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This week’s Hidden Scotland Weekly takes us north once more, from the ancient stones and sea winds of Orkney to the quiet beauty of Caithness and the winding coastal paths of Fife. National Geographic photographer Jim Richardson returns to Orkney after twenty-five years of documenting its islands, uncovering how time and memory shape this extraordinary place. Writer Louis D. Hall continues his journey through Fife, tracing forgotten histories along its shores, while Graeme Johncock explores the folklore and ruins of the far northeast coast.

There’s also a look at Half of One, a peaceful Skye retreat above the Sound of Raasay, and a reminder that our

, featuring new photography from across Scotland.

As always, the weekly quiz returns — with the answers waiting at the end.

What’s in issue 11 Spotlight - The Last Soutar’s Shop - Preserving a Forgotten Piece of Rural Scotland

Hidden for over fifty years, a soutar’s workshop in rural Aberdeenshire was found perfectly preserved, with tools still on the bench, shoes mid-repair, and ledgers open where they were last used. Inside, the world of a long-forgotten shoemaker reveals itself in remarkable detail, offering a rare glimpse into the working life of rural Scotland. In this feature, Beth Reid tells the story of Ballogie’s Soutar’s Shop and the community now working to protect it, a powerful reminder of how heritage can survive through time, care, and quiet discovery.

Back to Orkney

Orkney, it started like this. Words & photography // Jim Richardson

I was in a room crowded with National Geographic editors showing my first Scotland story. Editor Bill Allen looked over the layouts and said “We don’t have any Orkney in here, do we?” While he flipped through Orkney pictures that hadn’t made the cut (a lobster fisherman pulling pots from the North Sea, a ewe bedding down with her lambs beside the Stones of Stenness) I could see gears turning in his head. “We almost have another story right here.”

Seeing my chance I sidled closer. “Bill, there’s good reason to do Orkney separately,” I whispered. “It’s Scandinavian, not Scottish.”

He thought a moment. “All right but just three weeks more field time.”

I was going back to Orkney!

Over the next 25 years going back to Orkney became a habit. The richness of these island that float like whales in the North Sea grew on me as the unexpected gradually became familiar. Like most visitors my first visits had been to tourist favorites: stone age village Skara Brae and the Ring of Brodgar, and the narrow lanes of Kirkwall that led me to St. Magnus Cathedral, that hulking red sandstone relic of murderous Viking rivalries and island martyrdom.

Such ordained wonders have always been Orkney’s big tourist draw. But for me life here revealed itself best as I explored the everyday rhythms of island life. One day I asked farmer Jimmy Tulloch how he got the right to graze his sheep amongst the Neolithic Stones of Stenness. “Oh, I own them,” he said. “They were on the farm when I bought it.” Just an ordinary fact of life in Orkney.

Likewise, during my early days Stromness had made a beautiful picture from the air; an historic fishing village strung along the bay. But it came to life most when I went out with the school children who were learning to row. (Required education for island kids. They crashed a lot.) Or when island lads took me along on a “blackening,” the Orkney tradition of highjacking a friend soon to be married, drizzling him with treacle, sand and grass, before hauling him around town on the back of a lorry and getting him good and drunk. Two weeks later I was at his wedding dance where townspeople joined arms in a circle as they sang Auld Lang Syne at midnight.

Gradually other islands beyond Mainland (as the big island is known) beckoned to me. North to Westray where Pierowall hugs the perfectly round bay tucked into the island. Then over to Noup Head lighthouse where the seabirds float up the towering seacliffs as if riding invisible elevators. Then to Papa Westray via the shortest scheduled airline flight in the world (record time 53 seconds) to visit the 5,000-year-old Knapp of Howar, the oldest farmstead in north-west Europe. (All alone, I enjoyed my picnic amongst the Neolithic ghosts till rain sent me into the ruins for shelter.)

Island social life was sometimes beyond my ken. One evening the Westray ferry hauled a crowd of us down to Eday for a Ceilidh. (Eday folk were waiting at the pier to haul us up to the community hall.) The Sanday Fiddlers (school-age musicians with a cracking leader) had come over to provide music.

Tables were heavy laden with food, strong drinks were passed out through a wee window, everybody danced with everybody — feisty old people with feisty kids — the swirling life force relentless until 3:00 in the morning. Then the Eday islanders drove us down to the pier and the ferry getting us home to Westray just as the sun was coming up. 

Looking for an island doctor took me up to North Ronaldsay (population about 80, at the time) where Dr. Kevin Woodbridge had the smallest practice in the National Health Service. He also ran the bird sanctuary, kept sheep like most crofters, and wore several other island hats. He also made house calls. We visited Mary O’Nether Linnay to check on her ageing feet. There are three farms, you see: Linnay, Upper Linnay and Nether Linnay. Hence Mary’s last name. Such was my island education. 

