At the moment, I’m on the mainland, in my house on the North Devon coast. It feels odd looking out towards Lundy as from here it’s just a rock out at sea. It is strange as it does not feel like an island I live on!

When I am at home on the mainland, I regularly see Lundy from different view points. Sometimes I park up and look out at the island. At other times, I catch fleeting glimpses as I drive along the coastal roads. It looks remote and desolate. There doesn’t seem to be any life on it at all. Let alone a life I live, a life that I have lived for four and a half years. Looking out at the island doesn’t feel real. I feel disorientated.

My first trip to Lundy was decided after seeing the island from the mainland. Sat at Bull Point I wondered what it was like on Lundy. This I feel was about twenty-five years ago. I don’t remember much of that visit. I never imagined back then that I would actually live on the island!

From here, I look at the island silhouetted against the sky and I ponder. I see the North End and wonder how long it has been since I last walked there? Most of my days are spent around the village, especially in winter. I don’t think I’ve even been past Halfway Wall in the last two months.

As I look across the water, I can see the slope that leads down towards the North End. It is the route to the North Light. From the beaches on the mainland, you can often see the Lundy lighthouses flashing in the darkness. Yet, only on a trip to the Lundy airfield can you see beams from the lighthouses when on the Island.

I’ve always enjoyed seeing Lundy at sunset from the mainland. This feels like the best view, with the island in the foreground. The island in shot makes the photograph visually interesting. Yet, experiencing a sunset on the island feels utterly embodied. You feel as though you are ‘in the sunset’. This feeling is most intense when the sun goes down. The entire island turns a pink/orange colour.

Sometimes, from the mainland, you can see the island clearly. Other times it sits in cloud, or looks as though it doesn’t exist at all. If you travel along the coast, you see Lundy from different angles. This explains a popular saying about Lundy Island on the mainland. It goes: “Lundy high, fine and dry; Lundy low, rain and blow”. It means when the island looks clear and high in the sky, the weather is good. However, if it looks low or obscured, expect bad weather like rain or wind.

In winter like today, the island looks even more remote. Darkness arrives earlier. In summer, you see boats sailing across. In the colder months, only ‘Ro-Ro’ ships carrying cars passage up the Bristol Channel, destination Avonmouth. But the feeling itself isn’t limited to winter — it’s just more noticeable on days like today.

Just looking at the island from here, I feel disembodied from it. Time seems to move differently when you live on Lundy. It’s not surprising that when I return to the island I feel discombobulated. It’s a strange sensation: the resident population is the same, yet different visitors have passed through while I’ve been away. I feel as though I’m moving not just between places, but between ways of being.

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