I think getting uncomfortable every now and again isn’t just helpful, it’s essential. One of the aspects of expedition life I love the most is the simplicity. Our lives have become so complex and so reliant on our things, many of which (if we’re totally honest) are extraneous to supporting our lives or to our fulfillment. Many of us are very comfortable and, as incredibly fortunate as I am to live the lifestyle I do, I’m certainly not glorifying a bygone age of cold houses and not enough food on the table. Nor am I belittling the difficulty of poverty in which many people survive. I find that stepping outside my bubble of convenience every now and again not only provides gratitude goggles for what I do have, but essential personal growth and strength.

So, when packing for my most recent expedition with a ruthless friend overseeing what went into my backpack and being allowed only two pairs of socks for 10 days of hiking in the Outer Hebrides in September, I braced myself for the uncomfortable side of simplicity.

The Outer Hebrides is an island chain off the north west coast of Scotland, one of the wildest places in the UK, and the Hebridean Way is a 150 mile hiking trail from the bottom of the island chain to the top via its beautiful, wind-battered beaches, peaty mountains and moorland. I was lucky enough to do this with three friends who were also excited for time to reconnect to the wild and to each other, all while raising a few extra pounds for the small charity Seaful along the way.

Convinced our chosen week in September would deliver the perfect Indian Summer – long, sunny days, entirely free of midges – I ignored all concerns over the wild weather the autumn equinox typically brings with it. But wild was putting it mildly. I experienced the worst weather I have ever hiked.

Arriving on the Isle of Barra in 50 mile per hour howling winds, our first two days’ hiking on this gorgeous, white-sand-beached island involved hanging onto our hats on mountain tops, a whipped-up ocean and, a futile search for somewhere sheltered to camp. We pushed hard through the next few days of stunning hiking up South and North Uist, in time to make the last ferry from Berneray to Harris before they were cancelled due to even higher winds. Amongst hours on our feet through mind-boggling island scenery; carrying heavy packs up hills, through bogs, along beaches, and making inconvenient detours to fill up with water; wild camps under big skies, laughing with my friends, and meeting the islands’ phenomenally kind people, the standout moments for me were the ones at the beaches. We watched greater black-backed gulls standing confidently on their rocky outcrops, ringed plovers darting across the sand, arctic terns diving gracefully into the water, and we ourselves ran, dancing over cold sand with sore feet, into the freezing water to decompress and reconnect.