Ambience Day 15 - Birding and Exploring Kirkwall, Orkney Island

“It’s going to rain soon.  But what are you going to do? Just get on with it, I suppose...”

Kirkwall Dock Staff

 

Foggy Approach

 
The landscapes of Orkney Island and the city of  Kirkwall appeared slowly through banks of thick fog.   As Ambience approached amid the low grey light of the morning, the coastline emerged in layers - dark land against the lighter waters, the geometry of fields and drystone walls barely visible beyond the shore. Scattered farmhouse lights dotted the hillsides, small points of warmth holding their ground against the morning damp.

This morning, only a handful of us stood out on deck.  Around us the world continued to amaze - bands of fog, the lights of homes, the steeple of the cathedral all stood out.   Among the birders lingering in the half-light, conversation drifted to yesterday’s unlikely visitor - an American Woodcock found on board, and the cautious hope that it had survived the night in good health.

Around the ship, seals moved through the calm grey waters with casual curiosity, lifting their heads to inspect Ambience.  At the same time, small fishing boats slipped out of the harbour to begin their day at sea. Amid it all, flocks of gulls and kittiwakes swooped inches above the water.
 

Return of the Digital Realm

 
This morning, the world was mysterious and beautiful, and it felt like it was a gift just to be able to stand on deck enjoying the seascapes and foggy landscapes around Ambience.

The moment was unfortunately slightly marred by the fact that last night, for whatever reason, the crew turned the big screen overlooking the jogging track and central pool back on.  As a result, people who had gone from 14 days of watching the waves, getting their steps in and chatting with each other with relative happiness stopped.  Literally stopped  Many with their mouths open like stunned statues watching the same 4 doom and gloom news stories play on the BCC repeat and flash above us all. 

The atmosphere on the ship among the passengers seemed to change instantly.  Now back in UK waters and near to land, people suddenly spent more time on their phones, watching videos, and calling both friends and family to bemoan the troubles of the world.

 
Most conversations on board seemed to end, and most engagement with others on board soon stopped.   In its place, people dove back into the realm of digital distraction.  The real wonders around us were quickly set aside for the virtual, viral and sensationalized spectacles that could be found online. You could see it in so many people’s faces – they had stopped being on board Ambience and instead were navigating elsewhere.
 
It was as though, for many, the voyage had ended the moment the screens came back on....

 

The situation reminded both of us of being on pilgrimages such as the Camino Frances and Camino Primitivo where, upon entering the last 100 km, all those aspects of the world that so many people strive to escape were thrust back into our faces - the politics, the economics, the social clashes and the draw of social media as well as the digital realm....in many ways the same peacefulness of those journeys ended online.
 

Online Anxiety

 
In port and now docked, we left the pulsing screen of the central jogging track behind and set off to find breakfast.  In the lido we enjoyed our breakfast, which included an amazing omelette and a warm cup of coffee for Sean and a bowl of Swiss muesli and a cup of tea for me.
 
As we sat down to have breakfast, a lady and her husband, whom we had chatted with several times, came over to join us.  Sitting down, this middle-aged lady talked about being excited to get back on land and get into Kirkwall – we initially assumed it was to see the cathedral, visit the standing stones or simply take in the notoriously lush scenery.

Instead, she talked about what she described as undergoing her own “cripple anxiety” on board Ambience.   As she told us, her husband did not want to have wifi on board, promoting the voyage as a digital detox and break from their devices.  Unfortunately, she wasn't enjoying that aspect of their journey.  As a result, they were spending each port day in cafes and bars so that she could repeatedly check Instagram, Facebook, and global news to “see what crisis they were missing out on”.  As the conversation went on, she admitted she could not handle “going more than an hour without knowing the news or checking her socials”.  

Apparently, neither had ever visited Norway nor seen the northern lights.   And by the sounds of it, they still hadn't.  On this voyage, she admitted that they had exchanged the potential for new experiences for time online.  Clearly, we are in the minority for those who are tired of the noise of the online world...
 
As breakfast wound down, the ship began to shift its focus outward again. Conversations about connection and disconnection, anxiety and anticipation, faded into the realities of a port morning and the excitement of visiting a new place. As such, we said our goodbyes for the day, pulled our coats on, grabbed our daypacks with our binoculars and camera gear and set off.  Kirkwall was waiting beyond the gangway, offering a new set of possibilities.  For some, as usual, that means coaches and carefully planned excursions.  For others, like us, it simply meant stepping ashore and seeing where the day might lead.

