Fortunately, I do like a challenge, especially when it comes to pushing the boundaries of my own levels of tolerance when it comes to personal comfort; all in the name of sampling life’s wide, and very varied, variety. Always look on the bright side of life as they say; easier said than done under some circumstances.
Hugging the bar on MS Oldenburg, bouncing our way across the Bristol Channel from Ilfracombe to Lundy Island, I declined to repose on deck with all of the other hopefuls, thankful that I have long since stopped suffering from sea-sickness. Just in case, however, we had stocked up on a very fine full English at Adele’s café prior to our departure, just in case the contents of my stomach decided on a swift departure, which thankfully did not occur. It would have been such a waste.
Full exposure to the elements for the next 4 days in a basic remote hideout called Tibbetts, owned by The Landmark Trust, seemed like a good idea at the time. It will be fun, I told myself, living without the benefit of electricity and the only source of water being by the operation of a pump. That was until I read the small print. Silly girl, serves me right.
In my haste to honour a promise to take a long-standing girlfriend to the island for her 60th birthday, I had completely failed to notice that the aforementioned property is almost two miles uphill from our arrival point at the jetty; uphill, and on foot. Any enthusiasm I may have had at the start of the journey was soon dispelled. Fortunately, the weather was in benevolent mood. Nonetheless, the total journey time was not much under 2 hours, largely on account of my complete lack of fitness. This was not a competition I told myself, for who could get there first. Much to Rosy’s disgust, we were last. Any excitement I might have possessed at our first sighting of a baby seal belly-flopping its way to the sea was short-lived.
On checking in at the estate office, and again, seeking sustenance at the island’s pub, Marisco Tavern, I could not help but observe the wry amusement that greeted us when we revealed our final destination. ‘Going glamping are you?’ It did not take us long to establish quite why. Tibbetts is the remotest property on the island and bang slap in the middle. A granite signal and watch station, and built in 1906, Tibbetts has largely remained unaltered.
With its match-boarded walls and Wenlock stove, we were guaranteed a cosy retreat. For my part, having trekked this far, there was little hope that I would want to repeat the journey except under extreme duress. Sadly, our experience of the cuisine in the tavern at lunchtime on the day of arrival, a pretty dire Lundy lamb pasty, left little desire to return. Luckily, we had had the foresight to place an order for basic food provisions before our arrival, so spent our time subsisting on sausages, bacon, eggs, wine and chocolate; not the healthiest of diets but certainly one of our number (not me!) intended to spend her days tramping around the island to walk off the calories. Whilst I appreciate the difficulties of obtaining supplies when everything, literally everything, has to be brought over from the mainland, I found the quality of food available in the shop disappointing and lacking in imagination. Likewise, the offerings in the tavern, which at lunchtime, were largely based around baguettes, burgers and chips.
Despite assurances as to the time it would take us to reach the property, and I am no slouch when it comes to walking on the level, it took us the best part of 40 mins. from the tavern. This was not a journey I would willingly do after dark. Adjacent to the track we passed a small herd of rather large highland steers, with rather large and intimidating horns, but we were soon to learn that by and large any animals on the island were tame although it was wise not approach them, just in case.
What a welcome sight it was. A solid, compact, granite structure surrounded, fortress-like, by a tidy stone wall. Small but perfectly formed, with unobstructed 360’ views of the sea in splendid isolation; the complete antidote to civilisation. Were our efforts to reach it worthwhile? Oh yes indeed.
Whatever our expectations, this diminutive property did not disappoint. As with all Landmark Trust properties, great attention to detail provides quirky, interesting features, and although not offering plush comfort by modern day standards (the shower, situated in the old coal shed, is actually directly above the loo, providing an interesting bathing experience) everything had been thought of, right down to the Wenlock stove being lit, plentiful supplies of matches for our gas lamps (the only form of light at night) and the very welcome hot water bottles. As both us of us are bad sleepers, a sure sign of our multitude of post-menopausal ailments, I was grateful for the seaman’s bed which doubles up as a settee in the living room, leaving Rosy the choice of one of four bunk beds in the bedroom.
