A trip to the Farnes

It’s the long summer holidays and there are six or seven weeks to find things to do to keep the children amused and stop the adults from imploding. It’s always a challenge to get the balance right between doing too much, creating an expectation that cannot be met, or tedium.

In a rare confluence, both my daughters were going to be in the same place at the same time and so my eldest suggested we go on a boat trip to the Farne Islands. For those of you not from the region, they are a group of between fifteen and twenty islands off the Northumberland coast, the number depending upon whether the tide is in or out. The largest is Lindisfarne, or Holy Island, known for being the home of St. Cuthbert. They are  a sanctuary for seals and sea birds, notably the puffin.

Much to my surprise, I had never equated Lindisfarne with the other Farne Islands. In hindsight it is so obvious.

It must be about fifty years since I last went on the trip, with whom I cannot remember. This time we were a party of two children and five adults, across three generations. The weather was perfect ,mild with a bit of sun and, most importantly, very little wind. The sea was calm with next to no swell, which was good as I had been worried about seeing my fish and chip lunch again. It was an excellent introduction for the children to the sea.

The Glad Tidings weaved its way through the various islands, stopping to see the wildlife on the way, the seals (thankfully), gannets, razorbills, shags, cormorants, kittiwakes, a curlew and, of course, the puffins. We were lucky to a point in that they were getting to migrate to the North Atlantic. A couple of weeks later and they would not be there. We also saw the location of Grace Darling’s daring and famous rescue.

An hour and a half later we were back on dry land but not until after an altercation between our captain and that of a boat taking people on a fishing trip. From what I can gather the latter boat would not give way to the one we were on, blocking the harbour. I don’t know if it was a protest though I suspect it was a regular occurrence. Sharp words were exchanged and gesticulations made. You didn’t need to be in the fishing trade to understand what was meant. Perhaps it was all part of the entertainment but it made me think of the Icelandic cod wars. A bit melodramatic I know.

It certainly gave us something to talk about as we made our way up the pier and to well deserved ice creams all round. A perfect day was had by all.