Waterfalls of Stars

Rosanne Alexander
Publication Date: 
Tuesday, May 16, 2017
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‘As bracing as a lungful of salt sea air’ – BBC Wildlife magazine

‘Alexander’s writing is captivating. It is experiential, fresh, and alive’ – Wales Arts Review

‘She writes with a raw intensity which brought tears to my eyes’ – Planet


When Rosanne Alexander’s boyfriend Mike was offered the job of warden of Skomer, a small uninhabited island off the south west tip of Wales, they had just ten days to leave college, marry (a condition of employment) and gather their belongings and provisions for the trip to the island. This was the first of many challenges Rosanne and Mike faced during their ten years on the nature reserve, from coping with periods of isolation when they were the island’s only inhabitants, to dwindling food supplies during the winter when rough weather made provisioning from the mainland impossible. Thrown on their own resources they had also to deal with catastrophes like the devastation of the island’s seal colony following an oil spill.

With great sensitivity, and humour, Rosanne Alexander relates their experiences on Skomer, including her observations of the island’s wildlife and landscape. It is an important breeding ground for many birds, and shearwaters, puffins and kittiwakes – and the seals – become a source of pleasure and companionship. With her lyrical evocation of the natural world and its enthusiastic and resourceful approach to the problems of island life, Alexander’s book will inspire and entertain anyone who has felt the need for escape.



Review by Sarla Langdon, The Bay Magazine

Thursday, March 8, 2018

An isolated island, a sanctuary for thousands of birds, surrounded by a wild sea — not the ideal honeymoon for a twenty-year-old bride, one would imagine. But Rosanne Alexander revelled in her new surroundings and remained on Skomer Island for ten further years with her husband Mike as warden.

I love these island sagas—we have encountered a few in this column, the most noteworthy easily R.M. Lockley’s story of his sojourn on Skokholm, his eponymous Dream Island. Skomer is a larger neighbour, also located off the Pembrokeshire coast. We have, as well, discussed the superb Booker International short-listed The Unseen by Roy Jacobsen, an extraordinary story of a Norwegian family’s life on the tiny Barroy Island off the coast of Norway.

These island sagas all carry the same message of an isolated life in the middle of the ocean, family life with no electricity, few neighbours, rare visitors, no shops — none of the trappings of modern living —and completely inaccessible for half the year due to inclement weather and unruly seas. Rosanne Alexander vividly portrays the cacophony of the birdlife, the colourful profusion of wild flowers, the enchanting seasonal arrival of the seals and the many hostile encounters with the waves. But, as with the other island authors, what shines through is her love for her way of life, the delight she takes in the flora and fauna of her habitat and the pleasure it gives her to be providing and guarding a sanctuary for the wild birds and animals in her care.

Part of Rosanne and Mike’s task was to accommodate and assist scientists, researchers and PhD student visitors to Skomer — their main link to the world outside, made uncertain and more difficult by the infrequency of the supply boat and the inadequacy of their own craft. When the disaster of an oil slick threatens or when illness strikes, RAF Brawdy comes to the rescue when possible, as does the motorboat The Dale Princess, and its intrepid Captain, Campbell Reynolds.

This riveting story wants to be read huddled up in front of the fire on a stormy March night in vicarious enjoyment of Rosanne’s successes and setbacks in a hostile environment.

