The island lies off the north west coast of Sutherland, in
the Scottish
Highlands. Once a burial island and then home to crofters and
fishermen,
it now has no permanent human population. The island is famed
for its
dramatic Torridonian sandstone cliffs. Towering over the
Atlantic, the cliffs
provide high rise homes to the tens of thousands of seabirds
that come here
each year to breed. In the summer months, basking sharks,
minke whales,
and dolphins cruise the waters.
Many of the island’s seabirds return year after year to breed
in the
same place on the cliffs as the year before. Puffin colonies
nest
together in burrows at the top of the cliffs. Razorbills breed
between
rocks and boulders and in crevices. Oystercatchers breed on
the open
coast while guillemots in their thousands nest on cliff
ledges, fulmars
and kittiwakes nearby. Great skuas dominate the moorland in
the centre
of the island, divebombing anyone who strays too close.
Rats are excellent swimmers and are known to island-hop to
their
destination using smaller islets as stopping points along the
way. Rats
are highly social animals and the first thing any rat does on
arriving at
the island, is seek out any other rats in the vicinity. Rats
will eat any eggs
they find and have been known to decimate entire bird colonies
on islands
and so each year, a working party goes to the island to lay
down traps to
keep the population under control.
His lifejacket gave no comfort as it chafed against his chin. All it did was reinforce the idea that there was a chance he could end up in the water, and if that happened, lifejacket or no lifejacket, he’d be sucked under in a second, the roiling, briny soup filling his lungs.
A ray of sunshine broke through a chink in the clouds and for a few glorious minutes turned a sliver of beach from muted shades of grey to golden yellow. She pulled off her jacket in celebration of the moment, and had a mad desire to strip off and run naked through the dunes.
Her stomach churned at the thought of
being alone with him, but what could she
do? He hadn’t broken any rules, hadn't touched her, hadn’t said
anything inappropriate, at least nothing she could pin down. There
wasn’t anything she could actually accuse him of, and yet…
She didn’t believe in all that supernatural
twaddle. There were no such things as
ghosts, and yet she couldn’t help but feel
a little spooked. A little nervy. A little
terrified – out here – by herself – with
nothing but the whine and wail of the
wind for company.