On South Ronaldsay (a world away from North Ronaldsay as Orkney crows fly) I found farmer David Scott coaching his sons in the fine art of beach ploughing. The county boys ploughing competition at the Sands of Wright was coming up and the Scotts are proud three-generation champions. Farmers here mostly grow hay for their cattle. In another life I wouldn’t mind being a cow in Orkney. Their pastures are incredibly rich and it’s not unusual to see herds crowded up to a fence talking cow talk with their neighbours across a narrow farm road.

I don’t actually know what Orkney cows say to each other but if anybody ever knew it was probably George MacKay Brown, the quirky, poetic island author who seems to have been able to intuit the deepest human meaning from ordinary daily village life. Ancient history was just as juicy as tavern gossip in Brown’s vivid telling. 

But everybody in Orkney talks about archaeology. They joke that you can’t stick a spade in the ground without hitting something ancient. Farmer Ronald Simison told me how he did just that, and found a Neolithic tomb in his pasture — with skulls inside. He notified the authorities. He waited (impatiently) for a couple of decades. Finally he excavated it himself. Island independence in the flesh.

While ancient stuff is thick on the ground in Orkney, what the archaeologists — led by Nick Card — found at the Ness of Brodgar was altogether something else. West Mainland was already world famous as the Heart of Neolithic Orkney, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, when excavations behind a farmhouse began in 2003. Over the next two decades (as one summer dig season followed another) a stupendous scientific find emerged from the soil: a complex of massive buildings beyond any normal reckoning from 5,000 years ago.

Like many Orcadians I have driven the narrow road past the Stones of Stenness, across the one-lane causeway that separates Loch Stenness from Loch Harray and on up the hill past the massive Ring of Brodgar which dominates the landscape, without ever realising what lay hidden under a farm field a few feet away. But that has all changed, and it changed me. Where once I thought of that bygone era as something obscured by unfathomable mystery the archaeological work done here has begun to lift that veil. Real people have begun to emerge from the mists of prehistory, people not so different from us, as it turns out.

Those days at the Ness of Brodgar dig with Nick Card, surrounded by scientists, students and volunteers, caught up in the thrill of discovery, were exhilarating. Suddenly a student would lift a stone and find an axe head, a ceremonial offering, put there when the Pyramids of Giza were still brand new. Electricity would flow through the dig as everyone gathered round to see the trembling student be the first person to touch it in 5,000 years.

It is bittersweet to realize that 2024 will be the last dig season at the Ness of Brodgar. After that they will cover up the dig, burying it to preserve it for future generations. I hope to return for one last look at one of the world’s great cultural treasures.

By now, 25 years later, going back to Orkney has become something more than going back to a place. It has become a form of time travel connecting me with people across space and time. Not many places can pull that off like Orkney

Reach the story online here.

Half of One

This is the kind of place people imagine when they picture Skye. A white crofter’s cottage set high above the sea, with views stretching across the Sound of Raasay and only the wind and wildlife for company. Half of One sits quietly near Brothers Point, just off the Trotternish Ridge, surrounded by open croft land and a sky that rarely looks the same for long.

Find out more here.

Exploring the Caithness Coast

The far northeast corner of Scotland rarely gets the recognition it deserves. Caithness might not have soaring mountains or vast lochs, but there’s more than enough beauty and history to keep me coming back again and again. If you’re travelling the North Coast 500, this could turn out to be the most packed part of the route!

Ousdale Broch

Starting in the south of Caithness, take the path towards Ousdale Broch, dotted with information boards about local geology and historic tales. Eventually, you’ll reach the remains of the broch itself, a roughly 2000- year-old drystone tower. The views are great, but I can’t imagine life was too easy here on this windswept hillside!

Badbea Clearance Village

Not far away, the ruins of Badbea tell a tragic tale of life in much more recent times. This was a clearance village, formed in the 18th century by families who had been forced to leave more fertile areas around Caithness and Sutherland. Growing crops in this poorer soil wasn’t easy, so herring fishing made up the difference until even that declined so far, they were forced to move on once again.

Lybster Harbour

The Caithness Coast is pitted with tiny harbours and you could take your pick of dozens to visit, but picturesque Lybster is one of my favourites. It’s a quiet spot, with creels lining the pier and boats bobbing in the water – hard to believe that this was once the third busiest fishing port in Scotland!

