Sorry it’s been a while – I’ve been busy sailing and honestly just not in the mood for writing. But I’m back now, with stories from the wild, beautiful north.
Wick → Deer Sound, Orkney
I arrived in Wick at 1am on the 29th May and slept so well. When I eventually got up, I wandered over to the marina office – they were super friendly and supportive. I headed back to Pink Delta, cleared the chaos from the night before, and finished up my last blog post.
Later that day, the coxswain of the RNLI lifeboat came by. He’d been watching me on AIS and noticed I was going very slowly. He just wanted to check in and see if I needed anything. Such kindness. Turns out he worked part-time at the marina and had recently bought his own sailing yacht, so he was around a lot. We got chatting, and he ended up giving me some brilliant local knowledge about the Pentland Firth.
He warned me about the Pentland Skerries on the eastern side – small rocks on the chart, but surrounded by a huge area of shallow ridges that extend for miles beneath the surface. The tidal conditions there are intense, funnelling a massive volume of water through a narrow gap between mainland Scotland and Orkney. Legendary stuff. But he gave me some specific advice I hadn’t heard before – to pass around 5nm southeast of the skerries, where the water’s deeper and more manageable. He suggested aiming to reach that point at slack water, around 3:30pm. It meant an extra 10 miles, but I trusted his advice and planned my passage accordingly.
One dodgy jerry can later…
I still had plenty of fuel, but decided to top up on water. Big mistake. I forgot to run the tap for a couple of minutes before filling my 10L can – just chucked it straight in. I didn’t realise until later, but the water was green. Lesson learned.
I left Wick around midday. Motored out of the bay, then got the sails up with two reefs in – gusts were forecast to hit 30 knots later on. The first few hours were lovely. Calm. Easy. But as I got closer to the waypoint, the sea state started to pick up. The wind and waves were behind me, which helped, but even so – the swell hit just over 3 metres at one point. It got rough. I was very glad for the reefs.
We were making good speed and there wasn’t much to do except hold on and ride it out. It was sunny, and since the autohelm was struggling, I took the helm and hand-steered. It helped the boat – and it helped me. Having something to focus on made the time pass faster and definitely eased the seasickness.
Arriving in Orkney
By around 5pm, we were out of the worst of it, and I could properly see Orkney ahead. It was so much bigger than I’d imagined. I’d been watching the islands on the horizon for hours, and it still took hours more to sail around them. I finally began turning west at around 7pm.
The landscape was absolutely jaw-dropping. On the chart I spotted a tiny rock off one of the islands – in most places you’d barely notice it, but here, that “tiny” rock stood 22 metres tall. It made both me and Pink Delta feel pretty small.
I’d had no phone signal most of the day, relying on my Garmin inReach to message anyone. But now I had bars again, so I phoned home. The tide was in my favour as I entered the island channels, and the swell had dropped to about a metre. But I was exhausted, seasick, and hadn’t eaten all day.
I pulled into the first safe anchorage I could find – Deer Sound, Orkney. Dead calm. I tucked in close to the shore and dropped anchor around 9:30pm.
A moment of calm
I properly tidied up the boat – rolled the sails, cleared the deck – something I hadn’t done in days. Then I boiled the kettle, put on some rice, and made a hot chocolate. I sat on the bow with my warm drink and watched the sun set. After such a long, chaotic day, that moment felt calm, quiet, mindful. Just me, the sea, and the stillness.
Deer Sound → Kirkwall
Deer Sound was beautiful – a big sheltered bay surrounded by rugged, wild hills. I was just happy to be in Orkney. But the weather forecast wasn’t looking great. It was calm where I was, but winds were due to hit 30 knots by midday, with even worse to come. If I didn’t get to Kirkwall today, I’d be stuck in that anchorage for the next five days.
That might have been okay – it was well protected – but I had one major problem: water.
Late last night, I realised the water I’d filled in Wick was green and unsafe to drink. Onboard I carry 25 litres in total – two 10L containers and a 5L bottle I keep in the galley for easy access. I’d already used 3 litres the day before, and the rule of thumb is around 3L per person per day. That meant I was down to one clean 10L container and the 5L jug – just 12L of clean water. Enough for maybe 4 or 5 days if I was really careful. I also had 6 litres of long-life milk and some juice and cans, but I wasn’t comfortable.
I could’ve taken the dinghy ashore and tried knocking on doors while the weather was still calm, but honestly, I didn’t want to. I’d much rather get the boat to Kirkwall. I’d feel safer riding out the storm in a marina, and I’d be able to explore the island properly instead of sitting at anchor getting bored and anxious.
So that’s what I decided to do.
A first attempt
I had a chilled morning, and worked out that the tide would turn in my favour at 5pm. I figured I could probably get through okay by about 4pm, and knowing I’d need time to lift the anchor and get out of the little bay – and maybe being a bit too eager – I was ready by 3.
I got the anchor up easily and motored out. The wind was blowing 25–30 knots from the southwest. I’d been anchored on the windward shore, which meant I was completely sheltered – but as I got further out, it got properly wild. When I approached the first headland, I could see white horses breaking in the distance – not a great sign.
