I live alone on the Isle of Skye in a tipi almost impossible to find without detailed directions. It might seem unusual for someone of 16, but I love my own company and I’m passionate about preserving wild spaces. I grew up with my mum, Ghillie, and older sister, Yazzie, in the wilds of the Cairngorms, in a remote and sometimes inaccessible home, using cross-country skis to haul food and supplies to the house.

Mum, a cookbook writer, taught us about possible dangers and how to cope with them, then let us run wild from an early age. We also travelled abroad regularly, visiting remote tribes and cultures, where we lived for weeks as Mum studied food and recipes to write about. I spent so much time with tribes who rely on the land that this became second nature to me. When I gained a place at the School of Adventure Studies on Skye last year, I decided to live in a tipi, practising what I preach.

I sleep on an ancient canvas camp bed my grandfather gave me, with two old army blankets and some skins I tanned myself from roadkill for warmth. I have an open fire and spend my evenings tanning animal and fish skins, and carving wood. I store clothes and books in an old metal trunk of my mum’s – it’s covered in stickers from her travels. I wash my clothes in the river and dry them in the wind or in the heat from the fire. I have a bush shower using water from the river.

I wake at 6am and get the fire on straight away using flints and steel. There’s usually a good bed of embers from the previous day, so the fire is soon blazing while I have cereal or bannock, which I bake myself, for breakfast. I collect kindling for later in the day, then I wash at the river. Sometimes I just jump in, especially when there’s frost on the ground. When I rush back to the tipi, it’s like a sauna.

I get my backpack organised, including any food and kit I need for the day, bank the fire (by covering it, which keeps it low, but alive) and walk 30 minutes to the school. There are 12 of us on the course, of all ages, and we’ve just finished mountaineering, focusing on practical navigation in the Red Cuillin. We’re about to start whitewater kayaking.

I’ve had a few hairy moments. Once I was on the hills when bad weather rolled in and I became disoriented, but thanks to Mum’s training, I knew to stay calm. My classmates and I recently had a two-day test on the Trotternish Ridge in horrible weather, with such a whiteout we could hardly see our feet as we pitched our tents. A few people were exhausted and had to be taken off the mountain by the leaders, but I feel comfortable in the mountains and enjoyed the challenge, though I’m aware of dangers and need to be prepared.

My friends used to love coming to our home and running wild with me, so they are used to the way I live. I hope some of them will visit me soon. People ask if I miss the internet, but I never used to use it much, or watch television. I am sociable, but I have always enjoyed my own company.

I use my mobile every few weeks to catch up with friends and my mum, who I usually see once a month when I go back to the Cairngorms. I work with a bushcraft expert, Willow Lohr, teaching wild skills to others. I also visit a small tribe of bushmen in Namibia. We show each other our ancestral skills to keep them alive.

What I’m doing isn’t for everyone, but it makes me happy. I’d like to see more people look after the land and not be scared of getting outside, getting wet, learning how to survive. I’d like to learn western riding (horse riding like a cowboy), because my ambition is to run my own wilderness school, travelling on horseback. When my studies are over, I’ll move the tent back to Mum’s house and use it to tan skins. Until then, I’m happiest sitting by the flickering fire, carving a spoon in perfect silence and watching the northern lights through the open tipi door.

• As told to Joan McFadden.

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