Whaligoe Steps

Now it’s time to see a very different kind of harbour, crammed into a seemingly impossible space! Built into the cliffside, there are 330 Whaligoe Steps twisting down to an impossibly small natural harbour. If you’re brave enough to make it down to the bottom, the sight and sound of crashing waves can be extraordinary. As you hike back up to the car park, spare a thought for the fisher women who once carried heavy baskets of salted fish to the top before walking miles into town to sell them!

Lunch at Puldagon Farm Shop

As if the food from this welcoming café wasn’t good enough, they’re also very dog friendly and you’ll have the chance to meet some hairy Highland Cows as well!

Wick Heritage Centre

I love a good local museum and the main Caithness town of Wick has one of the best. It might look small from the outside, but step through the door and prepare to get lost amongst the displays as they tumble from one building into another. The Wick Heritage Centre takes you right back to the days when the town was at the very centre of the herring trade. 1100 ships crammed into the harbour, hundreds of coopers were employed making barrels for fish and over 800 gallons of whisky was sold weekly to keep the industry well lubricated!

Castle Sinclair Girnigoe

There are plenty of castles along the Caithness coast, but none are as impressive as Castle Sinclair Girnigoe. This was once the main seat of the Sinclair Earls of Caithness, sprawling along a cliffside and seemingly growing right from the rock itself. Battered by the wind and rain for centuries, it’s looking a little worse for wear but it’s still easy to imagine how lavish it once was. Keep your ears open for the resident ghost while exploring the ruins. You might not see the spirit of John Sinclair, but you might hear his rasping groans after his father had him locked away in the dungeon, given no water and fed only salted beef until he died of thirst!

Duncansby Stacks

In the very northeast tip of Caithness, a short walk along a very exposed clifftop leads to a spectacular sight. The Duncansby Stacks jut out of the sea like giant, discarded dragon’s teeth, pounded by the ferocious North Sea waves. It’s not a long walk to where they can be seen, but if you want to get up closer then prepare for more of a trek that isn’t always easy when the winds pick up!

John O’ Groats

John O’ Groats might be one of the most famous wee villages in Scotland, but contrary to popular belief, it isn’t the furthest north point. This is, however, the end of a famous long-distance walk and getting a quick picture next to the signpost is a bucket list activity for many. Orkney can be seen in the near distance and the village is actually named after Jan de Groot who is said to have made a fortune running the ferry service from here in the 15th century!

Dunnet Head Lighthouse

There’s no better place to end the day than the true northernmost point on the Scottish mainland – Dunnet Head. At certain times of the year, you’ll see hundreds of seabirds nesting around the cliffs and I often have the entire place to myself. Soak in the sea air and be thankful you spent the time to appreciate Caithness properly!

For the full itineary click here

Writer Louis D. Hall sets out across Fife on foot, uncovering layers of history, folklore and memory along the way. From saints and shipbuilders to accused witches and forgotten ruins, he reveals a place still quietly changing — and still worth walking for. This is Fife, rediscovered.

In Part 1 of The Hidden Kingdom of Fife, I discovered the birthplace and chapel of Saint Mungo; the statue and explorations of Admiral Thomas Cochrane (Culross born and bred); and the only known grave of a witch in Scotland (found in 2014, in the village of Torryburn). Before heading inland towards Dunfermline, I wanted to continue a little further along the Coastal Path. Beginning at Kincardine and finishing in Newburgh, Fife’s iconic 117-mile shoreline is teeming with life, past and present. While beaches, artist communities, festivals, golf courses and ancient fishing villages colour the east of Fife, a deeper, hidden story in the west requires a little more digging to uncover. 

It had just gone six o’clock. The sun was setting and the sky was burning pink and orange. I could see the houses of Torryburn burrowed into the shore, less visible now in the failing light, smoke drifting from a chimney. The tide was out. Geese shawled the treeline and abruptly descended onto the flat stretch of mud, seaweed, rock and sand -  exhausted from their autumn migration. For two weeks they had been flocking in their thousands from Greenland, Iceland and Scandinavia, ready to nest down for the winter.

Their numbers will reach 90,000 by the end of November. Beyond the tideline, the converging waters of the Firth were sifting together like layers of dark cloth. Eerily, the electric lights of Carridon and Grangemouth opposite had encrusted themselves upon the surface; beads of yellow, amber, green and garish red. Known as ‘the black river,’ the main source of the Firth begins 29 miles west, trickling down from the slopes of Ben Lomond. Remarkably, despite a century of overfishing and pollution, in the last twenty years the river Forth has once again become a home to trout and salmon, as have the contributing rivers of the Teith, the Carron and the Devon. Native to these shores, oysters too have successfully made a comeback, reintroduced for the first time in 100 years as part of the Restoration Forth project, aiming to restore reefs and seagrass meadows. My eyes followed the lights of the opposite shore until I found myself facing east. I tried to make out the stencilled silhouette of the three bridges in the distance but instead, as the Fife shoreline curves towards Limekilns and Inverkeithing, I noticed the faint shape of a small cottage, jutting out upon the end of Crombie Pier.

