Dispatch from Edinburgh #4–Islay and the Whisky Coast

Posted on July 14, 2025 by JC Reilly

Three years ago, I went on a Speyside whisky tour—it was the first time I had ever tasted whisky, and I was a total n00b about it. But after the tour, I realized that I liked whisky and could see drinking it on occasion—especially on a cold, dreary night that would remind me of Scotland. I realized too that I didn’t like peated whisky, because the smoky flavor reminded me too much of lapsang souchon tea which to my mind, is an abomination in the tea world. So I knew going on a tour to Islay (pronounced EYE-lah) and the whisky coast would be problematic—because all of the distilleries over there produce peated whiskies. I was prepared not to like anything. But that’s not what happened, fortunately.

We started our tour by driving west and a bit north, through the Trossachs and past Loch Lomond. We stopped in Callender, which is little more than a high street but is known to be the “Gateway to the Highlands” since it is just south of the dividing line between the Lowlands and the Highlands. I bought an airy loaf of cheddar jalapeño bread at Mohr, a local bakery, for a snack, but then we were off again. The West Highlands are are not nearly as dramatic as the eastern Highlands, but they are still quite beautiful, and while I had traveled the roads through them before, I was still glad to be able to see them again.

View from Oban harbor

Norries fish and chips…mmm

We stopped for lunch in Oban (“Gateway to the Isles”), which is a little sea resort town I’ve been to before, back when I went to the Isle of Mull (I think). Anyway, I went to Nories for fish and chips and then walked along the streets to visit the Oban Chocolate Company, which I remembered from the last time I was in Oban—it was packed with people getting coffees and hot chocolates and candy bars. I picked out a few truffles including a dark passionfruit crème, a chili “chuffle,” a ginger ganache cup, a whisky truffle, and a toffee orange truffle, which I saved for later. Then I walked to the harbor and took some pictures. There were people playing with their dogs on the beach, but it was rather cold to my mind and I wondered what is it about dogs that they love to go into water—especially freezing water!

Kilmartin grave stone

The bus picked us back up and then we continued on to Kilmartin Glen to look at some standing stones and to take a rather long walk to see some cairns. Somehow I don’t have any pictures of this; I’m not sure why—it’s not like me. Maybe something happened with the camera. But they were fine, as far as standing stones go—they were sort of in the middle of a field so I had to be careful of sheep pellets. But I enjoyed the walk, even though my foot was hurting. Still I was glad to get back on the bus. Later we stopped at a little church in Kilmartin with gravestones from the 1300s-1500s, whose carvings were faint now, but still cool. And then we headed down to Kennacraig so we could board the ferry. It was a long ferry ride (and damp, so damp)—maybe two hours—but as always I remained outside to take in the air, hoping to see some whales or dolphins. (I saw neither.)

When we arrived in Bowmore, I was ready to get to our residence—it turned out to be a kind of cottage attached to the Bowmore distillery (est. 1779) called the Old Bakery. Everyone else (I didn’t get their names)—the Norwegians, the Brazillian, the the New Yorkers, the very friendly Japanese couple, and the father and son from Maine—gathered in the dining room to chat after dinner, but I was ready to get into bed, even though it was pretty early. Still, I went over to the Co-Op to get some cheese and crackers for dinner (since I hadn’t made any dinner reservations), and a two-liter of Coke Zero to make sure I got my caffeine over the next few days. Then I settled in for the night, enjoying my black-out curtains (which I don’t have at my place in Edinburgh), and I slept well, even though I was in a tiny twin bed.

A Bowmore dram, bourbon cask

After breakfast the next day, we all walked over to the Bowmore distillery for our tour. I knew what to expect, because I’d been to distilleries before obviously, but it was interesting because we actually got to see the barley on the malting floor (where the barley begins to germinate). That was new to me. The tour guide encouraged us to touch it, and he didn’t seem to mind walking on the barley (which I did not do—because, hello, shoes aren’t clean!). He took us to see the wash backs, the mash tun, and the stills, and then to a room where the casks were stored where we enjoyed a taste of whiskies. We tried the 2012 Bourbon Cask whisky first, with a 53.5% alcohol content, and it was dark amber and pretty peaty. Next we tried the 2010 Oloroso Sherry Cask, with a 54.6% alcohol content. Then we went into the bar where they gave us another whisky (although I didn’t see the bottle), as well as pairing chocolate, and a tiny dram of Bowmore 18 year to take with us.

