After a slow start, we head out to the far tip of the island. To another magical place. Where the waves lap or crash and a bell tolls every sixty seconds.
On the way there is an old priory. We step inside, relish the cool dark space, and talk about the banners, candles and our previous visit.
Outside, we attempt to find our way to a geocache, but cannot get near to its location due to a locked gate. There probably is another route, but himself is nervous about walking too far. So we head back to the car, and, having paid the toll, head along the lane which leads to what I think of as the end of the island.
It’s busier here than on our previous visit. Admittedly that was on a frosty February in 2008, but the sky looks the same. Although there are several cars and holidaymakers about, it is still relatively quiet. Perhaps in reverence to the tolling bell from the lighthouse, disconcerting at first, then comforting. Perhaps also because apart from the pebble beach (featuring a berm), the lighthouse and a small café, there is nothing obvious to do here. It seems to draw what we would call like-minded people. You can sit and watch the boats and yachts go by, and just listen.
Toll, sea, gull, toll.
I found out later that many of the visitors were at the café, with its tables at the rear. A pleasant little establishment, serving the biggest cream teas I had ever seen. I settled for an ice-cream.
Later on I leave himself to bag a quick cache on the nearby coastal walk. Success, and I didn’t mind the nettle sting. Pesky little thing, hiding in the bracken. It is odd caching alone though.
We headed back to base via Bull Bay. Which is, as expected, still lovely. I burn my ears whilst sat with my back to the sun (the disadvantage of the recent haircut). Left for love mainly, but plenty of witch-hazel will be administered later.
Back at the cottage, I am warming to the lights. But it does mean that I have to keep moving.
I like a good dance around the kitchen, don’t you?