On a stormy night this would have been impossible to see, as would have the shapes of bodies going in and out of the pubs that I could now decipher too, their voices echoing across the sand: The Bruce Arms and The Ship Inn my personal favourites. In 1859, French novelist, playwright and poet Jules Verne was said to have been shipwrecked here, trying to make his way across the Firth. Seeing him from afar, Reverend Smith, a local to Torryburn, directed Verne to the Black Anchor Tavern (dating from 1770). Today, it now stands as Black Anchor cottage, standing alone at the end of the pier.   

From the 16th century until the 1970s, the Forth and ‘the black river’ were a flow of fish, trade and commerce. Mimicking the flocking birds, goods would come into Scotland from the North Sea, and be exported south into Europe. As a result, Fife and Stirling had very close ties with the Hansa towns, Belgium, and the Netherlands. After 1707, trade with America became the new focus, and so activity shifted from Fife in the east to the port of Glasgow in the west. After the Second World War, many of the harbours of west Fife fell into disuse. Beyond Torryburn, the community of Limekilns is one such example. Beginning as a fishing community in the 14th century, the town gets its name from its prolific 18th century limestone industry, with the ruins of the enormous kilns still there today. With a large natural harbour, ships once traded with ports as far away as the Baltic Sea and France. At one point, Limekilns even served as a port for Dunfermline, Scotland’s original capital.

Today, however, a handful of old sailing yachts sit neglected in the harbour, hefted to one side when the tide is out. 

While ‘the black river’ is a nickname, much of the dark water and gritted earth of the area is a result of Fife's historic coal mining industry. From the 13th century until the late 1980s, mining played a significant role in the life of Fifers, and its legacy is poignantly felt today. Sunk in 1911 and closed in 1978, the Valleyfield Colliery, just east of Culross, was once the most notable mining site across the country; the colliery produced the best coking and navigational coal in Scotland.

Yet behind Fife’s legacy, there remains a side less visible. In nearby High Valleyfield there’s a small memorial dedicated to the 35 men who died in the 1939 explosion. The closure of the mines caused devastation across Fife, with communities like Blairhall, Steelend, Buckhaven, Townhill, Lochgelly and Lassodie still experiencing the financial and social impacts, two generations later. Yet, despite the change, there remains a strong sense of pride. Welfare clubs have sprung up; artefacts, information and sculptures are being built and displayed for the first time (as seen in Lochore Meadows Country Park); and ex-mining organisations have been born to help combat the inherited issues - and to maintain Fife’s disappearing heritage.

Oakley’s White Gates pub, standing since the 17th century, has a vast mural of a miner painted upon the outside wall. Home to the Scottish School of Mining, Cowdenbeath has an even bigger painting in the city centre. Once heralded the ‘kingdom of coal’, as a local it is hard not to be affected by the presence of the area’s mining history, and as a visitor, you need only to visit a local pub to feel the strong sense of community that remains. But, of course, beyond the stories we continue to tell, time has its way of hiding what once was. Almost all of the mining sites have been cemented over or repurposed, cleared away for retail parks, housing estates, retirement homes and leisure centres. As one ex-miner said, ‘where other people are seeing nice green meadows, a loch and ponds, I see me as a young boy sitting by the old railway, playing on the slag heap, fishing for perch and the putt-putt of the pug running up and down.’ 

The surreal mingling of electric light upon dark water made everything appear new. What we see shining upon the surface can glare out the roots, the pits and the foundations below. It was a side to Fife that I hadn’t truly considered. Some stories are told forever, handed down from generation to generation, while others are left for someone to read on a plaque, scribbled into the periphery and shores, covered over by neglect. The last dyes of the sun had faded to black. The wind was picking up. It was time to turn inland. 

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Our 2026 Calendar has arrived

We are delighted to be back with our wall calendar for 2026. Enjoy a selection of stunning photography that captures some of Scotland's best bits throughout the year.

The A3 landscape wall calendar is printed on a beautiful matt art paper stock that makes the images really stand out. The landscape layout allows for an A4 image on one side, which can be utilised as a print afterwards.

As well as a square for each day for you to add those all important events and special dates you have coming up in the new year. There is also a notes section for any additional information you need to jot down for that month.

Quiz Answers

If you would like to email us about any suggestions or feedback please email [email protected] with the subject feedback. Thanks!