Kilchoman spirit

Draff cart

Our next distillery was Kilchoman, which has only been in operation for 20 years because the proprietor just apparently decided he was going to start a distillery. We got to see the same kind of operation, but it was cool that the proprietor himself gave us the tour, and we had whisky tastings at various stops throughout. We even had a nosing glass on a lanyard to drink from, which was very convenient. One of the things we got to try was “spirit”—that is, un-aged liquor right from the still. And it was delicious—super sweet, basically it was alcoholic sugar water (63.5%). It’s the aging that makes it whisky. But it was definitely interesting to drink. And one of the things we learned there is that nothing goes to waste. After the barley is used for the whisky, it’s still usable; it still has proteins and nutrition, so there’s a conveyor belt which moves the barley into a large cart, and then the barley, called “draff,” is sold as animal feed. I don’t believe they charge a lot for the draff—in a way, it’s a chance for the distillery to give back to the farmers who live on Islay and who help raise the barley.

The Johnny Walker dude

After Kilchoman, we went to Caol Ila (pronounced Cull-EE-lah), on the east coast of Islay, owned by Johnny Walker (like Cardhu in Moray, Scotland, is a Johnny Walker distillery) which was just a whisky stop (I just got a Diet Coke because after five or six drams, I was pretty pickled already). The driver, Robbie, was very kind and because I was walking with my cane, he said he’d meet us down below in the disabled parking area to get us after our visit to the distillery. Everyone except the Brazillian met up there. Apparently, he hadn’t heard that we were going to meet there. We saw him walking on the long path upward, so Robbie said we’ll just get him at the top of the path. But in the interim, the Brazillian thought, I’ll go down and meet them. So we were up at the top waiting for him, and he was down at the bottom waiting for us. So we drove back down to the bottom but the Brazilian walked back up to the top. It was some Keystone Cops hilarity happening. We must have done this dance a couple more times, and I said to the tour group, we’d lost him to the Angel’s Share, which made everyone laugh. (The Angel’s Share is how much whisky evaporates each year that a whisky is in the cask.) Finally, Robbie walked down by himself and got the Brazilian. It was pretty funny, this back-and-forthing—although I suppose it loses something in the translation.

Then we went to Bunnahabhain (pronounced Bunna-HAY-ven) for a whisky tasting—these were unpeated whiskies (2022 Abhain Araig, 2012 Olorosso Bott, and something that looks like Toiteach a Dila; it’s handwritten, not very clearly, although the 46.3% notation was clear), and they were very nice. I took a taste, but I didn’t drink them up because I would have collapsed on the floor. I wanted to buy a bottle for C, but then I remembered two things: 1) he wanted a peated whisky and 2) how the hell would I get a bottle home? Anyway, I didn’t buy one—and they were crazy expensive anyway—like £79 for a tiny bottle.

Seriously, they look like boobs. (Jura island)

Across from the distillery was the isolated island of Jura (only 300 inhabitants), which, in my mind looked like a couple of boobs (what can I say, maybe I’m a 12-year old boy) instead of mountains. It was a lovely day, especially compared to the day before which was so wet and dreich. I found myself after the tasting just looking out on the water and the beach and enjoying the fresh sea air.

Kildalton High Cross

The next day, we hit up three more distilleries. But before we did that, we stopped at the Kildalton High Cross, which was carved in the 700’s, and according to the sign is “one of the finest and most complete early Christian crosses in Scotland.” It’s a tall Celtic cross, maybe twice as tall as a person, and it’s next to the roofless ruins of a church. It’s beautiful, and the carvings are in great shape, not worn smooth at all. There was a little donation box asking for money so I dropped in a pound, and a sign saying to leave the gate shut to keep out the sheep. But obviously someone had left it open recently, due to all the fresh sheep pellets in the grass.