Review by Angharad Penrhyn Jones

Friday, December 1, 2017

Until Rosanne Alexander met her boyfriend, Mike, she had never heard of Skomer. She was eighteen years old, newly enrolled at college and hadn’t seen much of the world. Two years later, in 1976, Mike was offered the job of nature warden on this tiny, uninhabited island off the coast of Pembrokeshire – an island which had cast a spell on him as a young boy. The couple accepted the post, married quickly (a prerequisite for the job), and packed their belongings.
     Waterfalls of Stars is an intimate and emotive account of a decade living in this wild, profoundly isolated place where the outside world intrudes only in the form of crackling voice on Radio 4. Here there is no TV, electricity, phone or washing machine.Visitors arrive only in the Summer season and in the Winter the island can be cut off for months.
     Would-be castaways might be disappointed, however, to realise that this is not a romantic story about young love and an island paradise. ‘I didn’t enjoy getting married,’ Alexander states bluntly about her wedding day, and their first attempt to cross over to the island is aborted due to bad weather. This is a treacherous stretch of water. Things have got off to a rocky start.
     As they finally settle down to their new life together, the couple soon run out of fresh food. Alexander starts to develop ‘raging food cravings’ as they embark on a ‘hopelessly unhealthy diet’ made up of large quantities of tinned meat and powdered potato – hardly the stuff that castaway fantasies are made of. Moreover, we are given stress-inducing accounts of kitchen windows being smashed by Atlantic storms, numerous disasters out at sea (the author never overcomes her fear of boating), a near-death experience while fixing a roof, and tragically, a corpse being washed up onto the beach.
     Not many marriages would survive such a test. ‘It had all the ingredients for a bitter ending,’ the author admits. Yet she turns out to be a true stoic, and the experience of living on the edge of the world, with the island as their ‘common cause’, brings the couple closer. Also, they are less isolated than we might first think; Skomer, in one sense, is not uninhabited. The island is teeming with life: birds, seals, and small mammals scurrying around in the undergrowth, all of which are a source of fascination, comfort and companionship to Alexander.
     We learn about the Manx shearwater, a quarter of whose global population breeds on Skomer, and who create a secretive network of burrows underneath the soil. We read about the seals and how a mother will lie by her stillborn pup for days in a gesture of maternal love. Alexander observes these animals obsessively, dangling over ledges and scrambling down cliffs to get a better view. Showing genuine physical courage, she becomes absorbed into their world. Sometimes she gives the seals names, taking note of their unique characteristics and temperaments. The boundaries between human and non-human life start to dissolve. On being surrounded by a hail of gannets out at sea, she writes: ‘It felt as though we had found the hidden gateway that allowed us to cross their barriers and enter their domain.’
     It is hugely distressing to read about the impact of two oil spills on the island, and the cruelly drawn-out deaths of the birds and seals whom we have come to know. The author feels a ‘helpless rage’ in the aftermath of the disasters, and in these chapters she writes with a raw intensity which brought tears to my eyes.
     She writes with lyricism, too. As an artist she is attuned to the nuances of colour and light, and her descriptions are transporting. She is brilliant also at capturing birdsong. Life on the busy, noisy mainland becomes irrelevant to her and the thought of returning to it increasingly painful. ‘Our lives had become very small,’ she observes. ‘Everything we knew was confined within a little circle of sea. But far from being dull, it all mattered so much more.’
     While Waterfalls of Stars is not perfect, its sentences often clogged with adjectives and adverbs, it is impossible not to be swept along by Alexander’s sense of awe at the natural world and her compassion for Skomer’s inhabitants. To read about the couple’s decision to leave the island after ten years is heart-wrenching. By the end of the book, I had also come under its spell, and was dreaming of being on a cliff top at the edge of the Atlantic, looking out to sea.


Review by Lizzie Wilberforce, The Wildlife Trust

Thursday, September 21, 2017

One of the most curious things about long term involvement with our seabird islands of Skomer and Skokholm is how it influences your perception of time. I have had the privilege of visiting Skomer for thirty years now, and the island has never ceased to impress upon me the relative insignificance of my own existence. Over those thirty years the imposing cliffs, the feel, even the smell of island have remained almost totally unchanged. Some of the individual seabirds have been living there for longer than I have been alive. There is something intimidating and yet wonderful about this sense of the immensity of time.

Yet alongside those constants, over that same period, the human life of the island has changed immeasurably. Wildlife Trust Wardens have been resident on Skomer since 1960. In those early days the job was much more isolated. Communication with the mainland was difficult, conditions could be very harsh, safeguards were fewer. Fast forward thirty years, and our current wardens have internet access, mobile telephones, good communications with the emergency services and provide a constant stream of updates of sightings and monitoring results to the world via the 24/7 machinery of social media.

Waterfalls of Stars is a very personal narrative of Rosanne and Mike Alexander’s life and work on Skomer in the 1970s and 80s. Rosanne paints a heart-wrenchingly honest portrait of her ten years there, at a time when the job was much more isolating than it is today. The book leads the reader through both the joys and despairs of their daily existence; through the life, and death, that is an inescapable part of a small island teeming with wildlife.

