Sea voyages

Thursday, October 28th
Having received a sudden invitation from Alistair Goodlad to go out in his boat, I rapidly altered my day's itinerary and drove off to Trondra. Having clambered aboard, sketch book and charcoal to the ready, I found myself hanging on to the side of a small boat as we hurtled out to sea. "It's only about Force 2", he remarked, as we banged down over the incoming waves before the boat launched itself at the next. Although Alastair was impressed at my ability to draw without looking down at my sketchbook, my attempts were curtailed by waves of nausea. But landing on the small island of Hildasay, and strolling around in the sun, watching seals and small birds (now can't remember their 'proper' names), helped to settle my stomach (or was it the large quantity of rum you poured into my coffee, Alistair). So I managed another couple of drawings before we embarked on the return journey - and I didn't feel sick at all! Thank you Alistair.

Janette sketching cumulo nimbus (photo Alistair Goodlad)

Friday October 29th
Gale warnings - Issued: 0933 UTC Fri 29 Oct
Southerly gale force 8 increasing severe gale force 9 imminent, veering southwesterly later
Shipping Forecast - Issued: 1725 UTC Fri 29 Oct
Wind: Mainly southerly veering southwesterly 6 to gale 8, occasionally severe gale 9.
Sea State: Very rough or high.
Weather: Rain or squally showers.
Visibility: Moderate or poor

Friday morning, accompanied by the equally intrepid writer Laura Freidlander, now living in Scalloway, we drove north to Vidlin to take the ferry to Outer Skerries, casting an anxious eye at the weather. Arriving at the first landing pier to find no boat, Laura assured me that it would probably be going - if indeed it was going - from the other terminal further along the coast (how would I have known that this is what happens when the weather is a bit dodgy?). Sure enough there it was, and despite being told we might not get back that night since the weather was set to worsen, throwing caution to the wind, I drove to on board. Having, earlier in the week, abandoned my planned trip to Faire Isle due to dire warnings of bad weather and of getting stuck there, I wasn't going to miss this last opportunity to travel to an island. Watching the crew lashing down the cars, one had small nagging doubts, but ho-hey… and we took off out into the open sea, with one other fellow seasoned passenger, who in the course of the journey remarked, as we passed Easter Skerries with waves and spray breaking over their tops, that he'd never seen them like that before. And it was rough and fantastic, and for about an hour we ploughed on against the wind, with spray washing over the deck, and spin-thrift flying through the air, and I hung on and drew until a lump of water drenched my sketchbook.

Seeing the jagged rocks of the Skerries emerge and watching the ferry's navigation into the harbour is something else. From the small shop - that wouldna sell Laura a paper because 'there's only enough for the locals', to the telephone kiosk that probably hadn't worked for years, and the small stretch of road to drive up and down and back again all within a couple of minutes, and its sixty-seven or so population, Skerries is an intriguing place. Walking up a track behind one of the houses I immediately found a fantastic location to sit and paint massive waves rolling and thundering against black rocks, vast plumes of spray shooting into the air. Everything tasted of salt - my face was gritty with it, and my head was full of the sound of the wind and sea.



Heartfelt thanks to the hospitable Bertha Anderson, who inviting us in, provided soup and home-made bannocks that warmed me up after I'd spent several hours crouched on the rocks getting cold (not sure if the inhabitants of the Skerries could see me dancing to the sea in an attempt to get the circulation going). It was a wonderful and remarkable day, and I only wished we could have stayed longer. The fast wind-driven return journey was just as memorable; paying no heed to the instruction that passengers must remain in the salon, we spent the journey out on deck, being buffeted and drenched by waves breaking on the deck, as the ferry rolled and pitched and me trying to draw. I'd finally achieved my wild sea trip. 'You'll be back again' promised the skipper. Definitely!



Having spent two of the last three days traveling on the high sea when I now close my eyes all I can see is waves and I'm sure I'm still swaying, and definitely still smitten by the energy of the sea. I hope that I can put all this experience into the subsequent drawings and paintings I am planning to make.