After that little diversion, we were off to Ardbeg distillery, on the south coast of Islay. Our tour guide was this snarky Gen-Z-er who was very knowledgeable about the whisky process, and her name was Jura, after the island. Taking guests on tours was her summer job, she told me, as she was attending a university on the mainland (I think). The whisky was good, but I thought Kilchoman was better. There was a walk to some old ruins, but my foot was killing me, so I just sat in the peaty grass for a while and took a little walk towards the cliffs. Next door was Lagavulin distillery, and we stopped in for a bar visit. I was parched, and got both a sparkling water and a pink fancy passionfruit whisky cocktail that was delicious but maybe not worth £8. The Norwegian men got a flight to share—it was like a top tier flight because it wound up being over £120, and they didn’t blink an eye. Granted they got some snacks too and cocktails for their wives, but still it was an impressive amount of money to drop for five drams of whisky.

Laphroaig sea sign–it’s big so ships delivering barley can see it in the mist.

The last stop was Laphroaig (pronounced La-FROYG); the New Yorkers were looking especially forward to going there, as it’s the husband’s favorite whisky brand. Laphroaig began in 1815 when the sons of a farmer decided to make whisky on the Campbell estate. What was interesting was that one of the brothers emigrated to Australia, and the other brother drowned in a vat of burnt ale. (I’m not sure how you burn ale, but that’s what the sign said.) His son inherited the distillery at age 11, but since he was underage, the manager of the Lagavulin distillery ran it. But when the son had grown, he ran it until his death. Thus was the early history of Laphroaig. But another cool fact about the whisky was that during American Prohibition, the Feds were persuaded that Laphroaig was medicinal, so people could totally buy it and drink it.

The Laphroaig flagship whisky–the one to try!

After our tour, the guide let us choose 3 among 7 different whiskies to try. My choices included the 10 year Cask Strength, the 10 year Sherry Oak Finish, and the quintessential 10 year aged in ex-bourbon barrels, the Laphroaig flagship whisky. The regular 10 year was pretty good; I didn’t care for the Sherry finish, which is surprising, since I usually appreciate the sweetness of sherry cask whiskies.

Islay is lovely, like all of Scotland, but there’s not much here besides sheep and distilleries. I was glad I went, and glad I could try so many different drams, but I think I was a little disappointed overall. I really had hoped that somehow, Stewart, the tour guide on the Speyside trail a couple of years ago, could have been our guide this time—that would have been magic. He really enjoyed whisky, and I didn’t get the feeling that Robbie cared one way or the other. I also felt like for Robbie, this was just a tour, whereas for Stewart, whisky was a passion, and making people love whisky was also a passion. But you can’t pick your tour guides, and it was nice to see a new part of Scotland. And it was nice to find out that peated whiskies are good too; I guess they are an acquired taste. Which I acquired.

The Kilmartin church

Kilmartin church

Kildalton church–I really like the composition here.

Kilmartin church

Kildalton church

Old gravestones at Kilmartin church

Lagavulin distillery

More old graves at Kilmartin

More graves at Kilmartin. I don’t know why I took so many pics of them.

These really old graves from the 1300s were in a protected shed.

Kildalton church

Laphroaig cask strength–it was pretty strong.

On the ferry

Caol Ila whiskies. I stayed away because I would have been drunk off my ass.

Kildalton High Cross… with people for scale.

Kildalton Cross with the Norwegians

The malting floor at Laphroaig

This pic reminds me of the end of Indiana Jones, where the Ark gets put in with thousands of other boxes. There were 100s of barrels here.

Me on the CalMac ferry

Oban harbor

I feel like my Dad would like this pic of the Oban harbor. That dark sky meant some serious rain.

Oban harbor

Oban harbor ramp

Old castle ruins near Lagavulin distillery

Hotel on the Oban harbor high street

Laphroaig peat oven–it was surprisingly small.

Bowmore mill–the mills across Islay were all made by the same manufacturer, and so hardy that they’ve lasted over 150 years. They never break down, and the company went out of business because they never had to repair the mills!

Bowmore wash back (where the barley water ferments)

Get these mountains a bra, for heaven’s sake.

On the way home we stopped at the “Rest and Be Well” glen.

In Inverary, on the way home, I had lunch at the George Hotel. It was mediocre.

The 3 flags flying over Laphroaig–yes, Japan has a big interest in the distillery.

