Essex Part 2

Our second trip to Essex was planned solely to visit Foulness Island, being turned away the first time due to its restricted access only made it that much more alluring. So, as the first Sunday of July rolled around, Sam and I headed back down to the south-east coast, through a surprising amount of day-tripping traffic bound for Southend-on-Sea (I presume?) and then onwards to Great Wakering, just north of Shoeburyness. 

We had a brief chat with the guys on the gate at Qinetic again to explain our quest and confirm which islands we could and couldn't go to (further confusion abound), signed in, and received our laminate pass that would give us access finally to Foulness Island from midday.

Super Secret Access Pass!

Super Secret MOD Convoy

We weren't allowed to stop for photos on Havengore or New England islands

The drive from the main land to Foulness was uneventful, aside from the volume of potentially illegal photography being committed in order to properly document our adventure, and the additions of Havengore (1) and New England (2) islands to our lists (despite the gate dude's mis-information).
We followed the signs in Churchend to the Heritage Centre, the only place on the island it's possible for visitors to go, and promptly showered ourselves (and the car) in Lambrini to celebrate our first island centenary on Foulness (3). Hurray! Things were looking good, and a friendly old Essex man explained where we could walk without mixing ourselves up with "unexploded material."

The most difficult to access village in the UK?

Celebration Times!

We definitely were there

After the celebrations, self-congratulatory pats on the back and excitement over the possibility of tractor rides, we strolled over to the Heritage Centre to get the skinny on this recondite island. Now, whether it was the Lambrini coursing through our veins or not, we found the Centre hilarious - "punt-gunning" being a particular highlight, along with some ill-placed no-entry signs and travellers itineraries harking back to a more mysterious time, where one straw hat just wasn't enough. Tipsy or sober, it's one of those delightfully quaint museums that covers such a small uneventful area, so that every last bottle, bit of combine harvester and correspondence gets put on display.

Punt Gunning!

Well Boring

The funniest thing ever to happen on Foulness

After the Heritage Centre, and perusing the guest book for our island bagging competitors, we decided to head for another of Essex's islands, Bridgemarsh, rather than hang around for a tractor ride on Foulness. So, back in the car, we headed back to the mainland and around to Althorne to see about this next island. 

When we arrived at Bridgemarsh Marina, there were a lot of boats but not a lot of people. Sam and I again debated whether we should just jump in the water and swim across. Yet again we chickened out and instead went to search and accost whichever innocent boat-owners we could find. Our luck was still running strong, leading us to the another super friendly and helpful Essex guy waiting by the shore, who, after explanation of our quest, was able to hook us up with a short hop to Bridgemarsh Island (4) on his buddy's boat.

Leaky, Muddy Boat-Ride

Bridgemarsh Island

As we waited for said buddy (who was out in the boat with prospective buyers), the guy told us an interesting story of a boy who used to live on the island. Apparently he would row across to the mainland, walk ten miles to school, walk back and row home everyday! The remains of some sort of building still stand on the island, although as we were relying on the kindness of strangers, and ignoring RSPB "Keep Off" signs, we didn't have time to check the island out. The boat hop was fun though, the island bleak and muddy. The prospective buyers seemed to enjoy helping us too, which was amazing and finalised our u-turn on Essexian approachability. Those Essex lot are all right, really.

Knee-Deep

Next we drove to Bradwell-on-Sea to see about getting to Pewit Island. We tried everything, from asking Daniel Radcliffe look-a-likes for help, to asking marina managers, to having the classic debate about swimming to it. All options exhausted, we headed to the pub for a swift glass of cider before heading home. A shame to end on a fail, but we were already putting plans in place for Orkney and Anglesey and clinking glasses to the next hundred islands.

Baggers be Bagging 2013: A Long Day Out in Essex!

After a long and pointlessly cold and wet winter, we finally got around to arranging a trip to try to draw us closer in to the magical three figures, only twelve islands to go to get to the hundred. The trip didn't start well, Liam was supposed to be driving from Bristol to Milton Keynes to stop over and get an early start, but after setting off without either a map or a particularly good understanding of the way, and at least two phone calls from roundabouts in Oxford, he finally turned up just before midnight, so it wasn't quite the early night we were expecting.

