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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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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more heat

I got thinking more about heat after my last post and realized just how prevalent it is in the whisky making process, and that I'd overlooked some of my photographs reflecting the subject which may be of interest to you. So I guess this is part two.

A couple of the photos have an annoying lens shadow at the bottom of the image, for which I apologize. I would normally not hesitate to excise such offences to my aesthetic sensibilities, however I felt that the subject matter would have suffered somewhat if I had cropped them out. So be it...I'll just have to do the suffering with a cringe or two every time I see them.

Forsyth's, in the town of Rothes in Speyside, have been crafting the lions share of Scotch whisky distillery equipment since the end of the nineteenth century. Dad and I were lucky enough to be graciously hosted by Mr. Richard Forsyth on a very interesting tour of the factory. I suspect this is the upper section of a still in the making. After having been heated by another coppersmith with a torch, this chap is beating the red hot metal into shape. The outer shell of a condenser is lying on the floor behind him.

Bowmore is one of the few remaining distilleries to floor malt some of their own barley. While germinating, the barley produces heat which must be regulated by turning over with wide flat shovels and raking, which is being done here. This also prevents the emerging rootlets from tangling into an unmanageable clump. As you can see, this process is quite labour intensive and back breaking so it is also done by machine.

This is a rare sight - too bad I messed it up with a shadow (cringe #1!). The inside of Springbank's wash still with one of the few rummagers in existence. When a still was (is, in this case) directly fired with an open flame from below, as all stills used to be, there needed to be a method of preventing the contents from scorching. This was achieved by the rummager, a strip of copper chain mail which revolved inside the still in order to stir and scrape the bottom, not unlike what needs to be done when you make your porridge on the stove. This still is also heated by steam which travels through the pipes seen around the circumference.

The interior of a Glen Scotia still. The silver pots radiate heat from steam inside the pipes which can be seen just below the liquid surface. They, of course, would be covered when the still is in full tilt boogie mode (one of the lesser known whisky distilling terms!...and an obtuse shoutout to Canadian backup bands everywhere!!).

The charring of the inside surface of whisky barrels is done in a couple of ways. At the Speyside Cooperage where they refabricate zillions of barrels for the Scotch whisky industry, the barrels are stood upright with no ends above a furnace which blasts a huge flame through the barrel like a chimney. Very cool sight. This photograph, however, is from the cooperage at the Balvenie where they do all their own barrel work on site. You're looking at the end of a barrel on its side, through a window I might add, which is being spun round by the two rollers at the bottom of the image. A flame is then blasted into the open end facing away from us, which can be seen shooting out the bung hole. It, too, is a pretty cool sight to see.

This is one of my favourite barrel images, so I'm glad to be able to share it with you to end off this post. It is a triptych of Bruichladdich barrels, with one showing the result of the interior charring (or maybe it's from all of my hot air floating about!).


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