Outside the wind is still beating against The Booth. Tomorrow night I leave - depending on the weather - so mebbe not.

So there we were, standing in a draughty car-park in the dark drawing on the ground with a bit of broken chalk...

(or)
The phenomenon of the Moder Dy - In Conversation with Shetland inhabitants:

Charles Simpson (Cunningsborough): It’s a reverberation; a back echo or reflection of a wave hitting an immoveable object (the land).

Davey Smith (retired fisherman, Scalloway): Well to navigate you need something fixed that can be seen, and I don't see how you can navigate from something that you can't see.

George Duncan (fisherman, Burra): It’s something that has now been lost – old fishermen could read the surface of the water – the pattern – the way the current was running. It was an experience handed down in the same way they could read the weather 24 hours ahead. Used ‘meids’ as well – fixed positions on the land by which to navigate. I remember my faither taking me out in a boat when I was a 'perrie' boy and pointing into the sea and saying to me 'there’s the moder dy'. I couldn't see anything. It was also used by Polonesian fishermen. It was a back wave, and I was shown a diagram showing the direction of the waves. (George drew this using a bit of chalk that we found on the road).

Hazel Hughson (Shetland Arts Officer): ...currents far underneath - from deep underwater; Fishermen could feel it in their feet; it's not on the surface.

Alister Goodlad (Tronda): It was a way of steering. Can be seen from a plane – wave always comes in the same direction; SW it will always come from WSWesterly??? (not sure I wrote this down correctly). If the wind stays in same direction you can gauge where you are. Think that it is mainly a phenomena of the west side of Shetland. There is the Wyville Thomson Ridge between Shetland and Faroe; the ridge affects the flow of water due to the changes in depth and temperature. It’s possible that as a result, a ripple effect may be created in the water. (The ridge separates the Faroe-Shetland Channel to the north from the Rockall Trough to the south. Its significance lies in the fact that it forms part of the barrier between the colder bottom waters of the Arctic and the warmer waters of the North Atlantic`). Does this phenomena only occur on this side of Shetland?

Dodo Watts (retired fisherman, Scalloway): Well, it’s far-fetched!. We used radar and charts - taking longitude/latitude readings.

Ian Napier (Senior Policy Advisor, NAFC Marine Centre: Re. the Moder Dy): My suspicion is that it is more likely liked to be the deep ocean swell coming in from the open Atlantic. The currents past Shetland are pretty much one way - I am not aware of any significant counter-flows. The long Atlantic swell wave-length waves will probably start to 'feel' the bottom as they cross the continental shelf, causing them to turn towards the shore. The result is that the direction of the Moder Dy would probably be relatively constant, regardless of the local wind / sea conditions. This would presumably give those with the necessary skills / experience a fixed (more or less) reference to judge directions. Sailing 'with' the Moder Dy should take you back to land. There are interesting parallels with the ability of Polynesian sailors to use swell patterns to navigate between oceanic islands in the Pacific.

Addendum: It is likely that the Moder Dy would work best on the west side of Shetland if - as I suspect - it depends on long-wavelength waves coming in over long distances from the open Atlantic Ocean and encountering the (relatively) shallow waters of the continental shelf. We could be talking here about waves with wavelengths of several hundred metres that may have travelled for 1000s of miles. Such waves could have periods of 15 seconds, or more. Waves generally start to 'feel' the sea-bed when the water depth is less than half their wavelength.

To the south and east of Shetland (in the North Sea) there is not the space or water depth for such long waves to form. That said, waves always tend to turn towards the shore (or at least shallower water) so I would not entirely rule out the possibility of some sort of usable phenomenon occurring anywhere around Shetland. But in the relatively enclosed and shallow North Sea the wave regime is always likely to be more 'messy' (confused) and thus more difficult to interpret. I suspect the relatively 'clean', long, open-ocean swells from the Atlantic would be a better guide (and easier to separate from the more local waves, which be running in a different direction).

