There are many whysky trails in Scotland, just as there are many spellings for whiskey. Hundreds and hundreds of distilleries offer tours and tastings and even a dedicated aficionado can but scratch the surface. Not counting the smoke of the peat fires (not used in some brands), only three ingredients can be used to make a single malt: barley, water and yeast. The thousands of different versions of scotch get their flavour from the amount of smoke used and the type of wood and length of time involved in barrel aging.
Peter is a fan of peat-smoke flavoured drams so off we went for a few days of study in in the southwestern Hebrides, the heartland of this category of uisge (gaelic spelling). Ann planned a great journey which included several ferry crossings with stays in hotels and inns running the gamut from quaint and tidy to Victorian and castle-like.
We drove through the magical Lake District National Park. National parks are different here in that people can live within the park boundary and even own property, but one’s use of the property is subject to restrictions aplenty. At Ardrossen, we took our first ferry ride - to Isle of Arran. I looked forward to visiting the source of the Arran malt that my bro Tony introduced me to on a ‘recent’ birthday. Caledonian MacBrayne, the equivalent of BC Ferries, has routes all through the western isles. First impression was very good. The various sitting lounges, cafeteria and gift shop were all fine. The bar had a special - Arran 14 yr old doubles on for $7. Ann now became our designated driver.
As well as adding many new birds to the growing list and taking a few short hikes, we investigated the Arran distillery. Every distillery has a store/gift shop and we did our bit to keep them afloat.
Speaking of floating, there are 5 million people in Scotland and 20 million barrels of single malt resting in the warehouses. The tax that the government collects from this industry alone is greater than any other industry except North Sea oil.
BTW, pictures on this blog can be viewed in more detail by clicking on them.
two clicks goes full size and back arrow returns you to where you left off.
From the north end of Arran we took a small ferry to the Mull (peninsula) of Kintyre. We drove across this to the west side (twice because I left my famous black bag on the small ferry - sheesh) where we caught a bigger ferry to Port Askaig on Islay (EYE-lah). This being the mother lode of peaty-ness, Ann had wisely booked two nights.
Laphroaig (lah-FROYG) was voted best shop of the tour. At Bowmore, Peter's favourite, we took the full tour and learned much about the process. This is one of the few distilling houses that still operate their own malting floor where they repeatedly turn the barley over between light soakings. After a few days, it’s barely sprouting (now called ‘malt barley‘) and it’s off to the drying floor where the peat fires beneath send the smoke drifting up until the malt acquires the required level of flavour. Peter and I tried our backs at pulling the multi-spatulate iron tool - a definite workout for the legs if you were doing this all day. They use a power turner nowadays, similar to those robot vaccuums we’ve seen in well-gadgeted homes in Calgary and White Rock J .
The rest of the day was spent in less intensive studies (read 'tastings') of Islay’s other distilleries including Ardbeg, Lagavulin, Caol Ila (cole-EE-lah), Bruichladdich (Brew-ick-LADdick) and Bunnahabhain (who knows?).
By the time we’d had lunch in the town’s ‘Cyber Café‘, a fund raising project to provide opportunities for youth, it was getting late and we only got to walk around the grounds of the the last two which were by this time of day, fortunately closed.
Every drop produced goes through the spirit safe which has a silver padlock that only excise tax officials can open. From this point on in the production line, every 'point of access' (that's valves on pipes, barrel storehouses, tanker truck controls, all the various places in the bottling plant) has similarly controlled access. At 5,000 pounds tax per barrel, no wonder.
One of several plaques in the Bowmore shop. It was great to see the story of my cousin Julian's hotel on display, even though the story is not a happy one. They wouldn't let me into the cabinet to check the 40 year old stock for a replacement.
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