 

Kirkwall Excursion Possibilities

 
Our final port of call, Kirkwall on the Orkney Islands, offered a wonderfully varied range of excursions that highlighted the archipelago’s sweeping landscapes, Neolithic heritage, and quiet spiritual corners. Many visitors opted for the Scenic Orkney tour (£75 pp), a gentle circuit through green farmland, dramatic cliffs, and wide island skies. Those seeking a slower pace could join Orkney and the Italian Chapel @ Ease (£59 pp), visiting the beautifully crafted WWII chapel built by Italian prisoners of war, a place as moving as it is unexpected. History lovers were spoiled for choice: the Maeshowe and Ring of Brodgar excursion (£65 pp) explored a 5,000-year-old chambered tomb and one of Europe’s most iconic stone circles, while the Skara Brae and Ring of Brodgar tour (£57 pp) combined the famous Neolithic village along with a walk among Orkney’s legendary standing stones.
 

Disembarking Ambience

 
It was 9 AM when we disembarked from Ambience onto the docks outside of Kirkwall. As we stepped down the gangway, we noted our all-aboard time, which was 5:30 PM, before turning our attention shoreward.

 
Although a complimentary shuttle runs from the pier into town, we chose to walk instead, following a paved sidewalk path that led us through open countryside and along the coastline. The harbour staff were wonderfully welcoming, stopping to chat with us about seals, birds, and the ever-present gulls to be seen here.

Around us, the wildlife did not disappoint: seals hauled out along the shore and an abundance of coastal birds filled both the air and waters around us, a fitting welcome to Orkney.

 

One gentleman working to supply the ship with a forklift pulled up to point out more seals lounging on the tidal flat came over noting, “It’s going to rain soon.  But what are you going to do? Just get on with it I suppose...”.  We couldn't have agreed more.
 

Coastal Seals

 
Kirkwall’s sheltered harbour is an excellent place to spot seals, with both Harbour Seals and Grey Seals frequently hauling out on skerries or bobbing between the fishing boats. The Harbour Seal is the smaller of the two, with a rounded head, large dog-like eyes, and a tendency to rest in a banana-shaped pose when hauled out. Its coat is usually mottled with fine, irregular spots. The Grey Seal, by contrast, is noticeably larger with a long, horse-shaped snout.

Apparently, around Orkney, Grey Seals breed in autumn and Harbour Seals in summer, making the region one of the UK’s most important seal pupping areas. Seeing them so close to town, curious faces rising between the boats or lounging on tide-washed rocks, offered us a memorable glimpse of the islands’ rich North Atlantic marine life.

 
Behind the seals, we then noticed dozens of Eurasian Curlews almost perfectly blended into the tidal area of the coastline.  A closer examination of them revealed that amid this group were also a few Common Redshank and Oyster Catchers, as well as an assortment of gulls.
 

Coastline Walk into Kirkwall

 
We walked into Kirkwall along the coastline in what the pier worker had simply described as a “steady downpour.” By the time we reached the historic town centre, we were thoroughly drenched, rain seeping past the limits of our ageing, no-longer-fully-waterproof gear.

 
Oddly, it never felt like a hardship. We knew that, in time, we would return to the ship - to warmth, dry clothes, and a quiet room waiting just offshore  - and that knowledge softened the edges of any discomfort we felt.
 
Despite the sun breaking through, the rain and fog continued to transform the landscape making it seem magical. Low clouds blurred the boundaries between land, sea, and sky, lending everything a muted, almost elemental beauty. Just off the shoreline, we spotted a number of small groups of Common Eiders swimming, as well as Black Guillemots and a Red-breasted Merganser.

 
As we neared town, we passed alongside a beach – here Common Redshanks and Eurasian Curlews flew about.  In addition, we spotted a Common Snipe sitting in the seaweed on the beach as well as a Rock Pipit on the rocks by the waterline.

 

The harbour, the stone buildings, the narrow streets - all of it felt more intimate, more alive, under the soft veil of the foggy drizzle.

Kirkwall, Orkney Island

 
Arriving at the edge of Kirkwall on foot felt like the perfect approach.  The community felt compact and quietly layered from the harbour to the cathedral.  The buildings were clearly shaped by time and the weather, and felt as though they fit into the landscape rather than being built on it. 

Unlike Trondheim, there was no giant Ferris wheel – and this was a welcome difference.  The narrow streets were lined with low stone buildings, modest shopfronts such as local breweries, bakeries and craft stores.  Each of which gave the community a human scale that made exploring and wandering feel right.

 
As a settlement, Kirkwall has a mixture of Norse and Scottish heritage and history reaching back more than a thousand years ago. Even Orkney’s landscape and culture are layered with Neolithic, Bronze Age, Viking and Scottish history.

