Day 16 to 25

Day 16. I can’t stop looking but each day that goes by eats into my hope. It is possible that there are other islands and they are safe there. My heart wants that to be true. I don’t care if they are not here with me as long as they are safe. I must keep looking though. There is still a chance that they are either on one of the beaches or have moved inland. I will need to stock up again on food and water soon but I have enough to keep going for now.

Day 17. I have no sense how big this island is, or indeed if it is an island. All I know is that I will keep looking until I find them. They are my everything. Without them there seems little point so I must find them. Watching the sea I can begin to see the flow of the waves. I have replenished my food and water and have decided to go in the other direction over the cliffs.

Day 18. It is a hard climb and all the strains and bruising from the capsizing mean it is a painful one. I have to stop regularly to gather my breath and to massage a particularly painful area on my leg. I can feel the bone near the surface but it can’t be broken because I couldn’t work. Finally, after twice slipping down on loose rocks I am at the top. My body is shaking with the effort but from here I can begin to get a sense of how large this land is and how much searching I will have to do.

Day 19. I will have to clamber down the other side of the cliffs to get to the next beach or can I just trust my eyes to scan over the sands. Given how much I have to explore and if I am to find them quickly perhaps it would be better initially just to check from above. I can see nothing on this first beach. A thought comes to me that I may want to come back and inspect beaches in more detail but how will I know which I have done already. I pick up a large rock and throw it down onto the sand. This will be my reminder.

Day 20. I am walking along what would be a coastal path if more people walked it. As it is, I am having to break ground and the long grasses and roots capture my legs and make it heavy going. After what feels like hours I can see down onto another beach. The angle of the sun makes it hard to view but finally I convince myself this beach is empty. I search for a large rock amongst the grasses and throw it down onto the sand.

Day 21. The path is following the contour of the cliff and begins a gentle slope down making the walking easier. It is now more of hill and the terrain friendlier. I have passed a series of bays. They were difficult to inspect but I am convinced that there was no one on them. I have thrown rocks onto each and on one two rocks as there was an area I couldn’t really see well.

Day 22. The promontory I am on clearly takes the brunt of the weather. The trees are cowed away from the shoreline. Some in silhouette look like old figures turning their crooked backs to the wind to shelter their face. It is quite wonderful how nature adapts and survives and this thought brings me comfort as I think of my wife and children.

Day 23. On the other side of the headland is a long golden beach. I stopped at the top of what should be a route down the sand and took out some food. Within moments I am being surrounded by gulls. I am reminded of Hitchock’s ‘The Birds’ and my hatred of these ‘seaside pigeons’ increases. There is something quite evil in their eyes and I don’t believe I am anthropomorphising. They are harbingers of doom to me.

Day 24. It was wonderful to climb down to this quite beautiful unspoilt beach. If it were not for the dark clouds of fear that fill my head I could believe this was the most wonderful moment of my life. The scene is like from a dream. Endless sand, the bluest of skies and sea and the wonderful shades of green on the hills that provide a background to frame the scene.

Day 25. My bare feet can now feel the warmth of the sand. As I get nearer to the sea each step I leave behind fills with water and I can watch the sand erase the memory of my journey across it. Once again the tiny miracles of nature can bring such joy and rekindle the wonder of a child.