We sloshed through the soggiest Scottish winter for decades whilst the South faced desiccation. But in spring the tables turned and, for once, the North West corner of the British Isles has been driest spot on the weather map. We listen incredulously to reports of the wild southern ‘summer’, then leave the house without our wellies or waterproofs.

But every cloudless spell must have its hot, smoky lining. Last year we watched wild fires rage on the nearby mainland, but this summer Tanera herself was the centre of calamity. For 36 alarming hours, a blaze crawled determinedly across the south west point of the Island,

Fire on Tanera, by Kev Percival

beaten back by equally determined island residents and fire-fighters. Shipped over by lifeboat, our own ferry Patricia, and the fish farm boats, it took five different crews from across the Highlands to fight the fire.

The fire clearly started on a beach: most likely a camp fire not properly extinguished. With no tourists staying on the island at the time, it must have been started by passing kayakers enjoying a tea-stop. It destroyed about 45 hectares of wild land – heath, newly established trees, and nesting birds – but, thankfully, didn’t endanger infrastructure or human life … but the message to those who enjoy the wild outdoors is quite simple: don’t light fires during tinder-dry conditions.

Meadow pippit families suffered in the blaze, but other creatures have had a far more successful breeding season. After our mink attack in January I was worried: we had trapped the beast who killed my chickens but the fish farm experienced big salmon losses, with mink the most likely culprit: young birds would be no match for a ferocious invader.

But the mink must be elsewhere, or perhaps too full of fleshy salmon to bother with feathery chicks: our sheltered bay has been an avian kindergarten. The stern ‘kaaa’ of mother eider to her tiny fluff-ball baby dabbling fearlessly in the bladder wrack; hysterical oystercatchers defending their invisible nests; proud greylag parents flanking a procession of their lime green chicks…

The annual treat of young birdlife has been a little overshadowed by the arrival of a more glamorous family. A pod of orca (killer whales) has been spotted regularly in the waters around the Summer Isles…not by us unfortunately (too busy to go whale watching!) but by lots of other lucky sea-users, particularly passengers on the Summer Queen cruise boat who visits daily from Ullapool.

According to experts at the Hebridean Whale and Dolphin Trust and North Atlantic Killer Whale ID who analysed photos of the local orcas’ dorsal fins, the adults of this pod are usually seen around Orkney and Shetland. But the clumsy surfacing actions of one whale identified it as just a few weeks old and, appropriately for a local baby, it has been named ‘Summer’.

All this family activity would be exciting and heart warming any time, but for us this year it has had a particular pertinence. I have been growing my own little being, which is due to emerge into the world in just a few days. I wonder what the subject of my next column will be…

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