A wild island sauna story

or, a horsebox, a frozen hill, and how a proper “sownuh” came to Rum

It was a cold December day in 2023. The ground was frozen solid — perfect conditions for towing the horsebox I had acquired down a tricky hill, through a mostly iced-over river, and along a very bumpy off road track back to the village where I live. About a mile altogether. Not far, you might think, but not an insignificant journey and certainly not one to be underestimated.

A friend and I had spent the day emptying the horsebox of its contents — mostly rubbish — and working to free up the wheels so they would turn. Tired, we called it a day, planning to return first thing in the morning to tow it down the hill.

But overnight there was an unexpected thaw.

Disaster.

The ground became too soggy and soft to get the vehicle back up the hill, even in a 4x4. I had manifested the whole thing in fine detail: driving down the hill, through the ford, and back to my workshop where the conversion to a sauna would take place. It was going to happen. It was happening. Except it wasn’t.

All there was to do was wait — for another freeze, or for the ground to dry enough to give us traction.

That freeze never came. There were no further deep frosts that winter, and 2024 turned out to be the wettest year I can remember. Despite numerous attempts to get back up to the horsebox, the ground remained too saturated. The 4x4 simply couldn’t grip.

The idea for a sauna had come just over two years earlier, during a conversation with a photographer who was helping me with marketing. She suggested that a sauna would be a great addition here on Rum and showed me pictures of horsebox sauna conversions. I was instantly hooked. I loved the idea and embraced it heart and soul.

Within a month I had secured an old horsebox on the island and negotiated with a carpenter friend to help and advise on the build. And then came the thaw. And then came the rain.

To add insult to injury, storms battered the island that year and part of the horsebox roof blew away. I was disheartened. My plans felt as though they were in ruins.

I needed a plan B — and some luck.

Seneca the Younger is credited with saying, “Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.” I’ve always been an advocate of this idea. After much trawling of the internet, I found another horsebox. It turned out to be a good one: recently used, completely roadworthy, and in decent condition. Considering the market for conversions into mobile food outlets or gin bars, I got it for a song.

By sheer good fortune, it happened to be located near a friend who was willing to tow it up here — he was visiting anyway. Preparation and opportunity collided.

Ta-da.

By February 2025, I had a horsebox on the island, ready to be converted into a bespoke, wood-fired, mobile sauna. It felt like the perfect addition to my small business: a way to coax more people into the cold sea if there was the promise of warmth afterwards, and an opportunity for fellow islanders and friends to experience sauna regularly as a support to their wellbeing.

Winter on a Scottish island can feel long. It’s dark, often wet, and sometimes you don’t see people for days. It can feel even longer when most of your income only arrives during the summer tourist season. This sauna represents more than heat — it represents continuity.

It offers the possibility of winter income, daily sauna if I want it, and a service that could genuinely help my community. I can imagine weekly women’s sauna afternoons, or our mental health swims followed by cosy warmth and conversation. I’m swimming with ideas and possibilities, and I hope you can feel my excitement.

Sauna does have a long-standing reputation for supporting wellbeing — from deep relaxation and pain relief to improved cardiovascular health. Combined with breathwork and a dip in the cold sea, it feels like a simple, ancient recipe for resilience, especially here on our wild island.

Where was I? Ah yes — February 2025.

Over the summer, not much happened. I was exceptionally busy running my businesses, with a full calendar of guests in the shepherd’s hut, the guesthouse, and the retreats I had recently begun offering. My carpenter friend was also stretched thin, away on other projects and building his own home.

By winter, it was time to crack on.

After several kitchen-table chats over tea and cake, a plan was formed. A layout was decided, and choices of wood were mulled over. I stripped out the interior — rubber matting glued down with what felt like the strongest adhesive known to humankind. It took ages to remove. I sanded back the rusted sections and treated them with a rust-converter paint. Slowly, it began to look better.

The interior was measured, and timber was delivered to form the framing for the insulation.

It’s now January 2026. Many YouTube videos later, two sauna books read, and I finally feel that we know enough to do a good job of this.

Materials are on order. I haven’t chosen a stove yet. I’ve drawn up a schedule and set myself a deadline: 1st April. If it runs later than that, I’ll be too busy again. I also have a group swim and a retreat booked in early April — both of which would be immeasurably better with a sauna waiting afterwards.

All that remains now is the work itself — and a name.

I’d love something that reflects this wild island: the sea, flow, and the slow, healing process. Any suggestions are very welcome.

work in progress