Since learning to scuba dive at the age of 18, I’ve spent a lot of time scheming and taking trips south to get underwater. Warm seas, bright corals, impressive megafauna – the pull of overseas diving in warmer climes is strong! But I recently took a trip north, an hour up the road from my home in the Scottish Highlands to almost the top of mainland Scotland, for a week exploring the coast and lochs. Underwater. With my mum. For a long time, she has wanted to dive from Kinlochbervie, a harbour in the Northwest Highlands, and I jumped at the chance of exploring it with her. She’s a really excellent person to dive with – incredibly knowledgeable, attentive to detail, and never without snacks. She’s also kind and patient, which I reckon are essential attributes when submerged in cold water.

The focus of the week was underwater photography, and I’d gratefully borrowed a camera in underwater housing to give it a go. I’ve only ever tended to capture video underwater and diving with a stills camera opened up a totally new way of experiencing life around us.

As with every time I go to depth in Scottish waters, I was utterly blown away by what is living there. It’s so hard to describe, and I wish everyone could see what’s actually beneath the surface and compare it to their expectations for this seemingly cold, dark expanse of water. In the summer months I run snorkelling sessions with the charity I founded, Seaful, for exactly this reason – to show folk what’s out of sight – and therefore out of mind – right on our doorstep. The reactions are so wonderful! I still feel a huge degree of wonder and joy each time I see it again for myself, an appreciation of our incredible seas is reawakened in me each and every time.

I’ll do my best to describe what descending to 20 metres was like during a couple of our dives that week. The first few days were spent out at the Atlantic-facing coast. I took a giant stride off the back of the dive boat, which dropped us off just next to an unassuming section of coastline. The water flooded into my hood and gloves – the only parts of my body not engulfed in a drysuit. It felt cool but refreshing, and I could feel my body, which was wrapped in thick undersuits underneath the drysuit, beginning to cool.

My mum was there on the surface with me, and we checked we were both ok before releasing the air from our jackets to begin the descent. We slowly dropped past a beautiful area of kelp – a tall macroalgae which is a vitally important habitat around the coast of Scotland. The kelp forest was thinning a little as it was already September, but still standing tall in the water column.

As we dropped further, the light dimmed and the habitat changed. We found ourselves facing a wall of rock – the coastline underwater – which was absolutely covered in life. Every square millimetre was taken by some living thing – all tumbling over each other, vastly diverse – I could have spent the entire 45 minutes underwater just studying this small area! But we carried on to an arch and canyons made by rocks, sparsely covered in kelp and urchins. We came to an area of sandy bottom – barren, it seemed. Until I saw the movement of a tiny juvenile flatfish, no bigger than my thumbnail. And once I’d seen that I was aware of the outline of many, many more: Flatfish of all different sizes hiding in the sand, totally camouflaged.