We talk a lot about ‘The Good Adventure’. It’s a nod to the journeys our products are built for, the way we try to live, and the wild ride we’ve been on building our business. It reminds us to choose the braver route. To trust our gut, take risks, and back ideas that don’t always look sensible on paper. It was following that instinct that took us to the Scottish Highlands and Outer Hebrides for our latest shoot.

Any filmmaker or photographer will tell you that a fixed location, within easy reach of your crew, is the ideal scenario. Less margin for error. More time to shoot. A five-day, 1,500-mile journey is the polar opposite of what you’d learn in film school. But we didn’t go to film school, and the promise of adventure will always be more compelling to us.

It was a chance encounter in January 2020 that laid the foundations for the trip. I was working in our Savile Row store when in walked a Glaswegian gentleman called Ewan. Noting the various images from previous shoots on the walls, he asked who handles our creative. When I explained we handle everything in-house, he was intrigued. What did we have planned next? I explained we’d been talking about doing something in Scotland. He said he had a house in Skye; a modern-looking, Scandinavian-style build in a very barren location. He showed me some pictures, and said if we ever wanted to use it as a location, we were more than welcome.

Then Coronavirus. And suddenly our Scottish adventure became less of a priority. It wasn’t until summer 2025 that our attention returned to north of the border. I looked into the logistics of getting our crew of seven to Skye. Turns out, it’s more of a popular summer destination than I’d thought. I reserved the last remaining rooms on the island, then thought it best to check that Ewan’s offer still stood. Halfway through the conversation he said, “I should probably point out that my house isn’t actually on Skye. It’s on North Uist”.

North Uist is a tiny island some distance from Skye’s coast. Ewan had originally said Skye simply because it was the nearest place of which I would have heard. We researched the island and, after discovering it was home to just over 1,000 inhabitants, one shop and two pubs, decided that this was where we were heading.

Flying in from various parts of the UK, the crew assembled in Inverness. As I waited at the oversized baggage area, surrounded by golfers, I was asked several times which courses I was off to play. I admit a sense of intense jealousy as they picked up their clubs bound for once-in-a-lifetime courses, and I was handed camera equipment and an oversized umbrella. Next time.

That evening we met for a high-priced, low-quality dinner at the Inverness Marriott. I gave everyone their ‘survival packs’: an agenda, a map, a Kendal mint bar, midge spray, and a £1 midge net that covers your head. The nets were intended as a joke; a light-hearted dig at Jamie, our photographer, who from previous experience shooting in the Highlands was worried about getting eaten alive by Scotland’s infamous small insects.

At first light we headed out in our chosen mode of transport – a 1990s Defender and a modern Defender, in case the more mature motor failed us. We headed west, through the Highlands, bound for Skye. En route, we stopped by a loch with an eye to shoot. The second we opened the doors, the heavens opened. Our first ‘summer’ location was set against sideways rain – then invaded by an army of midges. If anything, the spray I’d supplied seemed only to attract them. Before long we were scrambling for the head nets. It looked more like a scene from Point Break than a luggage shoot.

Day one was a solid and persistent mix of heavy rain, gale-force winds and intense fog. But we persevered, capturing some great shots, despite nearly losing our drone to the gods on multiple occasions. Summer it was not, but at least we’d managed to bank some strong content for autumn/winter...

That night we stayed in a harbourside pub on Skye. We were up early to catch the ferry that takes you from Uig to North Uist. There’s only one a day, so miss it, and we were stuck on Skye, with absolutely nowhere left to stay. During the two-hour crossing, a man, intrigued to see us filming, asked what we were doing. He lived in Aberdeen and had bought a house on Uist 45 years ago. Once a month, he’d venture over to escape city life and eat lobster from two creel pots placed conveniently in the bay outside his house. “It was a good call taking this ferry, not the one from Oban,” he said. “My brother-in-law is stuck down there as it’s sprung another leak. He won’t be crossing for a few days.” I breathed a sigh of relief. Until a week ago, that had been our plan.

Driving the coastal road to Ewan’s house, it was clear why the man we met on the ferry continues to return. In 1900, Alexander Carmichael, a Scottish folklorist, moved to North Uist, writing in his journal: ‘No mind could conceive, no imagination could realise, the disorderly distribution of land and water on Uist.’ As we drove around endless lochs, over small stone bridges, and through causeways surrounded by peat and bogs, Carmichael’s words rang true. There is water everywhere. Google Maps proved useless, often placing us in the sea when we were driving on a road.

And then the most unnerving part of our Scottish adventure. Placed on the doormat of our home for the next two days – a dead rabbit. A gift from the owners? Dinner if we were willing to skin, cook and serve? Or something more nefarious – a warning from locals not to overstay our welcome? Consensus among the crew was that a bird of prey must have left it there. At least, that’s what we settled on, to try and help us sleep.

The next few days were spent shooting in incredible landscapes, a highlight being the stunning Caribbean-esque West Beach on Berneray island, where those brave enough to brace the cold had the opportunity to surf. The Hebrides are famous for unusually turquoise water and bright white sand, but that doesn’t make seeing it for yourself any less impressive.

On the final day, once we’d finished shooting at Ewan’s windswept holiday home, some sustenance was needed. I’d done my research and knew the only place to get food nearby was a small van selling lobster and prawn rolls. They ‘catch to order’ from their small boat each morning, so I’d had to call in advance.

As we sat eating, looking over a large estuary, we noticed the tide going out fast. The watery area in front was quickly becoming a vast sandbar. As it cleared, it started to resemble the salt flats I’d once visited in Bolivia. Remembering how impressive pictures look on such a white, flat surface, I was keen to drive out and get some shots. So, after a quick check with the lady from the lobster van – ‘Aye, I’m nae sure if you’ll get stuck, but ya should be fine, hen’ – we headed out.

The shots we captured during the ‘salt flats’ session, and the accompanying video of us flying about in Defenders, are arguably some of the best of the trip. Not planned, no storyboard. Further proof that spontaneous adventure will always win out.

Was our Highland tour more expensive than a traditional shoot? Sure. Did I acquire a few more grey hairs organising the logistics? Certainly. Would we do it all again? I’m already planning the next one.