When I first went to the island of Handa on the northwest coast of Scotland we chugged across the narrow straits on a little, narrow boat. But there was no worry – the straits were calm and sheltered. On landing the young warden introduced us to the Island reserve and told us about its wildlife, also pointing out that in the centuries past the local people used to row out here to bury their dead. That was to prevent hungry wolves from digging up their loved ones and devouring their bodies when food was scarce in the harsh winter.
These days we don’t row across the straits, we chug; and it’s keen, lively people that make the crossing, not corpses; nevertheless, the island is still a haven – for thousands of Puffins, Guillmeots, Razorbills, and Skuas all call this home.
And still not a wolf in sight.
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