'It is so impressive in scope it almost defies description': The bold, 200-year vision to repair the harm that man has inflicted on the Scottish Highlands
Change is afoot in the least-visited corners of the Highlands, says Richard MacKichan.
It was at Tigh na Coille, a secluded cottage on a Highland hillside overlooking Loch Ness, that I idly flipped open a well-placed copy of A Place In Scotland, a 2024 interiors volume by designer Banjo Beale and photographer Alexander Baxter, and spied its opening statement. ‘Something is happening,’ claimed Beale. ‘A new confidence — and inspiring new voices — are redefining what Scottish style really is.’ ‘Well, quite,’ I thought, surveying the elevated Scandi-chic stylings around me courtesy of WildLand, the pioneering conservation-meets-hospitality group whose sprawling Aldourie estate we were at the edge of. If not quite new, WildLand can most definitely lay claim to being one of Scotland’s most inspiring voices.
I’ve been a regular visitor to the Highlands since 2012. Glance up at my byline above and you’ll spot an unmistakably Scottish surname; its roots are up here and I suppose the clan lands spoke to me. In fact, they quickly became my favourite place on Earth. Yet the idea that ‘something is happening’ was one that had been percolating only on recent visits and here Beale had laid it bare in print.
Glenfeshie is a spectacular glen in the Cairngorms National Park. Renowned for ancient Caledonian pine forests, the River Feshie and ambitious rewilding initiatives by WildLand, it is a prime destination for hikers and wildlife enthusiasts.
Natural beauty apart, the allure of the Highlands is its unhurried pace. It’s a place where things unfold rather than arrive. Photographer Robbie Lawrence spent five years photographing Highland gatherings for a book called Long Walk Home, recruiting decorated Scottish poet John Burnside to write its introduction. ‘Scottishness itself is as much myth as it is history,’ said Burnside. ‘Myths let us roam, they make space for the imagination, for reinvention…’ It might not be the imagined backdrop to the modern notion of relentless ‘creativity’, but innovation trickles like spring water here if you look closely enough.
Benjamin Morgan agrees. Morgan is a creative producer at Wild Gorse, a Belladrum-based fine art floristry studio that has styled everything from fashion events to Vogue-splashed weddings. ‘The Highlands is steeped in craftsmanship,’ he says. ‘We’re surrounded by an abundance of inspiration. There is space to be creative.’
Whisky, of course, has long been the most well-known canvas for creativity in the Highlands — its fans making pilgrimages to sample it at source; its bottles exported to every corner of the globe. Recent years, however, have seen a palpable acceleration among the big luxury-backed players. The theatrical Russell Sage makeover of Ardbeg House on Islay, the tasteful grassy Teletubbies domes installed at The Macallan’s unconventional Craigellachie headquarters, the Harrison Ford-fronted reboot of Glenmorangie are all cases in point.
The loft-like Flora room at Lundies House is blessed with a framed view of Castle Varrich.
The rugged landscape surrounding Lundies inspires everything they cook.
Then there is WildLand. The brainchild of Danish billionaire Anders Holch Povlsen and his wife, Anne, it began as a conservation project in 2006, acquiring swathes of land with a bold 200-year vision to restore them ‘to their former magnificent natural state and repair the harm that man has inflicted on them’. The hospitality arm exists to help both fund that vision and educate guests on the reasons behind it. For instance, Povlsen had spent much of his childhood exploring the Glenfeshie estate in the Cairngorms and it had made a lasting impression. It was the first piece of land they purchased (the Povlsens, with 1%, are now Scotland’s biggest private landowners) and, aptly, where I began my WildLand tour.
