Wild for the Scottish Highlands: Hope Lodge

The Fife Arms, Dun Aluinn and Aldourie Castle are just a few among many estates in Scotland that fell from clan hands into disrepair and are now being restored and revived for the next generation through hospitality. Hope Lodge, the latest project from WildLand, is another.

I got a first look inside the property just a few weeks before it officially opened to the public in mid-May. A former hunting lodge dating back to 1867, Hope sits a two-and-a-half-hour drive north of Inverness, on a staggering 100,000-acre slice of the Povlsens’ holdings in coastal Sutherland—a rugged, raw world of icy lochs, dense peatlands, sea cliffs and snow-dusted munros. Renovating the estate—including a handful of cottages from the 1840s—required seven years of hard work and a multi-million-pound investment.

The restoration was spearheaded by designers Cécile & Boyd, the celebrated firm behind several Indagare-adored Singita camps in Africa. Hope’s aesthetic is not unlike that of a safari lodge: walls are covered in hand-sewn swathes of hemp, oilskin and rush matting; campaign chairs contrast Georgian and Jacobean oak antiques; “neutral naturals” define the color scheme, and every carefully chosen piece of artwork (of which there are many) treats with either the abstract or the animalistic—there is not one image of humankind to be found onsite.

Even though the interiors are brand-new, the spaces feel warm and lived-in. I had the great fortune of crossing paths with lead designer Paul van den Berg, who was on-property for the finishing touches; “timeless,” “honest,” “tactile,” and “grounded” were some of the resounding keywords he shared for the Hope concept. With a delicate balance of masculinity and femininity, the design aims to bring the outside in, while creating the impression that every detail has always been there (Cécile & Boyd selected Highland-made materials and accents wherever possible). Like at Dun Aluinn, there is also a distinctive Scandi-Scotch sensibility, which speaks to the geographic and historic connection between the two places.

Hope operates year-round both as a hotel with individual room bookings and as an exclusive-use takeover estate. The lodge itself contains seven unique bedrooms, each named in Gaelic (mine was Failte, or “welcome”). Four-poster beds with ruffled duvets, wool throws and linen canopies face ample windows that flood the space with sunlight and frame technicolor mountain, river and forest views. Many rooms have soaking tubs and fireplaces, and one, Saorsa, includes a private balcony. Amenities like Dyson hairdryers and personal knitting baskets quietly blur the line between rusticity and indulgence. Configurations range from king beds to double twins, welcoming couples and families in equal measure.

Nearby is An Cala, a strikingly modern, two-bedroom, two-bathroom cabin surrounded by trees, designed of glass, pine and copper and equipped with its own wood-fired hot tub. Two additional standalone self-catered cottages sit on the shores of Loch Hope, with views to the mountains and beyond: the three-bedroom Keeper’s Cottage, which accommodates six guests and is surrounded by a vast garden with a firepit, and the two-bedroom Ferryman’s Cottage, which sleeps four and has its own stretch of sandy waterfront. These traditional stone and slate-roofed homes, like the rooms in the main lodge, feature textured tweed and vintage wood furnishings, local crafts and deep copper tubs, plus, fully functional kitchens, open fireplaces, boot rooms and washer-dryers for an even more residential-style stay.

Throughout the entire property, guests are encouraged to immerse themselves in their surroundings, with general manager Jason Du Plessis always on-hand to organize anything from dryrobe and wetsuit fittings to picnic lunches and bagpipe performances at the belvedere. Outdoor adventures begin at the Clachan—the former cowshed and barns, now home to the activities center, treatment and fitness rooms, open kitchen, lodge boutique and venison larder. The full roster of possible excursions includes paddleboarding to secluded coves in search of dolphins; foraging and tree-planting alongside the conservation team; restorative sound baths with the ethereal (and perhaps enlightened) guide Donna; ghillie-led fishing; a fermentation and smoking workshop; trekking across open moorland—perhaps to the Ben Hope munro; stargazing—or Northern Lights viewing—under dark skies; and visiting the area’s white-sand beaches and remote islands. Those who want to do nothing at all have been equally considered, with plenty of cozy nooks for reading, card games, drawing and drinking (tea, or whisky, or both—of course).

