It wasn’t so much the sight of the island itself that I found so arresting when I first saw it on that misty February afternoon, but rather the way in which the walkway, accessible only at low tide, faded into the distant shadows of the place.
We had come upon the view by chance on that occasion, having spent the morning walking the River Almond trail and stopping to rest at its northernmost point. As we had already reached the end of our planned outing, we decided to postpone a trip to the island for a later date. But already, I was enchanted. For any kid brought up on Tintin and the Hardy Boys, few things can rate as highly as the prospect of exploring a misty uninhabited island whose access is dictated by the tides.
It wasn’t until this past Sunday that we finally organised ourselves to explore the island properly. It was to be an evening trip; the walkway to the island was only accessible within a 4 hour window around low tide which was scheduled for ~6 pm. I eagerly packed far more supplies than were reasonably required, with the romanticised fantasy of our being somehow stranded on the island through the night as violent waves lashed against the shore playing in my head.
We arrived under roiling skies to find the path to the island already well above the water line, and so set out across the River Almond estuary and the Firth of Forth towards Cramond Island. The roughly paved walkway ran a distance of just over a kilometre alongside an unbroken line of massive concrete pylons. We would later discover that these were erected during the Second World War as a ship defence barrier.
On reaching the island, we stepped off the path into soft sand and were immediately struck by the amazing variation of colour to be found at the shore. The white-grey of the beach gave way to deep shades of olive and forest green algae on the rocks, and then to the bright hues of the rolling hills and spring flowers.
Colours of Cramond Island
Seen from the air, the island looks as though it could’ve been taken straight out of an old adventure game. The sandy beach curves from the southernmost point of the island along the western shore, turning rocky on the northern and eastern coasts. Remnants of military fortifications dot the north-eastern corner, and nearer the centre of the island a grassy plateau rises to offer excellent views of the mainland before descending into a small, dense forest.
For the next few hours, we wandered around the island’s 19 acres, and while I’ll grudgingly admit that we did not uncover any criminal hideouts, lost pirate treasure or supernatural artifacts, we were kept well entertained by meandering walking paths and beautiful scenery.
However, as with any good outing, it was as a result of unexpected discoveries that our day out was made truly memorable. The first was a small thing, a piece of terribly sensible advice provided by some considerate visitor. The second, though, was something truly special. There are no sensible or credible reasons to explain how an incredibly well manufactured paper-maché shark might come to be hidden in a thick patch of forest. Be that as it may…
After making our round of the island, we returned to the southern point and walked back along the walkway to the mainland, buzzing from a lovely evening walk. Our timing would prove to be perfect; we watched the storm clouds approach from the west, and were safely ensconced in the local pub for a well-deserved pint five minutes before the skies opened up.
