ELLIE HARRISON

After years of filming outdoors in all weathers, I’ve finally found the perfect clothing for the job

After years of filming outdoors in all weathers, I’ve finally found the perfect clothing fit for the job.

We must appear fairly sassy, arriving on a two-day shoot with a full suitcase for just a single outfit. But until you put your feet in the landscape that day, it’s hard to imagine what it’s going to feel like from the comfort of home, staring into a wardrobe.

As someone who generally runs cold, for at least three-quarters of the year, it’s uncomfortable shooting outdoors. The coldest shoots linger in the mind and, like the most embarrassing or idiotic moments of our lives, pay forward good anecdotes for years, especially bonding for those who lived it. I can pluck them with ease from memory: summit of the Black Mountains in freezing rain, 12 November; climbing icy Cheddar Gorge, 6 January; sub-zero Chipping Campden, 11 February. Pity the camera crew who need to work delicately and without gloves in biting weather.

Of course, there are warehouses full of outdoor gear to make it so much easier. And it’s not like

I’ve had to adapt from studio work to the outdoors. Still, I’ve paid my dues for wardrobe fails over the years. Anticipating chilly conditions in Alaska and the Arctic, I bought a battery pack that plugged into socks and a little fleecy gilet number to stave off the -50° wind chill. After 30 seconds I couldn’t tell you if I was even forming real words or drooling, my face was so frozen and my thinking so hypothermic. In the early days of The One Show, I would try to appear winsome in open-collar shirts wafting around outdoors, but instead spent all day shivering looking pinched and anything but. Even when I’ve tried to follow the jargon of layering from the technical fabric world – base, shell, outer-shell – it rarely works for people like us who don’t climb whole mountains or have any need for sweat-wicking properties.

Film crew have completely different needs to active outdoor types. You couldn’t find a compass, a map or a whistle among us. Walking more than 15 minutes from the car raises an eyebrow – but you should lift a camera, tripod or sound recording kit before passing judgement.

Our outdoor requirements are (ironically for me as a wildlifer) similar to hunting, shooting and fishing folk: extra warmth for the sedentary, and stealthy quiet when moving. Sound recordists wince in creative pain when they see slithery crackly tech-fabrics but lift up in visible joy at the prospect of natural fibres to pin a mic on.

TRIED AND TESTED FAVOURITES

Over years of trial and error, I do have some favourites that have served me well on shoots:

• Down or puffy jackets of any price. Light to travel with and instantly warm so I always have one in my bag. But it must be worn as the outermost layer; squash it underneath another and you won’t feel the benefit, which makes them less good in rain.

• Two pairs of gloves and handwarmers. Wet gloves on a cold day are a misery so having two is about as organised as I get. The handwarmers are drops of gold; crack them open early as they last for eight hours. Put them inside gloves or a pocket and keep them moving to mix the oxygen.

• Natural-wool socks. This was a recent discovery for me but truly they feel much warmer.

• A beanie hat is the only type that won’t blow away and attempts to keep the hair down.

• A thin snood is vengeance against the cold and a sound recordist who wants the top button open.

There’s the vain stuff too. I will never ever wear waterproof trousers; they look dreadful on me and I’d rather have cold legs. A belt around any jacket helps to make me less of a rectangle. I take inspiration from the tweed-and-wax old-world styling but instead using modern fabrics. And before you say it, there is such a thing as bad weather. Even in the best kit available, that very bad weather eventually finds its way in around the cuffs, the neckline and the spirit.

Watch Ellie on Countryfile, Sunday evenings on BBC One.