I think it would be useful to finish this small set of blog pieces from Skomer with some more general impressions of the island and some things that might interest anyone thinking of going.
First of all, getting there: the steps! The only way to get to the island is on the regular ferry boat. Because I went in an organized residential group, we had an early morning boat for residential visitors only — the ferry left from Martin’s Haven on the mainland, and after 15 minutes or so docked at the Skomer Island North Haven landing. The first thing we were confronted with was a steep set of 87 steps directly up from the dock to a flat terrace where our luggage was assembled. When I say the steps are steep, I mean that you will notice them on your knees. If your knees are at all dodgy, then you may find it helpful to take a good, safe dose of your recommended analgesics before setting off.
Looking down the steps to the ferry
There's the matter of getting luggage off the ferry boat. Most of us took two bags: one for clothes etc., the other for camera gear. Bags need to be properly closed and sealed to ensure no potential predators (rats especially) can hitch a ride from the mainland to the island. All the bags have to be hauled up the steps, so keeping things not too heavy (around the 10kg mark) is vital. The way the bags are brought from the boat up the steps is via a human chain. All the newly arrived visitors stood in a line up the steps from the dock, and above them stood departing visitors returning on the boat to the mainland. One at a time, we passed bags up the chain to a small terraced area at the top of the steps. Again, this is quite physically demanding, but it is much the best way of getting the luggage up. Everything else needed for residential life needs to come up as well: coolers full of food or drinks, and on the day I returned, immense packs of toilet rolls. Correspondingly, the luggage of departing visitors has to go down the chain and onto the boat.
Once up at the terrace, a bright yellow dumper truck waited for us. This blessed vehicle was arranged to carry all our luggage up the hill to the hostel. From the terrace, it is just short of a kilometre up to the hostel, a gently sloping walk uphill. I, for one, was immensely happy at being relieved of the need to slog 20+kg all the way.
The dumper laden with bags at the farmhouse hostel
Second: wildflowers. One of the joys of Skomer is the wildflowers. They stretch across whole fields in ways rarely seen on the mainland. We were greeted on the way to the hostel by fields of bluebells: they had been over for some time here in Kent, so this was a delightful surprise. Most striking were the vast swathes of red campion (Silene dioica, I think) turning the fields bright pink. Glorious! I'd not seen this spectacle on my last visit: by mid-July, they were mostly over. The campion even turned some of the cliff sides bright pink.
Bluebells on the way to the farmhouse hostel
A field of campion flowers on the west-side of the island
Campion flowers glow pink in the first light of dawn at High Cliff
A wren sings from bracken in front of a campion field
A field of campion in the last light of day
Third: cliff sides and breeding birds. To those of us who are relatively large, bipedal hominids, the concept of making a home on a ridge of rock narrower than your own body width, hundreds of feet above the waves below, trying to bring up offspring while jostling continuously with neighbours, and all the time having to avoid the ultra-high speed cannibal that lives a few rocks away, is not an appealing lifestyle. The same cannot be said for the razorbills, guillemots and kittiwakes who thrive among the guano-streaked cliff faces. It seems to work satisfactorily for them. Oh well…
Summing up. The point I'm making here is that if you are going to Skomer for two or three residential days, be aware of the physical aspects: the steps (and the toll on your knees); human chains; being up before dawn and after sunset for the best of the light; carrying heavy gear (especially long lenses) all day. But, for me, it is a unique experience: spending time in the island's nature, enjoying the seasonal flowers, the open space, the changing light, and most of all the bird life. When I was there last in July 2019, the guillemots and razorbills had mostly left already, but the pufflings were poking their heads out of the nest. Even if no chicks were visible this time, the reward of my May visit was different flowers, light, and stages of the bird breeding season. I'm feeling Skomered-out at the moment, and may choose to skip it next year. Nevertheless, sometime, a June visit will beckon me back to the island.
Guillemots nesting on the side of a cliff
Kittiwakes and guano
And the final word has to go to a puffin ;)
A puffin’s beak glows, backlit by the sunset