Other thoughts from boat-builders, an artist, fishermen in Lerwick / Scalloway:
- Ground sea swell – a back swell – used in fog to navigate. Now forgotten.
- A swell running into shore.
- I’ve never seen it – but the old fishermen could see an indication towards shore.
- It’s a whole experience of the sea – auditory… seen… and felt.

The Moder Dy (the mother wave)
(Extract from poem by Jessie ME Saxby written around1880/90’s)

..…. Gray, gray was the lift. And the mist lay low
Like a shroud ower the weary sea;
It heaved its breeest wi’ a lang-drawn breath,
Like a body that’s going ta dee

We could see no meedes, nor glimpse o’ the laund –
Nae guide was the guidelss wave;
“We’ll never see hame,” said Ned o’ the Knowes –
I wheshted the fule wi’ me nave.

Then Mauncie he stimed weel into the lift,
And then upon the sea;
“Noo, boys look oot for the Moder Dy
And mark hoo she rins,” said he.

“The eight peerie dys that geng afore
Rin this way an’ that, ye keen;
But she flowes straight wi’ a lang, free sweep
That ‘ill lighten wir herts an ‘een.

“We need na compass, or glim frae the lift,
There’s light in her fleecy kame;
She maks for the laund, that’s as true as deth,
And she’ll guide wiz safely hame”……..

Image and description found on www.foulaheritage.org.uk: The Moder Dye, used by Shetlanders before the days of compasses to find the land in times of fog. The radar photograph above shows how this was done. The photo was taken the day after the night hurricane Flossie passed through Shetland in September 1978. The heavy westerly sea swells were about 250 yards apart and show up well on this photograph. The swells reflect around the north and south ends of Foula (left centre) to produce an overlapping pattern which continuously broadens out until it reaches the Mainland of Shetland (top right). Any line drawn through the points of overlap, where the two swells peak, leads from the Mainland to Foula.

Grenades in Scalloway - houses evacuated

Police have advised anyone discovering explosive devices like grenades not to handle them and to get in touch immediately. The warning came after an incident last night when scallop fisherman Morgan Pitt took two rusty grenades back to a shed at his home in Scalloway after dredging them up near Wadbister.
The police leapt into action at about 8.30pm after Mr Pitt called them about his find. As a precaution four neighbours had to be evacuated from their homes at Gibblestone Court until nearly midnight while the danger was dealt with.
Sergeant Gordon Feather said digital photographs of the grenades were taken and sent to the army for expert analysis. It turned out they were already inert and harmless with no pins or bases. They are to be handed over to the military for storage and eventual destruction.
He said such finds should be reported promptly although care should be taken not to use a mobile phone close by due to the danger of its signal triggering an explosion.
“If you find something like that just set it down in a safe place, walk away and alert us immediately,” he said.
Article printed from ShetlandTimes.co.uk 22/10/10

It all happens in Scalloway..

Friday 23rd October

Forgot to check the weather forecast!

Having assumed that I had the whole day to prepare for my open studios, I received a text message, and suddenly my trip on a pilot boat was finally on. So having rapidly made an apple crumble and thrown my show together, I drove north to Sullom Voe and found myself on the high sea. Traveling fast in a power boat with a crew of four, the receding land was lost in the blur of spray whipping past the windows of the cabin, as we hurtled out into the sea to rendezvous 12 miles off the coast with a large oil tanker from India (which arrived late). A truly memorable experience, and one that I wouldn't have wanted to miss despite being sick in a bucket as we rolled around and up and down, awaiting the arrival of the oil tanker. In fact it was so rough that the tanker was instructed to come in closer as it wasn't safe for the small pilot boat to go further out into open sea.


Being tossed around by the waves, I definitely saw walls of water coming towards us as any sign and hope of land disappeared. Even the crew said it was rough, and I don't think that they were just being kind… and the pilot having to make the crossing from the boat and climb the ladder was certainly not very happy about the sea state. As we finally drew alongside the pilot scrambled from our sea-tossed boat up a rope ladder and onto an equally unsafe-looking metal gangway lowered from the top deck.

