The Bothy Revolution
Words and Images by Emma Latham Phillips
The sun woke me up, streaming in through large rectangular windows. Beyond the glass, a carpet of bracken stood against the hillside as thick as a jostling crowd, fronds unfurling towards the sky like waving arms. I climbed down the ladder and opened the door of the bothy, stumbling towards the fire pit, my eyes still bleary with sleep and thick with pollen. I needed to light the fire so I could boil the kettle in time for breakfast. Perhaps we could use the water to have a warm shower too.
“Damn,” I swore. I’d left my antihistamine tablets in the car – a good hours walk, there and back. But there really wasn’t much to complain about. The day was warm, and we had nothing planned. Between the gnarled oaks in front of our bothy, the blues of the loch blended in with the blues of the sky. A few clouds rolled lazily past. Besides, the rock-strewn route I’d have to walk to the car delivered far-reaching views of the valley below, and I had plenty of time to get back before the kettle whistled.
We’re staying at Inverlonan, a site reimagining the iconic Scottish bothy tradition to deliver modern and ecologically-sensitive alternatives. We were spending a few nights in ‘Beatha’, one of two off-grid bothies thoughtfully set beside Loch Nell. Our home was balanced above the shoreline, ensconced like a jewel in green oak leaves. If the owners wanted, both bothies could be immediately removed, along with their ring-beam, ground screw foundations, leaving no trace upon the landscape.
Historically, a bothy was rudimentary accommodation provided for land workers in Scotland by estate owners. Today, they’ve become uniquely placed shelters available to anyone looking for a free roof over their head and the chance to escape the trappings of contemporary society. Typically, there’s no gas, electricity or water tap, and you need a spade and a long stroll before you can go to the bathroom. Thankfully, when it comes to Inverlonan, you don’t need to carry these home comforts in on your back. Simple luxuries have been added, and although they’re tastefully designed, these do not detract from the magic of going back to basics.
As I walk to the car, I look back over my shoulder to admire the rectangular shape of the cabin. The shimmer of corrugated black steel and oak-panelling matches the shadows of the tree trunks and golden summer grasses. Local artisans have contributed to the interior. The kitchen, table, shelves and ladder leading up to the mezzanine bed have been hewn from ash trees from the banks of Loch Awe, and crafted by Oban-residing Michael Acey. You’ll find stoneware from Argyll Pottery, sheepskins from Skye and Netherton Foundry cookware. But despite the aesthetic, Inverlonan is still very much embedded in both the landscape and the roots of bothying, which means you cannot rest without a little hard work.
In the afternoon, we steer our paddleboards out into the loch. The depths seem painfully dark, and it’s impossible to see the bottom. I slip quickly into the peaty brown water, my legs turn the colour of wotsits beneath my stomach. I imagine a metres-long lake monster brushing my feet and immediately jump back on board and paddle to the small shingle beach. “I’ll have a shower and start dinner,” I shout back. Having a shower here is a carefree (if cold) experience. For one, nothing beats getting nude beneath the sky. I fill the shower bag up with the remnants of the kettle water, clip it to the pulley system at the side of the bothy and hoist it up. The water doesn’t last long and is lukewarm at best. But it doesn’t matter; it’s summer, and I can watch the birds swoop and dive above me as I clean myself with soap.
Inverlonan is a lesson in patience. The modern world has forced us to speed up to an unsustainable pace. There’s no time to cook, find community or rest. But here, you have to slow down. Tasks that would take an instant now require careful planning. If you want a coffee with breakfast, you must make a fire, go to the outside tap, put the kettle to boil and grind the coffee beans – all before putting the sausages, eggs and bacon on the fire pit. Making our meals was the main event of the day, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Once it was on the table it felt like a considerable achievement – one that deserved a glass of champagne and a beautiful view.
At your request, Inverlonan provides you with delicious provision boxes that include a range of hyper-local and sustainable ingredients. We seasoned our breakfast in wood smoke, handcrafted our own pizzas with Great Glen Charcuterie, and sizzled freshly caught scallops in boiling butter. Our shellfish box was filled with dressed crab, baby pink langoustines, new potatoes, salad and scallops – the making of a courses-long feast. Nothing beats the experience of cooking over fire and the flavour it brings to the food is unique. Cooking like this requires constant observation, and the chance to slow down and meet around the flames. The sun had started to set by the time we’d scooped up the last of our meal and washed up the plates outside. It looked like we would leave Inverlonan with a new skill set as well as simply a holiday. Though, we never did get the hang of that axe.