The last time we came to Lundy was by ferry from Ilfracombe. The trip took two hours and once we rounded Hartland Point the Atlantic waves rolled in and about 50% of the passengers started vomiting.
This time the MS Oldenburg is due for annual maintenance, so a small helicopter takes me and a group of six friends to the island in seven minutes from the north-west tip of Devon. I don’t miss the vomiting, but I regret not having the sense of temporary acclimation to what has been a slightly different world for much of history.
Lundy, three miles long and about half a mile wide, lies on the border of the Bristol Channel and the Atlantic Ocean. In Welsh mythology it is one of the gateways to Annwn, the alien realm also known as Avalon. Eleven miles off the Devon coast and often obscured by mist, it has captured the imagination of mainlanders for centuries. The country’s history can be summarized as a succession of eccentrics, ranging from murderous to good-natured, who tried to build small empires here.
The island’s geography – dramatically twisted granite cliffs that rise more than 100 meters high – lends itself to a sense of impregnability. There is only one landing point, near a rocky cove called the Devil’s Kitchen. In the early 17th century, Moroccan pirates used Lundy as a base to raid ports in the West Country. A century later, a tobacco smuggler and duplicitous MP named Thomas Benson imported convicts here from the mainland to use as private slaves.
In 1836, the island was purchased by William Hudson Heaven with the money he received in compensation for the emancipation of enslaved people on his plantation in Jamaica. Ironically, given that history, he declared it a “free island.” He also built an outsized Anglican church and quarried granite from the cliffs. Lundy was jokingly called the Kingdom of Heaven.
In the tavern, conversation is easy and the shared isolation of the people gives them a sense of camaraderie
A later owner, Martin Coles Harman, also styled himself a king and was prosecuted for issuing his own currency, in the form of Half Puffin and One Puffin coins. Ultimately, Lundy was donated to the National Trust in 1969. The massive granite cottages that make up one village have been restored by the Landmark Trust, which still manages them today, and the island’s “permanent” population – currently 28 – is largely employed in maintaining these properties for visitors like us .
Most people come to Lundy for a day, but we opt for a five-night stay. This may seem like a long rock five kilometers long, but the island is a world unto itself; Soon it is difficult to leave the loneliness and wilderness, as the mainland becomes further and further away.
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There are 25 properties to choose from, ranging from the remote, off-grid Tibbetts to the former keepers’ quarters in the old lighthouse. There is also a bunkhouse and camping area for warmer weather. We stay in Old House South, which used to be part of a country house. It’s cozy yet elegant, with beautiful rugs, a wood-burning stove and shelves full of well-thumbed books. We prepare most of our meals here – the village shop is well stocked – but treat ourselves to a few pub meals at the Marisco Tavern next door.
The tavern is the point around which Lundy’s (human) life revolves. The walls are covered with lifebelts from the many ships that sank on the coast: Taxiarchis, Maria Kyriakides, Kaaksburg, Blue Merlin. It is also a community center and information center, and several times a week chief executive Joe Parker gives a free lecture on the island’s ecology. What makes Lundy extraordinary, apart from its wild human history, is its wild nature.
In 2010, Lundy became Britain’s first marine conservation area, with the east coast protected from all forms of fishing. It has a population of 180 Atlantic gray seals, which often gather around the jetty where the Oldenburg enters – and dolphins, porpoises, basking sharks and even the occasional minke whales are visitors to its waters. The seas here mark the northern range of rare cold-water corals, including the pink sea fan, which can grow up to half a meter in height. The island’s cliffs are important breeding grounds for up to 40,000 globally endangered seabirds.
In his speech, Joe tells us that things haven’t always been this way. Twenty years ago, Lundy was overrun by black and brown rats, whose voracious egg-eating habits devastated the seabird population. The island is famous for its puffins – Lund-ey is Old Norse for Puffin Island – but in 2001 only five individuals were recorded here and the species was in danger of extinction. Manx shearwaters, which migrate from the tip of South America, were also threatened, as were gannets, kittiwakes, guillemots, razorbills and petrels. Killing the rats was controversial, but it was the birds or them. After an eradication campaign, the island was declared rat-free in 2006.
The increase in the seabird population has been dramatic. In 2023, the number of puffins rose from five to 1,335, and the number of shearwaters from 297 breeding pairs to more than 12,000. Much of the island is protected as a Site of Special Scientific Interest; it is also home to pygmy shrews, more than 500 species of fungi and the endemic Lundy cabbage. However, Joe and others are calling for Special Protection Area (SPA) status to protect the seabirds’ feeding areas and flight paths. According to him, this is essential for its long-term preservation. In the meantime, guards and rangers regularly patrol the cliffs and check bait stations for signs of rodent recolonization. Rats stowed away on ships can swim a few miles, so Lundy can never let his guard down, but for now the puffins lay their eggs in peace.
They are preparing to do just that when we see them at Jenny’s Cove, through a telescope on the cliff set up by a volunteer. At first the birds look like bright white stones scattered across a grassy slope, but when the lens focuses they pop into sharp relief. It is early April, so these are among the first breeding pairs to arrive in the British Isles; after July they will be gone, back to the open Atlantic. Realizing how close they were to disappearing only adds to the pleasure and privilege of watching them – so much smaller than we imagined, but unspeakably delightful.
It is a stormy day, with gusts of wind that almost knock us over. Despite the weather we headed north to Halfway Wall, one of three stone walls that divide the island. South of Quarter Wall lies the human realm of tavern and church, which already feels a world away. North of Threequarter Wall lie cliffs and crashing waves. Here and there, huddled against the wind, can be seen Highland cows, Lundy ponies, Sika deer and Soay sheep, all introduced in the last 100 years. They do far less harm than rats, although there are still too many of them: Joe is vegan on the mainland, but here he eats lamb and venison, “organic, completely free range, and no airline miles”. The Soay breed comes from St. Kilda in the Outer Hebrides and is the closest thing to sheep from the Neolithic period. Humans arrived on Lundy at least 10,000 years ago, so it’s not impossible that those early inhabitants kept strong herds similar to the herds that roam there today.
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The special magic of this island lies in the way it combines conviviality with solitude. In the tavern, conversation is easy and the shared isolation of the people gives them a sense of camaraderie. No wonder visitors return, and year-round residents – security guards, housekeepers, bar staff – stay for an average of five years. It takes a certain type. And yet, despite the permanence of the granite cliffs and cottages, everyone eventually leaves, as they always do. Mariscos, Heavens and Harmans lasted for decades, but they all disappeared too, like exterminated seabirds. Only nature is permanent here, and even that – just ask the puffins – is vulnerable. Lundy’s designation as SPA could make all the difference.
Accommodation on Lundy starts from £276 for four nights for two people in Castle Keep North; camping from £48 pp. Day ferry trips cost £52 adults, £27 children (4-15), under 4s free