Not having been in such a small boat in such a sea before, the whole escapade (and it was certainly felt like one for me) was just amazing, although I guess it was ‘all in a days work’ for the lads. So I made drawings (until I was sick) and took photos, and just felt the power of those waves beneath us. And I am still trying to assimilate it all.



So thank you to David Smith for setting this up for me and enabling me to go with you and to all the crew for looking after me. The whole thing is a bit of a blur now.



‘Fetch’, means the duration of the wave, from its generation to the point where it crashes on the beach.

Thursday 21st October

THURSDAY 21st: A bright day with a mixture of sunshine and occasional showers, these still wintry at times over Shetland. A less-cold day, but not feeling so, as W to NW’ly winds increase - F6-7 and locally gale F8. 
 Sea state – Overnight increasing rough, with a 3 to 4 metre NW’ly wind-swell. Later increasing very rough, with a 4 to 5 metre NW’ly wind-swell, and perhaps 6 metres around the north of Shetland. Maximum temperature 8 °C.

Spent Monday out on the rocks beyond Hamnavoe, battling against high wind and drifting rain and spray whilst trying to paint the magnificent turquoise-filled waves rolling in and breaking on the rocks beneath me before retreating to the studio to dry out and drink tea. I felt completely overwhelmed by the sight of these huge waves – impossible to capture their impact (and to paint in such conditions). The resulting paintings and photographs simply do not do justice to the experience. Returning to the same place late afternoon the following day, although less dramatic, found a spot down low to the water, and managed to do some drawing as I huddled against rocks trying to keep out of the numbing wind. I didn’t last long before my hands were so cold they hurt.



Another satellite picture from Anne Karin showing weather over Norway and Shetland
Anne Karin Magnusson met.no

....and an explanation: the pink lines are lines of equal atmospheric air pressure. Deepest air pressure is about over Oslo. Arrows are showing wind speed. Some observations are also included (black circles, with numbers around). The colours are added: dark blue over ocean with clear sky above, but shaded where there are clouds; land is green, also shaded when there are clouds. Colours in clouds are coded so that yellow is low cloud. The air to the left of the low centre is typically cold with dots (showers).

Weather certainly predominates here; talking to the archivists in the museum, many of the old diaries they are transcribing, daily record the weather.

During the last few days (when not talking to fishermen and photographing their hands, or watching the sea), I have been working in the studio on a couple of paintings that are about the colour and the movement of the sea. They are ‘in-progress’ and I am not sure how they will resolve themselves.


paintings-in-progress
...and drawings to go with them

It is so frustrating trying to paint the experience of what is there before me because it’s more than sight – it’s the whole thing - noise filling the air, taste and smell of salt, the movement, being buffeted, the light - the rain coming and going, freezing air, freezing fingers; I find myself swaying with the waves, even talking to the sea. (It’s okay I’m not going mad. And yes Anne Karin I will be careful on those rocks).

This morning there was snow lying in patches on the ground, and the ‘sea state’ is definitely getting rougher. The sound of the wind is relentless. Having booked my passage on the Good Shepherd IV to Fair Isle for next Tuesday, in order to experience the sea crossing – where two seas meet - I am wondering if I’ll actually get there – and more to the point, get back.

Observations from The Booth:

- solitary seal that frequents the neighbourhood, catching a large fish, then in annoyance at the mobbing gulls, launching its body out of the water

– grey-hooded crow, beak-full of mussel, landing on the slope beside the Booth; laying it on the grass before making a hole in the bank, then carefully placing the mussel inside, picking and tucking in a small switch of dry grass to cover the hiding place before flying off

- heron flying across the harbour, turning in a slow arc just outside the windows of the Booth

Considering combining historical photograph with drawings and paintings

Is selecting a photograph and imbedding it into a painting ‘too easy’ an option? Do these images become ‘mere’ ‘illustrations’? Does using archival photographic images and historical texts in an artwork convey/suggest narrative that would not otherwise be there? Does it add or amplify an idea or narrative?
Where does it take the viewer? Does it lead to speculation about the relationship between image and artist? Between image and place? Between time – the flow between then and now?
I think that I am trying to imbed my own memories, feelings, experiences of the sea with my growing awareness of the Shetlanders’ own deep relationship with and dependency upon the sea – frailty, courage, stoicism, foolishness – our attempts to understand and control something beyond our control.

