ISLANDS IN THE STREAM
The glorious beaches, subtropical flora and fauna, and remote setting of the Isles of Scilly make them a wonder to discover on British shores
Discover the Isle of Scilly, an idyllic realm off England’s southwest coast, with a balmy climate, unspoilt beaches, fine wines and lobster galore
Fireworks of white spray exploded against the rocks as I stood watching rollers race in from every angle on the cairn-covered promontory of Shipman Head Down. It’s one of the most dramatic viewpoints on Bryher, the smallest of the five inhabited islands that make up the Isles of Scilly archipelago, just off the coast of Cornwall. Floating out in the Atlantic Ocean, they are Britain’s most south-westerly point – the next stop is America. Yet despite spots of surging surf, these subtropical islands, riding on the kite strings of the Gulf Stream, offer warm temperatures and sandy beaches that give the Caribbean a run for its money.
Bryher, which means ‘land of the hills’ in Cornish, has a population of just 80, rough tracks for roads (there are few cars) and didn’t have mains electricity until the 1980s. The last time I was there, several summers ago, I kayaked across a flat, turquoise sea to Samson, one of the archipelago’s 140 uninhabited islands, and picnicked by a ruined stone house, left by the last family to dwell there in the mid-19th century. On this visit, I wandered the beaches in the sunshine, finding brilliant neon-yellow periwinkles and candy-floss-pink Portuguese men-of-war that had washed up on the sand. One lunchtime I stopped for a lobster and bacon burger at the small, white clapboard restaurant, Island Fish, belonging to the Pender family, who have been fishing off these shores for generations.
I had started my trip by flying into St Mary’s, the largest of the Scillies, on a Twin Otter plane, before taking the ferry to Bryher several days later. Land’s End Airport is a throwback to when flying was a more civilised experience, with just one big wood-beamed room and a cosy log burner in the corner. Many think of St Mary’s as busy compared to the other islands, but in fact the population, of around 2,000, mainly live in two small areas, while the rest is untamed beaches and moors glowing gold with fading ferns.
Undoubtedly, the best place to lay your head is the family-run Star Castle Hotel, a 16th-century, star-shaped fortress set on a hill above Hugh Town, its ramparts now a garden filled with aeoniums. The castle was built because the Spanish Armada – despite its failure – highlighted the Scillies’ vulnerability; and the west-reaching headland is
fortified with a garrison built during the Civil War; it’s now a peaceful one-hour walk along the grass-carpeted granite walls. At night, I drank pinot gris in the castle’s atmospheric dungeon bar with duck-egg-blue painted walls, telescopes lying in stone crannies and snug nooks to sit in. The owner Robert Francis is passionate about wine (he has several vineyards on the island), and I noticed that all the bottles on the menu were extremely good value for money. When I pointed this out, he said, grinning: ‘Wine is for enjoying, not for big mark-ups.’
One afternoon I met Nikki Banfield, who works at the Isles of Scilly Wildlife Trust, for a hike. ‘The Trust leases all the uninhabited islands from the Duchy of Cornwall, which owns the Isles of Scilly, in exchange for just one daffodil a year,’ she says. Once – before sea levels rose – all the islands were linked together, forming an ancient land called Ennor, and their submerged fields and boundary stones are now patrolled by dolphins and porpoises. On spring tides, you can still walk between the atolls along the sandbars, spangled with starfish and snakelocks anemones.
Banfield was born on St Mary’s and is clearly passionate about her home. ‘Part of the islands’ attraction is the freedom they offer. Visitors can kayak or paddleboard, unguided, to places almost untouched by people,’ she says. As we passed aloes, hottentot-figs and palm-trees, she told me to look out for stick insects, stowaways from distant lands, first brought over by the Victorian collectors who were also responsible for the exotic plants that bloom all over. ‘Half of our plant species aren’t native to these islands, and most of our birds are migrants, many blown in from America or Siberia,’ she continues.
The next day, I took the ferry across to St Agnes, the wildest of the inhabited islands. From the boat, I spotted scores of Atlantic grey seals sunbathing on the rocks and dazzling white gannets, Britain’s largest seabirds, swooping down to pluck fish from the waves. Onshore, I wandered along rural lanes, past the little school – with only three pupils – and a sherbet-white lighthouse. Then I headed south across the windswept, gorse-yellow heathland of Wingletang Down, passing Ruby Red cows, the colour of burnt sugar, and the Devil’s Punch Bowl, a 10-foot-tall boulder crowned with lichen.
St Agnes has no hotel, just a couple of houses to rent, plus a campsite. Troytown Farm, one of the country’s smallest dairy farms, is where I camped many years ago, and despite having travelled widely since, I still maintain it has one of the most beautiful views of rugged bays and craggy islets. I had to stop for one of its homemade clotted cream and fudge ice-creams before a visit to the local artist Emma Eberlein’s shop. ‘These are my boys,’ she declares, beaming, pointing at the three giant figures standing outside, forged from buoys and other plastic pieces she finds. Inside is an Aladdin’s cave of paintings, jewellery and unusual objects made from upcycled goods.
The Scilly Isles are truly a land of the unexpected, where storms can bring in any surprise (gold bullion still lies in shipwrecks under the waves), the winds deliver rare birds and the flourishing flowers are foreign hitchhikers. I’m reminded that exotic places aren’t restricted to faraway lands – they’re right here, on our doorstep. For more information, visit www.visit islesofscilly.com