A tiny piece about ‘Les Ecrehous’ islands, that I had written for the Guardian ages ago, featured in it last Saturday. Here it is:
This year I was lucky enough to spend some time on a place called Les Écréhous. It is a place you spend time on, not in. Five miles northeast of Jersey, these three tiny islands stand precariously above the water at high tide, surrounded by rocks that have claimed countless lives in the past. When the tide recedes the dots in the sea join up, forming the most rugged landscape of sharp dark shapes, broken only by a few curves of sand. At low tide it is possible to walk for half an hour over land that spends most of its time deep underwater.
It is the ultimate coastal experience, filled with rich evidence of life – we found baby cuttlefish squirting ink in the rock pools – as well as reminders of our own vulnerability and mortality. Each winter the elements tear down some of the small number of huts that cling to the rocks.