 
Having never been this far north in the UK nor ever having visited this region, we were excited to see how the overlapping of these cultures and histories fit together.
 

Bird Watching at the Peedie Sea

 
At the edge of Kirkwall, just beyond the fishing harbour and town centre, we found the Peedie Sea - a small, sheltered body of water that we had already been told was one of the most rewarding birding stops in the region.

 
Walking along Grainshore Road and circling the Peedie Sea, we soon realized why this modest-looking pond attracted so much birdlife. Originally developed as a local model boat sailing pond, its protected waters now provide ideal resting and feeding habitat for a wide range of species. Despite its proximity to town, it felt remarkably peaceful, almost insulated from the surrounding urban edge.

 

There were scattered birds across the site: many gathered on a narrow spit of land running through the pond, while others waded or fed along the shoreline and concrete barriers. In the smaller pond area we spotted an impressive mix of species, including Ruddy Turnstones, large numbers of Common Ringed Plovers, Red-breasted Mergansers, Common Redshanks, Tufted Ducks, Eurasian Wigeons, Long-tailed Ducks, and Mallards perched casually along the concrete edge.

 
In addition, we saw Mute Swans and Whooper Swans who dominated one section of the water, while European Herring Gulls and imposing Great Black-backed Gulls added to the constant movement overhead. A Carrion Crow passed above, watching us watch his feathered friends.

 
For such an unassuming spot, the Peedie Sea delivered an unexpectedly rich snapshot of northern UK and Orkney birdlife - proof that some of the best birding moments can be found at the margins of everyday places.
 

Bakery Stop

 
As we navigated the city streets, it began to positively dump rain, so we angled ourselves toward the cathedral, ducking into a bakery along the way. Trenabies Cafe Bistro was already packed with cruise ship passengers.  Inside, we relished the momentary warmth as we ordered two scones - only to discover it would be a fifteen-minute wait in the rain outside while jam and clotted cream were portioned into neat little tubs.  Which was both a little surprising and frustrating.  When they finally appeared, we ate them quickly in the rain, standing beside the remembrance arch and memorial near the cathedral. 

 

St. Magnus Way

 
The cathedral we stood outside is not only the heart of Kirkwall, but the ultimate destination of the St. Magnus Way - a modern long-distance pilgrimage across Orkney that echoes older paths we know well, like the Camino de Santiago or St. Olav’s Way.   It was created to honour the life, death, and enduring legacy of St. Magnus. The route stretches roughly 58 miles (about 90 kilometres), beginning at the site of his martyrdom on Egilsay and ending here at St. Magnus Cathedral, where his remains lie.

 
Along the way, the trail follows coastal paths and farm tracks, weaving through landscapes shaped by Norse Orkney. Pilgrims pass ancient chapels, standing stones, and quiet storytelling markers that translate the saga of Magnus into something accessible for modern walkers. Though rooted in medieval history, the route itself is young - officially inaugurated in 2017 to mark the 900th anniversary of Magnus’s death.

 
Standing out front of the cathedral, admiring its architecture, the rain continued to pour down.  We paused at the final marker of the pilgrimage for a moment and let ourselves daydream about what it might be like to walk this route one day, to follow Magnus’s story slowly across these islands. Then, as pilgrims eventually must, we stepped inside.

 

History of St. Magnus Cathedral

 
St. Magnus Cathedral was founded in 1137 by Earl Rognvald, who vowed to build a great stone church in honour of his uncle, St. Magnus, whose reputation for restraint and moral resolve had already taken hold across the islands. The cathedral was modelled on Durham Cathedral, a conscious choice that tied this northern outpost of Norse Orkney to the great ecclesiastical centres of medieval Britain. Not long after its founding, the remains of St. Magnus were brought to Kirkwall, and his bones still rest within the walls of the choir, making the building not only a place of worship but a reliquary.

 
Constructed from distinctive red and yellow sandstone, the cathedral’s Romanesque core and early Gothic elements give it both warmth and solidity. Yet the building we see today is the result of nearly nine centuries of change, repair, and endurance. By the 1150s, much of the choir, transepts, and crossing had been completed, but a major collapse later in the twelfth century required significant rebuilding. Some of this work appears to have drawn inspiration from Nidaros Cathedral, reinforcing the cathedral’s deep connections to the Norse world and to pilgrimage routes that still thread through northern Europe.
 
