The car-free Channel Island with 'Caribbean-like' beaches and 65 locals
"Herm? What’s that short for? Hermit?" is my ignorant internal commentary as I approach the Channel Island on a half-empty trident carrying us over three miles of choppy waters from Guernsey (it's further from Jersey, with most travel via Guernsey). Certainly, with its sparse population of 65, Herm is a place that promises – if not, inspires – solitude.
Upon arrival, my fellow visitors spill up the Rosaire steps and evaporate across the island like mist. It occurs to me that this is liminal land, far enough from the beaten path, but it feels like I'm greeting the island as an old friend – rather than the unknown.
Spanning 1.5 miles top to bottom and less than a mile across, Herm is a place that makes you feel like you've plunged backwards through time. It is inexplicably easier to visualise the Neolithic legacy here than at the many long barrows I have explored in the UK. There are no cars, no bikes – just two pubs and a single school with four pupils.
Where to stay
My room for the night is in the only hotel, the White House Hotel, which boasts ocean views and gardens of exotic flowers and towering palms. I am reminded that Herm is described not only as 'Guernsey’s wayward little sister', but as 'the Caribbean of the Channel Islands'. Scatterings of common blues and small coppers on the path up to the hotel whisper of the grassy knolls found further inland, more characteristic of British coastal landscapes.
While the southern corners of the island offer a rocky trail across dramatic cliffs, inland tumbles into woodland, punctuated by dry stone walls and cottages, characteristic of the Yorkshire Dales. Beyond, this scattering of civilisation gives way to a verdant expanse known locally as the Common. Not one inch has been neglected by birdlife: chiffchaffs play among the gorse; ringed plovers weave at its edges; flashes of scarlet betray oystercatchers on the shore and puffins nesting in the cliffs. It is worth noting the puffins will not be here come the autumn, and glimpsing them adds to the liminality that pulses through this island.
What to do on Herm Island
Come the evening, I follow the hotel receptionist’s directions to bisect the island – the ‘strenuous’ way – and find a steep, winding path crested by curling groves of pine and eucalyptus trees. At the top, an early medieval chapel sits tucked away, solitary as the monks that once found sanctuary there. It is still used by locals to this day.
From this point, the island is laid out before me like a pirate’s map: I can see the far edges – the white stretches of sandy shore. It occurs to me that the sun operates differently here; it cloaks the entire island in a deep, gilded gauze. Not one beam is hemmed in. Goldfinches duck across the field below me, their plumage sharing a slice of the surrounding gold.
Curious about this rule, the next day I rise before the sun and walk to the famous Shell Beach on the northeast coast, whose white petticoats I have already glimpsed. A full moon bobs in the west behind me, while ahead a cloud has snagged on the horizon. I fear I may not be able to enjoy the sunrise swim I had envisaged, when the orb breaks through: brilliant, deep orange, suspends over the sea.
The waves are intimidating and yet, once out there, the water is refreshing; not cold enough to evict me for almost an hour. It is only when I do go to my towel, that I notice I had not been alone in the water. A face – one of the few others I have seen – appears among the waves. A curious seal, waiting patiently for my exit so he too can languish on the beach’s fine sand.
My afternoon plans are hijacked by rough waters; a peaceful kayak replaced by a swim around the rocky half of the island’s perimeter to clamber through a silver mine, disused since the 1840s. My guides, born and bred Guernseymen Ant and Harvey, have a way of traversing the landscape that feels both inherently and unwittingly Romantic. Ant, age no object, easily charters the dark crags down to the sea. Harvey – a couple of decades his junior – takes to the water like a seal, snacking gleefully on the spaghetti-like seaweed that swaddles Herm’s south-west edge. Most of the islanders seem harmoniously in step with the landscape in this way; it is both charming and enviable.
Coasteering is one of an eclectic array of activities offered on Herm – explorers can book RIB tours, fishing trips, as well as kayaking and archery. In truth though, the island does not demand this – on the contrary, its size invites solo exploration. Dotted around are informative boards with helpful spotting guides; the unspoiled views littered with just a couple of friendly faces, enjoying a slice of the peace.
Where to eat
Food at The Mermaid Tavern – a 2-minute walk from the hotel – is as good pub grub should be: simple and wildly satiating. I order the fried cod with chips and mushy peas, and sort a pint of ‘Fire Dancer’ – a candy-sweet apple cider that is available due to the ongoing festival. Weeks on, this same drink would make Guernsey headlines due to selling out before the festival was through. Safety and sparsity make news slow on Herm.
The tavern’s head of hospitality is a Scot who applied for the job without telling his wife – they lived in Glasgow at the time – but she was quite quickly won over by the isle’s character. They’ve now been here for 20 years, blending their own bizarre vodka behind the bar; viscous clotted cream fudge and Terry’s chocolate orange. It is sickly-sweet and moreish – better than any of the dessert spirits I've sampled in the UK, and stronger.
The verdict
My last few hours in Herm are spent enjoying the freedom this land offers. I scramble over the headland to discover a megalithic dolmen, embedded in its side. I walk barefoot across the northernmost beach, not another soul in sight. I make a promise in the solitude of this special place that I will return, even if that does make me – officially – a Hermit.
The White House Hotel has doubles from £145 for bed and breakfast. Return crossing from Guernsey on Isle of Herm ferry £16, herm.com/ visitguernsey.com. Condor Ferries has regular sailings from Poole and Portsmouth to Guernsey, from £80 return for a passenger on foot
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