Even now, in my 50s, part of the thrill of crossing onto a tiny island at low tide is that it’s exactly what my mother would have told me not to do. When I set foot on larger islands, I’d often gaze wistfully at smaller atolls. It became a mission to circumnavigate as many of the British islands as I could. The foreshore is where we see a different world reveal itself at low tide; perhaps the last true wilderness in the British Isles. In the Hebrides, many don’t really see themselves as Scottish, let alone British.