ust nine miles by five miles, the Isle of Sheppey looms large on the horizon of my childhood on the north Kent coast. Described in one prominent travel guide book as a “flat clump of marshy land”, visiting never really appealed until this year, when ferreting out wild places became so much more important to our mental health.
To get there, I take the old road beneath the arc of the Sheppey Crossing, the Kingsferry Bridge, which has been here in various guises since 1860. The short crossing over the Swale, a tidal channel of the Thames Estuary connecting Sheppey with the mainland, is more exciting than it has any right to be: nearly a year of travel restrictions make my heart leap as I cross to somewhere new. An actual, real getaway island.
My first stop is Elmley National Nature Reserve (pre-booking only), where gatekeeper Mick waves me through the electric gate. From there, a two-mile potholed track unfurls across a wet and flat grassy landscape towards a distant treeline. Stock-still cows dot the roadside and I spot a company of widgeons (colourful, medium-sized ducks) wheeling in the distance.
