Eight Reasons to Visit the Wenthar Islands!
Posted: 13 Jul 2017 13:50
The Wenthar Islands are few people’s idea of the ideal holiday destination. They’re wet, windy, and rarely all that warm, with little in the way of country homes, cathedrals or castles, and even fewer broad sandy beaches. Yet surprisingly, these isolated little rocks off the west coast of Europe make much of their money from the tourist industry, and the Wenthars make for a rich, unexpected treat for the more discerning holidaymaker. Here are eight reasons to visit...
1. The joy of the scramble
The Wenthars have few natural resources, but one thing they do have in abundance is rock. And what is rock good for? Rock climbing! The inexperienced may wish to begin with gill-scrambling, a fun, wet march up one of the island’s countless small, rocky streambeds. Those seeking a bigger challenge can move on to climbing the ubiquitous cliffa, outcroppings of (mostly) granite that jag out of the land randomly, like teeth from old gums (some are pure tors, while others have one gentler, grassy slope). Only the tallest cliffa are more than fifty metres in height, but they provide a large supply of new and interesting climbing routes within reach of almost all settlements on the islands. The pinnacle of this sort of climbing is to be found on Fjallhaugh, on the island of Northøy. At over 600m, Fjallhaugh is the second-tallest mountain on the islands (if Cnogmeri is treated as only a secondary peak of Crestesrock), but is more accurately seen as large, geologically-jumbled plateau deeply scored with gullies and peppered with rock stacks. The mountain is a national park and only a limited number of visitors are permitted in each season, but visitors can enjoy not only the pleasures of a dozen cliff faces but also a remarkable, misty microbiome of dense mosses and jungle-like ferns.
More serious climbers may turn to the larger granite mountains, most of which are sited in northern Northøy, or on smaller islands even further north. Most enticing of all, and yet most dangerous, is Crestesrock. Only a mile or so west of Fjallhaugh, Crestesrock is a steep-sided pyramid of granite, around 700m in total height (and around 550 above the surrounding land), with a slightly lower peak, Cnogmeri, a few hundred metres to the north. It has attracted, and frequently killed, climbers since the late Victorian era, and as a result has gained a morbid but glorious reputation in the climbing fraternity. Climbers have died falling on the ascent, falling on the descent, of exposure (trapped on the mountain in a storm), and, on several occasions, of lightning strikes on or near the summit. As regards technical difficulty, the Crestesrock routes vary from the robust to the extremely difficult – in particular, the much of the east face is effectively a sheer and vertical cliff – but the danger and effective difficulty of the climb do not come purely from the rock itself. It is, in that regard, an ‘easier’ climb than some comparably iconic rock faces. The danger instead comes from the conditions: it rains on Crestesrock more than half the days in the year, and the winds reach gale force even at the base of the mountain on one day in three. At the summit, winds are gale force on all but the calmest days, and wind speeds are believed to exceed 200mph in winter storms. In addition to gales, rain, frequent lightning strikes and in winter sleet, snow, ice and hail, the rock is also often speckled with slippery guano, thanks to the local bird colonies. As a result, ascent attempts are only permitted in fine conditions, and only for highly experienced climbers; nonetheless, the east face of Crestesrock has become a bucket-list item for climbing fanatics.
Those for whom Crestesrock just doesn’t seem dangerous enough can attempt the various sea cliffs, or brinka, dotted around the islands. None are particularly tall, but hydraulic undercutting makes them more technical, and the unpredictable high waters make most of them perilous ascents. However, one particular cliff, the 20m Siybrink (victory rock), in northern Walløy, is relatively safe to climb due to its position on the sheltered Innelaugh bay, and is a regular tourist destination. Those seeking something easier and more controlled, however, may prefer to book some time at one of the many indoor climbing centres across the country.
Thanks to the natural terrain, rock-climbing has become a significant sport in the Wenthars, and many notable climbers and mountaineers hail from the islands – many, at least, in proportion to the size of the population.
2. The wild (and not so wild) outdoors
The Wenthars are not known for their wilderness – most of the land is under some form of agricultural occupation. But the towns are small, and the population mostly rural, and both the weather (rain, wind, rain, fog, wind and rain) and the ecology give a much wilder, more ‘natural’ feel to the place. The result is a country filled with gentle, achievable country walks within reassuring reach of civilisation, yet that nonetheless give a satisfying sense of contact with (rather wet) nature.
The main destination for those interested in walking is Rockalbørgh, in the shadow of Crestesrock on the large, hilly, less populous island of Northøy, from where the lush moss and ferns of Fjallhaugh are easily accessible (in organised walking tours). More serious travellers can take boat from Northøy to sparsely-settled, even hillier northern Walløy, or to the smaller northern islands – or they may cross the Thyrhals, a lush if slightly boggy valley, into the hills of northern Langlað. On the larger Meynlað to the south, meanwhile, the walker is closer to habitation, but can still plot a satisfying path through emerald pastureland (struck through with dry stone walls and pebble tracks), lush crop fields, and sheep-shortened peat bogs, via the occasional lake and fen. Perhaps the most beautiful scenary is to be found in the coastal machairs, bursting with meadowflowers, sporadically located around the islands, with the largest stretch on the west coast of Langlað, north of the third-largest city, Halsbørgh.
