I go to one of the islands for a week. It’s a lovely island, some 20 kilometres long, not too many people. There are woods here, dunes and heather, and views of the sea and the mud flats with all the wading birds. The wind is strong and blows all thought out of your mind.
It takes a couple of hours on a ferry to get there, but that slows you down nicely. Getting off the ferry is hectic, a lot of cars, bicycles and people in one place, all heading in more or less the same direction. The trick is getting out quickly, and then it is quiet. I took my bicycle this time, so I manage to get out quickly.
You turn right from the dock, there is short street, and then you are in a cycle lane which leads all the way along the island. There is a green dyke, with lots of sheep, to your left, to your right there is just the sea. If you are lucky the tide is just right, there are some mud flats, and lots of wading birds. Out there no cars, just a few other cyclists, and it is quiet.
About halfway along the island, in the village before the last one, there is a campsite. All the school holidays are over, so again, it is lovely and quiet. There only is one other tent on the field. It never takes us long to pitch our tent. It turns out a tough week for camping though. We turn in at about nine, when it gets dark, but somehow we just don’t get much sleep. It is seven nights of tossing and turning, of aching hips and shoulders (no, we don’t have inflatable mats). Even the local nightcap proves no solution.
It is a lazy weekend really, we haven’t made any plans. We have a map of the island and a travel guide. We want to see birds and butterflies. We walk across the dunes next to the campsite, in the wood on the other side. We cycle along the dyke to see all the wading birds foraging on the south side of the island.
For a week in September the weather is amazing. Sunshine, the odd cloud, but just a few drops of rain on the morning we have to leave. It means we can leave our tent in the morning and spend the days exploring the island.
To the East there is a huge nature reserve, covering a major part of the island. It is off limits during the breeding season but now we can walk there. It is flat, you can see for kilometres. The first few kilometres of the path you still have other people in front or behind you, but further along you are on your own. There are Wheatears everywhere, one on every sign or pole, they are on the path in front and behind us. Keeping one eye on us, but not very shy. They are such beautiful, graceful little birds. Further along a male Hen Harrier, the most beautiful bird of prey I know, is hunting. I remember a few years’ ago, on this same island, a male Hen Harrier would hover over our tent while we were cooking supper.
Another day we walk along a shorter path in the south of the reserve. It is a narrow track, wet and muddy, but very beautiful. The perfect place for caterpillars and crickets. We see some absolute beauties. An added bonus is the Sparrowhawk that hasn’t spotted us and cruises by at eye level. We just stop and stare.
To the West of the island is where all the people are. There are two bigger towns on the island, which is where the shops, the bars and the discos are. In the summer this is where the teenagers gather. They stay at campsites, buy their beer supplies and have a wild three weeks. This season is for the slightly older guests, elderly couples who go cycling and have their coffees and cranberry pies, and who stay at the bed and breakfast places and the hotels. We do our
shopping here, and join the crowds eating cranberry pie.
Just outside the smaller of the two town is a former church, now used as studio, gallery and home by a local artist. He opens the gallery when he feels like it, and meanwhile continues working. His paintings are all along the high walls of the church. They show a great range in colour and subject matter. Island scenes, portraits, fantasy paintings and nudes. It is hard to know where to look. There is a huge bird in the middle of the space, the bottom half in bright colours, the top still waiting to be finished. The music is Simon and Garfunkel, there is a jukebox somewhere in the back. There is a piano on the other side of the room, next to the billiards table. High up you can see a collection of old skates and sledges. There is a strong mix of the personal and the artistic.
It is also a sad week for me in some ways. My two last visits I made during a sad time and many places I pass remind me of those days. Places where I made difficult phone calls, places where I cried, places where I had a coffee and sat writing down my thoughts. It is hard to be back, because those places bring back all the memories, and there still is a lot of sadness and pain. It surprises me, because it is a few years’ ago now, and I thought it was getting better, but I remember all those places. And there are so many.
Our first night back home, in our own soft bed, is a tough one. We wake up at three, just as we would in our tent, and can’t get back to sleep. This time we get up, make a pot of tea, and spend two hours reading all of last week’s papers. Oh well.
