huts, they existed because employees on big remote estates, or those quarrying or building dams deep in the mountains, needed somewhere to rest or stay nearby – a commute would have been impossible.
However, the arrival of cheaper vehicles, agricultural machinery and greater transport links meant there was no longer a need for people to reside in these far-flung corners of the country. One by one they began to leave their homesteads behind, quarrying fell out of demand and workers’ quarters were no longer inhabited.
Around the same time, in the 1930s, came the Great Depression, a time when industrial workers’ hours were becoming shorter, giving the working classes more leisure time but little money to spend on it. Most of them were stuck in factories during the hours they did work, and longed to escape the cities. Naturally the mountains were calling. Mass trespasses began to take place – famously in the English Peak District on Kinder Scout, but also beyond – by which men and women demanded their right to roam in the empty swathes of land that surrounded them. Climbing clubs cropped up all over the country, but especially in Scotland, and more specifically Glasgow, where the famous Creagh Dhu club was formed in Clydebank.
Hutchison Memorial Hut in the Cairngorms is popular with climbers
For its members, getting into these wild spaces was more than just a hobby, it was what they needed to enable them to survive working in industrialised urban environments for the remaining five (or more) days each week. Putting on shared buses or, more often, hitchhiking, once they got where they needed to go, short on money, they would sleep wherever they could – in barns, under rocky overhangs (known as howffs), in caves and in these abandoned bothies, and they taught themselves to live off the land, so that they could be close to the crags the next day.
This spawned some of the most famous climbers of the 20th century – from Jimmy Bell (who put up a host of new routes on Ben Nevis and edited the Scottish Mountaineering Club Journal for an impressive 24 years) to WH Murray, author of Mountaineering in Scotland (first penned on toilet paper when Murray was a prisoner of war during the Second World War, it was destroyed by his captors, to which he retaliated by writing it again and finally – triumphantly – getting it published in 1947), and Don Whillans (working-class hero, incredible climber, gear inventor and renowned deliverer of the one-liner). For men such as these, bothies were key to enabling them to get into the countryside and stay on the doorstep of the peaks.
In the years after the Second World War society’s attitude to the outdoors and, more specifically, outdoor activities was changing too. Soldiers and their families looked to camping as a cheap holiday, and more and more people were discovering that walking was a therapeutic way to spend their increasing free time.
Some more intrepid walkers and mountaineers began to explore their own country’s wild corners, and as they did, those other than climbers stumbled upon these abandoned buildings. Giving them a convenient start point for a mountain ascent, walk or crag climb the following day, many began to stay the night in them – sometimes with and sometimes without the landowner’s consent. And thus the modern day bothy-er was born.
But an ill-maintained building can survive only so long, and soon many of these bothies crumbled into ruin. Some were adopted by climbing clubs that knew of their importance; others were lucky enough to have landowners who privately maintained them for outdoor enthusiasts and local shepherds. But many others were left abandoned. And so they would have remained were it not for one man, Bernard Heath. It was he who, back in 1965, got together with a group of friends to repair and restore the old farm building in Dumfries and Galloway now known as Tunskeen bothy. Later that year a group of like-minded bothy-lovers joined forces, and the Mountain Bothies Association we know and love was formed.
Toilets in or near bothies are a welcome addition – but should by no means be expected!
Membership grew (as did bothy projects), Maintenance Officers (MOs) were appointed in the 1970s, in 1975 the charity was officially registered, in 1991 Bernard and Betty Heath were honoured with a British Empire Medal for their work and in 2015 the MBA won the Queen’s Award for Voluntary Service.
Changes may have taken place over the years, with health and safety legislation being addressed, complaints procedures being established and company status being updated. But its purpose remains unchanged. Some 100 bothies, over 3000 members, regular work parties and 50 years later, the volunteer-run organisation is still working hard with landowners to preserve and restore ’open shelters for the use and enjoyment of all who love wild and lonely places’. And thank goodness they do.
The association’s founders once wrote that: ’Members’ only reward will be the knowledge that their efforts have helped save a bothy from ruin.’ And how many of us would want anything more?
Facilities to expect
Basically none. In fact, if you get four walls and a roof that doesn’t leak then you should count yourself lucky. In my experience it’s much better to go with low expectations and be pleasantly surprised, rather than to go expecting a Hilton and find a low-rent shack.
Many bothies will, of course, have something more in them, ranging from the basic (chairs, tables) to the more upmarket (sleeping platforms, a stove, a river nearby) and the downright luxurious (toilet, water pipe just outside, reading material, bed frames).
Go prepared for the worst. Even if you’ve read something about a bothy in this book, remember that things change, break or are removed – so be prepared. Expect the walk to the nearest water source to be a trek and bring a bigger container to minimise your trips to collect it; assume the fire won’t work and bring an extra layer and a hat to sleep in; know that there won’t be any toilet paper so bring your own.
Follow this simple rule and you will avoid any disappointment.
Why bothy?
It’s a fair question, and one my friends and even family members frequently ask me. Aside from the obvious – that I love them, and once you get the bothy bug you can’t stop going to them (I swear it’s worse than being a Munro-bagger) – it’s really the same reason that you go wild camping, or even just walking. It’s to get away from everything and enjoy discovering the uncrowded and rugged corners of a beautiful country.
Of course, you can do exactly the same thing with a trusty bivvy bag or tent, so below is a list I’ve drawn up to show the pros and cons of staying in a bothy versus a tent. I’ll leave it to you to decide the best...
Bothy pros
Warmth You can have a fire and get warm.
Space Rather than being stuck in a cramped crouch of a tent, trying to get undressed without touching the sides of your condensation-drenched walls, you have the luxury of space to manoeuvre, stretch – even dance if the mood takes you.
Drying out Got caught out in the rain? At a bothy you can dry your clothes out above a fire or spread your belongings out on a table and let them dry.
Escaping midges Bothies are usually home to spiders, and spiders mean fewer midges, so you can cook and eat your evening meal without getting bitten.
People You may meet people with a similar love of the outdoors.
Inside information Fellow visitors may share the location of other bothies or wild camp spots for you to discover.
Bothy
