My haunting night in an abandoned Highland clearances village on remote Scottish clifftop

It is a stretch of land where legend says children and animals had to be tethered to the land to stop them blowing away. 

Badbea, atop precipitous cliffs on the east coast of Caithness, is one of Scotland’s historic villages created by the Highland Clearances. 

Today, a foreboding warning notice greets visitors: “Beware: Please be careful when you visit Badbea. The people are gone, but the steep slopes, high cliffs and strong winds they struggled with are still dangerous today.” Records show some 12 families lived here after being evicted from their homes in more sheltered glens inland to make way for sheep farming during the 1800s - until 1911 when the last Highlander left for a better life elsewhere.

Reports say the last resident left the village in 1911, and in that year David Sutherland, the son of former inhabitant Alexander Robert Sutherland, who had emigrated to New Zealand in 1838, erected a monument, built from the stones of John Sutherland's home, in memory of his father and the people of Badbea. | Katharine Hay

Arriving at the site at about 8.30pm after walking a challenging stretch on the John O’ Groats Trail, I pitched my tent just beyond the few stone structures that remain of this abandoned village. 

The location is truly exposed to the elements. There is no shelter, and the land slopes down several metres before there is a mighty drop. 

The cliff edges just beyond Badbea on the east coast of Caithness | Katharine Hay

The echo of seagulls and fulmars crying to one another as they encircle the cliffs made me feel like I was closer to the edge than I was.

Walking among what remains of the weather-beaten dry stane walls, the wind making me unsteady on my feet, gave me a strong impression of the treacherous conditions these families were forced to live in.

Some of the ruins that remain at Badbea, which sits on the John O' Groats Trail between Helmsdale and Berriedale | Katharine Hay

I sat next to one of the ruins for a while, waiting for dusk to become night, thinking about one of the questions on the information board at the entrance to the site asking: “Could you live here?”

In that twilight hour, I would occasionally catch what I thought was a figure in the corner of my eye, but on turning my head, I would soon realise it was either one of the stones protruding above the skyline against the faint crepuscular light, or the only small, solitary tree I could see bending in the wind. 

I knew I was the only one there, having arrived late on foot, and the lack of shelter either side made it fairly easy to see if anyone was coming towards me. But there was an energy to the place that made me question if I was really alone. 

Lying there for the night was a haunting experience; the howling gale whistling through the gaps in the crumbling ruins kept me awake as I had visions of families having to tie the more vulnerable in their community down to stop them being dragged over the cliff edge and into the sea. The sound of the wind felt like the surrounding environment’s lament for these proud and resilient Highlanders who were forced to give up their livelihoods and make life work elsewhere.

One side of the statue The Emigrants, which shows four figures: the kilted man, a boy, and a woman behind who is clutching a baby | Katharine Hay

The Emigrants, a statue by Scottish artist Gerald Laing, captures the sadness, strength, and fate of these people.

The artwork, which stands about five miles south of Badbea, in Helmsdale, shows four figures: the kilted man looking ahead into an unknown future; a boy who is looking up to him for guidance or reassurance; and a woman, wrapped in a shawl, who is holding a baby and looking back towards the home they were forced to leave. 

After a night on the edge, I was ready to leave Badbea the next day, but its story I will carry with me.