Days at Hope follow “Rhythms,” curated itineraries that mirror the elements swirling just outside the lodge walls: a “grounding” day of nourishing food and acclimation, a “water” day of—you guessed it—wild swimming and freshly caught seafood, and much more in between. Three to five nights are recommended to properly experience the program. There is no selecting the menu and no negotiating the agenda. (Dietaries and special requests are, of course, accommodated to the team’s considerable abilities.) This deliberate removal of the need for decision-making is, as on safari or at dude ranch, precisely where the chance for transformation arises. Gently, and with plenty of pampering, Hope pushes its guests to succumb to the power of the place.

This philosophy is born from Anders Holch Povlsen’s own love for the Highlands, which was first sparked on a childhood fishing trip in the Cairgorms. (It’s a story not unlike that of the Wirths and their affection for Braemar.) Povlsen started buying land there in 2006 and has been adding to it ever since, becoming one of Scotland’s most significant stewards in the process. Through WildLand, he and Anne have developed a 200-year vision for the ecological regeneration of the Highlands, centered on healing fragmented terrain and empowering nature to care for itself long-term. It is their answer to the question that lingers ever-present in the Highlands, at every bend in the river and at the border of every glade: who owns the land, and what should they do with it? It’s a question that has grown louder with every decade since the Highland Clearances and the subsequent surge in commercial sheep farming and deer hunting that financed the British Empire’s expansion—and decimated the region’s Caledonian pine forests, eroded natural habitats and deteriorated the great peat bogs, one of the planet’s most important carbon stores, in the process.

Just as Scotland’s Right to Roam aims to assuage an inherited imbalance in land rights with the concession that ownership and access may not have to mean the same thing, so too do the Povlsens seek to reconcile their position, and the industry that lifted them to it, through WildLand. “Whilst nature answered only to the changing seasons, so too did man coexist in natural balance,” they write of their vision. “However, we also have to accept the harsh reality that people who once worked the land have moved away. Now though, WildLand’s fervent desire is to see local communities thrive once more and to have those that have left the Highlands come back; bringing with them all-new skills and all-new visions for the way that people can work and live here.” They continue, “We wish to restore our parts of the Highlands to their former magnificent natural state and repair the harm that man has inflicted on them. Not just the land itself but also both those other parts of Scotland’s rich heritage of which we are now custodians. [...] The properties we’ve already restored give visitors the chance to experience this for themselves and enjoy in their own way the United Kingdom’s remaining big, open spaces.”

WildLand has planted over four million trees across its estates, alongside thousands of acres of natural woodland regeneration. It’s actively restoring the peatlands, supporting a bid for World Heritage Site status for its Flow Country holdings, using geofencing technology to manage deer, and employing wool from the estate’s own sheep to surface new roads in the traditional, low-impact way. There is no other project of comparable scale or scope in the U.K. at present, as WildLand’s vast acreage spans from sea level to mountain peaks and, therefore, covers a robust range of habitats.

If the growing number of eagles in the area is any indicator, recovery is underway. The team even speaks of a future in which the long-absent lynx, bear and wolf might return. “It is a project that we know cannot be realized in our lifetime,” the Povlsens have written of WildLand. “In fact, it is only the beginning.”

Thus the name—Hope. It’s a feeling, a promise, a reminder of what could be possible. “It’s no longer about sporting here,” Paul van den Berg told me. “It’s about conserving our souls.” As travelers surrender to this place, they may begin to discover a permission: to set things down, to be unserious and unhurried, to embrace Hope, if only for a period of time.

Within 24 hours on this private playground, my fellow guests and I began returning to some earlier, more primal state. A collection of travel professionals, we found ourselves playing raucous water games in a quiet bay, falling from paddleboards and clambering back on, beaming, and mimicking the seals with long strokes through the waves. We hiked to an open spot in the valley and lolled about in the grass, plucking petals off of daisies, turning our faces to the sun and dipping our toes in the cold stream. In the after-hours we sipped whisky and traded racy jokes, business ideas and reflections on life. We staged performances, cavorted about and carried on much as one does at a sleepover.

It’s a particular, rare kind of freedom to be so wild.