How do my paintings/drawings inform the viewer? Some of the images I have been making work better than others. Concentrating upon a single object is perhaps more effective than combining several. The image of the Oskerry an essential bailing tool to a fisherman in the middle of a heaving ocean, is the simplest, and perhaps a more powerful and evocative motif.


The image of a bandaged hand (see last posting), that I discovered in one of the Archive photographs brings questions, suggests narratives, directly referencing the dangers of work on the sea.

Engaged not only in walking the Shetland coastline and making drawings and paintings, working from historical research in the Shetland Archives, museums, and meeting/talking to people living on Shetland, who know the place intimately, fishermen and boat-buliders, story-tellers, artists, historians and so on, impacts upon my work. Reading first-hand accounts by survivors of 19thC fishing community disasters evoke rich imagery. The Norwegian angle - the work of the Oceanographers to understand the sea is another aspect of the project; it has been suggested to me that these are two separate aspects of the project, yet I see them as intertwined – just as Nordic culture and language is in evidence on Shetland, their histories are also linked by a shared stretch of sea.

Collecting these stories, accounts of disasters, images from the 19th century, and placing these within the context of my own work is a form of being ‘polyvocal’ (the telling of the situation from a variety of perspectives; use of multiple voices as a narrative mode within a text/image). Perhaps it acknowledges that there is no single definitive answer or image; the paintings and drawings become environments of social-sharing; participants are not just observers or readers, but become instead co-creators or interpreters of content.

Sunday 17th October

‘I struck my knuckle on a thorle pin and mis-shaped to this day’.
‘Sail was made with the skipper getting on one mitton, the other hand which held the sheet was badly cut and chafed’. (1881 Gloup Disaster)

Having started to make some work about hands, and collecting images of 19thC fishermen's hands and finding damaged hands, I have been pestering the local fishermen to show me their hands and allow me to photograph them. They have all been tolerant and compliant, and probably bemused at such a request. As a result of being introduced to a retired fisherman and his family, I spent an interesting Friday evening talking with David Smith who started work on the boats aged 15. Each evening after a day out fishing they would have to soak their hands into scalding hot water and Dettol. The water would be made as hot as possible so they would be taking their hands in and out as they acclimatised to the heat (and pain), as they tried to leave them in for as long as possible to draw out the poisons from the fish that might have got into cuts and scrapes in their skin. There would be a period in the summer months when their hands would go very red and sore, due possibly to algae eaten by fish.

I have also been collecting stories of the Moder dy - quizzing everyone I meet. But more on the phenomenon of the Moder dy at later date.

SUNDAY 17th:
All gale warnings currently in force
Hebrides, issued on Sunday 17 October 2010 at 1507 UTC
     Gale force 8 veering westerly imminent
Bailey, issued on Sunday 17 October 2010 at 1511 UTC
     Westerly gale force 8 continuing
Fair Isle, issued on Sunday 17 October 2010 at 1507 UTC
     Gale force 8 veering westerly soon
Faeroes, issued on Sunday 17 October 2010 at 1507 UTC
     Gale force 8 veering westerly soon
Southeast Iceland, issued on Sunday 17 October 2010 at 0316 UTC
     Gale force 8 veering westerly imminent

Out painting today with Deb and Wilma at the Stead of Culswick with two seals to keep us company. Gale force 8's 'no so bad' - exhilarating and inspiring. Lots of spray and waves breaking far out to sea. Thank you Deb & Wilma for putting up with my strange 'soothmooth' predilection for such weather and taking me out despite it, and to Wilma for the warming soup and fruit crumble afterwards.

(en-plein-air, oil on board)

Back at The Booth tonight, having rung out my waterproofs and cooked my supper, the wind sounds wild, thwacking against the side of the studio and whipping up the surface of the water in the harbour. It's gonna be a rough night.