The different grain sizes once they go through the mill

Bowmore guide next to a peat pile

Bowmore mash tun (where the malt gets mashed)

Kilchoman stills

Dispatch from Edinburgh #2–Wet and Wild

Posted on June 25, 2025 by JC Reilly

Saturday the 14th was a soggy mess. All of Edinburgh had as many puddles as umbrellas and lots of damp, sour faces. But not mine. I thrive in the rain. I had lined up the Scottish Highlands Sail, Bike, or Trail Experience (all new for 2025), which would take me to see Loch Katrine, a place I have not been before. What? A place in the Highlands I have not yet seen? Could this be true? It was!

Surprisingly, I had the tour to myself. There were two other folks registered, but they canceled—probably because of the weather. That suited me just fine, because it gave me the chance to pick any seat on the bus I wanted, window or aisle. Also it was nice not to have to wait on stragglers who come to the bus late from outings. And also, I think it spoiled me a little, which was nice.

The Forth Rail Bridge in the rain

The tour began with a close-up of the red Forth Bridge that I had only seen from a distance before. The misty, dreich weather only enhanced its beauty, making it easy to imagine that I’d gone back in time and was seeing the bridge for the first time. There used to be a ferry from this point in South Queensferry over to Fife, to allow the pilgrims in St. Margaret’s time to travel (early 11^th century; in fact, St. Margaret was the one who made the ferry free). But now there’s only this rail bridge, an icon of the late 19^th century, considered one of Scotland’s greatest man-made wonders. Of course there are other bridges nearby, the 1964 bridge and the 2017 suspension bridge, but it’s the 1890 Forth bridge that has the allure and history, and is a World Heritage site.

The beauty of having a tour to oneself is that the tour guide can dispense with some of the cheesy patter and really only tell you things you want to know. I think it helped that I mentioned I’ve been on about a dozen Rabbie’s tours over the years and could practically tell all the Scottish jokes and history right along with the tour guide. He appreciated this comment, because he told me more tailored stories and we could talk about the sights with more depth. For instance, we talked about the making of the Kelpies and why they were situated on the little river where they stay (because that area was known for its iron works), and they were based on the Clydesdale horses that pulled the wagons that held the iron. He told me about the legend of the Kelpies too, but I already knew it. (In case you don’t know the Kelpies legend, they were demon horses that came out of the sea, so beautiful that anyone on the beach would feel compelled to touch or ride the horse. But, beware! As soon as one touched the horse, one would be stuck fast, and the horse would return to the water, dragging the hapless victim to his or her death.)

Gentle Heilan Coo!

We drove along the motor way, with yellow weather warnings periodically showing up on the signs alerting us to heavy rain (as if we couldn’t tell), but then we turned off onto two-lane roads and started our climb toward the mountains. Because there was only me, he made a surprise extra stop at a woolen mill where some Heilan Coos waited patiently in the rain for photos and food. For a £1 you could purchase a bag of carrots, raw potato, and other goodies for the cows, and they would take the food right from your hand with a wet sweep of their huge black tongues. I am sure they are used to standing in the rain, bedraggled and sad-looking, but I felt a little bad for the cows. They liked the veggies though and I was delighted to give them to the cows.

Misty Loch Katrine

Our next stop was Loch Katrine, a huge reservoir that serves Glasgow for its water needs. The loch was deep in the Highlands somewhere, up a twisty, windy road that was so narrow the tour guide asked me not to speak to him so he could concentrate on the drive. I was glad that I wasn’t the one driving—some of the turns were hairpin, and almost 90 degrees at points. Maybe on a day it wasn’t raining like hell, the road would be less treacherous, but it felt pretty scary and I thought he took the drive too quickly. But we arrived more or less in one piece, though I was a bit frazzled.

The Sir Walter Scott… if you look close you can see the rain

Had it not been raining, I might have done some walking along the trails that led away from the boat launch. There was a walk that went past some yurts that I was interested in looking at, but I really just wanted to get out of the rain. I got lunch in the little café—to-mah-to pepper soup and an egg salad sandwich on wheat, which was more lettuce than anything else. The boat ride wasn’t until one, so after lunch I called Mom on the area’s sketchy wifi to catch up with her. (She was fine.) The boat ride was on the Sir Walter Scott, a steam engine boat celebrating its 125^th anniversary. There were 41 passengers for our boat ride, but I was amazed to hear that back in the day, even up to the 1950s, the ship carried up to 500 people. I can’t imagine how 500 people could fit on the ship—we were cozy at 41. The Captain made a joke that people are “wider” now and so it would be a lot harder to fit 500 on the deck. What he didn’t say was where the 500 people would be going.

