A Harris blue and indigo and sapphire
Crisp jabble topping.

The St Kildan boats weren’t so different. Never had that love for them but maybe landlords wanted coils of dried salt ling more than the islanders. The boat was the way to get out to the stacs. Double-ended of course and a very full shape in the stern above the waterline. A lot of buoyancy there. There had to be. You’d to get close enough for your man to take a leap, between the swell. Looking for the chance. As often as not he’d come crashing back down between the boat and the stac. Get hauled aboard, shaking himself off like a dog. More bothered by the loss of dignity than by the cold.  

Now you’d think when you saw all that white mass of birds, there’d be enough food for the St Kildans, there on Hiort and Boreray. And Soay is close enough to Hiort but to land on it, you’ve got to get round that bad corner. Cross the cord of tide that joins Levenish to Dun. All that blur of white you see, that’s all families of fulmars and gannets and gulls. So after you’ve taken a picking from this cliff, that cliff, it’s time to move on. And then maybe the birds are looking a bit thicker out on the stacs. Even Stac Soay, out in the small Sound. Even Stac Biroch. That’s a pike and it gives the name to the spur-dogfish, the big grey one that can give you a dirty wound. Well Stac Biroch is like that, a wet shiny spur. Even the St Kildans gave up on that one latterly.  

But this time they’ve all gotten on to the rock and raised an arm from the rope to wave to the boat. She’s gotten away clear so they’ve no worries. Now they’d all be dressed much the same, best of gear they had for protection. Job lot of whatever was available when the factor’s boat was coming out. This time it was grey tunics like blanket-cloth and bonnets that were blue once. Most of the colour bleached out now, from the salt.

And working away on the ropes, the crack would be flying, winding each other up with it, turn about. Not bothering much about a bit of drizzle, there’s that much spray reaching up there anyway. Till it falls right quiet. One of them’s seen something down below and they’re turning their looks down. It’s a body in the water. Floating, face down. And it’s dressed, same as themselves, the grey tunic, the blue bonnet. But there’s nobody missing and there’s been no accident as long back as it’s worth remembering.  

A big blackback is perched on its shoulder and pecking away at its neck. Well whoever that was, they can’t just leave it like that. So they’re securing their snares and getting ready to go down to try to recover it when they see the current catching it and it’s off, swept clear of the stac and out to sea. Well there’s never been one come back from out there so what can they do but say a bit of a prayer and get back to their business. Their harvest of fulmar.  

As soon as they’re started back there’s a cry. One of them slips and he’s down in the water. He’s glanced his head on the rock on the way down. He’s floating face down. What they’re seeing now is the body in the grey tunic and the blue bonnet. Before anyone can do a thing they see a blackback land there on his shoulder and it’s pecking away at his neck.

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