I pointed the car north and kept going until the roads started to feel less like roads and more like long thoughtful suggestions. A week working on a feature film in the far end of Scotland is not the sort of job you say no to, especially when the script comes from Jimmy Yuill. A proper legend, Local Hero royalty, a man who has shared air with Kenneth Branagh and Judi Dench, and still talks to you like you met him in the queue for a pie and a pint in a local pub.

The plan was to use an almost entirely local crew. Jimmy lives in Golspie, so the production gathered itself around him like seagulls round a trawler. It was slightly amusing for me because it is extremely unusual to be considered one of the southern people on a shoot when you come from Aviemore, which most folk would class as very far north in the first place, especially for someone like Michael Rouse, the DOP and director coming up from London. In reality Aviemore is three quarters of the way up the map, but Golspie sits another good stretch further north.

We roamed from Golspie right up to the north coast, chasing light that changed its mind every ten minutes. One moment a biblical shaft of gold, next moment a cloud doing its best impression of a wet wool blanket. The wind had ideas of its own as well, one day arriving with the enthusiasm of an over-caffeinated accordionist. Thankfully the tripods were built like small oil rigs and kept the cameras rooted to the earth. My drones did not fly that morning, although by the afternoon the gale lost interest and we were back in the air.

The team at Tongue, Claire, Gary, Stephen and Mike. I snapped a shot after catching up with Mike and heading on my way to get GV’s of North coats of Scotland.

My week became a blur of flying cameras, filming trains rattling through empty glens, buses trundling along single track roads, actors braced against the breeze, and endless sweeps of coastline that looked like they had been designed by a committee of very proud eagles. It was technically a recce, but it felt like the best sort of adventure, gathering enough beautiful moving postcards to help raise funds and convince the money people that this film absolutely must exist. Rumour says Kenneth Branagh might be Consultant Producer if it all comes together, so no pressure then, only the weight of cinematic history perched on our drone batteries.

The crew were a proper dream team. Gary and Stephen were on the main camera, an Alexa of some flavour, surrounded by an impressive array of very, very expensive lenses that looked like they should have their own bodyguards. Gary was back on familiar ground for this one, originally from the area before heading to London where he now runs his own production company, making short films and features with a deep, obvious love for cinema. It was great to spend time with someone who thinks about films the way other folk think about weather, always turning ideas over, always planning the next thing. Stephen was equally good to meet, a busy camera operator across Inverness and the Highlands, and the only person I’ve come across up here who also owns an FX6 like myself. Finding another local shooter with the same bit of kit felt like striking useful gold, and a contact I’ll be glad to have in the years ahead.

Leslie kept the production wheels turning and our bellies full, often with genuinely amazing food, even though catering is absolutely not her usual role on a film set. She’d gone out of her way to help Jimmy and Claire on this project because she believed in it, and I was especially grateful as she even made keto-friendly bits for me each day. More than the meals, she had the rare talent of keeping everyone happy, a quiet bit of magic that’s a bigger part of the job than any spreadsheet. Leslie has spent many years in the industry doing far more film-relevant roles, and you could feel that depth of experience in the way problems simply dissolved around her.

Claire produced with that mysterious ability to make chaos look organised. She was also the reason I ended up on the job at all, a mutual contact putting my name forward after the original drone pilot moved to Northern Ireland. The first phone calls and emails all came through Claire, and from the start she had that calm, confident way of pulling the right people together. Being great buddies with Jimmy, she seemed to sit right at the warm centre of the whole operation, nudging everything forward without ever looking like she was nudging at all.

Callum, Jimmy’s son, took on DIT duties with monk-like patience, wrangling mountains of data and coaxing those glowing progress bars toward safety, including the hefty 8K RAW files from my drone. He seemed to have lived several professional lives already, most recently selling olive oil and visiting Italian groves, and he’d brought a bottle with him that was very, very nice indeed. Callum gave the impression of a man who could back up a hard drive, then casually drift into a conversation about the meaning of work, time, or why the best ideas always arrive just after the kettle boils.

We also had a young actress with us, Zoe MacBeath, who did a great job in some properly challenging conditions. One location involved an incredibly steep staircase down to a wild harbour, with the wind blowing around 50 to 60 miles per hour and waves crashing in from every direction. Zoe kept her composure beautifully, repeating the walk for several takes while the rest of us clung to railings and hoped our jackets were feeling brave.

Jimmy acted, told stories, and generally reminded everyone why we were there in the first place. Photographs were snapped, flasks were emptied, and a few drams were had in Jimmy’s house while the weather argued with the windows outside. He has that Santa-Claus warmth about him, a fatherly calm that makes a film set feel less like work and more like a slightly chaotic family gathering. Between takes he’d unspool tales from decades in the industry, back when crews roughed it without heated monitors or gourmet catering, when problem-solving meant a roll of gaffer tape and blind optimism, and when half the production meetings seemed to migrate to whichever pub had the least suspicious landlord. The stories bounced from wild misadventures to quiet acts of kindness, all delivered with the timing of a man who knows exactly where the punchline lives. Sitting there with a dram in hand, you got the sense that Jimmy wasn’t just remembering the old days, he was carrying them carefully forward, passing them round like another plate of biscuits.

Some of the crew were proper locals and headed back to their own homes each night, but a few of us, Mike, myself, and Callum, were kindly gathered in at Jimmy and Sheila’s for dinner. Sheila did all the cooking, producing proper hearty meals night after night, and those evenings became a gentle extension of the shoot, more stories around the table, more laughter, and the sort of easy chat that only appears when everyone’s tired in a good way. Mike and I were staying just along the road in a little house owned by Sheila as well, so it all felt pleasantly neighbourly. On the last night we changed tradition and the whole crew got together for a curry before scattering in our different directions, some only a short hop home, others with much longer roads ahead.

I was up in the air most days with my DJI Inspire 3 drone and the X9 camera, a wee treasure chest of five prime lenses hanging underneath. Shooting into the sun with those dramatic clouds and the wild countryside made everything look cinematic without even trying. The north of Scotland does half the job for you, serving up cliffs, moorland and weather that behaves like a moody actor who still somehow hits all their marks.

What struck me most was how joyful it felt to be making something in a part of Scotland that rarely gets its moment on screen. The far north is gorgeous but stubbornly out of the way, the sort of place film crews usually admire from a distance before deciding Inverness will do. To be up there with a small, enthusiastic gang trying to bottle that wild beauty was a real privilege.

So now we wait and cross fingers, toes and any spare cables. If the funding stars align, the film will get the green light later this year and we will all head north again to do it properly. I would pack the bags tomorrow without a second thought. Until then, here are a few pictures from our week of chasing trains, dodging weather and pretending we knew what the wind was going to do next.