|
My imagination is free to sketch an horizon. Ah, maybe that is a
lighthouse high up there on that treacherous headland, with waves
crashing at its base, and beyond it, do you see that castle left in
ruins? There would be mountains on those islands, and sandy beaches
of course, and boats out fishing, and just around the next corner, a
village in a sunny bay with painted houses and good food and music
and a shop selling nothing but chocolate. I wonder what the natives
drink? No doubt a local favourite, and a strong one at that. But we
hear they are friendly and no one has seen a pirate in these parts
for some time now... I squint harder. Still nothing. We make tea.
Finally, the rain stops and the grey grows brighter. Paler and
brighter and now broken in patches until slowly my imagined
landscape resolves into reality, for I am cheating and have been
this way before. The light is Ardnamurchan, the village is Tobermory,
and the drink is Talisker. Old names, and fully worthy of any
adventurer’s dream.
We are taking part in Scotland’s Classic Malts Cruise, an annual
jaunt around the islands of the west coast and a celebration of the
culture of whisky distilling and drinking. Oban, Talisker and
Lagavulin distilleries take turns to host the 100 invited boats and
we will sail over 250 miles to travel between them, exploring all
the way. Although more recently discovered by modern cruising
yachtsmen, the west coast of Scotland has long been a seafarer’s
country. A glance at the map shows the irregular coastline, the long
sparsely populated peninsulas running into knuckles of islands.
Built before roads, the island distilleries relied on the sea for
transport and their sites were chosen with care, a stone’s throw
from the high tide mark. Natural shelter which served well for the
loading of steam coastal vessels 150 years ago offers the same
protection for modern yachts – and when better to anchor than during
the cruise fortnight, when the warehouse doors are flung open in
welcome, and the sounds of dancing and laughter drift across the
loch until the early summer dawn.
Our journey begins at Oban, a busy coastal community and the point
of departure for the islands to the west. Oban Distillery was built
in 1794, conveniently close to the pier, and the town grew around
it. We are welcomed by Steve Blake, the distillery manager and
quickly ensconced in his office where we are introduced to Oban 14
year old, a rich and slightly smoky single malt. Single malt whisky,
being the product of one distillery as opposed to a blend, shows
strong and discernable local character. The nose and flavour is
influenced by the individual shape of the stills, the peatiness of
the malt, the maturation process – no end of subtle nuances are
detectable in the glass to an experienced nose. This is a subject
about which distillery managers clearly feel great passion! Although
the conversation ends with a gentlemanly acknowledgement that there
are many fine malts, one is left in no doubt as to which would be
this man’s first choice.
Meanwhile we have met other cruisers and have compared notes
regarding our planned voyages. Some are Scots, familiar with their
favourite haunts, while others have come from overseas and are here
for the first time. With the whole of the coastline to explore no
attempt is made to keep the boats together, and within an hour of
setting sail we have the sea to ourselves. We have a good day’s sail
and make our way with clear skies and fair winds to our first
anchorage, off the Island of Mull, where we settle in for the night.
Sailing and whisky go well together, we decide – two of life’s finer
pleasures which merge quite seamlessly on such a still perfect
evening. The setting sun refracts and sparkles in the glass, gold on
gold, as the boat swings gently. We are well away from the bustle of
Oban now. Eagles and deer inhabit this country and seals lie on the
nearby rocks, quietly watching us watching them.
Over the next few days we sail northwards, towards the island of
Skye. Now connected to the mainland by a bridge, Skye has lost none
of its romantic island appeal for those arriving from the sea. We
spend one night tucked up under the bulk of the Cuillins, which rise
up precipitously from Loch Scavaig, a primeval amphitheatre of
fractured rock on the grandest scale. The next day, we have a
splendid sail along the cliffs of the west of Skye. Waterfalls
cascade off the edge and sea birds spiral in the updraughts. We
start to see other boats, no longer sails in the distance, but
closer now and waving as we near the time and place of the next big
rendezvous – the hallowed Talisker Distillery. Tales of the parties
here on the shore of Loch Harport have grown legendary. Suffice to
say, this year’s was no exception. Talisker distillery is to be
congratulated on its prodigious hospitality and the sailors on their
stamina. By contrast it’s a quiet morning on Loch Harport, unbroken
but for the sizzle of bacon and the occasional splash and yelp as
someone decides a swim is the quickest cure.
Finally it is the week long sail down to the south of Islay and
Lagavulin Distillery, via castles, beaches, mountains, islands and
that chocolate shop. The weather is mixed and I find a use for all
the clothes I brought, from shorts to gloves. Lagavulin distillery
lies tucked into a neat little bay, circled with rocks and guarded
by a 13th century stronghold, a safe anchorage in the right
conditions. Only in Scotland will the sailing directions suggest
lining up the ruined castle with the whisky distillery to find the
passage through the reef! We squeeze over the shallows to join the
twenty or so already at anchor inside. The boats are dressed overall
and the air is festive at this, the last of the distillery events.
In the warmth of the late summer evening, the BBQ is a splendid
feast of oysters, mussels, prawns, lobsters, crabs, beef and salads,
all sourced from the island. We now have new friends amongst the
cruisers and we greet them like family, particularly those in the
smallest of boats who have had to struggle to keep up with the
fleet. But all are welcome. This is no race. The timelessness of the
two weeks seems further accentuated here at Lagavulin, where the
whisky must wait a full 16 years in a cask before being considered
ready for bottling. Donald Renwick shows us around, the now familiar
quiet pride of the manager reflected in the considered reply he
gives to each question. And in his assumption that, although there
is no such thing as the best single malt whisky, we must agree with
him that Lagavulin makes a very fine choice indeed. |
