A Focus on St Kilda – a Day by Day Journal

Read on for a day-by-day journal of Tony’s recent adventure aboard the ‘Focus on St Kilda‘ cruise — a seven-night voyage to one of Scotland’s most remote and awe-inspiring island groups. From encounters with seabirds, whales, seals and dolphins to dramatic landscapes and delicious meals, Tony captures the magic of life at sea with Hebridean Adventures and the wild beauty of St Kilda.

Day 1 and 2

Day 1: We board the Hjalmar Bjorge at 14:30, after which you’ll be shown your cabins and given a short talk about shipboard life and a safety briefing by our skipper, as we indulge in homemade scones with cream and bramble jam. We slip our moorings at around 3:30pm and head up the Sound of Mull, with all its exciting wildlife and amazing scenery, whilst we absorb the atmosphere of this magical area. All the while, Hjalmar Bjorge’s powerful twin engines propel us to our first anchorage.

On most of our other cruises, we would stop near the top of the Sound, dropping our anchor in a beautiful, sheltered loch or perhaps picking up our permanent mooring in the picturesque harbour of Tobermory on the first night. But not this time.

On a ‘Focus on St Kilda’ cruise, we want to be ready to take advantage of every opportunity to get you to that magical archipelago that’s on your bucket list or part of your ambition. Exiting the Sound of Mull, we pass Ardnamurchan Lighthouse, heading northwest to the Isle of Rum, the largest of the Small Isles.

Here we drop anchor until the morning. I’m already beginning to relax with my favourite tipple—a gin and tonic—whilst the chef produces our ‘Welcome to Scotland’ evening meal. We start with pan-fried local scallops with black pudding in garlic butter, followed by the best haggis, buttery mashed potatoes, and smashed neeps/swede, all served in a velvety Drambuie sauce. Thankfully, I’ve still room for dessert: a traditional Cranachan. It’s basically cream, oats, raspberries, and whisky. This is followed by coffee/tea and chocolates, to help with digestion, of course.

Day 2: The weather gods are with us and this morning it’s an early start. For me, nothing matches a breakfast roll at sea—cool sea breeze, bright sunlight, and bacon in a roll with HP sauce. Others enjoy their alternative fillings, but I like my bacon.

From Rum to the Sound of Harris is roughly 50 nautical miles and we are all on deck. Some of us have binoculars, some are on the bow, there’s a couple on the upper deck, and one lady is reading the newspaper in the saloon. We pass south of Skye and north of Canna and steam across the Sea of the Hebrides—great chances of spotting cetaceans and seabirds. The first sign we get of the dolphins is from the bow. Someone shouts “Dolphins!” and everyone starts pointing excitedly. From the port beam, several common dolphins come leaping through the water towards us. In moments, they’re right next to us, leaping in and out, heading towards the bow. Soon enough, five dolphins are lazily swishing their tails, keeping pace with us on the bow wave and clearly enjoying themselves as much as we are watching them.

They stay with us for ten minutes, eventually peeling off one by one. After they leave, people pop into the saloon for tea or coffee and a choice from a splendid array of biscuits, catching up on dolphin photos whilst warming up. Meanwhile, the bird experts are inside, looking up petrels in one of the many books from our limited but comprehensive onboard library.

At lunch, we’re served a freshly made, comforting hot vegetable soup, with trays of ham and cheese sandwiches, as we pass through the Sound of Harris. Warmed up and topped off, we’re ready for the enthralling trip out into the North Atlantic. Next stop: Village Bay.

As we leave the Sound of Harris, the sea becomes a bit lumpier as we head into a westerly wind. The bow is soon abandoned after a couple of waves spray over the top, but Hjalmar Bjorge has plenty of other deck space to look out from. It’s not long before we glimpse the silhouette of the archipelago on the horizon—somewhat hazy, but unmistakable. As the bird count grows, the view also improves. I sit inside and read up on St Kilda and its fascinating history from the small, comprehensive library.

Passing Levenish Stack, Village Bay, and the dome-shaped, dry-stone cleitean (used by the inhabitants for storage), which dot the quadrangle slopes surrounding the village, become a lot more real. The excitement is evident, and people dash below to get ready for a short excursion ashore. We enter Village Bay—virtually the only safe anchorage around Hirta. After the anchor is dropped and the skipper is happy that we’re secured, the crew have the tender down lickety-split, and we’re soon ashore. Once ashore, you’ll be briefed by the resident Ranger of St Kilda. After learning the do’s and don’ts, we’re given time to wander through the village or stroll up the hill, with a reminder that dinner is at 7:30 and that we’re to be collected at 7pm—giving us time for a hot shower and a change of clothes. Once on board, I shower and enjoy a gin and tonic with a bit of lime, which I pleasantly sip whilst admiring the fabulous views.

