The Craftsman’s Ledger
Tradition · Heritage · Craft
Closing Shop After 40 Years: Why Duncan's Highland Whirligigs Have to Go to Make Way for Luxury Holiday Lodges
In Gairloch, on the wild Wester Ross coast, retired tinsmith Duncan MacKenzie (73) hand-shapes whimsical garden whirligigs from reclaimed tin in an old stone steading. Now the farm has been sold to a developer from down south for luxury holiday lodges — and the wee ex-council house Duncan shares with his wife Isobel has no room for a tinsmith's bench. So the last of his "Highland Whirligigs" have to find good homes before early November. Get yourself a real one before his workbench goes cold for good.
Duncan MacKenzie (73) in the doorway of his old stone steading outside Gairloch — the workshop he has to hand back in early November.
A Quiet Morning in Gairloch — Where Tin Still Has a Soul
The old steading barely measures 350 square feet. The walls are lined with tin snips, planishing hammers, soldering irons — tools whose wooden handles have been polished smooth from decades of use. A wee stove in the corner, a couple of peats smouldering away, works off the chill of a Highland morning. Isobel's chipped enamel mug of tea steams on the workbench. The air smells of solder, enamel paint, peat smoke, and a wee bit of salt drifting up off the sea loch.
Half-finished frames in the foreground, finished whirligigs lined up on the back shelf — every piece passes through Duncan's hands twice.
On the bench: Duncan's pride and joy. A pair of unfinished tin frogs, waiting to be set on a high-wheel bicycle. Beside them, small jars of enamel paint — moss green, butter yellow, pillar-box red for the top hat. Duncan runs his thumb along the spokes of the wheel. "Ca' canny," he says, with a small smile. "Go easy, take your time. My old master in Dingwall said it fifty times a day, and it's the most important thing fifty years in the trade ever taught me. If you're in a hurry, it's not worth doing. Folk today want everything next-day off some app on their phone. But that's not how you build something that's still going to be turning in someone's garden ten years from now. That's how you end up with mince."
He looks out the small window, where the morning light falls across the fields running down to Loch Gairloch, the Torridon hills behind and, on a clear day, Skye out across the water. "I'm not having a go at the young ones. But we've forgotten how to make things that last. A good piece of tin — shape it right, solder it right, paint it right — and it'll outlive me, my bairns, and likely their bairns too. That was always my measuring stick. And that's exactly why my heart's heavy these days."
Duncan's "Highland Whirligig" out in the garden — even a light breeze sets the wheel spinning silently.
Why Most Garden Spinners Are Built for the Bin
Here's something most folk don't notice until it's too late: most garden whirligigs sold today are basically built to be thrown away. They look pretty enough on the shelf at the big garden centres and DIY chains, but put them outside and you'll see the truth by the second season. No real bearings — just a metal rod rubbing in a hole. The result? After the first heavy rain — and up here, that's usually the first week — that thing starts squeaking. That high, scratchy whine that ruins every windy afternoon on the patio.
"People let themselves get fooled by a bit of bright paint," Duncan says, dryly. "But take a closer look. Most of what you see at the big DIY sheds is thin stamped sheet metal that starts rusting the minute the dew hits it. The frogs are plastic — goes brittle in the sun, what sun we get, and cracks the first hard frost. And the stake? Three-millimetre hollow tube. First proper gale that comes in off the Minch, the whole thing's lying on its side."
For a man who spent half a century shaping copper guttering and lead flashing that had to last for generations, that's a personal insult to the trade. "That's not craft. That's a racket. You pay a tenner at the garden centre, the thing's away to the coup after eight months, you buy another one. Ten years later you've spent a hundred and fifty quid on plastic rubbish. Buy one honest piece that lasts, and you're done for life."
Three designs, one standard — Duncan with his frogs, cat-and-rat and mantis, each one balanced by hand on his old workbench.
Fifty Years of Tin — and the Whirligigs That Wouldn't Spin Right
Duncan started his tinsmith apprenticeship in 1968, aged fifteen, in a wee tin shop in Dingwall. By 1985, he'd taken over his old master's business and moved it into a disused stone steading on a farm just outside Gairloch. For fifty years he made copper guttering, lead flashing, hand-formed downpipes, weathervanes and chimney flashing for old farmhouses, kirks, shooting lodges and fishermen's cottages right across Wester Ross, from Ullapool down to Lochcarron. "My job was to shape tin and copper to last a hundred years out in the weather — and the weather up here doesn't take a day off. There's a kirk over in Poolewe with copper guttering I put up in '91. It'll outlast me by half a century, easy."
