“Granda, can we go on an adventure?”

Can we ever! When your seven year old granddaughter wants to go photographing with you, what power could prevent it?

“Where would you like to go?” Without hesitation: “Ballintoy!”

I was curious. We had gone to Ballintoy the last time, so why return?

Perhaps it was the boats?

Lucy likes the boats and we stopped for a moment to watch them as they idled in the evening sunshine. But she pressed on.

Was it the stunning coastline? She’s beginning to appreciate its beauty too. But no. It wasn’t that.

And then I remembered: the rabbits! She had been captivated by the rabbits on her first visit and had been dreaming of them ever since. She even had brought a cuddly toy rabbit with her in her camera bag.

On the coastal walk towards Elephant Rock and White Park Bay there is a stretch of sandy ground. If your approach is slow and quiet, you might just come across a dozen or more rabbits playing in the open or nibbling the plentiful vegetation. In the golden light their appeal to a little girl (and even an old man) wasn’t hard to see.

The rabbits were at no danger from us, but they are wary creatures, and although Lucy was more successful than I at getting close, they proved tricky enough to photograph and if we came too close they swiftly disappeared down the nearest burrow.

Lucy’s eyes shone like rock pools in moonlight. Every new bunny elicited a little whimper of delight. It was rabbit city. Every burrow a different home, all interconnected along their underground streets. Each rabbit needed a name, a personality, a story.

There was one who, upon reaching the entrance to the burrow, sat motionless for a long time, whiskers twitching, as we inched our way just a little closer, and then closer still until finally he (or she) filled the frame.

That wasn’t the end of the wildlife excitement. As we turned from our friendly rabbit, we spotted a grand sight. A grey heron, fresh from a spot of fishing, alighted on a nearby sea-stack to preen its feathers and dry in the warm sunshine.

“Let’s get closer, Granda.”

Lucy has been climbing things since almost she could walk. (I blame her father!) She led me along a narrow pathway that twisted up the side of a rocky outcrop, which she knew would give us a much better view. I wasn’t sure whether to be terrified or elated that she was taking such interest. (I wasn’t terrified for her, of course!)

She was right. This new vantage point was much better. Occasionally the heron turned its head slightly in our direction as if letting us know it had seen us but for the moment was tolerating our presence.

“Why is it standing on one leg?”

I must confess I didn’t know the answer to this and other questions. Nothing like a seven year old to motivate learning in adults! I know now: it is to do with reducing heat loss from the unfeathered parts. Standing on one leg reduces heat loss by half.

With the light just beginning to fall, and Lucy’s stock of heron questions exhausted, we headed for our sunset spot.

Lucy knew exactly where she wanted to go. Another climb (or clumsy scramble in my case.) There is one slightly tricky part near the top of the little pointy hill. She skipped over the obstacle like a spring lamb. Then, realising that I had all the agility of a beached walrus, she turned back, insisting that I handed her my camera so that I would have less weight to carry! I chuckled my way to the top.

The view in every direction was spectacular, and as we waited for the sun to dip close to the horizon, Lucy busied herself with a variety of compositions, listening as I explained to her about the importance of light and the importance of looking all around. “Don’t just look towards the sun; look at what the sun is looking at!”

She placed the little tripod close to the cliff edge and snapped away, totally engrossed in the scene before her.

By now Lucy was getting tired, but knowing that the moment we had been waiting for was just a few more minutes away she lay down on the dry grass. It was only later I discovered she had taken photos of me when my back was turned.

We watched together as the sun sank towards the sea.

The thought of home, a late night snack with granny and a sleepover filled Lucy with renewed energy as she chatted the whole way back to the car.

I can’t remember the questions now, perhaps because of an overwhelming sense of a priceless but fleeting moment. It made me think of those Sunday afternoon walks so many years ago along the disused railway line near my home town when, as a little boy, I excitedly pointed out each new wildflower or exotic beetle to my mother. And now beside me was this little girl with her long brown hair and her mind filled with rabbits and sunsets, large grey birds and dreams.

“Every year you grow, you will find me bigger.”

I hope we go on another adventure soon. We’ve had adventures in the garden, harvesting potatoes, blueberries and tomatoes. Adventures in rock pools. Adventures on the neighbour’s farm. (She’s told me she wants the next adventure to be climbing Slemish with me! “It’s easy. You can do it”, she assured me.) To have these moments to share at the opposite ends of life; moments to help open her mind to the universe around her and the even bigger world beyond - what a gift.

And every year she grows, I pray that she will find her world bigger and the Great Lion bigger still.