So it was at seven we weren't exactly bright eyed and bushy tailed, but we got a good start down the M1 and around the M25 into Essex, where we arrived at the easiest and least interesting island either of us had visited in a long time, Canvey Island (1). Knowing that we had a long day ahead of us, we only stopped long enough to park up at a leisure centre and dash across a busy roundabout to what was probably the best thing about Canvey, it had a really good island sign. It's difficult to see that there is much difference between island life and that on the mainland when there are such good (multiple) bridges across the marshy gap, no feeling of isolation or dependence on the sea, although admittedly we didn't spend a lot of time searching for the true heart of Canvey. One to tick off rather than one to remember.

Canvey Island

We had come with only vague plans of where we were headed, no proper map, and only my smartphone with patchy reception to show us where we might find some offshore delights, so it was perhaps with a bit of luck that we managed to navigate our way to Leigh-on-Sea, and the flat, marshy nature reserve of Two-Tree Island (2), joined by a bridge and home to an RC model club, who were flying tiny aeroplanes overhead as we arrived. Most of our time here was spent discussing the difficulties faced in island bagging in this part of the world. Rather than these being individualistic landmasses with cliffs and well defined borders, we seemed to be traipsing over muddy flats with water snaking in and up and around in all different directions, so much so that it was difficult to tell what was connected to what, what would be covered by the tide, and whether any of it was really an island at all. After scouting around the edge of a particularly labyrinthine bit of marshland we gave up, agreed that Two Tree Island would definitely only count as one island, and headed back to the car to travel on to our first disappointment of the day.



Two Tree Island

We knew before we left that we might have difficulties reaching Foulness Island, owned as it is by Qinetiq on behalf of the MoD, and maintained as a live firing range, but the available info online was conflicting, some of it said that we couldn't go at all, some said that there might be some places we could access and some we couldn't, and we figured the best way to find out would be to rock up at the entrance and ask.

Apparently not, was the answer, though we tried to blag it as best we could, apparently no we couldn't phone people living on Foulness at random and ask them to invite us to visit, nor could we just run over the bridge, take a photo and run back again, nor could we get a lift with the security guards when they did their security patrol and pop out to grab some pictures. I don't particularly want to criticise an agency who possess massive guns in an open post on the internet, but come on, it was hardly like we were going to infiltrate the camp and commit some military espionage (though that would have been pretty exciting too!) - suffice to say, we got a leaflet for the open day, first Sunday of each month (which it wasn't) and said we'd come back then (which we will!)

The biggest disappointment was that to get across to Foulness we would have been able to cross New England and Havengore islands, and had the guards been particularly kind, nearby Potton and Rushley islands also form part of the forbidden archipelago of south east Essex. We'll get you all one day. Still, we'd been out since half seven, it was nearly lunchtime, and we'd only been to two islands. It was starting to feel like a bad day's bagging, and it was a while before it got much better.

Next up was Wallasea (3). Apparently they are planning on turning it into a bird sanctuary. It has a marina with a cafe and a farm with big warehouses. We weren't sure if it was an island because there are ditches everywhere but no obvious channel, and also because there aren't any signs that say Wallasea Island, and we needed a sign to take a photo in front of to prove we'd been there, in the end we had to make do with an address on the sign at the marina. Pretty uninspiring. I can see the argument that there is a quiet beauty in the bleak landscapes and flat horizons, it's just not very exciting, is it.

Wallasea Island

Wallsea Island Sign

We also didn't get a particularly welcoming impression from the people of Essex. I'm sure there are lots of lovely people in Essex, but on previous visits to more far flung destinations we've explained our mission to people we've met and they've been only too keen to help us out, point us in the right direction and give us a hand. Essex was full of blank faces and signs that said private. Maybe because the islands around the coast of Essex are so easy to get to, the people haven't developed a sense of kinship with visitors in that they've both had to make the same efforts to get there, there's no secret accomplishment shared, just a bridge over a ditch. Again, sorry good people of Essex, but you weren't the most encouraging (apart from one notable exception, but we'll get to her later.)

