Under the headland
The boat clears the harbour wall and passes beneath the old battery. The guns at its base were last fired in anger in 1854, and the skipper will tell you about it whether or not you ask.
One day out to the seabird island and back, on a forty-foot ketch that carries twelve people and no more.
We leave on the ebb and come back on the flood, which fixes the timings more firmly than any schedule we could print. Here is the passage as it actually runs.
The boat clears the harbour wall and passes beneath the old battery. The guns at its base were last fired in anger in 1854, and the skipper will tell you about it whether or not you ask.
Three basalt stacks mark the end of shelter. Between them the swell arrives properly for the first time, and even in good weather the boat will roll noticeably for the next forty minutes.
In high summer several thousand pairs nest on the eastern cliffs, and the noise from the water is genuinely startling. We land on the shingle spit for ninety minutes; the colony itself is watched from below.
We return close to the cliffs so there is something to look at, and because seals haul out on the ledges at low water. Anyone who wants to fish is handed a line somewhere around here.
Aboard at 07:20, alongside again by about 15:30. Add an hour in bad weather.
The skipper decides by 18:00 the night before. Cancelled sailings are refunded in full, same day.
From age seven upward. Under-sixteens must be with an adult on the same booking.
Warm layers, flat shoes and sun cream. Waterproofs, lunch and a hot flask are aboard.
We hold your seat on a phone call. Nothing is taken until you are aboard, because the sea decides more of this than we do.