Anyone who has been to Skomer and stayed overnight will recognise the sense of wonder and privilege she describes at her first experience of the Manx Shearwaters returning by nightfall, and how life-changing an experience that sudden and unexpected connection with the natural world can be. Less familiar to most readers will be the alternately funny, touching and sometimes devastating  descriptions of life as a warden over so many years; the abject helplessness of watching oil pollution devastate the island’s beaches and smother the seal pups that she has been following from birth, the fascination and pleasure of rearing an injured and increasingly tame but incredibly intelligent raven, or the true solitude of being the only person on an island with no immediate contact with the mainland.

For me perhaps the most engaging and thought-provoking element of the book is how every tale of island life reinforces the tiny distance that lies between joy and despair in the natural world. Life on Skomer in the 1970s was far removed from today’s modern mainland life, where so many of us are so disconnected from the natural world, and view wildlife and natural landscapes as an aesthetic or recreational privilege that poses no threat. On Skomer, an unexpected storm, or snowfall, can bring both spectacular beauty but also very real risk to life and limb. Rosanne paints a powerful portrait of how precarious existence on Skomer can be, but also how life persists and thrives in spite of that.

Waterfalls of Stars is at its simplest level a thoroughly enjoyable and informative description of the life of an island warden, and the trials and tribulations of wardening an internationally important nature reserve. Anyone who has been to Skomer or who appreciates wildlife will surely enjoy the book for this reason alone. However, it is most important for its insights into what it means to be so in touch with nature, to become so personally entwined with the fate of the wildlife around you, that it alters your entire outlook on life. Rosanne’s final description of leaving the island, and the absolute pain of being wrenched so terminally from a place to which you feel you belong so wholly, is the culmination of the intimate connection between her and the island that develops throughout her very personal story.

I loved this book. It fired up every emotion that inspired me into a career in conservation: anger at the threats we so carelessly impose on our wildlife, the joy of making a difference, the fascination at the unfolding wonders of the natural world, and the sheer pleasure of reading someone giving voice to emotions that I could never articulate so eloquently myself.

Review by Richard Hartnup, Gwales

Friday, September 1, 2017

I have been fascinated by the Pembrokeshire islands since going on a field trip to Skokholm as a schoolboy, so I was delighted to be given this book to review. Delighted, but a little apprehensive that it would not be worthy of the jewel-like, other-worldly dream-place that is Skomer. After all, much has been written before, notably by R.M. Lockley, whose works are classics of their genre. On receipt of the book I was also somewhat daunted by its format of small-font, closely-spaced text running to about 350 pages. I need not have worried. What we have here is a beautifully written, highly personal account of a young woman's life-changing ten years on a small island with just one companion. There is something deeply moving about this seemingly timid and unassuming young woman taking the enormous step of incarceration on a small island with her barely-known husband. This takes the book beyond nature writing into an almost anthropological investigation into the workings of the human spirit. 

Having said that, it is, indeed, nature writing of a high order: truthful, compelling and at the same time clearly expressed with modestly understated poesy. Lucid and original description enables an appreciation of this jewel of an island. Rosanne Alexander's metaphors are well thought out and pleasingly avoid the banal and the obvious. There is a good mix of natural history and reflective introspection, and the reader quickly warms to the bold and courageous ways in which she adapts to her unique circumstances, rather like the animals with which she shares her situation. 

There is no shortage of drama. Skomer is only a few miles off the Pembrokeshire coast, but the seas are extremely fickle and treacherous. There are many days when it is impossible for boats to cross the sound, and the inhabitants (in the winter just Rosanne and Mike) can be stuck on the island for weeks on end. They are dependent on their own resources and resilience. Some of the storms are truly ferocious, and the author describes them with admirable force, and sometimes terror. 

In the ten years that they were there, they had to cope with two major oil-spills from tankers in the Irish Sea. These tragic events were dealt with by superhuman efforts from a team of both naturalists, the RAF and workers from the oil industry, and Alexander covers the process with thoughtful compassion as well as seething anger at the despoliation of her once pristine adopted home. 

