A Doorstep Mile

I was sat on top of a Neolithic tomb when I realised that something was wrong. We’d spent the week surveying rockpools on the west coast of Guernsey, hunting for invasive species amongst dulces and kelps. From the wine-coloured richness of the water to the rocky shards that rise from the yellow sand, Guernsey seems perpetually caught in golden hour during the summer months.

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The day I arrived on the island was still and the mid-afternoon sun cast a quiet hum over everything, and it turned the senses inwards; the ringing of breath in the ears and the throb of blood under the skin was most tangible feeling. We journeyed to L’Eree that first evening and spent an hour bathing with the gobies, cocooned by granite hands and hidden from view while the cormorants headed out to the sea beyond Lihou.