We weren’t underway even 30 minutes last evening before the fog crept up around us to blanket the sea with in a few hundred meters of the ship. The Shetlands seem to first recede, then vanish into mist. Slightly an eerie feeling with gulls calling but not visible. If I was a Bard, it would be a wonderful start to a tale of magic, struggle and stubbornness. Shetlands are part of Scotland. That sense of independence and stubborn has insured their survival.

Overnight we have traveled in the white with not even the moon visible.

This morning I woke to white out followed by an announcement that the cargo ship had not cleared the pier due to technical difficulties so that we would be tendering. In spite of all of that we were on the pier about 1145 just in time to see the sun finally being disgusted enough with the damp to burn it away

So now I am wandering old sod roofed houses, book stores and seeing want is on the three yarn stores in town. I even found postcards. Last tender is 1730 leaving a reasonable but not huge amount of time in this clean, organized and free bus ride town.

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