The wind was dead on the nose, and I wasn’t trying to sail – just motoring through. But the waves were steep, short, and relentless. As I pushed past the headland, I started getting thrown all over the place. Steering was hard, and I was barely making a knot of speed.
After about 20 minutes of battling it out, I gave up and turned back.
I followed the coast back toward Deer Sound but even re-entering the bay was rough. I spent about an hour just going back and forth near the entrance, waiting for the tide to turn. There didn’t seem much point in re-anchoring since I’d only have to pull it up again shortly.
Second try, success
At 5pm, I gave it another go. This time it went way better. The water was still choppy, but we were making 3 knots in the right direction, and after half an hour it began to settle. The tide had properly turned by now and was carrying us forward.
Three hours later, we rounded Thieves Holm and were heading straight into Kirkwall Marina.
Kirkwall: Stormbound & Turning 23
I arrived at Kirkwall Marina around 7pm, cold, wet, and aching from the last few days. Even inside the harbour, the wind was still howling. I spotted a space on the end of a long finger berth and circled around to plan my approach — the wind was pushing me straight onto the pontoon.
I hadn’t had time to prep properly. I’d only managed fenders and a midships line. Normally, that’s enough — get the midships line on and you’re safe, then you can sort the rest. But it didn’t go smoothly. I missed the line first try, and the wind started blowing me backwards, almost into a much more expensive-looking boat.
I was scrambling — motoring forward, running about trying to sort lines, struggling. Seeing me wrestle with it all, a couple of people came out to help. One grabbed a line and hauled me in, the other helped fend me off. Together, we got Pink Delta alongside safely. I was so grateful.
(The boats had kissed, briefly — nothing bad.)
I thanked them both, and just as I was catching my breath, a woman popped up from the boat behind me. I realised she was the partner of one of the guys who’d helped. She looked at me kindly and said, “Fancy a cup of tea?” I nodded, a bit shy and deeply embarrassed that I’d messed up something as simple as parking. I started apologising, worried I’d scratched their pristine hull, but they cut me off straight away.
“Don’t be silly. It happens to the best of us. Especially today. And especially on your own.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she added. “We just want to make sure you’re okay.”
After making sure Pink was secure, I climbed aboard their big, comfortable boat. It had standing headroom, heating, all the luxuries I could only dream of. She handed me a warm drink. He smiled and said, “So, let’s start with your name and where you’ve come from.”
This is what I love most about the sailing community — that instant connection. The shared love of adventure, the way people treat you as an equal regardless of what boat you have or where you’ve come from. Often, their yachts cost more than the house I grew up in. They’re lawyers or whatever — people with money, status, class. But they respect me for what I’m doing, not just what I have. For being out here, alone, trying.
Stormbound
With the storm well and truly here, there wasn’t much to do but button down the hatches and wait it out. The next few days were long and wet — but I was grateful to be in a marina. I could stretch my legs, walk into town, stock up. I sent a postcard home, refilled my water tanks, and kept a close eye on the forecast.
I’d always wanted to visit Orkney properly. I’d read so much about it and really hoped to see some of the legendary sites — but Maeshowe was fully booked for months. So I set my sights on Skara Brae, the prehistoric village older than the pyramids. I booked a ticket for Tuesday… only to get a text that morning saying it was closed due to high winds.
I felt really deflated. I’d wanted to see something, not just be stuck in the boat. Thursday — my 23rd birthday — looked like the first good sailing window. I was excited to get moving again, but also disappointed to be leaving without exploring properly.
Then I noticed there were actually four days of good weather forecast.
So I made the call: delay by a day, and spend my birthday exploring.
A Birthday in Orkney
The morning started with tea and a chat from a neighbouring boat. I enjoyed it so much I nearly missed my bus — waved a frantic goodbye and ran to the stop just in time to see it pulling away. Luckily, another one came half an hour later.
The ride to Skara Brae took about an hour, winding past amazing views. At one point we passed through the village of Twatt — obviously I laughed, took a photo, and tagged the location on Instagram. A couple on the bus pointed out a house they said was where the girl from The Outrun grew up.
Skara Brae itself was fascinating. There was a museum and gift shop too. I spent a couple of hours exploring, then headed to the café for hot chocolate and cake. When I realised I had no phone signal, I asked the guy at the main desk when the next bus back was.
He looked it up and said, “Oh… five minutes ago.”
The next one wasn’t for three hours.
I cursed myself for not checking earlier, felt that familiar wave of disappointment rising. Spending hours stranded in the middle of nowhere, on my birthday, wasn’t the plan. But I shook it off, pulled out a map, and spotted the Ring of Brodgar — another site I’d wanted to see, about five miles away. The route looked flat and followed some lakes, so off I went.
Headphones in, sun shining, I walked. And it was stunning. A couple of hours later, I arrived. This time I did check the bus times.
I spent an hour just being there — wandering, taking it in. I had a little picnic with the snacks I’d brought and did five minutes of mindfulness, just noticing my surroundings.
Later, I caught the bus back to Kirkwall, got fish and chips, and sat by the harbour to eat.
Not the worst birthday I’ve ever had. A little lonely, maybe. But calm, peaceful, and full of moments to treasure.
She sails 
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