Stuff at Wallasea

Next came a long drive around the coast, got a bit lost in Rayleigh, up the A12 to Chelmsford and on to Colchester, where we took increasingly smaller roads to St Osyth and further to Lee-Over-Sands. Without knowing why, both me and Liam had independently of each other got the impression that there was an island off the coast here, called Ray Island, apparently according to Wikipedia it's popular with picnickers and daytrippers. I think we must have got it wrong, as this was easily the most unwelcoming place we had ever been. I have never been to a settlement before where you have to pass so many no entry signs to get there. How does the postman cope, can you get online shopping delivered? The road to Lee-Over-Sands stops being tarmac a long way before you get there, and the atmosphere on the two streets was something similar to the set of a gritty London gangster film, and this was the desolate place where the hero finds himself when the bad guy opens the boot of the car holding a shotgun. Or something like that. We couldn't find any island (indeed we couldn't make it to the coast, we got scared by one no entry sign too many), and not wanting to interrupt the one or two people going about their business, we left to take the trip back up to Colchester and back down to Mersea Island. No idea about that Ray Island.

Mersea Island

Waiting for Stace on the pontoon

Mersea (4) was a proper island, crossed by the causeway known as "The Strood", with it's major settlement at West Mersea, predictably enough on the western side. We parked up next to a long row of grand looking houseboats stuck deep in the mud along the coast road, with long ramshackle gangplanks leading across to their open-decked sun terraces, nice spot in the sunshine. What we could also see, in the bay formed at the end of creeks, was at least one definite island, and probably some more. The closest we learned was called Cobmarsh Island, and it looked from a distance like only a little paddle would get us there. However as happens so often when we get hopeful, the closer we got, the wider and deeper the channel seemed to become. Liam was a little more gung-ho that I, maintaining that we would be able to swim there and back if we really went for it, but even he didn't actually get as far as dipping a toe in the water. Frustrated we toyed with the idea of 'borrowing' one of the rowing boats on the foreshore, but this would definitely be wrong, so we decided instead that we would try to find ourselves a ride in a more legal fashion.

Boats at West Mersea

Realising that no boats were going to come to us, we wandered up the road to the boatyard where we saw a sign advertising boat trips in the bay on the Lady Grace, twenty minutes, two quid each. Perfect, now if only we could hijack the route to include some landings! After an absolutely necessary stop at the pub (to get cashback, which they would only let us have if we bought a pint, oh well!) we spoke to Stacey who said she'd be more than happy to take us on a little trip, but we'd have to be quick as she had a wedding to go to. Already she had the "most helpful person in Essex" award in the bag, and we hadn't even got in her boat yet. Negotiating dozens of crabbers on the pontoon we climbed onto the Lady Grace and set off.

Cobmarsh Island

The Packing Shed at Packing Shed Island

First stop was Cobmarsh Island (5), though nothing more than a jump on and jump off, with no real landing place (or really any reason to land) Stacey had to try to draw her boat as close to the muddy shore as she could to avoid us getting wet. She then swung us around and carried on to Packing Shed Island (6), then Sunken Island (7) and finally further up the channel separating Mersea from the mainland to set foot on the very tip of Ray Island (8). Is this a different Ray Island to the one we were looking for earlier? It didn't look likely that there would be many daytrippers on this one, with the mud and seabirds pretty much ruling the roost, but it all remains a mystery. We tried to keep as much as the mud as possible from transferring from the islands to the boat, but this wasn't exactly easy, we're sorry again Stacey for dirtying your lovely boat! She dropped us off at the pontoon and we headed back to the car to see what other plans could be made.

Sunken Island

A Ray Island

On Board the Lady Grace

The time was about seven, we'd managed to turn a bad prospect into a good haul of islands visited, but we weren't ready to give up yet. Back along the Blackwater estuary towards Maldon are two more islands, separated by causeways from the mainland. It was soon after high tide and we weren't sure if they would be passable, but we wanted to have a look. The first was Osea Island, which is most definitely private. I've previously contacted them, told them about our quest and asked if we can pop over for a day, I was simply told no, you can only cross the causeway if you're willing to pay to stay in our properties. Hardly fair when all I want is a photo or two. Me and Liam were considering just dashing for it and hoping we didn't get seen, but when we encountered signs saying that trespassers would be prosecuted even before we could see the sea let alone the island, we decided against it. We will definitely go to Osea island one day, but perhaps it will need to be on their terms.

