I moved to a house so remote you have to ski to it – here’s how it changed my life
Thirty years ago, Ghillie Basan found her dream home. An isolated, ruined cottage, with astounding views of the Cairngorms but no electricity or running water – it was maybe not the obvious choice for most. But it transported her back to her childhood in Kenya with her Scottish parents, where she ran wild in wide-open space.
“When I finished school, I did a Cordon Bleu cookery course and studied social anthropology at university,” Basan, who is 62, says. “I became a journalist in the Middle East, writing about food in different cultures. I started to write cookery books and when I married a photographer we came back to Scotland to work as a writer-photographer team.
“Gradually, we fixed the roof to stop the snow landing on our bed, put in double-glazed windows and a phone line to promote ourselves and get work. Without electricity, my first cookery book was prepared on a camp cooker with a bucket in the snow for a fridge, and I’d go outside with a mirror to reflect any rays of sunshine through the kitchen window on to the food to be photographed.”
Their children, Yazzie, now 28, and Zeki, 25, added to the joy of remote living but when Zeki was two, Basan’s husband left her for another woman. Alone with a toddler and a five-year-old as winter set in, she skied three miles a day to school with a child on her back and one on a sleigh, and brought in supplies in a pack on her back. Everyone said she should move. “But I’m stubborn,” says Basan. “I decided to stay. The responsibilities are hard for any single parent. I often worried if I was making the right decisions but I had to learn to trust my own judgement. My GP said we’d have to rely on helicopters in the winter in an emergency because we were so remote, but you can’t lie awake worrying about that. I’m a fighter and always will be.”
Determined to make a comfortable, cosy home for her children, Basan increased her mortgage to pay for an overland electricity line and convert part of an old barn into a holiday cottage for extra income. She wrote cookery books and articles at night when the children were asleep and within a year, she established herself as a cookery writer, doing cookery workshops and leading cookery programmes on Radio Scotland and other media. As her children grew up, she ensured that they always got to their favourite activities even if they were miles away and kept an open house for their friends.
Basan’s home is reached by a single-track shooting road, or by skis if snow makes that impassable. It looks like a classic Scottish croft, but the back door leads to a wonderfully colourful room, with kitchen, dining and living areas in a large extension. There are herbs and traditional cooking equipment, and big squashy couches making a huge open fire the perfect place to collapse. A huge expanse of glass leads to the deck outside, and everywhere, no matter the time of year, the views of the hills and, at times, the Northern Lights, are stunning. Basan has turned this remote whisky smugglers’ glen into an extraordinary wilderness retreat where guests can enjoy delicious food and whisky, foraging on the moor and in the woods, cooking over an open fire or pit oven, and relaxing by the stove in her old whisky barn.
Ten years ago, she was making a reasonable living and Yaz and Zeki were becoming more independent, when her widowed mother developed dementia and everything unravelled. She lived an hour’s drive away over the Cairngorms and, even if the snow gates were shut, which meant a three-hour detour, Basan visited every day to care for her, putting her work aside. Two years later her mother’s needs were so great, Basan was forced to find her a comfortable care home. Consumed with the guilt at this decision, she also had to face the fact that she’d hit rock bottom financially and could lose the home she’d single-handedly created.
“I felt a failure as a daughter and mother,” she says. “But one day I was gazing out at my wonderful view, feeling close to despair, and it dawned on me that I’d never actually done anything with whisky – apart from drink it. I thought long and hard about how I could make the location work for me, and decided combining whisky with food would give people an unforgettable experience.”
She had just started that business when lockdown hit. “It took until summer 2024 to turn my life around,” she says. “I’d have sold up if my children wanted, but they hoped to hold on to our home. I sold anything of value to buy some time while I set up my business. Despite coping as a single parent, working and renovating the cottage alone, the last 10 years have been the hardest.”
Basan already had a career which she adapted to work with her new situation when she moved to such a remote place, but her children would have to make their own way if they planned to stay when they became adults. Like Basan, they aimed to find work which made their surroundings an asset, rather than a disadvantage.
Yaz wanted to travel and ski, so went to Switzerland for ski coaching qualifications and in the summer took sailing exams to work on boats. “I taught skiing in Switzerland for eight winters and in Canada for two,” says Yaz. “In summer I worked on boats in the Mediterranean and eventually set up a sailing company based out of Ullapool. Everything stopped with Covid, but that period of time actually helped me turn my idea of running an outdoor business for women into reality. Exercise helped me through times of poor mental health caused by my struggles with chronic cystic acne, so I set up weekend retreats in different Highland locations and discovered people really needed what I was offering.
“My workouts are designed using the natural landscape and are about boosting confidence and giving people new ideas rather than a fitness boot camp. All levels are welcome, activities are optional, and you can dip in and out of everything, including rivers and lochs.”
Basan always explained the dangers they were surrounded by to her children and then trusted them to explore on their own. They roamed the hills and woods with complete freedom, and Zeki was seven or eight when he first built a shelter and stayed out overnight alone. “We’re all very comfortable in our own company in wild places surrounded by nature,” says Basan. “It’s remote, but never lonely.” She never fears being alone there, though she has a definite twinkle in her eye when she tells me that she has a William Wallace-style sword above her fireplace and Maasai spears in her study, as well as big dogs.
Zeki has also found ways to make a living in the wild. At 16 he visited a group of San Bushmen in the Kalahari where he returned twice to make a film with them. At the same age, he lived in a teepee on the Isle of Skye while attending the School of Adventure Studies. He worked as a glacier guide in Iceland and as a qualified arborist has his own tree surgery company. He also creates saunas out of horse trailers, and runs survival courses in the Highlands and Greenland.
“I teach outdoor crafts and skills that were once part of everyday life but now are disappearing,” says Zeki. “It’s important to hold on to these because they give us a greater understanding of nature and a connection to the land. This might involve foraging, fire craft, basketry, shelter building, trapping and stalking, and teaching how to make use of every part of the animal, such as the skin for leather or drums, the sinews for cordage, the antlers for tools, and the organs for a good Highland haggis.”
They all share a deep love of the land, the creativity and hard work required to make their surroundings work for them. When you live somewhere where the snow can reach the roof practicality becomes second nature, though it is often also fun. The outdoor bath, heated by a fire, is apparently the ultimate place to enjoy a gin and tonic and gaze at the hills.
They’ve travelled extensively together while Basan researched different places for her cookery books, and Yaz and Zeki also globe-trotted independently. “My kids came with me everywhere so they spent time in fabulous cities like Istanbul and loved it, but they’ve never hankered after city life,” Basan says. “Now, both have their feet firmly rooted in the Highlands.”
The popularity of the whisky-food safari and off-the-beaten-track adventures is proof that people love to experience remote living, but making that move permanent is a big decision. “I love that my first book, The Moon’s Our Nearest Neighbour, made readers move up here, or change their lives,” says Basan. “When you make such a choice there are always a few hurdles to overcome, such as getting used to the closest supermarket being an hour away, so we always plan in advance, especially in winter, but it’s worth it.”
She’s been through emotional and financial turmoil to keep her dream home, but Basan has no regrets. “I’m from a generation that got on with it. Grin and bear it and don’t complain – that’s embedded in me. My reward is waking up in my little slice of paradise with my family and sharing it with others. Life’s too short, so if you want to change something or leap to a different destination, do it. You have to grab life by the balls and run with it. Otherwise you’ll always have regrets.”
