Bog Myrtle & Peat

I have spent much of my life within sight of the Isle of Man. The familiar shape of the island is visible from the Chayne, and the peaks of the highest hills are easy to pick out even on moderately overcast days. Despite the fact that the Isle of Man is closer to the coast of Galloway than it is to the coast of England, ferry routes mean that the only access point to the island is either from Lancashire or  Merseyside. As a result, it’s not as easy for a Scotsman to visit the island as it might seem if you were to look at it on a map. It has taken me all this time to get my act in gear and finally organise a trip; the final catalyst being that I will be best man for my brother’s wedding at the end of this month and I needed some novel destination for a “stag” weekend.

Flying to Ronaldsway on the Isle of Man is actually very simple, and the flight from Liverpool only took about a quarter of an hour. It was infinitely preferable to sitting on a ferry for a few hours, and it meant that in no time at all, the island was under my feet. This is not the time or the place to disclose any details about the nature of the “stag party” (I don’t think that there will ever be a time to disclose some details), but the trip itself was a real eye opener. The Isle of Man is genuinely a thoroughly interesting place, and the few hours we spent there certainly didn’t do it justice. Hiring a car, we drove to the Calf of Man, a small islet at the southern tip of the island. I was keen to see a chough, one of which stands on the Manx crest. Choughs are the only crow that I have never seen (despite the fact that my girlfriend is Cornish and her car numberplate has a chough on it), and even though I loathe almost every other corvid, choughs have always seemed quite appealing.

It turned out that I was not going to be lucky, but I did see two grey seals fighting on the rocks by the shore – quite a spectacle for Britain’s heaviest carnivores, and the most activity I have ever seen out of those gross pigs. On the drive north, there was a huge amount of heather to be seen. I had to tread a delicate line between stopping the car and looking around for birds and wildlife and keeping in the spirit of the “stag do” with my brother and a few of his friends. Overall, I think I was quite restrained but perhaps they would argue otherwise. The entire experience was a revelation, and although I was only on the island for about forty eight hours, I really must go back. From what I can gather, the Isle of Man was once a great place for hen harriers, and it would be good to see a red grouse going about in the hills which are visible from home. I am prepared to face the ferry if it means I can take the dog for a run around the place, and I’m already looking forward to a few more kippers.