Northey Island (Tide=In)

Wading the channel

Just a bit further on through Maldon, however, leading from the most unassuming driveway in a gap between suburban houses on the edge of town, is the entrance to the road through a farm and down to the causeway leading to Northey Island (9). This one is national trust owned. Whilst we're both members, we were supposed to get a permit to visit. Sorry, we didn't, but we only stayed for five minutes! The causeway when we arrived was still fairly deeply under water, but a helpful couple walking their dogs told us that the tide would go out quickly, in less than an hour we'd be able to cross. Had we not known this, we might have given up, it was getting late and the light was starting to fade, but we persevered. Eventually tiring of waiting for the short causeway to dry out completely, I decided it was time for shoes and socks off, shorts on, getting wet. Liam was a little more reticent but we slowly made progress across the gap, it wasn't too deep but the pull of the tide rushing out made it tricky to keep going in a straight line. We definitely didn't want to leave the safety of the track and slip into the weeds, but we couldn't exactly see the bottom very clearly. Tricky going, but we made it in the end, took a quick photo for posterity, ran back again (in the five minutes we had spent on the island the tide had gone out significantly) and got back to the car in time for a trip back to Milton Keynes, getting home about ten.

On Northey

A long day, a bit of a mad scramble, nine islands, not a lot of inspiration or assistance, but we did draw ourselves so close to the magical hundred figure, only three more to go!



A Low Sun over the Blackwater Estuary



A Belated Steep Holm Memory

To keep matters moving forwards in this somewhat fallow island-bagging time, Liam has written this piece about our trip to Steep Holm. We've also both visited a few separately recently, the lists have been updated, and we're taking a bigger trip next weekend with a view to pushing on towards the three-figure milestone. Anyway, until then, enjoy a bit of island bagging of Autumn 2011 vintage...

Steep Holm

After our trip to the Outer Hebrides we realised that islands were our thing and planning how to get to them became our main topic of conversation. We're lucky to have some pretty cool islands on our door step - Steep Holm, Flat Holm, Lundy and Denny, and choosing which to go to first was a fun debate by itself. Steep Holm's misty mystery had captured my imagination since I was a child and a quick google revealed its relatively easy access from Weston-super-Mare, making it the perfect choice for a day trip out of the city. Booking tickets with the company that runs boats over to the island was straightforward (via email - http://www.steepholm.org.uk), getting to Knightstone Harbour at six in the morning, replete with sausage rolls, was equally easy and our sleepy faces were brightened by the sharp sting of sea spray as we raced across the Severn through thick fog, watching Steep Holm itself loom ahead in shadow. As we approached the island, the greyish-blue lump gradually became more defined, trees and foliage were inked green and we could make out Steep Holm's noisy tenants, the gulls, swooping and squawking incessantly above.


A smooth landing followed and we were soon left to ourselves to explore Steep Holm at our leisure. It quickly became apparent that the first task was to ascend to the top of the island via a steep (yes, they named this island accurately) zig-zagging path, which had the remains of old train tracks and dilapidated buildings sprinkled here and there. As we neared the top, our choices for exploration increased and we debated whether to check out the really interesting looking 12th Century Priory first, handily signposted, or save it for later. The rain helped make our decision so we headed instead to the old barracks, which now houses a small visitors centre, to grab some coffee and a map or guide to the island of some kind. This was actually one of the smartest ideas we had, as Steep Holm is tiny and hilariously well documented (aside from one wall, which may or may not have had a door in it at some point in the past), so we left the cafe armed with torches (we paid a small fee to borrow them for the day), maps, guides and a new-found desire to visit all of the rather awesome sounding "underground stores."


We made our way clockwise around the island from the barracks, checking out the spooky underground stores as we went by with our island-issue torches, reading the ageing graffiti scrawled on the subterranean walls whilst keeping an eye out for spiders and smoke monsters. As we rounded the western end, we enjoyed a good old fashioned clamber over one of the island's several crumbling WWII batteries, raw, cracked concrete constructions that are fairly common around the coast of the UK yet still manage to evoke sense of what it must have felt like to expect an imminent invasion. The north side of the island is home to the "208 Steps," the most crazy-dangerous steps I had and still have ever seen, dropping down the side of the cliff in a nerve-testing meander. I got about ten steps down before the shrieking and the swooping of gulls got to me and scared me all the way back up.


The next stop was a brief visit to the trig point, a highlight of the trip for me as I was able to stand on top and get a really great 360° panorama of the English and Welsh coasts, as well as an excellent view of Steep Holm's sibling, Flat Holm, and its distinctive lighthouse. After this, we decided it was lunchtime and headed back down to the beach where we landed earlier and destroyed several sausage rolls and other similar savoury snacks whilst we sat amongst the pebbles, and took in a game or two of "Hit A Stack Of Rocks With Another Rock," before returning to the top of the island.