In 2017, Duncan retired — and at first didn't quite know what to do with himself. "You can't just stop being a tinsmith. The sound of the hammer on tin keeps ringing in your sleep." That summer, walking past his neighbours' gardens and the gift shops along the North Coast 500, he started noticing something that bothered him.
"You'd see one whirligig sitting there dead as a doornail in a stiff breeze, and another one ten feet away squealing away in the lightest puff of air. As a tinsmith, that drove me daft. Why? What was the difference?"
The puzzle wouldn't leave him alone. Duncan went back to his steading and started experimenting. He shifted the pitch on the wheels by fractions of a millimetre. He tested sealed ball bearings against open ones. He worked out where the centre of gravity had to sit for a wheel to start turning on a single breath of air. He brought everything he'd learned in fifty years of tinsmithing to bear on a small problem nobody else seemed to be solving. A whirligig, the way Duncan figured it, is just a wee turbine — and a turbine answers to physics, not to a coat of bright paint.
Then there was the question of what to put on top.
The result is the Highland Whirligig — a pair of frogs in top hat and bonnet riding an old penny-farthing bicycle. By a long shot his bestseller. But over the years, Duncan has built up a small repertoire of other designs too: a cat-and-rat duo on a vintage motorbike, a praying mantis pair on a chopper, a hare on a tandem. Each one tested, balanced, and tuned the same way as the frogs — same triple-tinned soldering, same sealed bearings, same physics.
Duncan's small repertoire — the Highland Whirligig (frogs) is by far the bestseller, but the cat-and-rat, mantis and hare designs all share the same engineering.
What Sets the Highland Whirligig Apart from Everything Else
Duncan works like a tinsmith — not a hobbyist. That's the difference between a piece that's still spinning three years from now and a plastic spinner that ends up in the bin after one winter.
Triple-tinned soldering. "That's my secret," Duncan says. "In old-school tinsmithing, every joint gets tinned three times before you solder it together. The tin layer seals out moisture from the inside. Glued or just spot-welded joints — like the import junk uses — start rusting from the inside out, right where you can't see it. My joints last thirty years easy, because the water can't even get in. And believe me, up here the water tries."
Reclaimed tin from old food tins. "The steel they use in food tins is first-rate stuff — tin-plated, lacquered, properly milled. It's a crime to throw it out after one tin of beans. I flatten it out, hammer it back into shape, and give it a second life. Every whirligig has its own wee history baked in: one's got an old tin of Scotch broth in it, one's got the lid off somebody's granny's shortbread tin."
Real sealed ball bearings — not a rod-in-a-hole. "I put two sealed ball bearings in every wheel. Costs me a few extra quid per piece and three minutes of work — but the wheel turns on a breath of air and never squeaks. You don't even hear it out there. That's the whole point: wind in your garden should bring peace, not noise."
Hand-painted enamel. "Enamel's the same kind of paint they used on the old fishing boats down at Ullapool harbour. UV-proof, salt-spray-proof, lasts for decades. Isobel does the eyes — that's the finest work on the whole piece. Those tiny black dots in the frogs' eyes are what make them look alive. I can't get it as good as she does."
Solid 8 mm steel ground stake. "Nothing wobbles. You drive it in once and forget about it. Even a winter storm that takes the slates off half the roofs in the village won't tip it over."
Why Duncan Can't Keep Working Past November
"That's it. I'm done," Duncan says, looking slowly around the steading. For the 73-year-old, this old stone building outside Gairloch was never just a workplace — it was his second home. It's where he spent forty years at the trade, and where he found his second calling after it. "When I came in here in the morning and fired up the soldering iron, the world was right with me."
But the reality of the modern Highlands has finally caught up with him. The old farmer who owned the property passed away over the summer. His three kids — long since moved to Glasgow, Edinburgh and London — sold the whole place to a developer from down south. The plan is as simple as it is brutal: clear it all out and put up six "luxury lodges with private hot tubs and authentic Highland charm" — right on the North Coast 500. For Duncan and the two other tenants on the property, there was no negotiating. The notices to quit were short, polite, and final.