Being a townie, and unused to the rigours of outdoor life in the country, I had of course failed miserably in the suitability of my packing for the venture. Convinced that it would be cold, wet and windy, I had loaded up my luggage with woolly jumpers and the like, which were never to see the light of day. Such necessities as walking boots and socks had not entered my head. Hence, when our luggage did not arrive until several hours after our arrival I was left waiting for my spare pair of shoes, without which, unlike Elvis, I was unable to leave the building. The soles of the pair I had been wearing for the journey, admittedly fairly ancient, decided to part company with the uppers, leaving me stranded until the appearance of reinforcements. In the meantime, Rosy had made the reverse trip back down to the tavern with the promise of a talk by the ranger. Not wanting to be entirely left out, on retrieving my luggage, I hitched a lift on the Land Rover back down to the tavern, catching the tail end of a really good overview of the wildlife on the island. The beef cattle are sent to the mainland for slaughter, but the sikka deer, soay sheep and goats, being classed as wild game animals are butchered on the island. As hunters were seen during our stay, with culling underway to control numbers to a viable level, we eagerly awaited their appearance on the dinner menu, only to be disappointed. As far as I could tell, almost all of the meat used is frozen and much else that is served up, such as desserts, bought in, rather than being made on site. Alas, there was no evidence of fresh fish either, apart from a crab salad I observed in passing, which was marred by the pile of frozen prawns covered in marie-rose sauce.
Undaunted, we decided to give the tavern’s food another go, ordering a Lundy lamb tagine with couscous, only to be disappointed once again. Too bad. I was certainly not going to be making a daily trek down for such poor fare; back to the chocolate and wine diet, with a brandy chaser to ensure a good night’s sleep by the fire, snug as a bug.
On a more positive note, without exception, the skeleton staff who man the island were helpful and informative, gathering in the bar to exchange gossip and news. It was as a result of one such encounter that a young man, who had arrived earlier in the season, with his fiancée, had kindly donated her hiking boots for my use, after she had left him in the lurch.
The nights were truly spectacular. Unpolluted by light, the total darkness and clear skies gave full rein to the magnificence of the Milky Way. Waxing lyrical? You bet, although for future visits I am inclined to avail myself of the helicopter that lands just by the village, saving that long, long trek up hill.
Being a townie, and unused to the rigours of outdoor life in the country, I had of course failed miserably in the suitability of my packing for the venture. Convinced that it would be cold, wet and windy, I had loaded up my luggage with woolly jumpers and the like, which were never to see the light of day. Such necessities as walking boots and socks had not entered my head. Hence, when our luggage did not arrive until several hours after our arrival I was left waiting for my spare pair of shoes, without which, unlike Elvis, I was unable to leave the building. The soles of the pair I had been wearing for the journey, admittedly fairly ancient, decided to part company with the uppers, leaving me stranded until the appearance of reinforcements. In the meantime, Rosy had made the reverse trip back down to the tavern with the promise of a talk by the ranger. Not wanting to be entirely left out, on retrieving my luggage, I hitched a lift on the Land Rover back down to the tavern, catching the tail end of a really good overview of the wildlife on the island. The beef cattle are sent to the mainland for slaughter, but the sikka deer, soay sheep and goats, being classed as wild game animals are butchered on the island. As hunters were seen during our stay, with culling underway to control numbers to a viable level, we eagerly awaited their appearance on the dinner menu, only to be disappointed. As far as I could tell, almost all of the meat used is frozen and much else that is served up, such as desserts, bought in, rather than being made on site. Alas, there was no evidence of fresh fish either, apart from a crab salad I observed in passing, which was marred by the pile of frozen prawns covered in marie-rose sauce.
Undaunted, we decided to give the tavern’s food another go, ordering a Lundy lamb tagine with couscous, only to be disappointed once again. Too bad. I was certainly not going to be making a daily trek down for such poor fare; back to the chocolate and wine diet, with a brandy chaser to ensure a good night’s sleep by the fire, snug as a bug.
On a more positive note, without exception, the skeleton staff who man the island were helpful and informative, gathering in the bar to exchange gossip and news. It was as a result of one such encounter that a young man, who had arrived earlier in the season, with his fiancée, had kindly donated her hiking boots for my use, after she had left him in the lurch.
The nights were truly spectacular. Unpolluted by light, the total darkness and clear skies gave full rein to the magnificence of the Milky Way. Waxing lyrical? You bet, although for future visits I am inclined to avail myself of the helicopter that lands just by the village, saving that long, long trek up hill.
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