The Garden at Eddrachilles

At the edge of Badcall Bay, near Scourie, in the centre of the North West Highlands UNESCO Geopark, where ancient Lewisian gneiss meets the Atlantic, over three acres of woodland garden are slowly taking shape. This is very much a work in progress—a developing landscape where guests can wander among native wildflowers, commemorative plantings, and carefully chosen specimens that are learning to thrive in one of Scotland's more demanding garden environments.

This is gardening at the extremes: on the same latitude as Juneau, Alaska, technically within the Arctic periphery, yet also at the northern limit of Britain's temperate coastal rainforest. Salt spray, relentless westerly gales, shallow soils over some of the oldest rock on Earth's crust, and the peculiar challenge of North Highlands 18-hour summer daylight that favours weeds as much as wanted plants, these factors all shape what grows here and how we garden.

A Transformation Rooted in Vision

When we acquired Eddrachilles in spring 2016, the grounds told a different story. A Sitka spruce plantation, planted some forty years earlier in the style typical of that era when biodiversity was less widely understood, had matured into dense monoculture. Brambles and bracken grew over six feet deep. Reaching the foreshore required determination.

The transformation began in winter 2016-17 with the felling of 123 trees, seventeen of which directly threatened the hotel building. After four decades of monoculture and minimal light, the ground was barren. Then nature responded: foxgloves first, then grass, finally wildflowers. During the 2020 lockdown, we established a network of paths using 70 tonnes of gravel, every barrowload hauled across the grounds by hand.

That initial clearance revealed the dell surrounding the late Colonel Cuthbert's grave. The resting place had always been discretely marked, but our intention was to link it more meaningfully with both the cherished sea view and the house he had called home. This sheltered hollow and the seating area above have become our most treasured corner—a place where guests naturally linger, discovering the interplay of light, thoughtful plantings, and the "borrowed landscape" of Badcall Bay beyond.

The Garden Today

The vision guiding our work is a woodland garden in naturalistic style: resilient, evolving, and honest about the challenges it faces. We plant for decades ahead, knowing that full maturity will come long after our stewardship ends.

Rhododendrons and azaleas span the flowering season from April through July. We source non-invasive Scottish-grown varieties from Glendoick, choosing hardy forms that can withstand exposure. Those planted in 2018 now bloom reliably each spring; more recent additions from 2020-21 are contributing their first flowers. During the pandemic depths, planting for an uncertain future felt like an act of faith—and Highland defiance.

Spring arrives in waves of colour. Thousands of bulbs—daffodils, tulips, miniature narcissi, alliums, iris—are chosen for their ability to endure wind and return year after year. Favourites include late-flowering, scented Winston Churchill daffodils, reliable Jetfire for exposed areas, and lily tulips such as Menton, Seattle, and Queen of the Night. We time planting carefully to ensure April guests share in the display.

The damp garden has grown wetter since tree removal, and we've encouraged this evolution. Native species introduced in 2018—ragged robin, water irises, primulas—thrive alongside carefully chosen cultivars. The shallow ditches that run with winter water provide essential habitat for amphibians and beetles, while stoats have claimed the rocky banks as safe territory. We deliberately leave this area undisturbed until well into spring.

Wildflowers and wildlife receive equal attention. In mid-May, mowers rest for a month to allow native orchids to bloom—plants that can take seven years to reach maturity. Native bluebells die back fully before cutting. Dandelions and willowherb, often dismissed as weeds, provide crucial food for pollinators when daffodils and rhododendrons offer little. Nettles remain in clumps as vital habitat for Sutherland's rich variety of moths and butterflies.

The courtyard pond overflows with frogspawn each April. Frogs, toads, and newts contribute to the garden's balance—providing slug control and, in harder winters, sustenance for otters sheltering in nearby scrubland.

A respected conservationist who visited recently suggested that the biodiversity across our three acres likely stands at two to three thousand different species of flora and fauna—testament to what can be achieved when native habitat is allowed to recover and thrive.

Sustainability

We've moved entirely away from peat-based compost since 2018, developing our own using garden waste, wood chippings, kitchen peelings from the hotel, cardboard from deliveries, and seaweed harvested from the foreshore.

Next to the car park stands our Polycrub—Shetland's answer to the polytunnel. Built from linked polycarbonate panels, it withstands our fiercest gales and lasts 30-40 years compared to conventional polytunnels' three-year polythene cycle. Inside, raised beds produce tomatoes, courgettes, aubergines, salad leaves, and herbs. Unheated yet surprisingly warm, it allows fig trees to overwinter happily and has earned enthusiastic approval from Eddrachilles' cats. This summer, several toads took up residence—judging by their growth, it proved excellent hunting ground.

Legacy Planting

Trees carry memory and meaning here. Snow Queen birches commemorate Fiona's sister Tricia. A copper beech honours Richard's mother. A Tai-haku "Great White" cherry welcomes our Japanese-American daughter-in-law Hiroko—this remarkable variety, thought extinct in Japan by the late 19th century, was rediscovered in a Sussex garden in the 1920s and eventually reintroduced to its homeland from Britain.

Guest suggestions have shaped the landscape too: a Royal Burgundy cherry for the late Queen's Platinum Jubilee, an oak for King Charles III's coronation. Volunteer rowans and hazels seed themselves wherever they find opportunity. Each new planting adds another layer to Eddrachilles' evolving story.

An Ongoing Project

Tree management continues as part of responsible stewardship. This winter we're removing five dying spruces over fifty years old—legacy plantings now presenting risk to the hotel building. Before long, we will face difficult decisions regarding the fate of other Sitka spruces, particularly the band on the west side of the garden. The work is careful, considered, and necessary to the garden's long-term health.

We plant with realistic expectations. This remains very much a working project, pursued with determination rather than professional design credentials. We're under no illusions: some visitors will regard this as a poor excuse for a garden, expecting formality and manicured precision. Others will revel in the naturalistic style, finding in it echoes of Byron's celebration of wild places—"there is a rapture on the lonely shore." This is the start of a long project. Some years bring abundant success; others, valuable lessons. The garden teaches daily—often three steps forward and two back—but it remains a challenge we relish.

For guests, we offer paths to wander, benches positioned for contemplation, and a developing landscape shaped by ancient rock, Atlantic weather, and our commitment to creating something meaningful for those who follow. The full effect will not be seen for decades, but each season brings new rewards worth sharing.