SUNDAY 10th October

Continuing mainly cloudy. Perhaps some brightness at first for Shetland but cloud thickening here, with the chance of a little patchy light rain or drizzle for a time. F2 E to NE’ly winds.
Sea state – Mainly slight, with a 1 metre E’ly wind-swell, but moderate to slight, with a 1 to 2 metre NE’ly wind-swell northeast of Shetland.

Well not sure where the rain was, since it was pretty bright and sunny most of the day. I drove across to West Burrafirth - a different terrain with lots of lumps and bumps and hills that close in around the roads. Then onto Huxter at Sandness to walk the cliffs, discover patterns on the rocks, and watch the Atlantic sea as it turned inwards. More drawings.

Sea surface

The more I travel around Shetland the more distinctive areas become. I feel over whelmed by the space; areas seemingly empty of people and yet traces of an older habitation lie amongst the ruins of crofts, in the worked stone and the field markings. But it's always the sea that draws my gaze.

Reading the weather

I asked Anne Karin to explain the satellite weather map that she sent me from the Meteorological Institute in Bergen:

'In a large view like this one there will always be patches of clouds. Of course they are nicer with these deep lows that make the snail shell pattern in the clouds. And this deep low has to the west a pattern that clearly shows a lot of cold air is coming down from Greenland towards areas west of Ireland.

But: how do I see it is cold air? Well, warm air front makes a 'frontal zone': the air is pushed upwards in the atmosphere, it cools, and water vapour becomes droplets and clouds and eventually rain starts when enough humidity. This kind of behaviour is seen as the white edge around the centre of the low in the sat picture. That is the warm front. Behind it is the 'cold front'.

Cold air does not 'climb'. It is dryer also, and there will be clear sky. But along the way over the ocean, the air will acquire water vapour and this will form 'cells' in the air flow (the dots to the left of the centre of Low). These cells are clouds (cumulus), they grow and may become large (as can be seen over Ireland/Scotland). The higher they are in the atmosphere, (and they reach the troposphere), the colder the water droplets become ice particles. These clouds will often rain, and perhaps give thunder. The whiter these cells are in the sat picture, the colder they are, and most probably the higher they are. So white cells mean 'rain or snow showers in the area'.'

So now we must look again:

Saturday 9th October

Any mist and hill fog will tend to thin and lift during the morning, giving brighter interludes by the afternoon. However, it will remain rather cloudy and hazy, with the best of any sunshine likely to be found on the west side of Shetland, sheltered from a F4-5 SE’ly breeze. Perhaps a few clearer spells at first this evening, but the night will be generally cloudy although remaining dry. SE’ly winds easing F2-3 and tending more E’ly in direction. Sea state – Mainly moderate, with a 2 metre SE’ly wind-swell. Through the day becoming moderate to slight, with a 1 to 2 metre E’ly wind-swell.

My new camera arrived yesterday, so I can re-photograph and re-upload images of small paintings (but not tonight). Today has been unbelievably still and warm in contrast to yesterday when I went to St Ninians Isle in high wind to walk and draw and watch the heavy clouds rising, falling, drifting across the far hills.

Blue pebble

A morning of drawing in the studio; the drawing progresses. The extra strip of paper along the bottom has certainly helped the image. There has been a lot of adding and taking away.


Followed by a late afternoon trip onto West Burra and a walk on Kettla Ness to clear the dust of chalk and charcoal and catch the last of the light.

Thursday 7th October

Dry and bright with sunny spells. S’ly winds will be F4-5. Remaining dry tonight but, after a mainly clear evening, cloud will increase later. Winds backing SE’ly and freshen, F5 across Shetland, bringing some mist and hill fog along eastern hills and headlands.
Sea state – Mainly moderate, with a 2 metre S’ly wind-swell later turning SE’ly.

