Badbea
Badbea is a hauntingly atmospheric ruined township perched on the clifftops of the far northeast of Scotland, in Caithness, overlooking the North Sea. It stands as one of the most poignant and visceral reminders of the Highland Clearances, the period between the late eighteenth and mid-nineteenth centuries when landlords forcibly removed communities from fertile inland straths and glens to make way for more profitable sheep farming. The families displaced to Badbea were settled on this exposed coastal strip not out of generosity but because the land was so harsh, so windswept, and so marginal that no one else wanted it. Today the site is preserved as a scheduled monument and managed by Historic Environment Scotland, and it draws visitors from across the world who come to understand, in a very immediate and emotional way, what the Clearances meant to ordinary people.
The township was established around the late eighteenth century, primarily by families cleared from the inland parish of Latheron. At its height it housed several hundred people, perhaps around a dozen families, who scratched a living from kelp gathering, fishing, and tiny plots of thin coastal soil. Life here was extraordinarily difficult. The wind coming off the North Sea is fierce and near-constant, and local accounts tell of people having to tether their children and their animals to stakes in the ground to prevent them being blown over the cliff edge. This detail, startling and almost unbelievable, speaks volumes about the conditions these communities endured. The settlement was gradually abandoned through the nineteenth century as emigration, particularly to New Zealand, Canada, and other parts of the Empire, took the working-age population away. By around 1911 the last resident had left.
The physical remains of Badbea are a scattering of low stone walls, footings, and clearance cairns spread across the clifftop grass. The structures were never grand — they were the modest, thick-walled homes typical of Highland settlements, built with local fieldstone without mortar or with minimal binding. What survives now are knee- to waist-high outlines of buildings, overgrown with heather, moss, and coarse grass. A small, striking monument erected in 1912 by Donald Sutherland, a descendant of the community who emigrated to New Zealand, stands at the heart of the site. It lists the names of the Badbea families and is both a memorial and an act of witness, ensuring the place was not entirely forgotten. The monument is weathered but legible, and its presence gives the site a focal point and a sense of solemn ceremony.
In person, Badbea is a place of considerable sensory power. The wind is almost always present, sometimes a steady salt-laden blow and sometimes a force that makes walking difficult. The sound of the sea rises constantly from below the cliffs, and on rough days the waves can be heard crashing loudly against the rocky shore far beneath. The grass is short and tough, the ground uneven underfoot, and the views seaward are immense — a wide arc of grey-green North Sea stretching to the horizon. Looking inland, the land rises toward the moorland of Caithness, treeless and ancient. There is almost no shelter. Standing here, it becomes viscerally clear why tethering children was a practical necessity, not a dramatic exaggeration.
The surrounding area is among the most sparsely populated and scenically dramatic in mainland Britain. Badbea lies close to the village of Berriedale to the south and Dunbeath a little further along, both small settlements in steep river valleys that cut through the cliffs. The Berriedale Braes, a notorious section of the A9 road with sharp, steep gradients, lies just to the south and gives some indication of the rugged terrain. The wider Caithness and Sutherland coastline is a UNESCO-nominated Geopark, rich in ancient geology, and the area around Dunbeath has literary associations with the novelist Neil Gunn, who was born there. The cliffs along this stretch of coast harbour seabirds, and the moorland behind supports golden plover, curlew, and other upland species.
Reaching Badbea requires travelling along the A9, which here follows the clifftop coast and is one of the more demanding stretches of the road. There is a small layby and parking area beside the A9 from which a short, signed footpath leads to the site — the walk is only a few hundred metres but can feel exposed and bracing in poor weather. There are no facilities at the site itself, no café, no visitor centre, and no shelter, so visitors should come prepared with appropriate clothing regardless of the season. The path is relatively straightforward but the clifftop location demands care, especially in high winds or wet conditions. The site is freely accessible at all times of year.
One of the most remarkable hidden stories of Badbea concerns its far-flung diaspora. The community that was driven here and then dispersed outward left descendants across the world, particularly in New Zealand's Otago region, and it was one of those descendants who made the long journey back in 1912 to erect the memorial stone. This act of memory-making across hemispheres and generations gives the site an unexpectedly global dimension — Badbea is not just a Scottish story but a story about what emigration and displacement meant, and continue to mean, to communities shaped by the Clearances. The fact that this remote clifftop ruin attracted such a deliberate act of commemoration from New Zealand suggests it occupied an important place in the collective memory of the diaspora long after the last family had gone.