Tonight we start with Portobello mushrooms stuffed with leeks and a Scottish blue cheese. For the main: hake—we’re told it’s a sustainable cousin of cod and, apparently, nearly always on Hjalmar Bjorge’s menu. It’s served in a soy, butter, and tomato sauce, with samphire and lentils. The samphire is delicious—a first for me. All followed by coffee/tea with mints.

Day 3 and 4

Day 3: The next morning’s breakfast was porridge—rich and creamy—and I was later surprised to learn it was vegan! Yogurt with dried fruits, nuts, and seeds, followed by sausages, hash browns, and grilled tomatoes. Toast and an array of preserves: honey, peanut butter, and Marmite. The crew and chef had it all cleared away by the time I came back up, ready for my day’s adventure. A packed lunch of sandwiches with a choice of fillings, crisps, biscuits, fruit, and the chef’s homemade energy balls. A carton of juice and fresh water to fill our bottles.

We were on Hirta by 10:30 and were told that there would be pick-ups at 2pm, 4pm, and 7pm—unless the weather turned for the worse or they saw enough of us grouped on the quay to warrant a pick-up. We also had a group walkie-talkie to chat to the boat in case of any emergencies. I had a great day wandering through the village once again, its history and mystique wrapping me in a memorising blanket of awe. I then followed the road up and up into the low cloud that seemed to have settled there that morning. The military installation was fenced off, ugly, and out of place. I then wandered around the top and headed down towards the uppermost cleitean. Strange, dank, and muddy—I didn’t care for it, but I’m guessing they worked, given how many the villagers constructed. From there, I walked to the gap where the sea has cut off the southern arm that creates Village Bay. The cacophony of the birds here was astounding—never had I seen the like. You’d have thought you’d upset a hornet’s nest, the numbers of birds that flew overhead.

I opted for the 4pm pick-up, as someone mentioned the chef was baking a cake. As it happens, I’m glad I did. I got back to a warm, dry shelter, took a hot shower, and had a cup of hot chocolate, with slices of lemon drizzle cake temptingly awaiting on the saloon table to be devoured. I had my piece—and a second, as someone didn’t want theirs. I admit I was a bit greedy, as I pulled out two Garibaldi biscuits from the bottomless biscuit barrel.

Dinner was served at 7:45 tonight, as there was a rainstorm around 6pm, drenching the 7pm returners, who took a bit longer than usual to get ready. It didn’t seem to bother the chef. Tonight was ‘Venison Stifado’—a rich Greek stew with tomato and cinnamon, served with Greek oven potatoes and green beans done the Greek way. This was followed by a heather honey panna cotta and shortbread with a berry compote.

Day 4: Our next day began with a relaxed breakfast of more porridge and yogurt, followed today by scrambled eggs and smoked salmon. Afterward, we hauled anchor about 9-ish and headed off around the island of Hirta. The weather was kind, and the skipper was going to try cruising through the narrow passage between the isles. On route, we were treated to amazing scenery of the great cliffs, today not enshrouded in cloud, offering different views of the island.

The gap starts as a wide V-shape, then narrows, with some splendid rock formations to squeeze by. You can understand why the weather has to be good—it is a narrow channel indeed. But what struck me, standing on the bow, was the difference in the sea; there was literally a line dividing the southern-side water from the northern-side water.

There were seabirds aplenty. Gannets were the ones doing the kamikaze-style dives after spotting fish from up high—their feeding is fascinating to watch. Unfortunately, there were no cetaceans to be seen. In the near distance lay Boreray, Stac Lee, and Stac an Armin. In the sunlight, the stacks gleamed white, and the jagged peaks of Boreray’s cliff tops stood black against the blue sky.

We steamed across to this world that time truly had forgotten. The birds numbered in their tens of thousands; the white colour on the stacks shimmered as they loomed closer, the birds now surrounding us on all levels. Swarming above us, diving into the depths, and like a continual replay of Top Gun, pairs flew past at eye level, sea level, and all levels in between. Gannets, puffins, and a plethora of other species—either in the sky or nesting on the cliff faces of these rocks—created a noise that could be heard well above Hjalmar Bjorge’s own. We got up close and personal, a calm, lightly swelling sea allowing us the privilege.

An incredible wonder to behold indeed. We passed beneath the cliffs strewn with nesting seabirds, calling out, screeching their warnings. The clear waters swirled around the caves in Boreray’s cliffs, whose walls drop vertically into the deep, cold Atlantic waters. There is only so much time to take in so much going on in such a small space. We came to the eastern edge of Boreray and departed the archipelago, heading east towards our next stop.

