Packing for four seasons

An afternoon on eighteen islands can hand you sun, sideways rain, still fog and a wind that makes a car door dangerous — in that order, inside two hours. People pack for the forecast. The forecast is a average of things that will not happen at the same time.

What we ask people to bring is short. A hard shell that actually seals at the wrists and hood. One warm mid-layer, wool or synthetic, never cotton. Boots already broken in, with a sole you would trust on wet basalt. Gloves you can work a camera in. That is the whole list that matters.

What we ask people to leave: the umbrella, the second pair of jeans, the tripod that weighs more than the camera, and anything described as water-resistant.

The one addition most people are grateful for is a dry bag of about ten litres. Not for the sea — for the boot of the car, which will be wet by Tuesday, and for the ferry deck, which is wet always.

We carry the rest. Flasks, a spare shell in two sizes, and a bag of wool hats that we have never once brought home in full.