There’s a wee burn next to our cottage that I can see from our kitchen window.

It almost acts as a border between my house and Rum’s National Nature Reserve; its water trickling down the vast hills that I can see from my garden. I can hear it, too. When we first moved here, I remember asking if it was raining outside; the coursing water was loud and sounded like a downpour, but the skies were clear and the winds calm.

When I’m doing the dishes, I can see people attempting to cross the burn. Locals, tourists alike, there is the confident walk to the bank, the second’s contemplation of the makeshift rocky footbridge, and the tentative first step. The first time I attempted to cross it, I put my faith in my new waterproof boots and waded through, avoiding the slippery rocks and the anxiety that came with it.

And now, it feels as though I’m approaching another tricky burn. One that many have walked before, but I am yet to fully conquer; a summer season on a Scottish island.

March sees the end of our off-season, and the island is humming with anticipation. Since we........

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