chance encounters

I suppose this might be an extension of my last post "serendipity", since all chance encounters are really serendipitous when you think about it.

But first words, RIP dad, whose quaich was finally emptied in October of 2024. He had a good run of 101 years...

Dad and I were peeking through the screened window of the malting floor at Springbank Distillery to see what we could see, being that there were no "tours" of the distillery available in 2001, not unlike many (most?) distilleries at that time. We were about to go our merry way when a head popped out and invited us in. It was the mashman James Muir who had seen us peering through the window. What a thrill to be given a tour by someone who was an intimate part of the process of creating the Springbank malt whisky. He was most gracious in inviting us in and showing us around, the sense of pride in his job being most evident. Unfortunately, the last time I inquired about James I was told he had passed away. RIP to you as well James.

 

In 2006 we were tootling along the low road from Port Ellen to Bowmore on Islay when I spied some interesting peat cutting action. I'm thinking that usually folks cutting peat do so by themselves, in order to resupply the fires which keep the chill off in their croft homes, so it was somewhat unusual that this scene involved four people, one wielding a large video camera. I was curious, we stopped. It turned out that Iain McArthur from Lagavulin Distillery was demonstrating the backbreaking chore of cutting peat for one Charles MacLean (pre MBE) and being filmed for an episode for Singlemalt TV. At the time I must confess I had no idea of who Charles MacLean was, so we merrily went on our way after taking a few pix, and carried on to Bowmore.

Tormore Distillery was always a favourite of mine to photograph, as it's a distillery with unusual and beautiful architecture. We'd often stop on our way by for me to exercise my camera. In 2011 I was wandering around the distillery taking pictures and another (see Springbank above :)) head popped out and invited me inside. It happened to be Duncan (sorry, I didn't get his last name) who was in charge of the production that day. At the time it only took two people to run the show, but apparently in January of 2012 the computers were to take over and one person would be able to run it all. If you apprecieate anything about whisky production (or any production for that matter) think about that for a moment.

Prior to a 2011 distillery tour of Ardbeg DistilleryI happened to start chatting with someone in the washroom, as one does if you want to break the ice as a male while standing with your face to a blank wall. My "next door neighbour" Sandy Reid was with a company called Semex, a global company with expertise in bovine (um, that's cows) genetics. Don't ask how we got onto the subject, but I shared with him that I knew Canada had good Holstein stock, so I guess that melted the ice for us both. Later in the bar downstairs we met again and he invited me to a dram from his flask. It happened to be a 1964 Black Bowmore. My brush with fame...a deliciously dark, deep, sweet and complex dram which was about an £80 taste, according to Sandy. Thanks Sandy.

In 2013 I did the "bog off" tour at Ardbeg. I managed to get caught in a power outage during the tasting session and explanation of so-called alligator char in the barrels. I'm not sure many people can boast of experiencing a distillery tour lit by candles. Later after the final tasting session I bumped into Ian Buxton on the pier outside . Again, I didn't know much about his place in the written history of Scotch whisky at the time, but at least I did recognise his name this time around. Apparently, as he told me, he was there with photographer Jason and was doing research on a luxury whisky project for a client. Another brush with history.

Not considering myself a particularly engaging conversationalist (nor as you can see a very prolific blog writer), I don't suppose any of these gentlemen remember our chance encounters. But maybe.

 

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serendipity

Our first jaunt over to the Isle of Lewis in 2008 started in Ullapool, and a wait for the ferry which would take us across to Stornoway. A pint being in order, we popped into a pub on Shore Street not far from from the ferry terminal. A small group of young men were at a table by the window with quite a few empty glasses in front of them, and one of them had shifted over in order to give us a seat, a gesture I hadn't noticed as I was on my way up to the bar to order. Thinking I had ignored him on purpose, when I returned with our ales he began a slightly inebriated tirade about the virtue of being nice. To no avail could I persuade Roddy that it had not been a slight but an honest oversight on my part. The foundation of his rant was that "it costs nothing to be nice". He's absolutely right, of course. I bought him a pint, but I'm pretty sure he never fully believed my innocence.

The B&B which dad had booked us into was called Suainaval, up the hill from the extraordinary expanse of tidal beach called Tràigh Uuige (Uig Sands). As luck would have it, we were told that a distillery called Abhainn Dearg was in the works just down the road. Off we toddled to have a look. Although there was nobody around to field any questions, I did my due diligence, poking around with my camera and being quite nosey.

We (I) have been back several times since, and although a few things have intervened (Covid, and other insurmountables) I plan to return again sometime in the future. It's such a wonderful story of a place and a dream, really, how could I not.

 

Abhainn Dearg 2008 - peeking through the window into the beginning of a warehouse

 

2011 - the warehouse fills

 2012 - the dreamer, Marko Tayburn 

2014- the dream grows

 

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Ardnahoe

To celebrate the inaugural release of Ardnahoe whisky into the single malt universe on May 10th of 2024, here's a bit of photographic history for you. I'm willing to bet the Laing family as well as Jim McEwan MBE are all thoroughly chuffed. Congratulations to everyone involved.