My day out at Eswick, with sheep, seals and gulls as company:



A series of small studies made from rocks above sea

Wednesday 6th October

A fair amount of cloud around at first, perhaps even the odd spot of light rain. However, the day should be mainly dry with some sunny spells at times. There is the chance that during the afternoon there may be one or two showers around, these mainly in the west. F5-7 
S to SE’ly winds at first, veering F5 S to SW’ly by evening. Some clear spells this evening and overnight, but also the risk of a light shower.
Sea state – Rough, with a 3 to 4 metre S to SE’ly wind-swell, later becoming moderate to rough, with a 2 to 3 metre S to SW’ly wind-swell.

Weather map showing area over Shetland (thanks to Anne Karin in Bergen).

A morning talking to art students at Lerwick College - thank you all for making me very welcome, and for your enthusiasm. Then a long session in studio with the drawing (no pics as my camera is broken(!) - another on order)

Tuesday 5th October

'A mainly dry and bright start although rather cloudy, especially across Shetland. Good sunny spells will develop into afternoon across Shetland. Strong southerly winds persisting. Maximum temperature 14 °C'.

A day preparing a Powerpoint for tomorrow, and working in the studio (although strongly tempted by the sound of the wind to go and watch the sea).


The white paper in progress of becoming far less white.
and below sea-washed canvases to be used later...

A seal and sea otter outside window, along with the usual diving birds (what are they called?), and the occasional fly-by gannet and noisy gulls.

Monday 4th October

MONDAY 4th: Mostly dry and bright with some sunshine this morning. However, this will gradually fade as high cloud thickens and lowers, with the afternoon then cloudy. At the same time, the F5 S’ly wind will back SE’ly and increase F6. Outbreaks of rain will reach Shetland early evening. The rain will soon become heavy, and SE’ly winds will increase further to F6-7, and locally gale F8 across the more exposed areas. Rain will move away from Shetland overnight. Strong to gale-force winds will veer F6-7 S’ly with the improvement.



Monday was this kinda day.
Late trip to Gloup meant that I had no time to walk round the area where the 1881 disaster occurred. Will have to return.


landing place for sixareens, Gloup Voe

Sunday October 3rd

Weather forecast for SUNDAY 3rd October: Rather cloudy at first across Shetland, with the chance of some longer spells of rain. However it will also brighten, with sunny spells and scattered showers for the afternoon. F5-6 S or SE’ly winds.
Sea state – Rough, with a 3 to 4 metre SSE’ly wind-swell. Later decreasing moderate to rough, with a 2 to 3 metre SSE’ly wind-swell.

This morning I set up the studio, covering the walls with plastic - look a bit like the preparation for an episode of Dexter. There is now a large white piece of paper stapled to the wall and it's looking at me accusingly… invitingly.



Instead I drove north out to the Hill of Neap and sat in the rain drawing sea, with charcoal in one hand and sausage sandwiches in the other. Perfect, although it was a pity I'd forgotten to buy the mayonnaise, and there wasn't quite the promised 'rough' sea swell or the 'fresh to strong southeasterly winds and 'sunny spells' ' that had made drawing so good yesterday. Though there were the showers (not so much 'scattered' as persistent), which made drawing more tricky. Still, I'm certain I saw a sea otter hunting in the breaking waves.


Back for a cup and a Skype chat with my son.

And the white paper now bears some large charcoal marks, so it doesn't look so smug.

Saturday October 2nd

A bright glittering day with a cold hard wind, I drove north to Eswisk and spent most of the day walking and drawing from the cliffs at Eswick. A fantastic place to watch the sea racing and the foam flying.




You can begin to understand the difficulties that sixareen fishermen would have had trying to avoid being driven onto the jagged rocks lining the shore line as they struggled back to shore against the breaking waves. My drawings became more uncontrolled as the day wore on as I struggled to get the movement down. I should have taken paint.

Returning to Shetland

Made it back into Shetland today by the skin of my teeth, tonight's ferries having been cancelled due to severe weather warnings. Outside the wind and rain are now battering against the Booth. Late afternoon as, battling against the wind, I walked along the cliffs at Gulberwick towards the Ness of Trebister, the sea was frothing, huge waves rolling in under a heavy sky. Watched the gannets diving headlong into the sea and gulls whipping up into the sky. Managed a couple of drawings before retreating back up the path and heading home.
It's great to be back.