Head naturalist Steve Liddle led the charge, first through the fords of the Feshie river in a Land Rover and then on foot, past the backdrop of rolling Munros that inspired Edwin Landseer to paint The Monarch of the Glen here in 1851. The quickly rattled-off stats caused jaws to drop: more than 6.5 million trees have been hand planted since 2014, the treeline rejuvenated to a level not seen in more than a century. A zero-tolerance policy on sapling-hungry deer has seen an average of 25 per square kilometre reduced to only two. Young deerstalker Finlay Davidson jokes about the notorious summer midges putting him off his aim, but insists on ‘taking every precaution to get a clean shot’. (In a newly agreed scheme, the resulting venison gets delivered to local schools.)
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Nestled in the small village of Tongue, on Scotland’s North Coast 500 route, Lundies is a former church manse.
As old fencing has been torn down around the estate, Liddle’s conservation team has grown; 40 of them — Davidson included — now work on deer management, peatland preservation, mapping an extensive biodiversity index and conducting wildlife-impact assessments. (‘First, there’s habitat restoration, then there’s species return,’ explains Liddle, referring to the likes of raptors, beavers and wildcats — lynx are mooted to follow.) At one point, we stopped at a stream and were encouraged to drink the straight-from-the-mountain water. If these lands have inspired creativity in others, here the simple creativity of the land itself is given centre stage.
The next WildLand estate lay three hours north in Sutherland, proudly known as Scotland’s least-explored region, where the Highlands relax into an even more widescreen aspect ratio. Here, the seven-bedroom Kinloch Lodge and Kyle-of-Tongue-view Lundies House take up prime positions at the very tip of our isles, bathed, as I arrived, in late-evening, near-Arctic-Circle sun. That redefined Scottish style heralded by Beale is particularly present here owing to the work of Ruth Kramer, WildLand’s director of concept and design, who cites the stories and exhibits of the Highland Folk Museum and the ‘unhurried nature’ of the local area as inspiration for her relaxed, textural take on Scandi-Scottish fusion. A dreamscape wallpaper in its dining room and artist Claire Basler’s floral mural in my room, Isla, add a sense of flair to Lundies in particular. Nearby, WildLand has had a hand in resurrecting a local bakehouse and store, Burr’s of Tongue, a gathering spot for locals between trips down to the beach.


Further east, at the tip of Loch Hope, sits WildLand’s most ambitious project yet, Hope, a decade in the making and now, finally, open. Part hotel, part activity centre, part Scottish safari lodge — it’s so impressive in scope it almost defies description.
Even seeing it in its unfinished, undressed state, it was clear that this will be an opening to truly test Sutherland’s ‘least-explored’ claim. As the gateway to 114,000 acres of beach, hills, loch and woodland, not to mention its pole position on the fabled NC500 route, its crowd-pulling potential warranted some extraordinary attention to detail. Each of its external and internal wooden planks, for example, was chosen personally by Povlsen and nailed into place. Every stone-carved shower tray took 150 hours to fashion by hand. Some 225 miles of drystone wall have been erected in the area.
Before flitting back to the shores of Loch Ness for a final night in the comfort of Aldourie Castle, WildLand’s most overtly opulent stay, I stared out at Ben Hope as work on the lodge continued around me. ‘Something really is happening,’ I thought.
WildLand’s self-catering cottages start from £275 per night; hotels from £525 per night, on a full-board basis; and exclusive-use properties from £3,000 per night, on a full-board basis with an in-house chef and conservation-led experiences.
Rooms at Hope start from £1,100 per night, on a full-board basis, and include guided daily experiences and access to outdoor equipment.
Visit the website for more information and to book.
This feature originally appeared in the May 13, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.
Richard was the long-standing editor-in-chief at Mr & Mrs Smith and is now a freelance writer on travel, culture, and lifestyle for the likes of Mr Porter, The Standard, The Gentleman's Journal, BA's High Life, Suitcase, Time Out and more. He also consults for a number of luxury brands, has appeared on BBC radio, hosted Q&As at hotels and members clubs in London, New York and LA, and appeared on a number of panels for London Design Festival. Occasionally he DJs, too, and most people call him Richie.
