Lorna Cowan and Chutney have fun in the Scilly Isles
Lorna Cowan goes time-travelling in Cornwall and takes her dog along for the ride.
THE Isles of Scilly, a low-lying archipelago some 28 miles off Cornwall’s coast, were described to me as a place where time stands still. Where you can unwind, soak up some spectacular seascapes and let your cares sail away.
Perhaps the result of reading every “Famous Five” book as a child, Scilly has long been on my bucket list, a location fit for a good old-fashioned adventure.
Planning my escape and looking forward to an escapade or two, I take the plunge to visit at long last, bringing along my own Timmy in the form of an Irish terrier named Chutney.
Although dogs are allowed on the short Skybus flights from Exeter, Newquay and Land’s End, I decide to go on the Scillonian ferry from Penzance to St Mary’s, a journey taking two hours and 45 minutes, passing St Michael’s Mount and its picturesque castle.
No cars from the mainland are allowed on the islands, so I’m travelling light.
Relaxing on the top deck, a keen birdwatcher points out some Manx shearwaters.
This is the only area in England, other than Lundy island in the Bristol Channel, where they breed.
I’ve also caught a glimpse of a pod of dolphins who appear to be chaperoning the ferry through the water. It’s a glorious sight.
In what seems like no time at all, St Mary’s reveals itself on the horizon.
Although the largest island in the cluster and the most populated (only five of the rocks, islets and islands are inhabited), the entire circumference is just under 10 miles.
Its capital, Hugo Town, is the main hub, and this is where you’ll find most of the accommodation, eateries and shops.
The quay here is also
where you catch boats to other islands.
Today, though, I’m keen to explore St Mary’s. With Chutney in tow I head up towards the garrison at Star Castle, a defence built in 1593 and now a hotel.
Surprisingly, or perhaps not when you start to understand the appeal of Scilly, we encounter just a handful of other walkers.
With the evening stretching out, we also decide to follow the trail to the lighthouse at Peninnis, where imposing oddly shaped rocks and boulders abound.
Pulpit Rock, Toast Rack, Witch’s Head and the Laughing Old Man – it’s fun to decipher which is which.
When day two arrives I’m ready for my next jaunt, and a quick look a Chutney’s wagging tail confirms he is, too.
So we set ourselves up for a three-island boat trip.
It’s easy to visit the neighbouring islands and there’s no need to book in advance (though this may have changed for 2020, so check latest local advice).
Blackboards at the quay and around Hugo Town are updated by the St Mary’s Boatmen’s Association, who chalk up departure times and destinations depending on the weather and changing tides.
Once aboard a 12-person (and two-dog) boat, it’s a quick 10-minute journey to St Agnes, Britain’s most south-westerly outpost.
What strikes me first is its tranquil atmosphere, and its wilderness.
The tide is low so we’re able to cross a sand bar and set foot on the connecting island of Gugh, where a rock formation looks uncannily like a not-amused Queen
Victoria.
Back on the boat and it’s over to Tresco, best known for its sub-tropical Tresco Abbey Gardens, built around the ruins of a Benedictine priory.
As an enthusiastic budding gardener, I am eager to find inspiration for my small Dorset plot, and Chutney is allowed to join me in the grounds.
And what a botanical paradise, a fascinating collection of plant species from around the globe.
An estimated 4,000 different specimens from South America, New Zealand and the Canary Islands flourish here.
Succulents, towering palm trees and a wealth of wonderful exotic flowers in a host of colours all appear to thrive in the sunny environment – 300 plant species are even in bloom during the winter months.
Having come prepared, with a picnic, I sit down for lunch and take time to soak up my surroundings.
I discover an inquisitive visitor, a rare red squirrel keen to learn the source of the rustlings.
Then there’s a highpitched chirp, and coming towards me is an amazing golden pheasant, a brightly coloured, yellow-crowned bird that looks as if it’s wearing an Egyptian pharaoh’s headdress.
You could easily spend most of a day at the Abbey Gardens, wandering around the terraces and among echium, agapanthus and king proteas, but we have our boat to catch and our next island to visit – Bryher.
Before reaching the jetty (the result of a “Challenge Anneka” TV task in 1990), our skipper points out Cromwell’s Castle, a tall round tower built in the mid-17th century, as well as Hangman’s Rock.
You can imagine its former function.
Bryher is just half a mile wide but it’s an island of contrasts. While the east coast is sedate and calm, Atlantic waves thunder into Hell Bay in the west.
Far across the ocean, the next stop is America.
Returning to terra firma on St Mary’s, the ideal spot for a delightful sunset drink is a tapas bar called Dibble and Grubb.
As I test my childhood memory and run through the names of the remaining Trumpton firemen I note Chutney is lying on his side, legs stretched out – a good day was had by all.
I wake the next morning to drizzle, but dogs need to be walked in all weather, so I embark on a rather choppy ferry ride to St Martin’s.
And I’m so glad a few spots of rain didn’t deter me.
Being given the heads-up by a local that I should head to Great Bay on the north coast, we quickly make tracks through wild flowers and gorse, and find ourselves faced with miles of white sand beaches and cobalt blue sea.
Indeed, the idyllic setting could easily be mistaken for a secret cove somewhere in the Indian Ocean.
Well, until you venture into the water for a paddle!
Stopping for a while to admire the scene and to watch Chutney splashing around, I can easily see why visitors say the Scilly Isles have a timeless beauty.