Northern Exposure

By Heather Won Tesoriero

Many are the wonders of modern tourism--economical packages, efficient tours, reliably standardized accommodations, every detail adjusted to make the traveler feel at home while abroad. The drawback, of course, is that it's so bland and formulaic (museum, monument, gift shop, beverage! Repeat!). Hence there are vagabond travelers who remain determined to avoid all that--to seek out destinations that offer interest and beauty but don't seem geared for the masses. While living in Scotland a few years ago, I was one of those. I wanted to travel to the farthest reaches of Great Britain, far away from Stonehenge and Loch Ness. I traced my finger on the map and landed on the Shetland Isles, an archipelago that lies at the intersection of the North Sea and North Atlantic Ocean, 180 miles northeast of Scotland.

For many, the word Shetland evokes ponies, wool sweaters and sheep dogs. And yes, all of those things are there in abundance. But beyond such attractions, I discovered a magical place untainted by consumerism; an unpretentious, gorgeous landscape; and a small-town feel that is wonderfully distinct from that of any small town you have ever been in.

Though under the jurisdiction of Scotland, the Shetland Isles are nearer to Norway, and the majority of Shetlanders descend from the Norse, who inhabited and ruled the isles from A.D. 900 to 1469. Shetlanders are quick to point out and celebrate their Viking lineage. On the last Tuesday of every January, the famous Up Helly Aa Viking fire festival takes place. Teams of torch-bearing men in Viking outfits parade through the streets of Lerwick, then make their rounds to various sites to perform skits. Legend has it the pagan event used to mark the end of Yuletide and was meant to conjure the sun to appear after the long, dark winter.

With peaks as high as 1,475 ft., the Shetlands offer hearty hikes for all levels. Climbing along the craggy cliffs and through the long inlets (voes), you feel a bit like a Viking yourself. Shetland is one of the best places in the world to see an abundance of seals and otters, and you can view them at an astonishingly close range. The latter, especially, thrive in waters off the barren coastline, which is rich in fish. A cloudy day is one of the best times to go otter watching.

Lerwick is the largest port town in Mainland (the misleading name for the largest island) and the heart of the Shetlands. When someone from the outer isles speaks of those who have moved to Lerwick, it could be the lament of someone from the Ozarks who has lost a loved one to the mean streets of Manhattan. But Lerwick (pop. 7,280) is an Old World village, with a bustling harbor and historic stone monuments. The main drag, Commercial Street, set back from the esplanade and guarded from the wind, is a winding, echoing cobblestone path lined with appealing shops.

I spent a day with a friend on Mainland and shyly asked about the prospect of seeing some of the famous miniature ponies. "Ah, they're everywhere," she said, amused that I would be interested. "We'll pass some along the way." Sure enough, driving out of Lerwick, we saw dozens of ponies dotting the landscape. Through a friend in Edinburgh, I had arranged to stay at the home of Anna and Lowrie Simpson, native Shetlanders. When people on the isles discuss someone's origins, they say, "He's Shetland," conveying the sense that being from the place means one is the place. Shetlanders have their own dialect, a musical tongue that rises and swells with lots of rolled Rs, which they switch off with ease to accommodate incomers. But even when speaking in their most neutral English, they weave in words such as peerie (little), bonny (pretty) and muckle (large). And you had better know the expression Ya kin (you know), because people often tack "Ya kin what I mean?" to the end of sentences.

Fifteen of the 100 islands are inhabited, and each one offers a slightly different aspect of Shetland (and a different accent). To Shetlanders, being from Unst, say, is not at all the same as being from Whalsay. Most people visit Unst to alight upon a variety of Britain's northernmosts: here you can find the post office, brewery and golf course that sit at the country's highest latitude. Yell is otter country and also has miles of peat moorland; if you have any interest in peat cutting, this is the place to check it out. An array of wonderful summer flowers marks Fetlar, the greenest of the isles. Whalsay is a friendly fishing community with a busy harbor.

Because the isles are so remote, change happens at a glacial pace. One day while I was staying with the Simpsons, Lowrie mentioned the long line at the bank. I asked where the bank was, unable to recall having seen it. "Oh, it comes around in a van once a week," he said. The mobile library comes once every three weeks. Most people on the tiny island (pop. 1,000) don't bother with a mailbox. The letter carrier just opens the front door and leaves their mail in a convenient place.

Driving back with Lowrie from his crofts (small farms) after feeding the sheep and collecting the goose eggs, we stopped and looked in on Binnie, Lowrie's elderly distant cousin. I chatted with Binnie while Lowrie stood on a ladder and poked around in the attic, checking on the fish he was salting and drying. Shetlanders have a very cozy way of looking out for others: dropping in on a neighbor, tending someone's land and sharing resources. "At this time of year, when you have to take off sheep, you pass some of them to others who may need them," says Lowrie.

The oil and fishing industries are the main sources of livelihood for Shetlanders. Willie Irvine, 50, comes from a long line of fishermen. The father of five is part-owner of Athena, a 72-ft. seine-netter, the only one of its kind in Whalsay. Willie lovingly says of his boat, "We've been together 28 years." Willie and the four-man crew catch cod, haddock and whiting. In good weather he's at sea five days a week and can catch up to 16,800 lbs.

Another source of income for Shetlanders is wool. I asked Ina Irvine, 63 (whose husband is Willie's first cousin), a professional knitter who spins her own wool, why the Shetland variety is so soft and durable. "The sheep here are small, and they have a soft fleece," she says. "I've been told that the sheep that are put on the hills have a softer wool because they're eating a more coarse grass." The respected craft is diminishing, and Shetlanders are trying to maintain it among the younger generations by teaching it in the schools. "It's an underpaid sort of a craft," says Ina. "The young ones want to go out to work."

While I was staying with the Simpsons, Anna was busy knitting colorful squares. She handed me some needles and taught me to knit. Because I held my needles too tightly, my would-be square looked more like a parallelogram. At the end of my stay, Anna presented me with a hearty wool blanket knitted from the squares. With characteristic Shetlander modesty, she hesitated to honor my request for her to stitch her initials in the corner. "Oh, why would I do that?" she said, laughing. It was not as if I would forget where it came from. But I wanted the reminder just the same.

Reporter Heather Won Tesoriero, now based in New York, says the Shetlands is the locale she would most like to revisit