“Nature abounds in Manx folklore, with shape-shifting wrens and glittering herring kings”
It’s a warm day in August and I’m underwater in Port Erin Bay. Snorkelling round the kelp-fringed edges, I drift above wary ballan wrasse and grapefruit-sized urchins and watch a school of pale mullet loom out of the blue.
I pop my head up and scan around. My son is playing with his friends in the shallows. They’ve been in and out of the water all day, swimming, rockpooling and exploring on the beach. Nearby on his paddleboard my husband can survey the seabed mapped out below him through gin-clear waters. Out in the middle of the bay a tall ship has been anchored for a few days, giving a pirate backdrop to all our adventures. It has been a magical week of holiday – and all the better because our staycation has been less than an hour away from home.
For the past three years, lockdowns and travel restrictions have meant that we’ve rarely ventured off the Isle of Man, which