Another misty view of Loch Katrine

The rain pelted down and the deck was damp and cold but the ride itself was pleasant—the mountains were hiding in low clouds, and the loch splashed and wavered as the boat steamed its way through it. The Captain was full of cheery chat, among which included the fact that no sheep graze in the mountains surrounding the loch because diseased sheep made runoff into the loch, and poisoned the water…not so good for Glasgow.

Turret the Cat

Towser the Mouser

Eventually the rain subsided somewhat as we turned around to get to the boat launch. I returned to the coach and we made our way to the last stop, Glenturret, apparently the oldest Scottish distillery, in Perthshire. They don’t have an assured date, but they settled on 1763 based on archival research and a land deed. Glenturret was unique because they have distillery cats, Glen (shy; I didn’t see him) and Turret (quite gregarious and affectionate). A monument to Towser, the Guiness Book of World’s Record winning mouser, stands right as you are walking up a rise to go into the distillery. Towser caught almost 29,000 mice in her lifetime. Glenturret doesn’t have the mice problem it used to with the barley, so the cats are mainly decorative at this point, but I liked that they were there.

The smooth 7 Year

As for the whisky, I tried a dram of their Triple Wood whisky and their 7 year lightly peated whisky, which I liked very much, better than the Triple Wood, which I found a little harsh on the palate, even with its buttery notes. The distillery tour guide told me that they are phasing out the peated whiskies because they were never but 10% of their business. I think part of that is the recognition that peat is a basically unrenewable resource—but sustainability aside, probably phasing out the peated whiskies mostly has to do with the fact that it doesn’t make money for Glenturret. Another interesting thing about Glenturret is that it is half-owned by the Swiss company who also owns Lalique art glass. I had noticed all the fancy glass bottles and the Lalique markers, and wondered. The bottles are beautiful for sure. I would have liked to have checked out the Lalique Boutique but I didn’t have time. Still, seeing the Lalique bottles for the special whiskies was impressive. (So was the cost!) Even though it wasn’t an arduous tour, I was tired by the time we came back to Edinburgh. I think all the tramping in the rain did me in.

The Cacao Jungle Room at the Chocolatarium

The next day I went to the Edinburgh Chocolatarium, a little hidden hole-in-the-wall chocolate shop off the Royal Mile. For £29, we could hear the history of cacao and chocolate making, taste several “flights” of chocolate from exotic places like Belize, San Tome, Colombia, and Ecuador, and make our own chocolate bar (mine was milk chocolate with candied ginger and candied orange rind). We drank a hot liquid chocolate made with oat milk that was so thick you could have spread it on a biscuit, as well as tried an Aztec chocolate drink that was made of cacao nibs (basically a macerated cacao bean), honey, water, and hot pepper. It was as bad as you can imagine. Very gritty, and not very chocolatey. And for this, they sacrificed 40 people a year to honor the gods who gave chocolate to the world—and 40 because there are an average of 40 beans inside a cacao pod, and 40 pods on a cacao tree.

Our Chocolatarium tour guide making the heinous Aztec drink

After we drank the weird Aztec drink, we could try as many bits of chocolate as we wanted. I had a flight of four—lemon poppyseed white chocolate, Vienna coffee chocolate, Cornish sea salt and lime, and Carrot Cake infused chocolate, and by then I was chocolated out. A girl of maybe 11 or 12 tried over 20. She never sat down. (We were supposed to retrieve the chocolate from the jars, then bring four at a time to our seats.) Not her though. She just ate them straight out of the jars. She was a serious connoisseur—but I was surprised her mom didn’t tell her to quit grazing and settle down and let other people try some samples. At the end, we picked up our chocolates and were led back into the store. I would have been tempted to buy a bar of the lemon poppyseed, but the £6.50 pricetag stayed my hand.