Remarkably, this Catholic cathedral survived the upheavals of the Reformation largely intact - a testament to both its importance within the community and the particular religious path Orkney followed. With that said, however, the building has not been without hardship: in 1671, lightning struck the tower, sending the bells crashing down and igniting a fire. Substantial restoration would not begin until the mid-nineteenth century, with work continuing in phases well into the 1970s, carefully stabilizing and preserving what centuries had tested.

 
Today, the cathedral remains central to the island community and is the northernmost cathedral in Britain. 
 

Journey through St. Magnus Cathedral

 
Stepping inside, the noise of the street and rain fell away, and we took a few minutes for our eyes to adjust to the darker interior. The silence, shafts of soft light, and the building’s vastness invited exploration and attention rather than a quick walk through.  
 
Having entered through the west door, directly off the main street, we stood in the central nave.  Almost immediately, the scale of the cathedral was evident.

 

High above and behind us, filling the western wall, the great rose window came into view - a luminous wheel of colour set deep within the red sandstone. Its intricate tracery radiated outward like a compass rose, each panel holding heraldic symbols and figures that seemed to hover between story and abstraction.

 
Below it, tall lancet windows rose in quiet vertical lines, their stained glass depicting saints and scenes rendered in blues, reds, and soft whites.  For a moment, it felt natural simply to stand still beneath the crossing ribs of the vaulted ceiling, letting the geometry of arches, ribs, and vaulting amaze us with the craftsmanship required to build this structure. 

From here, we walked the length of the nave toward the cross transept.  Towering stone columns rose on either side of the nave, highlighting the stained glass windows throughout the building. 

At the main transept, we caught sight of the large St. Magnus stained glass window – glowing despite the overcast skies outside.

 
Across from it, balanced with symmetry, was a clear Rose Window.

Between these two, at the heart of the cathedral, was the altar - beyond which was the choir. Oak screens marked the transition between spaces, separating the choir.

 
Moving further into the holy space, we made our way around into the more intimate St. Rognvald Chapel, situated at the rear of the cathedral. Here, a wooden statue of St. Olav watches over the space - a gift from the Church of Norway, offered on the 800th anniversary of St. Magnus’s death – reiterating the link between Orkney and Norway.

 
Nearby lie the tombs of explorers, including John Rae, whose discoveries helped resolve the fate of Sir John Franklin’s lost Arctic expedition - a reminder that this cathedral has long held stories not only of saints, but of those who ventured outward into the unknown.

 

Circling back along the southern side of the building, we returned once more to the transept and altar. In the southern transept, we found a simple but meaningful welcome point for pilgrims walking the St. Magnus Way.

As we read about the pilgrim trail, we chatted with the custodian and volunteers about the hike.  The custodian here was wonderful and patient with us - and clearly loved the route and its history.  

Throughout the cathedral were the stained-glass windows of saints such as St. Magnus, St. James and St. Francis.  Each of which resonated deeply with us, reminding us of past pilgrimages as well as paths we hope to walk next.

 

Bishop’s and Earl’s Palace, Kirkwall City Centre

 
Leaving St. Magnus Cathedral, we lingered a little longer, tracing the low stone boundaries of the adjoining cemetery before drifting across the street toward the historic Bishop's and Earl's palaces.

Just steps away are the austere remains of the Bishop’s Palace, dating to the 12th century, and beside it the far more flamboyant Earl’s Palace, a 17th-century statement of power and ambition.

We wandered through the palace grounds and surrounding cemetery slowly, letting the rain-darkened stone and broken walls lead us.   There was no need to rush – we wanted to experience and soak in as much of the atmosphere as possible. 

From there, we lost ourselves in the narrow streets and alleyways of the city centre of Kirkwall.  The town's stone buildings felt both intimate and alive.  Historic buildings lit up by colourful shop windows glowing against the grey light lead us into the abundance of craft, paper, and bookshops – exactly the kind of place that we loved to wander.  As often happens, Sean purchased a large number of books to read later on. 

 
In between showers, we meandered, photographing details that the rain had pulled out – the textures of stone, reflections in puddles, the charm of centuries of history. 
 

A Local Pint at the Bothy Bar

 
Having enjoyed a full day of checking out coastal seals, bird watching the Peedie Sea, exploring St. Magnus Cathedral, and wandering through town by midafternoon, we decided it was time for a break.

 
The Bothy Bar offered exactly what we were looking for: a darkened interior, low ceilings, and a warmth that felt instantly cozy. 

 
Warm and dry, we sampled several pints of local ale from Orkney Brewery - Red MacGregory Ruby Ale, Puffin Tawny Ale, and Northern Light Blonde Ale. While I normally enjoy Guinness (when I have beer) when on the trail or journey, we stick to local fare to enjoy a new experience
 
It didn’t take long before the conversation turned to our brief time here in Kirkwall and then, quite naturally, toward the idea that we both could easily imagine living here.  This region and this town felt grounded and peaceful. 