Early November is the deadline — Duncan has already started packing up his 40-year-old workshop.
No Room to Start Over
Duncan has spent months looking for a new workshop within driving distance of Gairloch. Nothing he can afford. "Anything that's still going runs six, seven hundred quid a month — that's more than I make on the whirligigs. And anything genuinely affordable is either already gone or being turned into another Airbnb." The wee ex-council semi he shares with Isobel in the village simply doesn't have room for a workbench, soldering setup, and paint fumes.
"Try hammering tin in a semi with the neighbours on the other side of the wall," he says, dryly. "They wouldn't put up with it for two days. And the solder smoke and enamel fumes — that's not happening in the kitchen. Isobel would have me out the door, and rightly so."
Without a workshop, his second calling is over.
Duncan showing us the photos customers from all over Scotland have sent him.
"I've Got Customers Whose Whirligigs Have Been Spinning Since 2018"
Duncan pulls an old binder off a shelf and flips it open. Inside: printed photos his customers have sent him over the years. Whirligigs in gardens from Shetland to the Borders — and one in a back garden as far away as Kent. "This one here," he points at a green frog pair in front of an old drystone dyke, "I made for a family out near John o' Groats in 2018. Right on the cliffs, where the salt spray usually eats everything in two winters. They sent me a photo last autumn: still spinning like the day they got it. A bit of patina on the tin — but that just makes it look better."
He flips another page. "The Frasers, over in Nairn. They bought three of these back in 2019, one for each of their grandchildren's gardens. Photo here shows the enamel's darkened just a touch over the years, but the mechanics are bulletproof. That's what matters most to me — that my work doesn't end up at the coup after two summers."
That kind of longevity isn't an accident. It's the result of real reclaimed tin, triple-tinned solder joints, sealed ball bearings, and marine-grade enamel. "I spend about three hours of real work on each whirligig. Plus drying time — and paint dries slow in a damp Highland steading. Plus Isobel's eye-painting. What you get at the end is a piece you'll have for twenty years."
What Highland Whirligig Owners Are Saying
"I was worried these frogs would look twee in our garden — but the opposite is true. The two of them have so much character that every visitor stops and laughs. And the wheel starts turning the second I open the back door. Beautiful piece of work."
"I gave the Highland Whirligig to my husband for his 60th — he worked as an engineer offshore out of Aberdeen for thirty years, and he spotted the sealed bearings straight away. 'This isn't a toy, it's a piece of mechanics,' was the first thing he said. Three years in our garden now, no squeaking, no rust, no weak spots."
"We had one of those cheap whirligigs from the DIY store before — squeaked after six months and the paint flaked off. Duncan's piece is a different world. You can tell straight away a real craftsman made this, not a factory line."
"We've had the Highland Whirligig out for five seasons now. It's come through some proper Wester Ross winters and still looks fantastic. The frogs are a wee bit patinated, but that suits them perfectly. A real shame Duncan has to close up shop."
The End of an Era in Gairloch — and Your Last Chance
Come early November, Duncan will turn the key in the steading door for the last time. After 40 years at the bench, the tourist economy is winning out over honest craft. "The heart and the hands are still willing — but I can't outbid a developer with a fat chequebook," he says quietly. Since his daughter Fiona (45) works as a graphic designer in Inverness and isn't interested in taking over the trade, there's no one to carry the shop forward. What's left on his shelves is the final batch of Highland Whirligigs — the last ones that will ever pass through his hands.
"It's Not About the Money — It's About Where They End Up"
To make sure these last pieces find good homes, Duncan is releasing them at a significant closing-down discount. What matters most to him is that his frogs end up out in the wind in real gardens, not in a storage unit or worse. "I can't make head nor tail of this internet business. But my daughter Fiona handles all that for me. She told me, 'Dad, there are still plenty of folk out there who appreciate real craftsmanship — we just have to find them.'"
The Highland Whirligig: What You Get
What sets Duncan's whirligig apart:
- 100% Highland tinsmith craft: Every whirligig is shaped, soldered, painted, and inspected by hand in Duncan's workshop outside Gairloch. No mass production, no factory line — real craftsmanship from a master tinsmith.