The building begins. Looking east towards Jura and the Paps, September of 2017

 

Architectural drawings for the distillery to be

A panel to be installed in the finished distillery, similar in style to the graphic one sees revealing itself on the start page of the Ardnahoe website

 A mural in the café in 2019. As the caption says, there are many such murals by Sean O'Leary to be found on Islay - a very impressive one adorns a wall in the Islay Hotel in Port Ellen

 Ardnahoe Distillery in September of 2019...time for a dram

 

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Octomore

Getting our hands on some Octomore was a bit of a fluke.

In 2001, my dad and I were on our first tour of Scotland, the focus of which was her distilleries (well, d'uh!). Our first visit to Bruichladdich on the Isle of Islay was the beginning of a perennial habit. Bruichladdich had just reopened since becoming dormant in 1994 and were offering something called Octomore Futures. This was the inception of the highly peated whisky that has since become a part of their core range. The contract was for a dozen bottles of single malt which had yet to be distilled from the most heavily peated malt in the industry at the time - 80.5 ppm of total phenols. Dad bought, and we waited.

In September of 2009 we brought back our first payload. Due to Canadian import restrictions (don't get me started!), we were only allowed to bring back 1.14 litres of alcohol per person without having to pay exorbitant duty. We convinced mom to come along with us on this particular trip, not the least of which was so we could bring back one more bottle of our long awaited uisge beatha! Until this point in time she had not wanted to be what she thought would be a "third wheel" on our trips, but this was a good excuse for her to relent and join us on our adventures.

Nice.

Sampling the long awaited tipple at Caladh Sona (Hamish Scott, ex of Ardbeg, approved)
 

Budgie and Duncan McGillivray in the Bruichladdich stillhouse in 2006

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Lagg

Getting to Lagg was a bit of a journey.

It wasn't the distance - I like driving in Scotland, and the sense of “distance” for a Scot is quite different than that for a Canuck. But it was the weather. It was, not surprisingly, grey when we arrived in Lochranza on the ferry from Claonaig. For the final few miles to our evening lodgings at the Lagg Hotel at the south end of the Isle of Arran, the road had become quite hilly and winding. I'm sure the scenery looking south towards distant AilsaCraig would have been spectacular had it not been obscured by heavy fog. Narrow Scottish roads can be tricky to drive at the best of times, but when you can't really see what's coming around the next bend it tends to be especially hairy.

But don't let that put you off.

 

The Isle of Arran seen from Claonaig on the Kintyre peninsula

 

  

Ailsa Craig, home of world famous curling rocks

 

 

Lagg Distillery under construction in 2018

My dad taking a well earned snooze in the Lagg Hotel lounge

 

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1984

 At the northern end of the Isle of Jura is a place called Barnhill, which is somewhat renowned as the location where George Orwell finished his last novel "1984" while he was dying from tuberculosis. Having visited Jura several times, my father and I decided to travel as far north as we could by car in 2022, just to see where the road would take us. Where the road turned into a cart track a sign had been posted indicating mileages to the next locations. Beside the entry for the four miles to Barnhill someone had scribbled an addendum which those familiar with Orwell would chuckle at.

 

And here's a photo of my dad in the Jura Hotel across the road from the Jura Distillery, where we enjoyed a dram and a lager, in no particular order.

 

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water of life

In September I was privileged to be hosted on a personal tour of Glenglassaugh by Ronnie Routledge. A fascinating look behind the scenes of this recently reopened distillery on the Moray coast, ending with a delicious sampling of drams from their clearac to a 30+ year old. Glenglassaugh "Revival" is a dram to seek out, from a distillery to watch.

One of the more interesting stories Ronnie told about the early history of the distillery was that of its water. Apparently there was a time when Glenglassaugh was intended to reproduce the flavour profile of the whisky produced at The Glenrothes in Speyside. Although the differences in water chemistry were known ahead of time, the ramifications were not fully realized until the new make coming off the still was found to be quite different as well. After many attempts at doctoring the production water, success was only found by actually transporting it from The Glenrothes itself, some 30 miles distant.

Should there be any question about the level of importance of water in the making of whisky, this anecdote surely goes a long way toward an answer.

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where on earth

Way back when I first started this blog, I promised you a link to a good map for finding your fave Scottish distilleries. Here's a link to a downloadable one from the Scotch Whisky Association from 2023. Mind you, with the bustling nature of whisky distillery construction currently (ie 2024), it too may soon be lacking.

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small is beautiful

I arrived late at Daftmill, the journey between my digs (the Comrie Croft Hostel just west of Crieff) and the distillery taking a little longer than I had banked on. A couple wrong turns didn't help. My accommodating host Frances Cuthbert was just about to head back out to the fields when I rolled in. Being a working farm, Frances not only makes the whisky but also grows the barley (and potatoes, and cows...) along with his brother. With unpredictable harvest weather, and a window of dry skies, he had to make it a short tour, but I am grateful to him for showing a Canadian stranger around his young distillery at a time least afforded.

