Herm alone, with its long white spear of sand and shells, is like a sword-fish among the nursing whales.
In the distance the long ridge of Sercq looks as bare and uninteresting as would the actual back of a basking whale.

It is only when you come to a more intimate acquaintance that all her charms become visible.

Just as I have seen high-born women, in our great capital city of London, turn cold unmoved faces to the crowd but smile sweetly and graciously on their friends and acquaintances.
As you draw in to the coast across the blue-ribbed sea, which, for three parts of the year, is all alive with dancing sunflakes, the smooth bold ridge resolves itself into deep rents and chasms.

The great granite cliffs stand out like the frowning heads of giants, seamed and furrowed with ages of conflict.

The rocks are wrought into a thousand fantastic shapes.