- Triple-tinned soldering: Duncan's tinsmith secret. Every joint is tinned three times before soldering — sealing out moisture and preventing rust from the inside out, exactly where the import junk fails first.
- Reclaimed tin: Made from old food tins, shortbread tins and salvaged bicycle parts — flattened, hammered into shape, and given a second life. Every whirligig carries its own piece of material history.
- Real sealed ball bearings: Two sealed bearings in every wheel mean the spinner turns silently on the lightest breeze. No squeaking, no friction — just smooth, quiet motion.
- Marine-grade enamel paint: UV-resistant, frost-proof, decades of colour life. Isobel hand-paints every frog's eyes — the finest detail on the whole piece.
- Solid 8 mm steel ground stake: Stands rock-solid even in a Highland winter gale. Drive it in once and forget about it.
- A statement against throwaway culture: While DIY-chain garden spinners end up in the bin after one season, the Highland Whirligig is built to last for decades — an honest investment in real Scottish craft.
- Strictly limited final run: Only the last pieces remain from Duncan's workshop before it closes for good in early November.
Where to Find the Original
The genuine Highland Whirligig by Duncan MacKenzie is available exclusively through Cedar & Tin Co. — an online marketplace specialising in authentic handcraft from across Scotland and the rest of Britain. His daughter Fiona runs Duncan's small shop section there, so he can focus all his time on the last pieces at the workbench.
Daughter Fiona (45) helps her dad with the online side — making sure his life's work finds homes before the workshop closes.
Early November: Workshop Closes for Good
"By then, I want every last whirligig to have found a real garden to call home. We've no room for them in the house, and they're too good to scrap," Duncan says, looking at his old workbench one more time.
Between the current closing-down discount and the first early Christmas shoppers, stock is running low fast. This is the last chance to own a real piece of Highland craft — and at the same time give a 73-year-old tinsmith a fitting end to his second calling.
Risk-Free Trial: 100% Satisfaction Guarantee
Duncan and Fiona are confident you'll feel the quality difference the moment you open the box. That's why they're offering full peace of mind:
1. Stake your Highland Whirligig in your garden and watch the wheel start turning silently on the first soft breeze.
2. Try the materials, the heavy-gauge tin, the sealed bearings, the hand-painted enamel for yourself.
3. If you're not 100% satisfied, just send it back — full refund, no questions asked.
"We drove the North Coast 500 last summer and stopped in to meet Duncan at his steading. The kids still talk about the smell of solder and peat smoke, and Duncan showing them how he balances the wheel just right. The whirligig has been in our garden ever since. The fact that he's getting pushed out for holiday lodges is heartbreaking — we've just ordered two more to support what's left of his life's work."
"I'm an architect by trade, so I look at construction quality very carefully. What Duncan is doing here is genuinely masterful. The solder joints are tinned perfectly, the seams are clean and folded properly, the paint is even. You don't see that level of craft anywhere these days. My whirligig has been out on the patio for two years now — through more dreich weeks than I can count — no weathering, and it turns on the lightest breeze."
"A genuinely charming piece of garden art. The two frogs in their top hat and bonnet have so much personality — my grandchildren named them straight away (Hamish and Morag). Every time they come over they run straight out to the garden to see if the two are 'pedalling.' Duncan has really created something special."
"The ground stake is rock solid, the mechanics run like butter, the workmanship is flawless. We've had our Highland Whirligig out for three full seasons now — survived two hard winters and whatever it is we call a summer up here, and still looks like the day it arrived. Big thanks to Cedar & Tin Co. for giving Duncan a worthy send-off."
"I thought a whirligig was a whirligig. But this is a different league. The tin is heavy-gauge, the paint is rich and deep, and the frogs almost look alive. My husband and I stand at the kitchen window over a cuppa just watching them turn. A wee bit of joy in the garden every morning."
"When I read Duncan's story, I had to swallow hard. So much life's work — and at the end it's all about price per square foot. I ordered three whirligigs straight away: one for us, two as gifts. It's the most honest gift you can give, and a wee statement against what's happening to small makers up here. Highest possible recommendation."