Those who prefer forests will have a harder time finding destinations – but will be amply rewarded for their efforts. The temperate climate and constant rain produce stunning temperate rainforests filled with moss, lichen and ferns. Visitors based in Rockalbørgh should investigate not only the heights of Fjallhaugh (where the terrain is too steep to support large tree forests, but there is substantial other vegetation), but also the Elskóga, the alder forest of northern Langláð that perch on the steep slopes above the Elsbrinka cliffs. The largest expanses of woodland lie in the less populated islands of South Wenthar (head to the “city” of Dinnkjirkj) – the surviving forests are mostly on unpopulated or sparsely-populated small islands, but several of these are large enough for a pleasant day out.
The most magical of the country’s woodlands, however (both aesthetically and mythologically) is the Elfcadwalt of the island of Cádlað, south of Meynlað, and the encircled eyot of Elfclaðoch (where an invisible stairway may, it is said, be found, to lead the traveller into Elflað, only to return decades or centuries later). Unlike the country’s other woodlands – unlike almost any forest on Earth – the Elfcadwalt is a temperate yew rainforest, over a predominantly limestone bedrock (which in places breaks out into outcroppings of mossy karst). It is said to be one of the most beautiful places in Europe, if not the world. Those seeking a less comfortable beauty, however, may trek north out of the Elfcadwalt, through the heather, onto the Dweorghfjall, a boggy, foggy upland speckled with mysterious (allegedly dwarf-hewn) miniature towers of rock, and assemblies of large boulders balanced upon one another precariously by ungodly forces. Don’t stray from the path, if you don’t want to fall down a pit into Dweorghlað below – or, more prosaically, if you don’t want to get trapped in a dangerous quagmire!
3. The birds, the birds!
To say that the Wenthars are good for bird-watching is to commit a criminal understatement. The terrestrial native birds include several species unique to the islands – such as the Wenthar blue-winged magpie – and the remoter islands are home to the world’s only surviving breeding populations of the penguin-like Great Auk. Those potential lifers are supplemented by a steady stream of seasonal migrants, from geese to swallows. But above all, this is a country of seabirds. With no land for hundreds of miles in any direction, but rich fishing waters all around, the islands are a paradise for every kind of seabird found in the North Atlantic region. The largest colonies, of course, are found on small skerries only accessible by boat (while you’re aboard, look out for the whales, dolphins, and seals), but even on the largest islands there are raucous colonies of birds on sea cliffs, outcrops, tall buildings...
1. The joy of the scramble
The Wenthars have few natural resources, but one thing they do have in abundance is rock. And what is rock good for? Rock climbing! The inexperienced may wish to begin with gill-scrambling, a fun, wet march up one of the island’s countless small, rocky streambeds. Those seeking a bigger challenge can move on to climbing the ubiquitous cliffa, outcroppings of (mostly) granite that jag out of the land randomly, like teeth from old gums (some are pure tors, while others have one gentler, grassy slope). Only the tallest cliffa are more than fifty metres in height, but they provide a large supply of new and interesting climbing routes within reach of almost all settlements on the islands. The pinnacle of this sort of climbing is to be found on Fjallhaugh, on the island of Northøy. At over 600m, Fjallhaugh is the second-tallest mountain on the islands (if Cnogmeri is treated as only a secondary peak of Crestesrock), but is more accurately seen as large, geologically-jumbled plateau deeply scored with gullies and peppered with rock stacks. The mountain is a national park and only a limited number of visitors are permitted in each season, but visitors can enjoy not only the pleasures of a dozen cliff faces but also a remarkable, misty microbiome of dense mosses and jungle-like ferns.
More serious climbers may turn to the larger granite mountains, most of which are sited in northern Northøy, or on smaller islands even further north. Most enticing of all, and yet most dangerous, is Crestesrock. Only a mile or so west of Fjallhaugh, Crestesrock is a steep-sided pyramid of granite, around 700m in total height (and around 550 above the surrounding land), with a slightly lower peak, Cnogmeri, a few hundred metres to the north. It has attracted, and frequently killed, climbers since the late Victorian era, and as a result has gained a morbid but glorious reputation in the climbing fraternity. Climbers have died falling on the ascent, falling on the descent, of exposure (trapped on the mountain in a storm), and, on several occasions, of lightning strikes on or near the summit. As regards technical difficulty, the Crestesrock routes vary from the robust to the extremely difficult – in particular, the much of the east face is effectively a sheer and vertical cliff – but the danger and effective difficulty of the climb do not come purely from the rock itself. It is, in that regard, an ‘easier’ climb than some comparably iconic rock faces. The danger instead comes from the conditions: it rains on Crestesrock more than half the days in the year, and the winds reach gale force even at the base of the mountain on one day in three. At the summit, winds are gale force on all but the calmest days, and wind speeds are believed to exceed 200mph in winter storms. In addition to gales, rain, frequent lightning strikes and in winter sleet, snow, ice and hail, the rock is also often speckled with slippery guano, thanks to the local bird colonies. As a result, ascent attempts are only permitted in fine conditions, and only for highly experienced climbers; nonetheless, the east face of Crestesrock has become a bucket-list item for climbing fanatics.