From here, we head back to the Outer Isles. With the weather still in our favour, we make for the Monach Isles. It’s another long cruise, with plenty of time for spotting cetaceans, birds, and other interesting nautical wildlife. I popped into the saloon for a break, a cup of tea or coffee, and a wee raid on the eternal biscuit barrel or fruit bowl. All of a sudden there’s a call of, “Dolphins! Dolphins port side!” Everyone rushes out—even the chef! To port, we see distant splashes and dark forms rising out of the water and disappearing once more. “They’re feeding,” says the chef. “They’ll be too busy to come play.” With that, he turns and heads back in. I stayed out to watch the creatures who bring so much joy. Chef was right—they were feeding and didn’t bother with us.

An hour later, the chef brought out a banana bread with butter awaiting in small ramekins. It took us five hours, and our skipper expertly dodged between reefs to reach our sheltered anchorage. It was a bit late tonight, but first thing in the morning we were going ashore on the Monachs. This seabird protectorate is a total contrast to St Kilda. Lying just off the coast of North Uist, these low-lying islands have beautiful white sandy beaches; tall grasses wave in the breeze, and the white surf breaks away from the turquoise shallows onto the crisp white shores.

Tonight I sat with Colin and Jess, a couple I had befriended, and we shared some nibbles and a bottle of white Rioja. Tonight’s starter was a homemade smoked mackerel pâté with oatcakes and anchovy and coriander butter, followed by coq au vin with dauphinoise potatoes, and a dessert of banoffee pie to finish. Coffee and chocolates followed. I had a small dram of 12-year-old Oban whisky before tottering off to bed.

Day 5 and 6

Day 5: Breakfast followed by a couple of hours ashore. There seemed to be plenty of fabulous landing spots, but we were warned it could be a wet landing, so I carried my socks and boots. “You can walk them in a matter of hours,” we were told—and we did. Our tender picked us up at midday after a morning walking along rocky beaches. Some headed into the long grass and many watched for birds like Manx Shearwaters and Storm Petrels. I, not being a birder, saw lots of Grey Seals.

Chef had prepared a lunch of tuna pasta bake and several different salads on serving platters, along with garlic bread. All tucked into it eagerly, and I discovered Jess was a vegetarian. Chef had prepared her slight variations of our meals each night, leaving out any meats. Happily, though, she ate fish, and she tucked into the bake along with the rest of us.

This afternoon we are going to Mingulay, one of the southernmost islands in the Outer Islands chain—home to an abandoned village and a huge family of seals who are watched over by a colony of puffins. We arrive at the western cliffs just before dinner. I cannot believe the countless birds flying off the cliffs. It’s not quite the St Kilda stacks, but it’s not far off. I’m told they’re mainly Guillemots and Razorbills, but I definitely saw those hard-flapping wings of puffins.

The skipper keeps us close in for a while before we head into the Sound of Berneray, then around to our anchorage in Mingulay Bay. A sight to behold greets us, as what looks like a wall of seals lines the white sandy beach. We drop anchor and within minutes the table is being set, small nibbles in bowls are being offered around, and there is another bottle of wine for the three of us—this time it’s a Merlot. Dinner is served at 8pm due to the skipper keeping our birding guest extremely happy by hanging around the westerly cliffs. Tonight it is venison sausages served in an opulent onion gravy and creamy mashed potatoes, followed by Eton Mess with a disc of tablet (a Scottish version of fudge).

Day 6: I had three glorious hours ashore, wandering through the remains of a village and sitting amongst the puffins, from where we could see across the white sandy beach—the seals nowhere to be seen this morning. Then, just as we got back aboard, a Minke Whale appeared at the southern mouth of the bay, not more than 200 metres away from us. Nobody could believe it! It slowly moved across the mouth of the bay, heading north. On its third dive, it disappeared, and the anchor commenced its slow, steady retrieval.

Lunch was on the go, and due to the smooth nature of the sea—it was mirror flat!—Chef served up a delightful creamy bean and vegetable soup flavoured with herbes de Provence. There was a green salad and a couple of baked Camemberts with baby potatoes, carrot batons, and breadsticks.

We arrived at Gunna Sound around 4pm, slowing down as we passed between Coll and Tiree. With a couple of sightings of porpoises and another Minke Whale—this time in the distance—we had had a quiet crossing. Some of my fellow travellers had gone to bed, but I stayed up reading my book in the saloon. The mirror calm had disappeared, and a light breeze had started. On the eastern side of Gunna Sound, we found Basking Sharks—two for sure and maybe three. We slowed, eventually drifting, the skipper gently holding station with the props.