There are many lyrical moments when the author revels in the serenity and beauty of her surroundings. In describing the phosphorescent autumn sea she says, ‘it all added to the feeling that Skomer had almost endless layers to be unravelled, more than anywhere I had ever known’. She has unravelled many of these layers, and will leave readers longing to experience the island for themselves, as well as admiring the dedicated and resourceful people who look after it for us. 


Review by Melissa Harrison, BBC Wildlife Magazine

Monday, August 21, 2017

Many of us dream of escaping to an uninhabited island, but few fulfil that fantasy. For armchair adventurers, Rosanne Alexander’s account of a decade on Skomer, a wildlife haven off the coast of
West Wales, is as bracing as a lungful of salt sea air. With only puffins, Manx shearwaters and grey seals for company, Rosanne and her warden husband Mike deal with isolation, injury, wild
weather, tragedy at sea and even an oil spill. It’s a beguiling story, but overlong: if it were a third shorter it could have sparkled brighter still.

Review by Nathan Munday, Wales Arts Review

Monday, August 21, 2017

‘Even now, the slightest thing can take me back: the way the sunlight catches in the turn of the wave or a distant bird call, half-heard, snagged in the breeze. Then, in that moment between eye-blinks, I am there on a cliff top at the edge of the Atlantic’.

And so am I. Take the book in your hand and it is like setting off across the choppy sound in a small boat to Skomer. I’m talking about the front cover of course. A storm is brewing: the orange blue colour of an angry sky juxtaposes with an aquamarine hope in the top right-hand corner; these colours are intensified by a warm paradise sun, peeping just beyond the spine. This is what you see when you first take Waterfall of Stars into your hand. The island is there too; it looks like a melancholic whale, trailing through the waves – a living creature rather than some piece of rock. As I read this lyrical account of the Alexanders’ sojourn, it struck me how words still transport us, and how we all subliminally crave for a decade on a lonely, uninhabited island on the edge of the Atlantic.

Islands are complex places. They are both microcosms of mainland life and alternative spaces for new beginnings. The book does have that frontier feel to it. Inside their basic refuge, Radio 4 is like a flickering reminder of home. There are Wordsworthian instances where the dark island reveals its huge form which sometimes frightens the author. The scream of a rabbit caught by a buzzard, or the wind blowing across the isthmus become significant events. We soon realise that the island, like a pagan deity, gives and takes away. It provides a panorama of colour and light as well as the darkness that is felt by the reader. It gives off a melody – sometimes cacophony, sometimes not – of Puffins, Shearwaters, and Kittiwakes. These birds use Skomer as a home, or as a spring board to other places, a breeding ground, or possibly, even a holiday destination. But like the Alexanders, we cannot fly away and we stay when things take the turn for the worst. Skomer’s beaches are a haven for the seals before turning into hell when an oil spill laps the island’s shore. Even Skomer cannot escape the black force that drives the human machine. The disintegrating cliff edges are a poignant reminder that these places are rare and that they are threatened…

The sea is as complex as the island. It attacks Skomer on a daily basis but, in a strange way, it also acts as its shield and defender. The same waves that wound the seals during the oil spill had wooed Rosanne when she first arrived:

It was impossible to enter the water there without feeling the breath snag in the back of my throat and thinking ‘never again’, but its appearance was so limpidly enticing that I fell victim to its temptations again and again. Then, as the first sensation of shock subsided, I was won over. I became lost in the fascination of that different world, following my ghostly pale hands as they parted a trail through the shuddering fronds of seaweed.

This sensual image is just one of many that she paints for us as she is ‘lost in the fascination’ of these new worlds. I could not eradicate that image from my mind for days. I envied that experience. It triggered some distant memory in my own mind when I went snorkelling as a child. It was either the ‘ghostly pale hands’ or the seaweed trails that did it. It is Alexander the artist that is swimming here. This is not the first Welsh island to draw the gaze of a literary painter. Brenda Chamberlain lived on Bardsey and then there was David Jones, who was drawn to the rocks of Caldey with his sacramental gaze. Rosanne Alexander has added Skomer to that Welsh portfolio of island works. The Alexanders painted during their sojourn and I was surprised, at first, when she did not include any illustrations, paintings, or photographs in the book. Perhaps this is an experiment with words where the sonic palette of imagined bird calls, rich adjectives, and personal memoir portrays the island in much clearer and realistic hues. But I still would have liked some pictures.

