It wasn’t always an enshrined right, though. John DaleĪccording to an old Gaelic expression, everyone has a right to a “tree from the wood, a fish from the river, and deer from the hills.” Subsistence living no longer rules the land, but the right to roam, as a custom, goes back generations. Hikers in Scotland routinely pass through gates marking property lines. The man pointed me in the right direction, then looked up, as if he was about to castigate the sky, and apologized for the weather: “When it’s over, you’ll forget about all the shite and remember all the sunny bits.” With that, I put on my rain jacket and pants, found my bridge, and continued into one of the most roamable places on Earth. Big lumpy raindrops left nickels of moisture on my unfolded topo map as I tried to get back on track. A dome of clouds occasionally opened up, allowing the sun to brighten the brooding moors.īut then I missed my turn, and random roaming didn’t lead me to the river crossing. The forest floor crept up tree trunks, swaddling them in greenery. I walked past stone walls growing poofs of moss. The first mile followed a well-established trail along the Inverie River. I zeroed in on what looked like a particularly wild section from Inverie to Glenfinnan. It runs generally between Fort William in the south and the Cape Wrath lighthouse on the northwest coast. And most importantly, I’d experience the right to roam firsthand on a backpacking trip.įor that, I chose the Cape Wrath Trail, a muddy, unmarked route stretching about 200 miles. I’d attend a national access forum, interview politicians, and walk town paths. I’d talk with folks about the right to roam in lowlands, highlands, and islands. To find out, I planned to spend a month in Scotland. Instead of defining a park by its boundaries, is it possible-when it comes to hiking and biking and climbing-to simply declare there are no boundaries? Or would such universal access grate against that other American dogma, What’s mine is mine? I wanted to see if Scotland’s right to roam worked, and how it worked, and whether it might work in the U.S. I was eager to visit a country that’s moving in the opposite direction by providing unfettered access to its countryside. In This Land Is Our Land, I chronicle how anti-access landowners, conservative politicians, and far-right movements like the Sagebrush Rebellion-which made national news during the 2016 occupation of Oregon’s Malheur Wildlife Reserve-are seeking to deny the American birthright to enjoy the natural world. I was particularly interested in Scotland because I’d recently written a book about how nature in the U.S. For hikers and other outdoor recreationists, it’s a critical legal right in a country that’s 83 percent privately owned (by comparison, the United States is about 65 percent private). I had come to the Highlands to exercise Scotland’s “right to roam,” which describes a 2003 law that allows citizens and visitors to responsibly enjoy Scottish lands and waters, no matter who owns them. Aside from a couple of road crossings, every step of my 25-mile trek would be across private property. But unlike that tiny suburban oasis where neighborhood kids could trespass with impunity, all of Scotland is open for exploration. It reminded me of my boyhood in Western New York, where my brother and I built forts in the woods, played hockey on frozen ponds, and never once thought we were doing anything more nefarious than being kids. It felt good to ramble across the countryside, no trail or signs to guide me, wandering in whatever direction I fancied-even if that direction proved wrong.
I had missed a bridge over the rain-swollen Inverie River, and now I was high-stepping over tussocks, baptizing my socks in bogs, and walking the river’s soft edges, seeking a point to cross and finding nothing remotely safe.ĭisoriented as I felt, I was at least comforted knowing that, here in Scotland, I could be lost on someone’s land without feeling like a criminal or worrying about getting shot. Less than half an hour into a four-day hike across the Scottish Highlands, I’d lost my way. Get access to everything we publish when you
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