It is autumn; Tanera is quieter. The families who cavorted in kayaks and devoured mountains of chocolate brownies have migrated south, back to the classroom and the office. Even the noisy oyster catchers have left the bay, and the fulmars, black guillemots and razorbills are off for a winter wandering the open sea.

A slight twinge of loneliness, and a sigh of relief at surviving another summer season… Then excitement at all that the next stage of the year will bring.

We are galloping towards equinox: just two weeks ago there was still light in the sky at ten in the evening, but in fortnight it will be dark by supper time. The long light evenings of summer are all very well but the returning darkness has its own pleasures. We are reacquainting ourselves with the stars (Jupiter is startling at the moment), and last week we spotted a first smudge of Aurora Borealis.

Preposterous beauty
Walking around at night on the soggy paths is a perilous business, stepping around the toads who are creaking about furtively on the cool damp ground. So it’s better to avoid paths at dark times and go by boat instead: any excuse to play with water on a dark night now that the phosphorescence is blooming.

These tiny luminescent planktonic plants light up when the water moves: a preposterously beautiful sight. A bow wave is gilded; an oar through the water is a magic wand; a propeller churns up a ghostly green growl. The wee things even come home sparkling on wellies.

Daylight brings a new spectrum. Most flowers are over but the heather, having lain brown for most of the year, is now in full-on purple bonanza. Walking through the crowded clumps on a warm day, the air smells spread thick with honey. Bees are delighted. Blue heads of Devil’s-bit scabious – in Gaelic Bodach Gorm, ‘Blue Old Man’ – nod sagely above the browning grasses. They are much taller than their mainland brothers who are nibbled short by sheep. Malachite ‘hawker’ dragonflies roar around the lawn as if remote-controlled by a small boy.

A rest from the footfall
After a busy summer the ground feels ready to enjoy a rest from the footfall. And so are we. It’s good to shift gear: to set our own timetable for a bit, rather than obeying the schedule of tour boats and the needs of holiday makers. A chance to reflect on the next priorities in this ever-on-going project of keeping the Island healthy and happy.

Inevitably there will be unglamorous tasks; replacing bits of generators and repairing all sorts of broken, weathered, rotten things. But we are – finally! – reaching a conclusion on the power-generation issue, and by next Spring we hope to have a lovely array of photovoltaic cells powering the north end of the Island, and a pair of small wind turbines powering the south end.

But like many Islands, we have a population issue: the parents are moving off Tanera (only as far as Achiltibuie on the mainland) and our single highland steer is still lonely. We need to find some answers, for both man and beast…

This article first appeared as a column in the magazine Scottish Islands Explorer.