The rise of the Scot tub

Photographs by Katherine Anne Rose

“It can be a struggle to wake up,” concedes Gill, 36, a member of the local Bob and Blether wild swimming group. “But once you’re here, the whole experience is absolute bliss.” That whole experience involves alternating between baking ourselves in a 90C sauna and inching our sweltering bodies into the 11C North Sea to cool off. “At least it’s not winter!” another member says cheerfully as we eye the icy expanse.

I’m here for a sunrise session at the Wild Scottish Sauna, one of more than 50 “wild saunas” to have emerged at Scottish beauty spots since the pandemic.

The lyrics of the old folk song don’t mention a wooden hut emblazoned with a sweating cartoon potato, but Luss, on the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond, is where I find Hot Tottie, one of Instagram’s favourite wild saunas. “We’ve tried to keep away from being too wellnessy or spiritual,” says founder Kieran Izzett, 29, of its cheeky branding. “We’re more about getting together with pals, somewhere a bit different that’s not just a pub.”

The clientele range from teenage gym-goers to wild swimmers in their eighties, Izzett says; even sailors from the nearby naval base are getting in on the action. Inside, the broiling air is thick with gossip and laughter. Outside, swans and tourists alike look on bemusedly as pink-faced revellers lope towards the water. Then there’s the option to dry off with branded merch: the range includes wet bags, bath sheets and even a “bum towel”, (“for sitting on,” Izzett clarifies).

There are no branded bum towels to be found at the upmarket Taymouth Marina, about 50 miles north-east of Luss, but fluffy white robes and fruit-infused water flow freely. The spa resort is home to the HotBoat, Scotland’s first floating sauna, the scorching floor rocking beneath my feet as I embark. While many of Scotland’s loch and seaside saunas require a bit of wading – diligently acquired body heat dissipating with every splash – the HotBoat has the benefit of allowing visitors to jump or dive directly into the depths of Loch Tay. On the day I visit, Taymouth Marina is going one better: for those not content with a custom-built sauna suspended over Perthshire’s largest body of fresh water, a cruising version is taking its maiden voyage, gliding serenely around the loch, skilfully dodging children on kayaks as it goes.

Most of Scotland’s wild saunas might be situated where there’s a plentiful body of water and a scenic view to boot, but some people who live too far away to visit them every morning are improvising. Nestled in the trees at Comrie Croft campsite in Perthshire, the handcrafted Nowhere Sauna boasts a cold bath and euphemistically named “bucket waterfall shower” in place of a loch or sea dip. And in Pollokshields, on the southern edge of Glasgow, I find perhaps the most unassuming of them all.

“I don’t think normally it would have occurred to me to put a sauna in my back garden,” reflects Gina Lundy, 45. It started with a plunge tub in a whisky barrel to ward off wild swimming cravings during Covid restrictions, but that, as they say, escalated quickly, a flat-pack sauna winging its way from Estonia soon after. Now, Lundy retreats to her garden oasis a few times a month, a steady stream of friends, neighbours and members of the local running club keeping it firing the rest of the time.

Back at Kingsbarns beach, the day has finally broken and herbal tea and vegan snacks are dispatched, dry robes donned and sand shaken from towels. It’s barely 7am, and there’s a day of work, childcare and errands ahead, but eyes are bright and tails are bushy. “There’s something about the sea that just sets you up for the day,” one of the women says to murmurs of agreement. And, she adds after a moment, “getting into a warm cosy box with your friends afterwards definitely helps”.