Visiting the bothies of Scotland was something that I’d had a vague inclination to do for a long time. I’d head about the remote stone huts where weary shepherds of the old days found refuge from storms and snow, which now were free to use for any traveller adventurous enough to find them. I imagined squat grey buildings hidden from view up rugged mountains and around impassable bays; and when I set off in summer in search of a few of them, I found my imaginings were very close to the truth.
I left my warm, dry home behind for a month’s long cycle trip on a cheap mountain bike loaded with a good waterproof backpacker’s tent, a sleeping bag rated for low temperatures, and enough sachets of porridge to ensure I’d never be able to look an oaty breakfast in the face again. Following the Sustrans cycle routes, I made my way north through Fife and Perthshire before reaching the Cairngorms National Park, the location of my first bothy. Up to this point my journey had been relatively easy; I pottered along country roads, admiring the rolling green fields and wildcamping in patches of woodland. The Cairngorms, however, were out to make or break me. Following the Route 7 cycle path, my legs started to feel the climb from Calvine. By the approach to the Drumochter Pass, I had thoroughly cursed both the old gods and the new. Reaching the top of the 1516ft summit was a triumph however, and I fair enjoyed hurtling downhill on the other side.
For my very first bothy visit, I was aiming for Ryvoan, situated in the remote hills east of Aviemore. The Ryvoan Pass is easy to find. I followed a rocky landrover track past Glenmore Lodge, continuing straight on past the beautiful blue Lochan Uaine. I was almost at the picturesque bothy before I even saw it, as the traditional grey cottage is hidden from view by an incline. There I met a lovely couple from Paisley, who already had the gin poured – and a young cyclist who had taken on the challenge of Land’s End to John O’ Groats. Before long we had collected enough dead wood to get a good fire roaring, and it was a lovely sight to see the chimney smoke drifting up between the mountains (and to know there were sausages cooking in the pan!) Bothies are social places, and after a natter and a good few drinks we managed to get a decent sleep on a raised wooden platform. I was glad of my comfy roll mat here, as I had been on the whole trip. Although the bothy is insulated, the heat from the fire quickly dissipated in the cool Highland night. Along with a cosy sleeping bag, I consider my roll mat to be an essential piece of kit for both warmth and comfort.
Leaving the next morning, I had the choice of climbing to the top of the nearby Bynack Mor or Meall a Bhuachaille summits. Happier on two wheels than two feet however, I continued mountain biking along the bumpy track through the Abernethy forest and out at Nethy Bridge.
My next bothy stop would be Camasunary Bay in Skye, after a failed attempt to find Easan Dorcha, also known as the Tearoom bothy. This I blame on using a map with the wrong location; this was a lesson in checking and checking again, as you canny search Google if there’s not a phone signal!
Camasunary is a fairly new bothy, after the old one just along the bay was taken back into use by the owner. It’s relatively large and sleeps 15 on a massive bunk bed style sleeping platform. The bothy is well hidden as Camasunary Bay is only accessable by sea or or a 9km hillwalk through the Strathaird Estate. When I reached the car park near the access for the Camasunary Path, I was well and truly knackered. For those who’ve been to Skye, you’ll know there’s nary a flat road in sight, and after hauling myself and my bike over all those hills, I was looking forward to the last short stretch (so I thought) and a nice lie down to rest my rattled bones. After hearing from a local that I could “probably” get my bike up the Camasunary track, it came as a small surprise that I absolutely, definitely, could not. The track is steep in points, and so rocky it resembles a dry river bed more than a track. After heaving the thing along for more than an hour, I was thwarted by a second kissing gate that was unpassable, at least for me. I packed the necessities into my backpack and chained the bike to a fence, with a note explaining when I’d be back just incase a farmer took exception. I was immediately glad of leaving it behind. The descent wasn’t any better, and I slipped several times on loose rock. In the end it was worth it for the stunning views of the dramatic Cuillin mountain range and the glimpse of Loch Creitheach. I would have liked to hike out to the loch, but unfortunately the rain had been torrential and the ground had become a massive, sticky bog.
I was glad to finally get into the large bothy. It is easy to spot on the east side of the bay due to its navy corrugated walls and stone frontage. Although there was no fire, it had luxury in other respects – outside fire pits! Double glazing! And a view the looked out to the beautiful, windswept bay. Again the bothy was social, and before long people of all backgrounds had turned up for the night. I met one woman who had in fact managed to lug her bike all the way up and down the track and over the kissing gate – I was beyond impressed. I was glad of the large capacity as in the end there were around 12 people tucked up on the sleeping platform, including kids. Camasunary was the most popular bothy I’d been to. By morning, the rain hadn’t let up so I abandoned my plans to explore the area in favour of finding somewhere I could get a hot coffee and a real toilet – and headed back to the mainland.
The last bothy on my list was Invermallie, set just back from the shores of Loch Arkaig on the West Coast. I joined the path at the east lochhead, cycling over a wooden bridge and then following the south banks of the loch. If I hadn’t had detailed directions to the bothy, I would never have found it as it’s so well hidden. The track passes a cottage with a blue roof, and beyond that is a cattle gate. Just after the gate is a break in the trees to the right. You can hardly tell, but there is in fact a path hidden under the tall grass – it just looks like a landrover has flattened it. I took this path, which led through a small cluster of trees and then into boggier ground. I was very glad of my bike here as walking though it would have been awful without wellies. Eventually Invermallie came into view; a run down yet somehow majestic looking two floor house with a river flowing gently behind it. Be careful of the river during very heavy rain, as the bothy is liable to flooding.
The house has been a deer stalking shelter in the past, and it was hands down the creepiest place I’ve ever stayed. I consider myself a rational woman. I’ve never believed in ghost stories and I’m of a fairly practical “if you’re deid, you’re deid” mentality. But the dark halls of Invermallie, the empty rooms left with only one chair facing the door, and the burn marks up the walls over the fireplaces – well the whole atmosphere fairly gave me the heebie jeebies from the moment I walked in the door. Being as stubborn as I am though, I refused to leave or camp outside when there was a perfectly good, warm, dry house available. I started a fire with the wood left by previous visitors and unpacked my things while I cooked tea on the fire. I took some photos to try to capture the spooky air around the place, and I collected a little more fallen wood to replace what I’d used. In the end, when no one else showed up to keep me company, I had a couple of stiff whiskies and told the house quite firmly that I would be staying the night, if it didn’t mind terribly, thank you very much! I slept upstairs and was happily undisturbed by anything supernatural. The whole house does creak all the time, and I awoke on more than one occasion thinking there was someone coming up the stairs or bursting through the door. In the morning I put my uneasiness down to an overactive survival instinct and imagination. Bothy goers love to tell newbies which bothies are haunted (according to some, all of them!) and I have to say, if such things are true, Invermallie would surely be a contender. As a bothy though, it’s a fantastic place. Two fireplaces, plenty of room for a good crowd of people to eat and sleep, and a gorgeous landscape of hills, loch and river. But next time, I would take a pal!
The bothies of Scotland are fantastic free shelters for explorers of the country’s vast wilderness, but in order to keep them that way, they need to be treated with some respect. Take your rubbish with you; save the graffiti for the visitors book and leave a bit of wood or kindling for the next folk. For more information on all bothies and the bothy code, visit the Mountain Bothy Association website.
Crayola Pancake 