Lumbister occupies a wide stretch of Yell's central peatland, and in June the reserve is at its most alive — alive in the way that exposed, treeless moorland is alive, which is to say quietly and with effort. The red-throated divers breed on the small lochans scattered through the bog, and their calls — a long, wavering wail that sounds like something between a wolf and a ghost — carry extraordinary distances across the flat landscape. Hearing one for the first time, across half a mile of empty peat, is one of those ornithological moments that stays with you.
Arctic skuas patrol the moorland edges, harrying terns and smaller birds with spectacular aerial aggression. Merlin hunt low over the heather, moving fast and low enough to be mistaken for a large thrush until the speed gives them away. The landscape itself — unbroken peat bog stretching to low hills on every horizon — is a habitat that has largely disappeared from southern Britain, and worth spending time in on its own terms. A visit pairs naturally with a walk to the coast nearby; the reserve sits close to the main road and is easy to combine with the drive between the two ferry terminals.