Entry #05 - Wildfire Ascent

📷 The Part We Don’t Photograph

I’ve been thinking a lot about why we romanticise summits.

Not in a cynical way – I love a summit photo as much as anyone. Arms up, big sky, wind doing dramatic things to jackets. But the older I get (and the more hills I walk up that I absolutely did not train for properly), the more I realise the summit is about five minutes of the day.

The rest of it is the climb.

The slow, slightly stubborn, occasionally silent putting-one-foot-in-front-of-the-other bit. The stretch where conversation fades because everyone’s breathing a little heavier. The quiet recalculation when you realise it’s steeper than it looked from below. The moment you consider turning back. The moment you don’t.

That middle section, the unglamorous persistent part, is where Wildfire Ascent began.

🗻Climbing With Purpose

This release came together alongside Sarah Armstrong, who is currently attempting the Seven Summits challenge. Saying that out loud still feels surreal. It isn’t just “a few mountains.” It’s altitude, logistics, patience, training, risk – and a level of resilience most of us only borrow occasionally.

When we first spoke about creating something together, we didn’t talk about summit photos or records. We talked about rhythm. About how the air shifts as you climb. How pine thins out and rock takes over. How your body eventually stops protesting and simply settles into the effort.

There’s a moment on most climbs where you pass the tree line. It happens quietly. The forest falls away, the wind hits properly, and everything feels a little more exposed. The views widen, but so does the challenge.

That threshold felt like the right place to anchor this gin.

Sarah is also using her climbs to raise funds for Evora Hospice, which reframes the entire endeavour. Adventure is a privilege. Choosing discomfort for growth is a privilege. Tying that effort to something that genuinely matters makes it land differently. So £4 from every bottle goes directly there, not as an afterthought, but because it belongs in the story.

🌲Bottling the Ascent

So what does that stretch of mountain taste like?

There’s pine, clean and lifted, like snapping a needle between your fingers in cold air. Citrus runs through it, bright but not showy. Juniper holds everything steady, doing the quiet structural work it always does. And underneath, a warmth builds slowly (caraway) grounding the whole thing so it doesn’t drift into something too delicate.

It isn’t loud.

It isn’t designed to shock.

It feels deliberate.

The way a climb feels when you stop fighting it and just commit to the pace.

🥾After the Walk

We opened the first bottle after a long walk last week. Nothing epic. No glaciers. No summit flags. Just a grey afternoon, slightly muddy boots by the door, and that steady satisfaction of having gone out when it would have been easier not to.

It felt fitting.

Not celebratory. Not triumphant. Just earned.

Maybe that’s what Wildfire Ascent really is.

Not the summit.

Just the decision to keep climbing.

Until next time,
– Jimmy, The Wildfire Storyteller