The Bothy at Craigaig, Ulva. Photo: John Devlin / JPIMedia

Bothy culture

‘Ideas of remote nature today are too centred on being alone’

Scotland, unsurprisingly, has the lion’s share of bothies, with just a few dotted around England and Wales.

It’s a fact that likely comes down to an accident of history and Scotland’s abundance of wild remote places, though the country’s liberal right-to-roam laws probably helped: it seems no coincidence that Nordic countries with similar laws often have equivalent “wilderness huts” - though these are rarely free of charge - scattered around the countryside.

By and large, bothies are incredibly basic accommodation. The MBA website is keen to stress that walkers will often find “no tap, no sink, no beds, no lights, and, even if there is a fireplace, perhaps nothing to burn”. Rumour has it that there are even fake light switches installed in some bothies as a kind of inside joke by volunteers.

The Lookout bothy, Isle of Skye You may be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of dolphins or whales in this former coastguard station on Skye. Use the slider to switch between images:

At the same time, the diversity among bothies is huge: some have (compost) toilets, bookcases and stoves, and part of the appeal of bothying comes from each shelter being totally unique in character and history.

Coupled with being free of charge, it’s no wonder bothies have become romanticised as the ultimate antidote to the fast-paced, commercialised and antisocial modern lives many lead today.

Though the MBA is keen for users to avoid thinking of bothies as holiday cottages or a location stay in themselves, the romaticisation of bothies is understandable - especially to a younger generation.

In pictures: weird and wonderful bothy history

Ben Alder bothy This bothy is reported to be haunted by several ghosts, including a ghillie who hanged himself from the rafters and a poltergeist. Photo: Dan (cc-by-sa/2.0) Shenavall Bothy Visit this bothy and you'll be in royal company - Prince Charles once stayed in the bothy while he was a pupil at Gordonstoun. Photo: Peter Aikman (cc-by-sa/2.0) The Schoolhouse The former purpose of this bothy is fairly obvious - it once served as a school for children in the surrounding area. Former pupils sometimes had to use stilts to cross the frozen river and one ex pupil remembers a boy coming to school atop a pig. Photo: MBA Strathchailleach Bothy Until 1994, a rather frightening hermit called Sandy lived in this bothy; he had struck an agreement with the MBA to live in one half but it was reported he didn't always keep to his side of the bargain. Photo: Ian Bolton (cc-by-sa/2.0)

While the idea of free overnight shelter might not have been so extraordinary in the 1950s, today the concept of something for nothing has become relatively unusual, while the act of welcoming strangers into your (albeit temporary) living quarters is almost unheard of. For many, staying in a bothy is like being transported into a lost past.

Annie Gilfillan at Oban bothy in the Western Highlands. Photo: Annie Gilfillan

Avid hill walker, bothy-goer and native Highlander Annie Gilfillan, 29, understands this kind of mentality well. She runs a podcast, “Stories of Scotland”, with co-host Jenny Johnson who is also a bothy user, and believes there is something transportive about staying in a bothy overnight.

“Bothies are one of those spaces which seem as though they come from the past, the way we imagine pubs must’ve been like 50 years ago where everyone could go and you’d end up knowing everyone,” she says.

Similarly, Annie believes that what might elsewhere be seen as ‘risky’ is normal in a bothy, where distrust among strangers quickly dissolves into camaraderie.

“All my city friends think I’m crazy when I say that I’m a single woman who will stay the night in an abandoned place where other people might turn up.”

Glenuaig bothy, on the Glencarron Estate. Photo: Annie Gilfillan

However, it’s this element of bothying that she believes makes the experience so enriching.

“I guess there’s an element of risk in it but the benefits make it worth it. There are few other experiences in the remote parts of nature where mindfulness comes from being with other people.

“Ideas of remote nature today are too centred on being alone and being introspective. In a bothy it’s all about meeting new people and hearing about the hills they’ve been on that day.”

Burleywhag bothy in the Southern Uplands. Photo: MBA

Annie points out that while there’s a stereotype of a bothy-goer as an older white male, it should come as no surprise that bothying is gaining popularity with younger generations who have grown up in a world saturated with technology.

“Nowadays you don’t speak to strangers in pubs and cafes, you never speak to anyone. A bothy is a place where you go there knowing you’ll speak to new people, and because you’re disconnected from tech you can’t fall back on the people you’re familiar with.”

We were brought up on stories of how land was always taken away from the Highland people. Bothying is a way of reclaiming that land. Annie Gilfillan

In more than one way, Annie believes that bothying is a valuable way to return to the past, especially for those native to Scotland.

“It gives us a connection to the land that we wouldn't otherwise have,” she says.

“Being from the Highlands, we were brought up on stories of how land was always taken away from the Highland people. Bothying is a way of reclaiming that land, and I love sharing stories in them, and love how they’re open to everyone.”

An MBA plaque. Photo: Shutterstock

Yet in spite of her enthusiasm for open bothy access, Annie, like many other avid bothy-goers, acknowledges that with this comes the risk of abuse.

“I think people need to be more aware of the [bothy] code when it comes to littering. A big worry is bothies becoming commercialised - very large groups of people are going to them and missing the point completely.

“I think we should be encouraging smaller groups to go as that’s what bothies are for. Little groups making new connections.”