Last week I wrote about moving into September on the Island. Now, this week it feels that September has truly arrived. The summer heatwaves are forgotten.
Before the Fog grips the Island
Last Thursday, the weather began to decline as I rushed to The Ugly to witness a special event. My quest was to watch two ships depart the Island: MS Oldenburg and MV Nordstjernen (North Star), the latter being a visiting cruise ship. Although different sizes, the ships share similarities in design. Both ships were built in Germany within two years of each other. I filmed a short video for this blog.
By Saturday evening the Fog had firmly descended on Lundy, and by Monday night it still hadn’t lifted. Fog is a familiar sight on the Island at this time of year. The land is still warm from the summer months, then cooler air arrives and wraps the Island in cloud.
A sense of Hygge
For me, the Fog feels comforting. It wraps itself around the Island like a warm hug, bringing with it thoughts of dark evenings, a cozy fire in the Marisco Tavern, Candles on the dining tables. Visitors start hunkering down in the pub with a book, puzzle, or game. All the things associated with hygge – the Danish idea of embracing the pleasures of winter rather than resisting them.
When Fog arrives, I often reach for Chasing Fog by Laura Pashby. The book finds enchantment in a cloud of white and explores how Fog changes our experience of landscape. It is one of those books I enjoy dipping into, reading a chapter each time Fog appears.
The book is currently on loan to me from a visitor, Rhiannon, whom I met here on Lundy. She kindly sent it over for me to read, as she thought I would enjoy it; I do! It’s full of references to artists, writers, and places, so I often pause to look things up before continuing.
But back to the Fog.
I suspect most Lundy residents would rather wait for the Fog to clear than head out walking in it. I am the opposite. I enjoy something about Fog. It feels as though nobody can quite see you; you can move around stealthily! Familiar places become mysterious, and the Island takes on a completely different character.
Walking in the Fog
So on Sunday, after quickly eating my lunch and knowing I only had one and a half hours’ break, I decided to head out into the Fog. Deciding where to walk was easy. The Old Light, of course! It seemed fitting to visit the very building that the Fog ultimately defeated.
I have written about Fog before. In fact, my blog post about the Fog Battery remains one of my most popular posts. I am not surprised. The story of the Fog Battery and the people who lived and worked there is fascinating, a reminder of how much life on Lundy has always been shaped by the weather.
For those unfamiliar with Lundy’s history, the Old Light was built too high on the Island’s plateau. Completed in 1819 at 469 feet (143 metres) above sea level, it was Britain’s highest lighthouse. The problem was that low cloud and Fog regularly obscured the light, making it difficult for passing ships to see.
On this particular day, the cloud was sitting low, perhaps around 100 feet above sea level. Down in the Landing Bay, visibility was probably clearer. But like Laura Pashby, I was chasing the Fog.
As I walked toward the Old Light, the familiar buildings of Barton’s Cottages and the Lambing Shed appeared out of the Fog, their edges softening. Ahead of me, a couple holding hands, walking the same path, gradually disappeared into the mist.
Fog as Creative Inspiration
I’ve written on my blog previously about painters who love a foggy, misty landscape: Caspar David Friedrich and J.M.W. Turner. I can see why the Fog appeals. Nothing looks solid; instead, it’s soft and fuzzy, with muted tones. Also, in the Fog, your sense of sight is reduced, so the beautiful views don’t distract you. You then turn more to sound. Today, it is silent; there is no bird song; everything seems quieter.
When I neared the Old Light, the Standing Stone on Ackland’s Moor emerged like a solitary figure in the landscape.
The lighthouse itself had almost disappeared. I walked around it, searching for different viewpoints, but from every angle the upper section vanished into the whiteness. It felt eerie. I stood silent for a while and imagined how it would have sounded with the Cannons blasting out every few minutes at the Fog Battery. The sound booming out from the Fog.
The Fog seemed determined to remind me why this lighthouse had failed. I followed the path towards the burial ground. Perhaps it is the way Fog drifts and shifts with the wind, but it always feels slightly ghostly. I paused by the gravestones, memorializing members of the Heaven and Harman families and thinking about the generations of people who have lived and worked in the Lundy Fog before us.
As I wandered back towards the village, dampness hung in the air. Without Lundy’s dramatic views constantly drawing my attention outward, my focus turns inward instead. The landscape shrinks and grows quieter, and my thoughts drift to bigger questions about the future, the passing of time, and my place within it.
Heading back through Southwest Field and then through Lower Aero Generator Field, I could make out the shapes of sheep and ponies emerging from the mist. I wondered whether they noticed the difference at all. Beyond them lay the helicopter field, and my thoughts moved towards the end of the boat season, when Fog, not wind, begins to interfere with travel plans.
Living on an island means living with the weather. Wind can stop the boat. Fog can stop the helicopter. The internet struggles. Despite all our technology, we still face many of the same challenges that islanders have dealt with for centuries.
Creative Corner
This week I have been experimenting with a macramé wall hanging made from rope washed up on Lundy’s shores.
The rope may have been accidentally lost, washed free from fishing gear, or perhaps discarded from a passing vessel. As I slowly unravel the thick strands into finer fibres and begin knotting them into a new form, I find myself wondering about its journey.
Looking out at the Fog this week, I couldn’t help thinking about the ships that once depended on Lundy’s lighthouses to guide them safely through these waters. Mariners would have relied on those lights when visibility was poor, and the coastline disappeared into cloud. Today, most vessels navigate using GPS and other sophisticated technology, yet the old lighthouses remain powerful reminders of a different era.
Perhaps the rope I am working with once travelled past these very shores, guided by modern instruments rather than the beam from the Old Light or the North and South Lighthouses. There is something satisfying about giving discarded material a second life. What arrives on Lundy’s beaches as marine debris becomes, through time and patience, something creative and useful once again.
References
Ternstrom, M. (2007). Light over Lundy. Caithness, UK: Whittles Publishing.
Pashby, L. (2025). Chasing Fog. London, England: Simon & Schuster.
Leave a Reply