Those for whom Crestesrock just doesn’t seem dangerous enough can attempt the various sea cliffs, or brinka, dotted around the islands. None are particularly tall, but hydraulic undercutting makes them more technical, and the unpredictable high waters make most of them perilous ascents. However, one particular cliff, the 20m Siybrink (victory rock), in northern Walløy, is relatively safe to climb due to its position on the sheltered Innelaugh bay, and is a regular tourist destination. Those seeking something easier and more controlled, however, may prefer to book some time at one of the many indoor climbing centres across the country.
Thanks to the natural terrain, rock-climbing has become a significant sport in the Wenthars, and many notable climbers and mountaineers hail from the islands – many, at least, in proportion to the size of the population.
2. The wild (and not so wild) outdoors
The Wenthars are not known for their wilderness – most of the land is under some form of agricultural occupation. But the towns are small, and the population mostly rural, and both the weather (rain, wind, rain, fog, wind and rain) and the ecology give a much wilder, more ‘natural’ feel to the place. The result is a country filled with gentle, achievable country walks within reassuring reach of civilisation, yet that nonetheless give a satisfying sense of contact with (rather wet) nature.
The main destination for those interested in walking is Rockalbørgh, in the shadow of Crestesrock on the large, hilly, less populous island of Northøy, from where the lush moss and ferns of Fjallhaugh are easily accessible (in organised walking tours). More serious travellers can take boat from Northøy to sparsely-settled, even hillier northern Walløy, or to the smaller northern islands – or they may cross the Thyrhals, a lush if slightly boggy valley, into the hills of northern Langlað. On the larger Meynlað to the south, meanwhile, the walker is closer to habitation, but can still plot a satisfying path through emerald pastureland (struck through with dry stone walls and pebble tracks), lush crop fields, and sheep-shortened peat bogs, via the occasional lake and fen. Perhaps the most beautiful scenary is to be found in the coastal machairs, bursting with meadowflowers, sporadically located around the islands, with the largest stretch on the west coast of Langlað, north of the third-largest city, Halsbørgh.
Those who prefer forests will have a harder time finding destinations – but will be amply rewarded for their efforts. The temperate climate and constant rain produce stunning temperate rainforests filled with moss, lichen and ferns. Visitors based in Rockalbørgh should investigate not only the heights of Fjallhaugh (where the terrain is too steep to support large tree forests, but there is substantial other vegetation), but also the Elskóga, the alder forest of northern Langláð that perch on the steep slopes above the Elsbrinka cliffs. The largest expanses of woodland lie in the less populated islands of South Wenthar (head to the “city” of Dinnkjirkj) – the surviving forests are mostly on unpopulated or sparsely-populated small islands, but several of these are large enough for a pleasant day out.
The most magical of the country’s woodlands, however (both aesthetically and mythologically) is the Elfcadwalt of the island of Cádlað, south of Meynlað, and the encircled eyot of Elfclaðoch (where an invisible stairway may, it is said, be found, to lead the traveller into Elflað, only to return decades or centuries later). Unlike the country’s other woodlands – unlike almost any forest on Earth – the Elfcadwalt is a temperate yew rainforest, over a predominantly limestone bedrock (which in places breaks out into outcroppings of mossy karst). It is said to be one of the most beautiful places in Europe, if not the world. Those seeking a less comfortable beauty, however, may trek north out of the Elfcadwalt, through the heather, onto the Dweorghfjall, a boggy, foggy upland speckled with mysterious (allegedly dwarf-hewn) miniature towers of rock, and assemblies of large boulders balanced upon one another precariously by ungodly forces. Don’t stray from the path, if you don’t want to fall down a pit into Dweorghlað below – or, more prosaically, if you don’t want to get trapped in a dangerous quagmire!
3. The birds, the birds!
To say that the Wenthars are good for bird-watching is to commit a criminal understatement. The terrestrial native birds include several species unique to the islands – such as the Wenthar blue-winged magpie – and the remoter islands are home to the world’s only surviving breeding populations of the penguin-like Great Auk. Those potential lifers are supplemented by a steady stream of seasonal migrants, from geese to swallows. But above all, this is a country of seabirds. With no land for hundreds of miles in any direction, but rich fishing waters all around, the islands are a paradise for every kind of seabird found in the North Atlantic region. The largest colonies, of course, are found on small skerries only accessible by boat (while you’re aboard, look out for the whales, dolphins, and seals), but even on the largest islands there are raucous colonies of birds on sea cliffs, outcrops, tall buildings...