The afternoon was spent checking out anything we hadn't looked at already, including the "Summit Battery", where we got a little too close to the gulls and the threat of attack scared us away again. We inspected the last few underground store rooms, saw what we could of the ancient priory, and then finally explored the south east corner of Steep Holm. By sticking to a pretty steep path we headed all the way down to more or less the bottom and walked along the cliff-face, getting as far along as we could before turning back and heading up the path towards the barracks one last time.


We got back to the barracks just in time to have a much-appreciated cider and enjoyed a brief spell of sunshine while we waited for the boat to take us back to the mainland. As with every island I visit, a feeling of sadness hangs over the homeward trip. In this case, the boat ride was actually really fun, and the mission to visit lots of islands had officially begun, so I didn't get too emo about it.

Steep Holm

www.steepholm.org.uk

Steep Holm is a privately owned island in the Bristol Channel and is managed by a small group of Trustees. It lies about five miles (8 km) offshore from the seaside resort of Weston-super-Mare in Somerset. Although relatively close

Shetland! Day 6: Out Skerries and St Ninian's Isle

Unfortunately I simply don't have time to write a big long post about the last two days in Shetland (hence not having done it in the last three and a half months, which is bad, I know) and the memories aren't quite as crisp as they were, but there's a new island adventure coming up, so I wanted to make sure I got at least a pictorial record posted to keep the chronological continuity of the site!

Day six was a trip by ferry again to Out Skerries. The most easterly part of Scotland and closer to Norway to boot. We spent a goodly while wandering around the two main islands of Housay and Bruray, joined by a little bridge, and went up into the hills on Housay and had a little picnic of pies. We also spent a goodly while knocking on some doors to see if anyone knew who might have a boat to take us over the sound to uninhabited Grunay, but nobody did, or if they did they were already out fishing, which seems to be what folk do in Skerries. 

Anyway, here's some nice pictures I took.

 

After Skerries we headed right down to the south of the mainland, via St Ninian's Isle, a tidal affair connected by the largest Tombolo in some area, perhaps Scotland, maybe Europe? I don't think it was the world...Either way it was fun for running down the great big dunes and good for taking atmospheric pictures of.

 

And then to top off the day we went to Sumburgh Head and had a look at the millions of puffins, before retiring to our home at Betty Mouat's bod (supposedly haunted?) where Mike cooked us up a first rate fish curry. Luxury indeed!

Shetland! Day 5: Itinerary Beakdown!

 So Papa Stour was off the cards, and so, after some signal searching and some unanswered calls and text messages, were Vaila and Linga near Walls. We were left with a day with no plan, no islands on the cards and no ferries to catch. Fortunately the house had a great big map, and we had heard a whisper that Shetland's largest uninhabited island was literally a stone's throw from the mainland. 

More on that later, first stop was a drive across from the west to the east, to Catfirth, in the parish of Nesting. Down a bumpy track past some traditional Shetland ponies (meaning an obligatory ten minute stop for Fran to make friends) we reached a stony gravelly causeway (tidal, we checked) leading across to the little island of Little Holm (15). It was fairly small, uninteresting and as usual we were under fire from the millions of terns, so we didn't stay long before heading back to the car. Being brutally honest it wasn't that good, but we've been there now, and it counts.

Little Holm across the causeway

Rubbish

 After this we spent a bit of time getting lost, ending up playing one of our favourite games driving to the end of every road. We ended up in Noonsborough and Clousta, tiny places so far away from anywhere that nothing is ever supposed to happen, and probably never does. The only real excitement was from the rudest named place in Britain. We definitely had to stop and take a picture of that.

Yep, that's right, I'm a Clousta

 After this we took the one road left to the north from Aith which led to Vementry. Vementry is a place, a farm and an island depending on what you want it to mean, where the road ends we parked up and went to see what we could see. The coastline around this part of Shetland is incredibly indented and whilst we knew that there were islands all around, it actually wasn't that easy to know what was an island and what wasn't, even with the map. We knew that we needed to rely on a bit of local knowledge, so we asked at the farm if there was any way we could get to the island. Interrupting the farmer from his whitewashing, he looked at us, then at his boat moored in the bay below, then back at us, and finally nodded. 

