Europe this winter has been hit hard by snow and low temperatures and, coming from the Highlands of Scotland, home certainly is included in this white-out. However, it is strange for me to try and imagine these great volumes of snow as I sit in my shorts and t-shirt writing this article about the marvellous island of Aride many thousands of miles away and much warmer. I am not in the least bit home sick or missing the snow as I am engaged in a great conservation volunteering experience.

Life as a volunteer on Aride is wonderful. Not only for escaping the cold winter back home but for the wildlife, people and general Seychellois way of life that, since arriving at the beginning of December, I have become well accustomed to.

Aride has everything that you would want and expect from an island in the Seychelles; over-hanging palm trees over a white sand beach that meets the clear turquoise water of the Indian Ocean together with an ample dose of sunshine. However, there is so much more to Aride than this beauty that you see on arrival.

At this time of year Hawksbill and green sea turtles nest on the beach. One of my roles as a volunteer is to carry out multiple beach walks to check for females heaving themselves up the sand to lay often more than 200 eggs in a carefully excavated hole she has dug using her back flippers. It is an extraordinary sight to see one of these ancient creatures make the transition from sea to land in its determination to reproduce. The nesting process can take up to two hours and so by the end these females seem to ache to get back to the water. They have a sequence which ensures the nest is the correct depth and shape before she lays. Watching them return to the sea is my favourite part of the nesting sequence. You breathe a big sigh of relief for them as their front flippers and head are first to be immersed in the water. They swim away with ease, elegance and speed in complete contrast to their burdensome land movements.

From time to time when I am walking along the beach entranced by the breaking waves or determined to find the tell tale tracks of one of these turtles or even the presence of their young hatchlings emerging, I stop and look up.

When I look up I am always amazed by the volume of birds in the sky over the small island of Aride. The pure white fairy terns elegantly fly in duets, the bands of lesser and brown noddies, the bridled terns; they all do their best to crowd the sky. Then there are the greater frigate birds known as “pirates of the sky”. These huge birds cruise the air and even without binoculars you can see their great heads turning from side to side, scanning for a meal to steal from one of the other seabirds. These pirates are really impressive birds that roost on Aride in vast numbers at this time of year; there were over 4000 at the last count.

All that I have described so far is from the beach yet on delving further in to the island there are many more wildlife treasures to be found and the amazing thing is you can see them all at such close quarters. For example, the rare endemic and extremely charismatic Seychelles magpie robin, the Seychelles warbler and blue pigeon, and geckos and skinks galore. They all live amongst the vegetation which includes a tree called Wright’s Gardenia, only found on Aride and nowhere else in the world.

And what's more there is always the chance to see one of the birds that cruise over the island nesting in its interior. Often we come across a white-tailed tropic bird sitting in an old coconut palm stump, protecting its egg or chick. Their long tails, so elegant in flight, tucked in around their nest. The very presence of these birds in what used to be the island’s money maker, a coconut palm plantation for copra, is quite symbolic of how the island has moved on and become an outstanding nature reserve.

On top of all this there are thousands of Audubon’s and wedge-tailed shearwaters that use the island as a base and have burrows for nests. The adults spend many hours at sea gathering food for their chick. I have seen them out there on the ocean gliding along the top of the water. Their wings very nearly touch the waves but not quite. They seem to be playing a game. At night from our volunteer house we can hear them announce their return to their partner, their cries carrying on in to the night. An unmistakable, sometimes haunting sound, I know I will miss on my return to chilly Scotland.