Sandy Bay

I am sitting in small bay of black sand watching the blue and turquoise of the water rolling in, crashing against the cliffs either side, sending spray high up the rocks. The raw energy is obvious and yet it is strangely calming. This is Sandy Bay, a remote place on a remote island, and the bay that Emma and I saw last week from Blue Point.

It was a slow journey to get here. Nowhere on this island is easy to get to, the landscape impedes you at every step. But it does provide for scenic journeys. Today we could have been in Britain in cloud - narrow lanes and familiar vegetation. Only the long, bunched, thin leaves of flax plants on the roadside and covering slopes spoke of another country.

And then we had to descend to the coast. It is a slow descent and a motion sickness nightmare, switchbacks every few yards, sloped and tight, hard to drive down and even harder to drive up, a road built for mules and soldiers on foot rather than cars. Down out of the cloud, then out of the vegetation and finally into a dryer, more barren moonscape of a place as we crossed the rugged landscape I had seen from Blue Point last weekend.

We explored the small bay area and the remains of fortifications, solid walls and rusted canons, here to protect one of the few (mildly) accessible places on the island and telling a story of defence against invaders and against potential rescuers of an exiled Emperor. We walked up into the rugged landscape to see the nests of Boobies, their locations obvious from the large white patches of guano long before you saw their black-ringed heads following you with interest. And then we headed back, a clutch-smoking and slow return up the snaking, single  track road. An afternoon of pizzas at a work colleagues of Nigel's, interesting conversation with people who had moved here taking us through to the evening and a day closer to my return.