Vementry the place (Vementry the island in the background)

 "I can take you", he said, "if you give me ten minutes." One of our aims for Shetland had been to, as we put it, 'requisition' some private transportation for an island trip, and this looked like it was presenting the perfect opportunity. The boat was a little different to the ferries that we had been used to, a squat aluminium job with just about room for the four of us and the farmer. (We think his name was Hamish. Is that a Scottish stereotype? Did Angus tell us that? Did we make it up? If you read this, let us know, you're an official island baggers hero!) Anyway, safely aboard we literally sped across the channel at twenty eight knots, which is really really fast, and we were on Vementry (16) in no time. After jumping ashore and taking the obligatory silly photos we didn't stop for long so as not to keep the farmer waiting, but on the way back we explained to him a bit more about the mission and he had a bit of a suggestion. 

Durrrrrr

A bit windy perhaps

  Although Vementry was the biggest island in the area, one that he regularly crossed to ferrying sheep to and from their pastures, there were lots more that were reachable nearby if you had a boat and knew the way. Given an hour to properly finish his painting and a bit of cash to cover the fuel costs, he'd happily take us on a bit of a tour. If we said this was what we'd hoped for all along, it wouldn't be much of a lie, so we readily agreed and regrouped at the car. With an hour to kill, Mike and Fran were happy to wait by the car with a good book, but me and Liam had spotted a possible little treat down in the valley behind the farm.

Skipping down the hill, past overgrown stone walls and around the edge of the weed covered inlet as calm as a lake, we reached a beach opposite  a tiny little island, no more than ten or fifteen metres away, and it didn't look too deep. In another island baggers first, we stripped down to our underwear and waded out, but the dense weed made the progress a bit treacherous, we were worried we'd be stepping on crabs with every step. Still, we made it with no pinching incidents, and later learned it's name was Oggar Holm (17). 

Pants

Weed

 Meanwhile, back at the farm, the whitewashing finished, it was time for our second boat ride of the day, this time Hamish (?) had brought some wooden benches that slotted into the sides of the boat for extra comfort, and they definitely came in handy. Being fully on board with the island idea, he took us on a first rate tour of the islands in the bay, each time we thought one was the last he'd suddenly remember another little rock around the next corner. We didn't stop for long on any of them, but given that they were all uninhabited and mostly little windswept rocks, I don't think we missed much. First we went to the Holms of Uyea-sound (18). Apparently Hamish (just gonna go with it now, for consistency) had only ever been asked to take one person there before, and he was a guy who wanted to walk the coastline of all of the islands of Shetland. After a bit of a scout round the darkest corners of the internet, I reckon it was Walter Scott, pretty geeky, but definitely a hero!

On the boat

The Holms of Uyea-Sound I think

  After this was Papa Little (19), the little brother of Papa Stour, then on to a different Linga (20) in the end of St Magnus' Bay which reaches up to Brae. Even Hamish had never been here before, so I don't really know who ever would. From here it was back to little Inga's Holm (21) and then back to the west of Vementry, past the narrow channel that had it not been for Hamish we might have considered swimming, and through to Grink(Grinch?) Holm (22). Unremarkable.

Mike. Looks like an Eskimo in every picture (Inuit?)

"You can't go all the way to Scotland and not have one good picture"

Finally, the tiny, tiny little skerry right at the edge of the bay where the farm at Vementry sits. We're pretty anal when it comes to a description of an island, and one of the stipulations is that the landmass can support a couple of sheep. No problem said Hamish, I'll pop a couple over, then it'll definitely count. Does it have a name, we asked? Not as far as he knew, and he'd definitely be the one to know, so from now on, we're pleased to announce it is called "Bagger's Island"(23). No-one ever goes there, but in case you want to, our little island is here.

Bagger's Island (Vementry)

 So what started out as a day with no agenda at all turned out to be an awesome island hopping adventure. Nine in a day, a record for Shetland, and pretty good going under any circumstances. After all this exhilaration we headed to our bed for the night at Skeld, back out on to the west, a cosy little bod which we shared with a father and son team in Shetland to dive, but we think we had just as much fun on top of the water than under it. We were very careful that night to make sure the plans for tomorrow were all on track. After one little blip that turned into a great big adventure, it was almost (though not quite) a disappointment to know that everything was on course for our last full day in the islands.