Isle of Gigha, Argyll The young otters were having a good time, splashing and paddling and roughhousing; we were enchanted
Having abandoned our bikes by the gate, we follow a cattle trodden path between walls of bracken down to where field meets sand. The silver slip of a beach is postcard perfect, a flawless bleached-bone white. But close up it is busy with the telltale trails of recent visitors: speechmark hoofprints of cattle and the flatfoot waddle of whooper swans, each webbed imprint as large as my palm.
No people, though, which was our aim. We set up camp upon a grassy flat, and wander along the foreshore, picking through tidewrack and pocketing curios: a mermaid’s purse, torn and discarded, scraps of net, pebbled glass.
Continue reading…
Source: Guardian Environment