I probably couldn't get my mother to the right spot on her map, but Tõnnis the boatman got us over to Abruka without a hitch. A Saaremaa-born seaman who'd travelled the world working, Tõnnis had retired back to his home-island. He reminded me of my father somehow: a neat enough man who wouldn't be out of place in a tidy suit and tie, but who looks far more comfortable in the physical world, jumping nimbly from jetty to boat while hauling ropes off moorings and pointing out landmarks with sun-freckled hands. He chatted to us as he steered the 8:45 am boat across to Abruka, and was our up-to-the-minute source on population data. He should know since he's been ferrying the fourteen current islanders back and forth to the mainland for years now, and driving them when the sea freezes in the odd fierce winter.

After reaching the Abruka side of the sea, it was just a short walk from the jetty until the landscape struck me as not so different from parts of the bush back home in Australia, yet it was truly the other end of the world. The island is populated mostly in one small corner, and the rest is bushy forest, last felled over seventy years ago. A few narrow gravel tracks divide unfenced grassy areas, and occasionally a dirt path runs up to an old wooden house. Only some look lived in, and those have colourful flowers in garden beds, pots and even sprouting from an old pair of boots.

Friendly Abby led us along the island's various tracks. She stopped to greet anyone crossing our path, and the reactions showed if they were locals or visitors. She was obviously very well-known to the fourteen locals, or at least the six remaining at home today. We'd seen eight or so of them taking the 9:30 am boat over to Saaremaa for a Saturday shopping day. Amongst the trees and grass we found rundown shacks, barns full of straw, enough houses for the locals and a camping ground. We picnicked sitting on old tree trunks in a grassy area before a small dark-colored snake darted too close to us. From then on we cautiously stuck to the path and walked noisily, just as my father taught me to do in the Australian bush.

Abby's special circuit tour ended at the local swings. These were in fact our first Estonian swings, much anticipated after our guidebook described swinging as practically a national sport. We swayed on the wooden-seated swings, mounted at various heights, resting our feet for a while.

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