Farming life is pretty rough on the wild Atlantic fringe.
For ancient Celtic people, it made perfect sense to move around during the course of the year, following the flush of summer grass into the hills, then retreating to milder, coastal grazing for the winter. This seasonal process of transhumance used to be common throughout western Europe, but, faced with modern pressures, most of these systems have fallen apart over the past 100 years. In terms of modern agriculture, many of the old traditions around cattle management and summer grazing are so far lost in the mists of time that they almost feel like a dream nowadays.
Visiting Co Clare in 2023 with fellow farmer Richard Lockett, we weren’t prepared for the level of interest and enthusiasm around cattle cultures on the west coast of Ireland. As part of the annual Burren Winterage Weekend, we joined 500 people as they walked a dozen cows onto the hill, mimicking the ancient traditions that bound together humans and cattle for centuries.
Reflecting on the spectacle as we headed back to Scotland, it was clear that something special is happening on the Burren. Yet we were also aware that many equivalent cultural experiences have almost entirely vanished from the UK over the past century, particularly those movements that began in ancient transhumance, but later evolved into the much bigger practice of droving. By the late 18th and early 19th centuries, tens of thousands of cattle were being walked down from the Highlands each year, in massive droves that ran for miles across the hills. It was an extraordinarily significant part of Scottish culture for generations, yet it has absolutely vanished today. Returning from Ireland with our heads full of ideas, Richard and I began to work on a plan.
It transpired that Richard sends several of his Luing heifers from his farm in Dingwall in Ross-shire to Kintail in Highland, more than 50 miles away on the opposite side of the country, each year. They graze and fatten for the summer on croftland managed by Graeme Macrae, then they’re brought back east for the winter. The process is a nice imitation of old transhumance, the principal difference being that when these cows move, they make the journey in an aluminium trailer. Surely it wouldn’t be so hard to make the trip on foot and hoof again? We began to dream of re-creating at least part of that journey.
'Cows move at a beautiful pace. It’s never too fast, nor is it ponderously slow'
In the event, Richard was able to secure permission from the two main landowners between Morvich and Glen Affric, parts of which are fast becoming famous as a rich and beautiful forest. The proposed route climbed across mountains, over bogs and around the lips of foamy black lochans. It felt daunting and, if we had thought about it too much, we might never have started. With a sense of excitement and trepidation, Richard, Graeme and I set off to gather the heifers at Morvich on the morning of September 9 last year.
Cows move at a beautiful pace. It’s never too fast, nor is it ponderously slow. Sometimes, it can feel as if you’re hardly making any progress at all; your mind falls to wondering about a million unrelated details. You watch for the cows and notice that, as each front hoof is lifted from the ground, the rear hoof slips neatly into the mark left behind. You walk between the beasts and wonder why they’re suddenly fixated on pulling from one specific tuft of heather, when there are dozens of identical examples within easy reach on either side. When you finally look up and remember that you’re on a drove, you’ve walked for several miles without noticing.
Certain cows shifted in and out of focus as we walked. One heifer started to cycle and the excitement caused by her bulling enthusiasm seemed to electrify the others. A different heifer baulked at every obstacle and often lagged behind the group because she refused to take shortcuts — but we soon learned that she could be ignored as, now and then, she would fall out of love with her own company and charge forward to keep up. It was a fascinatingly intimate insight into the complex, gentle and ever-shifting lives of cattle, particularly when the animals would gather around our tents to wake us up in the morning or jostle to see what we were cooking on the camp stove after a long day on the trail.
Graeme Macrae leads the cows on their journey.
As well as being an adventure, the timing of this project made sense in the context of national conversations about the future of land management in wild and remote corners of the UK. When these ideas are explored in the media, nuance is often lacking. Arguments tend to be based around a binary choice between sheep and trees, but it’s obvious that cows were part of the picture long before sheep arrived in the Highlands. As we walked across the mountains towards Glen Affric, we passed the crumbled remains of old shielings where cattle were grazed during the summer months and walked through tens of thousands of acres of grass that is only nibbled now and then by passing deer. These landscapes used to be grazed and worked by cattle, and there’s plenty of evidence to suggest that biodiversity and wildlife boomed as a consequence. The truth is that these far-flung Highland landscapes often feel lost and lonely, but that’s partly because they’re missing the impact of cows.
As a staunch advocate for the role of cattle in conservation, Richard is adamant that cows deserve to play a major role in the future of the uplands. ‘The potential ecological benefits [of cattle] are many and wide ranging,’ he explains. ‘Many habitats in Scotland evolved in the presence of large herbivores and native cattle can fulfil that role. You only need to watch a beast in the hills to see the impact she has. Wandering around, non-selectively grazing, lightly stirring up the ground and producing dung — all these things are important when it comes to creating and maintaining diverse ecosystems.’
'There is obvious value in remembering the importance of ancient cattle cultures, particularly as we recognise the importance of these animals for the future'
Pushing against the easy conclusions that so often characterise land-management debates, Richard also has some words of caution about the role of cows: ‘Nothing is simple in conservation and the use of cattle always needs to be carefully thought through. Essentially, it’s a case of getting the right animals in roughly the right place at roughly the right time of year. It would be easy for cows to damage sensitive habitats — projects that depend upon cattle require a great deal of planning and care.’
As our little drove came to an end, those heifers were gathered into makeshift pens at the head of Glen Affric. In terms of scale, duration and scope, we had hardly skimmed the surface of this ancient tradition, but even this small engagement felt valuable. Everybody involved in the drove was already familiar with cows and beef production, but all were agreed that we’d seen a new angle to the animals as we moved through the massive landscapes of Kintail.
The old ways are long defunct and it would be mad to argue that droving could again be a sensible part of beef production in the UK, yet there is obvious value in remembering the importance of ancient cattle cultures, particularly as we recognise the importance of these animals for the future