Muck again

Another grey dawn with the rain streaking the windows of the bunkhouse. Just below us is the inlet where the Grey Seals come in with the tide to fish and play. Great sheets of rain are crashing into the windows and thrashing the roof of the 4×4 parked outside, creating a plume of spray which is heading towards the café in the tiny village of Port Môr on the Isle of Muck.

I was here in May and loved it, partly because I met Dez Monks who involved me in a little of the social life of the island, and it is because he offered me a lift up here this last week that I am sitting here again on one of the uncomfortable tall stools in the kitchen area of the Bunkhouse.

We are the remnants of the holiday trade: the left-overs still keeping the Bunkhouse going though pretty much everything else, including the café is closed – at least to us. Lavish hospitality is available to the people in tweeds who are here for the shooting.

The ferry which was to have taken us off yesterday is now scheduled for tomorrow. The food that Dez and I brought is running out but Gayle and Les, who arrived a few days after us, are happy to share their supplies. If we are delayed again Ruth at the farm has supplies, so we won’t go hungry, but boredom looms.

We talk a lot. Dez has a strong clear voice and is never at a loss for words. Rosie, who joins us in the evenings for a meal, is always interesting and makes a special effort to speak clearly, but Les I find almost impossible to understand and Gayle has a light voice. When I do manage to hold a conversation with them I feel elated, but I think we are all getting a little stir crazy. I half welcome the company and half long for my own private space. At least I don’t have to share the bedroom.

This trip was a chance to sample island life in the off season. The temperature has remained above 12, the trees still have leaves and there are still some Swallows swooping under the trees where there are a few flying insects, but it’s windy and wet most days and much more like winter than when I was here in May. When the sun does appear the views are spectacular and much of the island is still wild rough grass and heather, rocks and streams. Walking is here is challenging but the views are exhilarating.

The eagles are still around. The adults I photographed in the spring reared two young, and we have all seen the young birds exploring.  Golden Eagle territories are huge so once fledged the young are encouraged to leave and find their own sites. Despite two strenuous hikes I have not been close enough to get any pictures. There are still lots of Ringed Plovers, a dozen or so Curlew, Lots of Rock Pipits and Meadow Pipits and a few Grey-Lag Geese but the three Pink Footed Geese I saw must have been stragglers for there are no flocks here.

However, there are some birds in super-abundance: around 6000 Mallards, Red-Legged Partridges and Pheasants, all bought in as chicks and reared on the island for the shooting parties who are now arriving at the Lodge. They, the birds, are everywhere and normally take off in alarm, but there are a few wiley ones who creep away. They, I guess are the ones that breed here naturally. Perhaps they have evolved a defence. This one followed me for several hundred metres, and tried to stop me walking past. His behaviour seemed unhinged, but perhaps there is a simple explanation. There’s a puzzle for the biologists.