Late September 2003. I was nearly a month into a two month solo trip to Scotland. I found myself sitting in a hostel in Stromness on a cold rainy night listening to tales about the island of Hoy. It was a mere accident that I had arrived at Stromness and only because of tales of this night, would I spend the better part of a week at a place called Rackwick Bay. The thick Scottish accent erased most of my comprehension of the conversation, but I understood one thing; Hoy, and Rackwick are where I must go. The next day I filled my backpack with food and caught the ferry to Hoy just as it was leaving. I stayed in that little stone shelter all by myself until I ran out of food 5 days later and had to return to Stomness. My only warmth from the gales was from the little driftwood I would gather form the beach each day. Maybe an hour or two worth of fire and a little light to read by as the evening carried on. I wish I could have stayed forever, but that journey had different plans for me, as I would find out on Skye.