Just before my birthday—and remember, I am the oldest person on the island—I found myself encouraged by both my work colleagues and my own stubborn determination to do something I never imagined I would: climb down Montagu Steps for a swim in the sea.
I had never been down there before and, if I’m honest, I wasn’t convinced I ever would. There comes a point when age brings a certain uncertainty. Not necessarily fear, but an awareness that a fall hurts more than it used to and recovery takes longer. Still, I thought this might be my last opportunity. Besides, it would make a good blog story.
Before working on Lundy, I was an Ambassador leading guided walks around the island. My favourite route was always the walk to South West Point. We would head up Beach Road, past the Castle, out to the point and then across South West Field and up to the Old Light. A route which introduced visitors to some of the more easily reachable Lundy landmarks.
Montagu Steps and the Wreck of 1906
Along the way, I always pointed out Montagu Steps and told the story of the wreck of HMS Montagu, which ran aground in 1906. Armed with an old photograph showing the wreck and the bridge that connected it to the island, I would explain how visitors once travelled out to see the stranded ship for themselves. What always fascinated me was the image of a lady crossing the bridge in her Edwardian Sunday best. It seemed extraordinary that what we would now consider a dangerous wreck became something of a tourist attraction. Health and safety clearly meant something very different in those days.
Over the years I had seen Montagu Steps whilst passing by in a boat, but there is something entirely different about standing at the top and preparing to walk down. Suddenly history is no longer something you talk about; it is something beneath your feet.
I had been warned that the hardest part was a narrow saddle of land before reaching the steps. I spent most of the descent looking firmly at my feet, whilst the others expressed awe over the view and the wildlife. For me, every ounce of concentration was firmly on where to place the next step.
When we reached the first section of steps, I realised that this was not going to be a graceful descent. My companions seemed to hop confidently from one step to another while I adopted a much more cautious approach. Experience has taught me that caution doesn’t always guarantee success. I often think back to a trip to New Zealand many years ago when I chose mountain biking through a canyon over my then-husband’s choice of bungee jumping. He emerged from the activity with a triumphant grin whilst I finished the day covered in bruises from repeated falls.
The block-built steps eventually gave way to something older and rougher. These were not neatly constructed steps but steps carved directly into the granite itself. They felt ancient, as though generations of fishermen had worn them into the rock long before anyone thought about making the descent easier.
Finding Confidence Below the Cliffs
When we finally reached the bottom, there were cheers all round. Getting into swimming costumes whilst balancing on uneven granite was a challenge in itself, but we managed. One member of our group, ‘Roger ‘, volunteered to scout out a suitable entry point into the water. After some careful inspection, he found a route. Before following, I insisted he also demonstrate how to get back out again! His chosen exit looked suspiciously like a rock-climbing route, but by then there was nothing for it but to commit.
The sea was wonderful.
As Tara said, we often return to the same familiar swimming spots, and this felt different—wilder somehow. The tide gently lifted and lowered us, washing us softly towards the rocks and then drawing us back out again. It felt like being rocked to sleep by the sea itself.
Swimming with Seals
Then the seals arrived. Fortunately, Jesse was with us. Jesse is what I think of as the ‘Merperson’ of the group. Equipped with goggles and far more confidence in the water than the rest of us, Jesse provided a running commentary on the seals swimming beneath us. Sometimes you simply don’t want to know!
For a while we floated, watched, laughed and enjoyed the moment. Behind us, the granite cliffs rose steeply. Ahead of us stretched the Bristol Channel and beyond that the Atlantic Ocean. Afterwards we sat together in the evening sunshine, sharing homemade cake and enjoying one of those simple moments that become memories almost before they are over.
My sense of achievement lasted until I looked up.
The climb back.
Suddenly the steps appeared much steeper than they had on the way down. The route that had seemed manageable earlier now looked alarmingly vertical. What followed was less a climb and more a gradual ascent conducted largely on all fours. At one point I felt particularly sorry for Roger directly behind me; he spent a considerable amount of time full front to my backside, whilst I negotiated the steepest sections in a decidedly quadrupedal fashion.
Eventually, we reached the top. There were cheers once again, and I proudly announced that it was my birthday in three days and that I wasn’t doing too badly for an old girl.
The Next Adventure Awaits
Later, I sought out the wonderful Mick Cook—visitor, shanty singer and all-round encourager—to tell him I had finally done it.
His response?
“Mermaid’s Pool next time.”
Which leaves me with a new question: just how difficult can it be to use that rope down to Lametry Bay?
After all, if I’ve learned anything from this adventure, it’s that sometimes the things we avoid for years turn out to be the very things we should try. Perhaps getting older isn’t about avoiding challenges. Perhaps it’s about choosing them carefully, taking them one step at a time, and then celebrating with cake.
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