‘Easy,’ I hissed to myself now as I reversed out of another dead-end turning. ‘Yeah, right.’

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise really, considering that time Julia had got a whole crew lost while filming a documentary on emperor penguins in the Antarctic Peninsula. And now I was as lost as they had been, except I was alone, driving aimlessly down a dirt track in the middle of the Highlands, cursing Julia as I did so.

Then I caught sight of a glimmer of a loch on the icy horizon, fringed by frosty pine trees and a hump of a mountain beyond. I slowed the car down, gazing out at it. There was a lodge overlooking the lake with golden lights twinkling from its windows. I looked at the map that was angrily balled up on the passenger chair. Maybe Julia had been right – this was where the hotel was meant to be? I turned into a slip road leading to the lake, and followed it for five minutes. As I drew closer, I cursed. A gate stretched across the narrow road, a sign reading Private Property hanging from it.

‘Not a hotel then,’ I said with a sigh. I stopped the car anyway, getting out to stretch my legs and figure out my options. I could sleep in the car, God knows I’d done that a few times, but it was too bloody cold. Instead, I could drive all night, like I had been doing for the past hour. At least the engine would be on to keep me warm – not that said engine was that reliable, the number of turns it took to get it started each time.

Truth was that breaking down in that snow-sodden country, no matter how beautiful it was, wasn’t too appealing.

As I thought that, something caught my eye: a fluff of white soaring across the grey skies over the lake, its soft white wings almost blending into the sheet of wintry clouds above.

A ptarmigan!

I quickly pulled on my cream hat and wool-lined gloves before going to the boot to grab my camera. Hitching it onto my shoulder, I ran towards the lake before it was too late and that beautiful bird was gone from sight. The sun was starting to set now, meaning soon red and pink hues might start to seep through the gaps in the cloud, reflecting on the loch’s surface.

Perfect for filming.

Excitement made my heartbeat accelerate. I hitched a leg over the gate, being careful not to drop my heavy camera as I lifted my other leg over. It was a good ten-minute walk to reach the loch so I zipped up my white puffer coat – ideal for blending into the snow-clad landscape, just like the bird I was chasing – and headed down the road, searching the skies for more ptarmigans, the first one I saw long gone now.

Damn it.