Here we go again

Posted on March 20, 2023

Back to the island for my 25th stay since my first one (at Old Light Upper) back in 2012, nineteen of those stays have been at Tibbetts, the solid granite lookout built in 1909 and a retreat loved by a small group of fugitives and absconders from the modern digital world, known amongst themselves as Tibbettians.

Tibbetts has changed over the past decade, especially the plumbing which has been improved immensely. For example the shower no longer drips onto your head while you’re on the loo and the showers trickle-rate, when turned on, has increased from a dribble to a steady flow, although the temperature fluctuations still happen and that will appeal to nostalgic hard-core Tibbettians. However, most things remain the same; the gas lighting, the warm fire, the windows that rattle and the overwhelming feeling of contentment when you’re within the confines of this tiny isolated building on the second highest point of the island.

Tibbetts is about a 40 minute walk from the village (Tavern), sometimes it’s 30 minutes if you yomp and can smell a breakfast on a clear dry day. On this day, we had a few beers in the pub in the afternoon and a lovely dinner, it was only 7pm but dark now and a low cloud/ mist had descended when we set out on the journey home, all wrapped up and head torches on, through the mizzle and mud. Splashing through the puddles, beer coat on, head down and onward. No deer on the path tonight or stars to gaze at, the damp starts to creep in until finally we arrive at half-way wall and the last stretch home to rescue the fire and maybe a nightcap. The gate is guarded by (as ever) by bad tempered ponies but we know their game; bright lights and beer bravado scatter the herd and through the gate we go into heavier mist, we know the short cut and strike out away from the road, and despite many years of familiarity, the head torches fail to pick the path. We’re heading to the cliff edge and blackness, only last minute oblivion stops us in our tracks, we circle in confusion picking up unfamiliar landmarks until, the with the wind on our backs, it pushes us north and back on track to the safe bosom of our remote and wonderful refuge.

One weeks stay; all four seasons, every day.

Shag and a rabbit:

North light.

Mr and Mrs Blacked Backed Gul.

Ponies at Jennys Cove.

Drying out.

Drying out 2. The wind and the rain came from the east and north Devon had sleet and snow, we had freezing rain creeping through every nook and cranny; under the door and through the windows. The bog roll got it, so we dried it out…