These things took me by surprise—they were huge! I mean huge! Thank goodness they do not eat people. After the encounter, we had all agreed that one of them was at least 15 feet—5 metres—long. Its brethren was another 2 metres again. When we headed inside again, there was an apple cake all sliced up and ready as an offering. We all tucked in.

Turning northeast, we passed Lunga—our destination for tomorrow morning—and anchored behind Ulva, an island that is only just an island on Mull’s west coast. Tonight, Chef has asparagus wrapped in Parma ham with a drizzle of hollandaise sauce to start, followed by plaice in a sauce vierge with duchess potatoes and a ratatouille.

Day 7 and 8

Day 7: We swing safely on our mooring overnight. By dawn, the white clouds drift across a blue sky. Breakfasting on porridge and boiled eggs today as we want to get ashore on Lunga as quickly as possible.

From there we head south for about 9 miles and drop anchor off Lunga. The day trip boats are just arriving as we do. We’re told that’s good news—apparently, the puffins have learned that if the humans are about, the predators stay away. Plus, we used their pontoons to go ashore, which is great. According to the crew, it’s a bit tricky here with a rocky landing, but they said just take your time—it’s worth the effort, and they guarantee once ashore it’s a wildlife lover’s paradise.

We climb out of the tender and onto these temporary pontoons. The day trip crews are very friendly, and we get ashore without much fuss. After two hours, we head back down to the waiting tender. I have been so close to a puffin I could have touched it. I also saw a hare lying on a rock in the sun! What an extraordinary morning. We now head south, steaming to Staffa for a look at Fingal’s Cave and its amazing basalt rock formations.

The weather is favourable, and we have time to land. Landing was quite easy, as it had a concrete quay and there was a ranger ashore to keep us and the day trippers in line. I walked around the narrow ledge, using the hexagonal rock formation like life-size board game steps. Into the cave, the view is glorious—the rock formations rising from the clear water like the pipes of an organ. After climbing back aboard the tender, the crew take us back to the cave and we get a spectacular sea-level viewing. All we can talk about is seeing this magnificent glory of geological Earth from two angles. How lucky were we with the weather.

Back aboard, a late lunch is served on the go—mushroom risotto with a salad and garlic bread. Down the Sound of Iona past the famous abbey towards the quay, for a third time today the anchor splashes and we are away in the tender. Landing next to the ferry quay on a pontoon, we have until seven tonight when they’ll come back to pick us up—or we can call on the walkie-talkie if we wish to come back earlier. Some head to the beaches on the west side of the island, others head to the abbey. I head to the shops and find a nice silver necklace with a Viking ship hanging from it. From there, I head to the abbey—it’s a small island and nowhere is far away. A walk around it and I head to the north tip of the isle. Here I find a group of people whale watching—although in this case, they’ve seen some bottlenose dolphins feeding just offshore. We had been told there was a good chance we might see bottlenose dolphins around this area.

Back aboard, I put my newspaper in my cabin then head back up top. There was a great kerfuffle on the bow and I found Colin pointing at bottlenose dolphins leaping in front of a fishing trawler’s bow wave. What a great end to a great day. Tonight, we were offered Chef’s chicken tikka masala with pilau rice, poppadoms, homemade chutneys, dips, and naan bread. Jess had a sweet potato and chickpea version. Followed by an amazing board of Scottish cheeses, dates, grapes, walnuts, and celery.

Day 8: Our final morning was a full Scottish breakfast—apparently to help get us home—but it was to be served on the go. The anchor was up by 07:30 and, as we reached the narrow channel to exit the loch, we slowed down. Here we found otters—swimming or playing on the shoreline—and one actually swam towards us! We hung around happily, watching these furry cuties before we started back to Oban. Breakfast lived up to its name, and we arrived in Oban, getting in in plenty of time for those catching trains and buses like myself.

I said fond farewells to my new friends and the crew who had looked after us so well. We had dashed to those mystical islands of the St Kilda archipelago, struck lucky with the weather, and saw a myriad of wildlife both in the air and in the sea.

Back in Oban, the world suddenly seemed very full again after all those secluded anchorages and remote islands. But I had already started planning my next trip. I quite fancied the exploratory cruise of the Outer Islands chain, cruising the remote islands and lochs from the south to the north. Or the other one I fancied was the Orkney Islands—I’ve never been that far north, and it included Fair Isle too. I should read up on my birds too… but then again…

If you’d like to find out more or book on to our Focus on St Kilda Cruise you can find out more here.