Alexander’s writing is captivating. It is experiential, fresh, and alive, reflecting the peripheral environment where this book was born. Perhaps this is why travel writing, or at least books about place, remain as popular as ever. They give us a dose of fresh air which gives us a craving for more and more and we are not satisfied until we step outside and find something worth writing about.

It is ‘fresh’ in other ways as well. Like Patrick Leigh Fermor’s A Time of Gifts (which was written from the perspective of his younger self), Alexander writes with that same youthful voice. The experiences are new to her and she describes them in a way which gives us newcomers the same insight that she had when she landed on the island:

Everything was a first; nothing was lost in the haze of routine.

She’s honest. Even the extensive use of adjectives is part of the honeymooned lexicon which makes this story real. She does not shy away from describing the frustrations which add to the colourful tapestry of marriage. There is much joy too and an Adam and Eve feel to the narrative; a man and a woman, isolation, a beautiful but dangerous habitat, and animals galore. My favourite has to be Wellington the goat who causes them to fall now and again! The animals are never over-anthropomorphised, but we do feel that we know and care for them. The book involves us and we are as hungry as they are when they run out of food. I was heart wrenchingly gutted when the precious pear pudding was ruined or when a bird flew in through the window, leaving shards of glass in the freshly cooked pies.

The structure of the book was always going to be tricky. How does one sum up ten years in three hundred pages? I was sceptical at the beginning but I was soon broken into the rhythms of the island. The structure becomes less important. These are, after all, the moments ‘between eye-blinks’ and memories should never be restricted by the chapters and divisions of mainland life which run with Filofax accuracy.

By the end of the book, I was both ready and unready to leave Skomer. Maybe that’s what Adam and Eve felt as they left the confines of Eden? Anyhow, the reader should not rush through this experience. Stay in Skomer for a while, close your eyes, and breathe the fresh air of the Atlantic.


Review by Ian Carter, Mark Avery blog

Sunday, August 13, 2017

This book looked a rather daunting prospect when it first arrived, with its striking cover of a storm-scarred sea and more than 300 pages of fairly small print, uninterrupted by photographs.

It tells the very personal story of the first ten years of an adult life, from a hesitant, uncertain abandonment of normality on the mainland, through to the return a decade later. The book is, primarily, about the author’s response to the challenges of living and working (year-round) with her husband in a place far removed from ‘normal’ civilisation; something not to be underestimated in the days before phones, internet connection or even electricity had reached the island.

It is not a book with many facts and figures, and there are no summaries of research projects or survey results. Yet there is plenty of insight into the wildlife of the island from the day-to-day observations, described with real affection and an enviable talent for capturing the moment. The Grey Seals and breeding seabirds are a recurring theme, the latter hard to escape when living in a house surrounded by seabird burrows. Manx Shearwaters wail incessantly from their nests in the cellar (just feet below the bedroom floorboards) and in poor weather smack into (and occasionally through) the windows. Puffins clatter around on the roof and rogue individuals bring soot, rather than broken glass, into the house.

Whilst the book is often about the routine, even mundane, activities of day-to-day existence, the ten years were not without a few adventures to provide some stark contrasts. There is a near calamitous boat trip or two (or three), the abject misery of dealing with oil spills and their consequences, and even a traumatic encounter with human mortality. There are other contrasts too. The busy summers with their visitors, volunteers and PhD students, followed by the isolation of the long winter when weeks go by with little human contact. The exhilarating, pristine beauty of the island and its wildlife, suddenly wrecked by pollution and tangles of fishing nets. The calm, sunny days with glassy seas, and the frequent storms, pummelling the house and isolating the island, sometimes for days or even weeks on end.

A book of this sort relies almost entirely on the quality and power of the writing and the resulting empathy with the author. It helped that I am fond of islands and intrigued by the idea of this kind of lifestyle. If you are neither of these things then, possibly, this book may not be for you. But it was a book that held my attention throughout and was a real pleasure to read.


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