All these islands are part of the Marine Nature Reserves of Spain and a permit is required to moor, anchor and go ashore. This we obtained with the help of the Marina lady at Villagarcia. As yet we have not been asked to show it despite a patrol boat, looking a little like a second world war tank, passing us when we first arrived.

 

A walk on the fog veiled island revealed well worn tractor wide tracks to the lighthouse and beaches passing newly restored cottages, the ones with contentedly clucking hens appeared to be lived in all the time. A restored washing house fed by a stream;  groves of oak, chestnut and eucalyptus trees amongst the abundant gorse and bracken added to the charming scent and atmosphere. Areas had been harvested, perhaps to provide fire breaks and the thickest stems of the undergrowth chopped and piled up for winter fuel. The island reminded me of carless Sark as here the small tractor trailer combination is the order of the day, with the exception of two white four by fours.

 

Riding on Rob’s fishing success we had fried mackerel fillets with salad and bread for lunch and rustic mackerel pate with cheese biscuits for supper. And indigestion later that night.

 

22nd July The Green Walk on Isla Ons.

 

Like summer days on the  Cornwall coast, rugged headlands stand proud between lush green sloping valleys. As the cold Atlantic air hits the warm air over the pink granite coast moist fog forms and keeps the islands lush. There is a perfect beach for children just before the hamlet of Almacen. White sand to walk over to the rock pools to lose yourself in another world of sea urchins, tucked harmlessly in clefts, anemones, young green balloons of bladderwrack, determined limpets and little black crabs. There was just a little sandy bay, a few metres wide where you could swim between the walls of barnacle coated rocks.

 

Refreshed on pulpo (octopus), green pimientos and chips washed down with beer at one of the bars we rowed back to Zoonie.

 

Funny how folk can provide entertainment without knowing it. A man in a hard bottomed rib dropped his daughters off on the quay to where his wife and son were waiting and then took the powerful boat with its two outboard engines out to moor it for the night. He took ages to ‘put it to bed’ and in the process had accidentally released the tiny dinghy that would take him back to shore.

 

“Rob look the dinghy is floating away” I said.

 

“Well I noticed it was on a long painter, but no you’re right its free”. Seconds later as the man looked around at his handiwork he raised his arms in despair. Off came the covers, on went the engine, he released the mooring line and chased after the dinghy, returned to the mooring and started all over again. In the very last of the daylight we saw him reach the shore and his eagerly waiting family.