Leading 23 Photography Trips Across the Scottish Highlands and Islands:
Over the next nine months, I’ll be leading 23 scheduled photography trips through the Scottish Highlands and Islands — a schedule that excites me as much as it daunts me. Scotland’s wild landscapes have long drawn photographers from across the globe, and guiding others in Scotland photography to capture their own vision here is both a privilege and a challenge.
When I first put the schedule together, I thought, “this is going to be incredible.”
The reality is, “this is also going to be exhausting.”
The truth is, it’s both.
A Journey of Demands, Rewards, and Giving Back
When I tell people that I’ll be leading twenty-three photography trips across the Scottish Highlands and Islands over the next nine months, the reaction is almost always the same: “That sounds incredible!”
And it is. I’m proud to call this part of the world my home, and sharing it with others through the lens of a camera is one of the great privileges of my life. But the truth is that guiding so many trips in such a short span is also demanding, exhausting, and full of challenges that test me physically and mentally.
This blog is my attempt to share what it really means to commit to this kind of schedule: the sacrifices, the pressures, the unforgettable highs — and why, after a long and successful career as a professional photographer, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Because in the end, these trips are more than just tours. They are about passion, learning, community, and giving back to a profession that has given me so much.
Twenty-three trips in nine months is a relentless schedule.
Some will imagine my role is simply taking a group of keen photographers to beautiful places and letting them click away. The truth is far more demanding. That’s barely a week or so between tours, sometimes less. By the time I’ve unpacked my kit from one adventure, I’m already preparing for the next. There are no real breaks, just snatched hours of sleep, a quick call home, and endless lists to check and recheck. The Highlands and Islands are spectacular, but they’re not easy. The ferries don’t always run when they’re supposed to. Roads are narrow, winding, and sometimes blocked by sheep that refuse to move. Weather apps give you six different forecasts at once, and none of them are right.
Physically, the toll can easily creeps up on me. Dawn shoots mean alarms at 3:30 or 4 a.m. Nights often run late with, post-shoot critiques, or long drives between locations. Meals get skipped, or eaten in the front seat of my van, washed down with lukewarm coffee. My body can feel as though it’s moving on autopilot, muscles sore from carrying gear, eyes gritty from too little rest.
Mentally, it’s even harder. Guests arrive expecting not just photographs, but an experience: inspiration, guidance, and encouragement. My job is to deliver, no matter how tired I am. Even when I’m running on fumes, I have to be patient, upbeat, and ready to answer the questions as they come. My reputation is on the line every single day, and one bad trip could undo months, even years, of hard work.
The Sacrifices Behind the Lens
What people rarely see are the sacrifices.
Time away from home is the most obvious. Nine months of travel means missing birthdays, anniversaries, and quiet evenings at home. Relationships can stretch thin under the weight of absence.
There’s also the sacrifice of my own photography. Yes, I carry my camera everywhere, but most of the time I’m focused on helping others. While a guest is lining up their perfect composition, I’m checking exposure settings, or compositions, trying different filters, adjusting a tripod, or making sure someone else hasn’t wandered too close to a cliff edge. My shots are often an afterthought — hurried frames grabbed in the margins of the day.
And then there’s the emotional sacrifice: the weight of responsibility. Every guest has invested money, time, and hope into the trip. If they go home disappointed, it cuts me to the core. A trip is rained out, or if someone goes home disappointed, I feel it deeply. I pour so much into these journeys because I want my guests to thrive, to learn, to adapt, and to return home proud of their images. Their happiness becomes the measure of my success. Their success becomes my responsibility never really lifts.
Why I Push Through
So why do I keep going, trip after trip, despite the exhaustion and the sacrifices?
Because I believe in what these trips can do.
I’ve seen guests arrive shy, uncertain, even a little overwhelmed, and leave brimming with confidence, carrying portfolios they never thought possible. I’ve seen friendships form between strangers on windswept cliffs, laughter echoing through minivans, and tears of joy when the conditions and the light become overwhelming.
There is no better feeling than watching someone capture an image they’ll treasure for a lifetime. That moment when they look at the back of their camera, grin from ear to ear, and say, “I can’t believe I just took that.”
That’s what keeps me going.
One memory stands out: a guest who arrived shy and uncertain, convinced she wasn’t good enough to keep up with the others. By the end of the trip, she was confidently experimenting with long exposures and went home with a portfolio that stunned even her. Her pride, her joy, her tears of disbelief — that’s why I do this. Moments like these remind me that the Highlands don’t just test us — they reward us, often in ways we could never have planned.
Many return year after year, and those repeat bookings are the greatest compliment. They mean I’ve delivered not just photographs, but experiences worth remembering.
The Highs and Lows
Leading these trips is a constant dance between highs and lows.
The highs:
Golden light flooding through storm clouds, transforming the landscape in seconds.
Surprise encounters with wildlife — sea eagles soaring overhead, otters weaving through kelp.
Guests hugging me at the end of a trip, promising to return, and meaning it.
The lows:
Exhaustion so deep it feels like I’m running on empty.
The sting of homesickness.
Weather tantrums that drench you no matter what jacket you wear.
The pressure of knowing that one unhappy guest can echo louder than ten satisfied ones.
But in the balance, the rewards always outweigh the struggles.
A Deep Sense of Place
One of the reasons these trips mean so much to me is that they’re rooted in home. I’m not just guiding people through landscapes — I’m sharing the place I live, the place I love, the place that shapes me every day.
There’s pride in showing guests the hidden corners of the Highlands and Islands, the spots tourists rarely find. Pride in watching them fall in love with the white sands of Harris, the standing stones of Orkney, the dramatic coastline of Assynt. Pride in knowing that they’ll return home carrying a piece of this land in their photographs and in their hearts.
Giving Back to a Profession That Gave Me Everything
Photography has been generous to me. It has given me a career, a community, and a lifelong passion. These trips are my way of giving back — to the profession, to the Highlands, and to the people who put their trust in me.
I now get as much satisfaction — sometimes more — from seeing others get great shots than from capturing my own. To watch someone flourish, to see their confidence bloom, to know they’ll carry those skills and memories for life — that is the greatest reward.
Looking Ahead
As I prepare for this marathon of trips, I know it will not be easy. The exhaustion will come. The ferries will fail. The weather will test my patience. I will miss home.
But I also know this: every group will bring new energy, new stories, and new triumphs. There will be golden hours that take our breath away, laughter that fills the minibus, and images that exceed expectations. Guests will return home not only with memory cards full of photographs but also with friendships, confidence, and a deeper connection to Scotland.
That is why I do this. That is why the sacrifices are worth it.
Because in the end, these trips aren’t just about photography. They’re about passion, resilience, learning, and community. They’re about sharing a part of the world I am proud to call home, and giving back to a profession that has given me so much.
And if I can help others thrive, flourish, and return home with both great images and great memories, then every 4 a.m. alarm, every cancelled ferry, and every weary mile will have been worth it.
2 Responses
Good luck Dean. We’ll be watching pulling for you.
Thank you very much. Really looking forward to this season. Already 2 days into it by staying at 2 wonderful cottages with spectacular views looking across to Barra on South Uist.