Text: Caro Käßler
We sail round Bound Skerry – Scotland’s easternmost point – with its striking lighthouse dating from 1858, set course for the north-eastern entrance and moor in the small harbour of Bruray. A curious seal peeks out of the water.
A cosy retreat on Bruray
We moor using springs and double lines. Winds of force eight are forecast. From midday onwards, we can see waves and spray lashing over the jetty. The yacht is tugging at the pier – but everything is holding firm.
At the nearby ferry terminal, we discover a cosy haven: a seating area, books, cooking facilities, and even local handicrafts available on a ‘pay-what-you-can’ basis. Next door are clean toilets and a hot shower. Shetland-style hospitality: wordless, but palpable.
Weathering the storm in the harbour
In the afternoon, the sky clears briefly and the wind dies down – we are in the eye of the storm. We make the most of this break in the weather for a walk. Coastal terns, with their piercing cries, plunge into the water and resurface a short while later with their prey wriggling in their beaks.
Sheep are grazing in the meadows. Nets, anchor chains and buoys lie by the path – relics of a fishing village. We take a detour to the south coast of Bruray, where the surf crashes over the rocks and a fine mist hangs in the air.
During the night, the storm really kicks off. The boat groans. The wind whistles. We keep checking the lines – everything’s holding fast. Tuesday is spent weathering the storm. Nautical charts, games, tea – outside, the waves are foaming. Here in the saloon: cosy warmth.
Route planning: Head north!
In the evening, we’ll start planning our route. We have to be back in Lerwick the day after tomorrow, as the next storm is already forecast for Friday. There are two options: heading south to Sumburgh Head – which is probably the easier option from a sailing point of view.
Or north via Fetlar and Yell – with a stop to drop anchor, more opportunities to experience nature, but a rougher return journey against the wind and waves on Thursday. The crew votes – unanimously: north. A little more of the wild Shetlands. A little more of the open sea.
A tight manoeuvre to cast off
On Wednesday, it’s back to an early start. A strong westerly wind is blowing, pushing the ‘Sparkling Spirit’ alongside the pier. The manoeuvre to cast off will need careful planning.
We opt for the Bremen manoeuvre: an offshore stern line, a quick turn of the rudder towards the shore and then straightening it out, a brief burst of throttle – the boat turns away from the jetty. It was a close call, though. As soon as we’re clear of the jetty, we hoist the reefed genoa.
White sand, turquoise water
The sea is about one and a half metres high, the spray is flying, and the boat is pitching. Not the best morning for those with sensitive stomachs. We’re doing seven knots on a north-westerly course. Just before reaching Tresta Beach Bay on Fetlar, the wind and drift force us to make an extra tack, then we drop anchor – 30 metres of chain provide a secure hold.
Before us: a dazzling white beach, framed by lush green hills and turquoise waters. Almost too good to be true – but it’s too wet for the dinghy. We decide against going ashore and stay comfortably on board. Next destination: Burravoe Marina, in the south of Yell, 13 nautical miles away.
Heading north-west towards Yell
Next destination: Burravoe Marina, south of Yell, 13 nautical miles away. Between Fetlar and Yell, there are eddies caused by the current – small whirlpools. We check the tide, wind direction and current directions, make the time window and get through the passage without any problems.
The approach to Burravoe is narrow, with a few shoals, and the wind is still blowing strongly. After several attempts, we moor alongside. Small, colourful fishing boats gleam at us from their berths on the other side of the jetty.
The setting: green hills, scattered houses, a caravan site with a few campervans. Burravoe feels like a village at the end of the world. And it welcomes us with tranquillity. At night, gentle waves lap against the stern. The wind dies down. Thank goodness.
Christian Tiedt
Editor Travel