Expedition.

For most, it’s a purely abstract word that conjures vague images of 19th Century woollen-clad Arctic explorers, forgotten tribes, and inevitably, Indiana Jones.

I was fifteen when the word “expedition” shifted out of the realm of fantasy and into a summer holiday limbo somewhat resembling reality. After years struggling to fit in at school, a survival adventure course in Scotland demonstrated to me that I thrived as a leader on expedition. A fire had been ignited in me, and I was unwilling to let it go out. Inspired by the freedom and insight of TV’s new generation of young adventurers, such as Bear Grylls, I soon started to write my own bucket list.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that it could be best summarized by a single word: everything. Every environment, every place, every encounter, season, challenge, and story of survival. Though my friends and family found escape watching adventurers on TV, for me it was little more than an unwelcome tease of the world most would never see with their own eyes. Not me. I always knew images and anecdotes would never be enough, and made it my mission to chart the uncharted, walk the un-walked, and challenge the un-challenged.

Just as Scotland had been the nudge, my first Arctic expedition, in Svalbard, was the awakening. While suspended in that icy desert limbo, I forged a profound connection with our natural world which has never waned.

Ever since, I have considered it my duty to foster this sense of awe as widely as possible, connecting others to the Earth as stewards, not spectators. Returning to normality was never an option. Yet, as I shared my realization with those around me, it seemed apparent to them (and abhorrent to me) that, since such an expedition was “once in a lifetime”, I’d never see or feel the world like that again. It became my mission to carve myself out as the exception to the “gap year” rule.

Yet, world travel routes once impossible for all but a select few are now extractive hubs straining the earth’s delicate equilibrium. So many of history’s most noble expeditions have become click-and-collect experiences, tailored to the highest bidder.

As genuine travel has become easier and easier, true adventure has inevitably become ever more elusive. Pining for the democratization of world travel, it dawned on me that seeking out and participating in more grandiose expeditions might make me look like an explorer, but it wouldn’t allow me to demonstrate the fragility of our planet or humanity’s responsibility to protect it.

Having discovered the power of film to deeply move and inspire those around me, I began to film my expeditions, which led me to become both a Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society at just twenty three, and youngest council member of the Scientific Exploration Society.