Settling Back into Island Life
Coming back to Lundy from Portugal was a shock. Suddenly I was back on this small island in the Bristol Channel. The clocks had changed, and it was dark even when I set off for my evening shift. I felt like I was buckling down for winter. The first few days of November were wet and windy, and the allotment had grown over while I’d been away. One of my first tasks involved removing the weeds. I also had to decide whether to plant some winter crops or let the beds sleep. I’ve decided on half and half — not fully committing to winter just yet.
I’m enjoying the food I harvested in summer. I preserved beetroot and radishes. I’m hoping the sloe gin will be ready soon. This weekend, we’ll eat one of my three pumpkins. They didn’t make it into the competition, but hopefully the Lundy chef will make something delicious from them.
Preparing for winter on Lundy involves stocking up the shop stores and Tavern. They need enough supplies to feed both visitors and staff over the colder months. Logs, beer, and general provisions all need to arrive before the ship goes into dry dock in Sharpness. The whole island begins to settle into its winter rhythm. The helicopter from Hartland now replaces the hum of the summer ship. It brings visitors twice a week instead of daily crossings from Ilfracombe and Bideford.
Swimming into the Season
I’d been swimming in rivers in Portugal. I was a little nervous about how cold the water would feel here. My first swim back was a shock to the system. After a couple of dips, I’ve started to get used to that cold sting as you enter. In November, this feeling quickly turns into a pleasant tingle. Still, I’m not sure how I’ll manage when the temperature drops to around eight degrees.
The tides have been particularly high lately. This is good for swimming. We can just slip into the water from the jetty. The new seal pups, or “weaners” as they’re called, are starting to get curious about us swimmers now. One joy of winter here is swimming by moonlight. Under a full moon, you feel deeply connected to nature. The high tide glimmers in. You become aware of how the moon pulls the sea. Both the sea and the moon pull at you.
Adapting to Weather and Quiet
Clothing has changed. Hats and thicker layers have come out. Wind speeds have reached force eight and nine on consecutive days. Yet in between the storms, there are calm moments when everything is still. A resident told me that without wind, going outside feels like you’ve suddenly become deaf. There’s just nothing to hear. The contrast is striking: one day wild and noisy, the next so quiet you can feel the stillness pressing in. At this time of year, the weather shapes not only what you do but also how you feel.
Embracing the Shift
This shift into October and November always feels like a period of transition. Once you adapt, you stop longing for summer sunshine. You stop missing warm swims. You start to find joy in this new rhythm. Living on an island teaches you that each season brings its own richness. Winter isn’t something to endure; it’s something to step into.
As Katherine May reminds us in Wintering, there is strength in slowing down. There is rest in retreat. Beauty is found in the quiet spaces of the year.
Reference
May, K. (2020) Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times. Penguin Random House.A title of a book by Katherine.May
Jane Sharkey 