 
Inevitably, though, the conversation shifted.  From daydreams to decisions, from what if to what’s next.  The only answer was to order a couple more pints – not to avoid thinking – but to foster inspiration for possible solutions.  Some decisions, like good journeys and good pints, deserve more time.
 

Return to Ambience

 
With all aboard scheduled for 5:30 PM, we reluctantly left the pub on the last bus back.   I would have happily stayed longer - lingering over one more conversation, one more moment - anything to delay returning to the ship and the slow reality that home now lay directly ahead.

 
We caught the shuttle from the tourism information centre and bus terminal back to Ambience. By the time we stepped back on board, darkness had already settled over Kirkwall.

There was a strange finality in that moment. With this return, we had now completed every port of call on the voyage - a realization that felt extremely disheartening. This adventure, so full just days earlier, was very near to its end.

 
Back in our cabin, we cleaned up and changed into fresh evening clothes.  In the process, a ship-wide announcement was made that we were about to depart and move on.  Ready for dinner, we nonetheless went up onto the top deck to watch our sail away.
 

Dinner on Ambience

 
With Kirkwall now literally behind us, we made our way to Buckingham Restaurant for dinner. 
 
Both of us enjoyed the same meal tonight, a chickpea salad as a starter, vegetarian Bubble and Squeak as a main, and a Baked Alaska for dessert. Each was amazing.

 
However, the delivery of our dessert was definitely the highlight – lights were dimmed, the crew and servers danced through the main dining area, trays of Baked Alaska with sparklers, towels being waved over their heads.

 
As this procession took place, all of the passengers followed suit – clapping and twirling their napkins in celebration.

 
When every table had their deserts delivered, the room erupted into applause to thank the staff for their care and attention over the past two weeks.  It was joyful, theatrical and completely sincere – one of those shipboard traditions that seems simultaneously excessive and entirely wonderful.  For our part, we had never experienced anything quite like it – and we loved it!

 
At the beginning of this voyage, we had been quietly nervous about assigned seating - about being placed at a large table, about awkward silences or mismatched company, about all the variables that are beyond one’s control. But somewhere along the way, we stepped into it fully and were glad for the opportunity to meet new people.  As the days passed by, conversations flowed. Laughter became routine. And dinner - night after night - turned into one of the highlights of each day. We remain deeply grateful for the company we shared. 

 
Later in the evening, at 8:30 PM, we attended West End Wonders in the Palladium theatre. The performance was energetic and enthusiastic, if occasionally more notable for its “American” accents, cheeky humour, and crowd-pleasing spectacle than for subtlety. The audience loved it - whooping loudly as the dancers took the stage - and the atmosphere was unmistakably buoyant.

 
The night closed on a far more meaningful note. The captain and bridge staff led a crew appreciation event, inviting each member of the crew forward carrying the flag of their home nation. One by one, the flags filled the space - revealing the extraordinary diversity that keeps a ship like Ambience moving. It was a powerful reminder that every smooth sailing day is the result of countless unseen efforts, shared across cultures, languages, and oceans.
 

Evening Drinks and Reflection

 
By 9:30 PM, we had settled into the rhythm of the night, drifting between the Botanical Lounge and the Observatory. 

Sean ordered a rosé, while I opted for a pint of Guinness. Jude, the ever-attentive and genuinely wonderful bartender, suggested Sean try a Spanish rosé instead, which turned out to be smoother, lighter, and altogether a better choice. It turned out to be an excellent recommendation and a reminder of how the crew’s thoughtfulness can transform a voyage for the better.

By midnight, the Observatory was full and buzzing with energy. What had begun as a relaxed gathering had transformed into a lively, late-night celebration, with people singing, dancing, and lingering well past what felt like a reasonable hour. Plates of late-night nibbles circulated - deep-fried pickles, cheese sticks, samosas - comfort food shared with good friends beneath the great curved windows at the front of the ship.

 
Waiting for us in our cabin, however, was the unmistakable signal that the journey was nearing its end: the disembarkation information, complete with assigned departure times. It sat there on the desk like a small note of despair - practical, unavoidable, and impossible to ignore. We sighed, knowing that while the ship continued smoothly onward through the night, our time aboard was beginning, quietly, to count down.
 
See you on deck!
 
Nautical Term for the Day: As the Crow Flies - Sailors carried crows to release when land was suspected; the birds instinctively flew straight toward the nearest shore. The phrase now means the shortest, most direct route.