Perhaps more delightful was meeting Mrs. Cuthbert and their young daughter. After Frances drove away on his tractor, I sat in the car writing a few notes. Hazel came out to make sure I had not missed Frances, and graciously spent some time chatting.

Daftmill is a beautiful little distillery for many reasons, not the least of which is the people who live and work there.

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not scotch

In light of the vendetta which the SWA seems to have against the naming of Canadian malt whisky, "Glen Breton Rare" in particular, I thought you might like to see a few photos of our Glenora Distillery on Cape Breton Island in the east coast province of Nova Scotia.  Having won the legal battle allowing Glen Breton to keep its name, Glenora subsequently released a 15 year old they call "Battle of the Glen"...shades of delicious Bruichladdich cheek!

The first photo shows the distillery as the white building on the left. Behind it up the hill are the half dozen log chalets maintained by the distillery's Inn operation, where my parents and I stayed when visiting the area. The rest of the photos are self explanatory. Like many good single malts, these pix are almost 10 years old.

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raison d'être

The March #54 issue of Scotland Magazine has run an interview with Albert Watson, the Scottish photographer behind the Macallan Masters of Photography collection. The full page image accompanying the article is bylined with his quote that "Straight photographs of distilleries and the production processes can be deadly". I agree, with emphasis on the word "can". "Straight" photographs, photographic documents, can still harbour a pleasing aesthetic, and that speaks directly to the premise of this blog when I started it in April of 2010 - my attempt, similar to Watson's work at the Macallan, to present images of the whisky distilling world in a different, hopefully creative way. A photographer of Watson's calibre just happens to garner a much larger audience than someone like myself.

I feel honoured to be in such company, having conceptualized this project quite independently of the Macallan and Albert Watson. My phone lines are open for future consideration (which emoji indicates one's tongue firmly implanted in one's cheek?).

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more red doors

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more Tomatin

Subsequent to my rant about photographing in distilleries, here are a couple more pix of Tomatin. As I've said before (oh no, I'm repeating myself!) thankfully there was plenty of visual fodder outside, since cameras were not allowed in any of the production areas inside. I've posted another image in this series before. I'm a sucker for splashes of red...

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barrels

In the long history of whisky making, wood has perhaps travelled the furthest along the distiller's continuum of understanding as to its importance to and influence on the final product. Born of the need simply to contain and transport the whisky maker's art, it is now exhaulted as one of the major contributors to the flavours we have come to love. So much so that distilleries like Glenmorangie actually select their own oak from trees growing in the Ozark Mountains of Missouri where it will begin its life as barrels maturing American whiskey or bourbon.

And though the distiller appreciates the barrel for the qualities of its wood, I appreciate it for the qualities of its shape and form...the smooth flowing line of the circle, the rhythm of repetition, the stories it tells by its grizzled exterior and stencilled tatoos. They're fun to photograph.

Bruichladdich barrels after the rain.

Arran barrels.

Glenora, Canada's single malt distiller on Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia.

Balvenie barrel hoops.

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...and Happy Hogmanay

on malting

While savouring a dram of Redbreast Irish pot still whiskey, I finish reading Iain Banks's "Transitions". It gets me thinking about transitions - change, the movement between states. So of course that leads to thinking about malted barley (malting as one of many transitions involved in making whisky, and the fact that most Irish whiskey is made with unmalted barley...just nod and pretend you follow me). Who first figured that barley should go through the extra time, effort, and energy to germinate the grain before using it to distill our favourite tipple? It's a process that is systemically more costly than just using barley reaped and dried straight off the field. Maybe it was one of those serendipitous mistakes - barley stashed under a leaky roof, discovered too late but too valuable to discard...I'm just musing here, I'm sure somewhere out there is an historical explanation.

The first two are a couple photos of barley quietly germinating on the malting floor at Laphroaig. It's time, labour, and space intensive to malt this way - that's why few distilleries do it for themselves any more. I'm thinking the process was only undertaken after the establishment of distilleries as legal entities able to occupy a relatively large footprint, the first arguably founded sometime during the last quarter of the 18th century. Prior to the luxury of a malting floor, I suggest that most Scotch whisky must have been made with unmalted barley.

I also suggest you pick up one of Iain Banks's works, with or without the M. His "Raw Spirit" got me reading him, and though it is not quite representative of his more widely distributed subject matter the book is a tasty dram, a roadtrip through the landscape of Scotch whisky.

a grain wheelbarrow at Laphroaig used to spread the steeped barley by hand across the malting floor

you've seen a similar image here before - raking the growing barley at Bowmore so it doesn't mat together into a tangled mess

a motorized barley rake at Laphroaig - undoubtedly a lot easier on the maltman's back!

           after two days on the malting floor            after three days on the malting floor

the malting floor at Springbank, Campbeltown

the malting floor at Kilchoman, Islay

the malting floor at the Balvenie, Speyside

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