. We are traveling to Northmavine, the northern part of Mainland. Northmavine has been called, "the largest, wildest and most beautiful parish in Shetland."

Traffic is very light this morning and the wide, well-maintained roads here are a joy to drive. Still, an impatient tailgater convinces me to pull off to the side of the road at a little settlement called Voe. Here we see a truly rare sight in Shetland -- trees! It's just a small clump of them, mind you, perhaps twenty or two dozen. They are a bit away from us, so I can't see exactly what they are, but from here they look like pines of varying height. They appear to be somewhat sheltered from the wind by a couple of neighboring hillocks, and I wonder if this is the only way trees can survive in Shetland - protected from a wind which appears to be constant and is legendary for its periodic fierceness.

Back in the car, we cross Mavis Grind, a strip of land about as wide as an American football field is long. It nearly cuts Mainland in two and is notable in that this narrow piece of earth is all that separates the North Sea to the east from the Atlantic Ocean to the west.

We are well on the way to our final destination when "nature calls." Our map indicates that there are public toilets in the village of Hillswick which is just a smidgen out of our way. The Easter Service is about to begin as we crawl our car past the church, and quite a few heads turn, seemingly in curiosity at the heathens who are passing by.

Across from the toilets in Hillswick is a graveyard with a number of fascinating headstones. But Liz and I are more taken with the background scenery here. Off in the distance sheer bluffs tower over the landscape. We are suddenly aware that we are being watched. Four black-faced and one completely white sheep have frozen in place at the bend in the road. Their gaze is fixed on us. It's as if they are asking, "Who the heck are you two...and what's with the funny accents?" The voice of a churchgoer drifts down the road and the sheep swing their heads in unison to find the source. It's a wee bit of countryside choreography that produces chuckles from both Liz and me.

We return to the single track road that leads out to the ocean. We are soon being treated to Northmavine's spectacular coastal scenery. We come across one scene that we simply cannot pass up, and I pull the car as far off the road as I dare.

Off to our left is a long and wide stretch of rolling grassy land that eventually dips out of sight before reaching the grayish water of a large bay. A low, stone fence stands about twenty-five feet from us and runs parallel to the road. Just on the other side of it two Shetland ponies crop the grass. They are wonderful little creatures - one, dark brown, the other chestnut with a blonde mane and tail. Beyond them, out in the bay, is a magnificent arched rock that we would later learn is called "Dore Holm." Its distance from us belies its size. It is a massive stack, large enough for a boat to easily pass through its arch. From this vantage point, it looks like a huge animal, arching its neck to drink from the bay. Its shape mimics almost exactly the posture of the ponies with their heads bowed low as they graze the field. The entire panorama is quite a sight. Quite a sight.

We continue up the road, ultimately parking the car at the Eshaness Lighthouse.

For a number of years, now, Liz and I have purchased Scotland calendars from a company called Pomegranate in California. They feature wonderful photographs of the Scottish countryside, castles, ancient monuments, villages, etc. Well, in the calendar a few years ago one picture really grabbed hold of me. The sea had been caught on film unleashing its fury against a great stone wall of rugged cliffs. I was taken by both the drama in the photograph and by the splendor of the setting. It was a photo of the Cliffs of Eshaness. This was the third place that beckoned us to Shetland. And now, we are standing on the very spot where that photograph was taken. It doesn't seem possible. It doesn't seem real.

But reality returns with the snap of the wind. I turn to Liz as I'm pulling on my gloves and say, "You know, lots of other people pick someplace in the Carribean to visit. You know, Barbados... Or maybe they go to the British Virgin Islands. Or Fiji, or something like that. We come to Shetland where the wind is whipping off the Atlantic...!"

And it is. And it is cold. But the wind is helping to poke holes in the gray sky and scoot the clouds away.

The sea is gentler today than in the calendar photograph, but there is still enough energy in the waves to send plumes of foam soaring over the offshore rocks and up the walls of the sea stacks and cliffs.

These are basalt lava cliffs. There is a reddish cast to them that, set against the blue-gray of the ocean and the intense white of the spending waves, makes them all the more spectacular. They reach far down the coast - as far as we can see from here. The land at the top of the cliffs is nearly flat - a plateau that is carpeted in amber grasses. It is a golden crown entirely befitting the majestic scenery here.

To Be Continued

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