If you travel north from Wick as far as Castletown, about 14 miles, then turn east towards John o’Groats, you come to a little turning on the left just before the Castle of Mey, signposted to Harrow. The single-track road points due north again for maybe a mile, taking you through flat fields dotted with farms and houses, before forking again: left for the hamlet of Skarfskerry (Old Norse for “cormorants’ rock”; the Vikings evidently running out of names at this stage) and right to the harbour. The harbour road cuts through some cliffs (Harrow Braes), over a boneshaker of a cattle grid, and then it’s just you and the open ocean.
Despite being renovated back in 1979 and officially reopened by Jimmy Page, lead guitarist with Led Zeppelin (whose Caithness-inspired hits include “Whole Lotta Fish”, “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You Some Herring”, and of course, “Stairway to Harrow”) a solitary lobster boat, looking rather sorry for itself marooned at low tide, is all the industry that remains. But when we visited the other day, it was home to a colony of seals, lumpen and awkward by land and so graceful in the water, who crossed the bay to check us out before retiring in disgust when they discovered we hadn’t brought any fish. Everything goes better with seals.
Sprucing up the sheds by Wick Harbour
And yes, like so many Caithness harbours, this one has seen better days. But you’d be wrong if you thought it was the decline of the fishing that was behind it, despite the vaulted ice house cut into the cliffs: no, Harrow harbour was built by the earl of Caithness back in the day to take advantage of the local flagstone industry. The stones were cut by hand originally, which sounds like fun, later by a steam-powered saw in one of the tumbledown sheds on the high ground overlooking the sea, and then loaded onto ships which sailed out into the wild grey yonder. It’s impossible not to stand on the harbour flagstones and think of all the people who have come and gone, come and gone, leaving just broken monuments behind, and wonder where that leaves us; and how much it matters, if at all.
Waves near South Head, Wick
TECHNICAL STUFF
First of all, in parish notices, Sigrid has sent us pictures of another stunning cardigan in ice blue, which she appropriately calls “Hoofprint, or The Sea”. The pattern takes its inspirations from Di Gilpin’s book, and features hoofprints, waves, ropes, starfish and anchors, all associated with the sea (as so many gansey patterns are, of course). Many congratulations to Sigrid, who is setting quite a high bar here, and many thanks to her for sharing.
My own gansey project has seen the back finished, with shoulder straps of 12 rows rig ‘n’ fur on either side. Without wishing to appear cocky, I am quietly smug in a terribly British understated sort of way at getting the diamonds to finish at just the right length.
Muckle Skerry from Duncansby Head
Designing the pattern so the elements form a complete shape instead of looking like they were randomly cut from fabric – that is an art that many 20th century designers lacked. Congratulations!
It seems odd when I stop to think, to sell the literal ground you stand on, but I suppose most activities come to that. Even farming leads to minerals being taken out in the form of plants.
Why are they called flagstones, anyway?
Hi Tamar, good question! I looked it up. According to Wikipedia, “The name derives from Middle English flagge meaning turf, perhaps from Old Norse flaga meaning slab or chip.” Caithness flagstones are famous, and used all over the world, and at its peak some 35,000 tons a year were exported – maybe that’s why Caithness is so flat!
Stuck as I am in the Alaskan woods, your tour and descriptions are top notch for widening my world, Gordon. Thank you so much.
Thank you Melissa! Though with a location as lovely as Caithness, with so much history, it makes things so much easier.
Smugness well deserved!!
Hi Betsy, thank you! Though to be fair, it is my default setting… 😀