blind camping

One of the many things that makes visiting slightly remote places such a pleasure is the scarcity of people. Places are often empty, unsullied by garish mankind in his day-glo trecking wear. Scotland's access laws are more liberal than England's and one visible sign of this is the wild camping law, which specifically gives the right to camp anywhere, roughly.

With rights come responsibilities. The Scottish law has guidelines attached to it on this subject, aimed at minimum impact. These guidelines need to be more strictly enforced, if it is possible to enforce a guideline.

In places other than Colonsay, this beach would have been developed: as more people arrived to admire its curve, its colour, its balance, others would materialize to sell ice creams, meals, beds. Because more people don't arrive, the salesmen stay away and there is no place for developers. But the campers do come and they seem to be blind to a simple fact: if you set your tent up so that opening the flap reveals a fabulous view, your tent is starkly visible from within that view.

Tents used to be one of three colours: khaki, green, or off-white. Serious campers used to favour the khaki or the green, providing as they did a certain cohesion with the countryside around. Nowadays, the brighter the better is their watchword for clothes and tents.

Not 5 metres away when I took this was a garish yellow and green tent, visible from the entire expanse of the beach. The longer I was on the beach, the more I was aware of that tent.

The polluting campers returned on their bicycles. As I left, I was tempted to inflict a similar wound on their bicycles to the one they were inflicting on the bay, but I didn't have a portable crusher with me.