Lunch at the World’s End Pub

Then I somewhat enjoyed lunch at the World’s End Pub, which has been in business since the 1700s, when the wall to Edinburgh ended right beside the pub. I had made a reservation reluctantly (because really, a reservation for a pub?), but I was glad I did, as they only have about 6 or 7 tables to dine at, and a steady clientele. I tried their fish and chips, and while it looked very nice on the plate (accompanied by green peas, not at all mushy), it was surprisingly dry and tasteless. The tartar sauce interested me because it wasn’t like tartar sauce at all—it was creamy like yogurt with something crunchy in it. Maybe onions. I am glad I actually went to the World’s End, since it is a tourist trap, but I wouldn’t go again. The pursuit for Scotland’s best fish and chips continues.

At the end of the weekend I was bushed. Still not over my cold, I rather wore myself out trying to squeeze all the goodness I could out of the days. But it was a fun weekend. I wish you had been there.

Yurts on Loch Katrine

View from South Queensferry

Chocolate flight

One of the toppings I thought about putting into my chocolate bar

A tube of liquid chocolate for the mold

A wee sweet birdie

A view of Holyrood…do you see the plane?

Loch Katrine

No one fell overboard, thank goodness

A pretty flower in the rain

He looks sad, this sweet coo

The wee bird again

The Glenturret mash tun

Boat launch

My candy bar cooling in the mold

Loch Katrine

The two Aussies in the front of the picture talked to me all through lunch at the pub

On the deck of the Sir Walter Scott

A second chocolate flight

Orange rind and ginger for my candy bar

Another sweet coo

The Isles of Mull, Iona, and Staffa

Posted on July 11, 2023 by JC Reilly

A long day lay ahead of me on the weekend I decided to go see the Islands of Mull and Iona. For one thing, the tour left from Glasgow, so I had to take an impossibly early train, which meant I’d have to leave even earlier to walk the mile to the train station. And when I got there, the ticket machine couldn’t locate my e-ticket, and the ticket counter was dark and closed. So I wound up having to pay for another ticket, which really ticked me off. But in for a penny, in for a pound (£27 to be exact). I needed to make the 6:07 train so that I could get into Glasgow on time; the bus was leaving at 8:30. Despite the drama with the tickets, the train ride itself was uneventful, and I arrived in Glasgow at 7:30. I walked (in the rain) to Buchanan Bus Station, and waited for my tour bus to arrive.

When the bus showed up, and I saw the driver was Stewart, I was delighted. Stewart, you may recall, was the driver for my Speyside Whisky tour I took last year, the one where there were only 5 of us on the tour. There were a few more people on this tour (ten), but Stewart remembered me and seemed as happy to see me as I was to see him. I was suitably complimentary about his tour guiding to the other people on the bus, and I think that eased everyone’s anxiety. We knew we were in for a good time.

Loch Lomond in the rain

Because the Hebrides are islands off the coast of the Highlands, the first day of driving was mostly stopping to visit Highlands-related sights. But I did like the way Glasgow looked as we drove through it (industrial, shiny, and large) to get to Loch Lomond and the Trossachs National Park, our first (rainy) stop. It was really just a bathroom/coffee break, but Loch Lomond gleamed in the rain. I sheltered under a ledge at the coffee shop, and discovered a nest of five baby birds, maybe magpies, though I’m no birder. They seemed hungry, and a parental bird flew to the eaves on the other side of the coffee shop, but these little babies were left alone, tweeting their displeasure.

Birbs!!!

Stewart and I chatted about whiskies and places I’d visited since I’d gotten back to Scotland while we waited for the other passengers to get their caffeine. He was interested to hear when I had arrived, and whether I was teaching Scottish literature again (which I am). And he asked if I’d be coming back next year. “I hope so,” I told him, imagining for a moment the Scottish books I would teach. But then the moment was over, and we all hustled back on the bus.

We stopped a number of places, including Glencoe and the Three Sisters, which never get old to me. Especially in the rain, the Highlands reek of Scotlandness. Glencoe was suitably misty and broody, and The Three Sisters disappeared into the low-hanging clouds. I felt that wild call again, that primal spirit of place that Scotland holds for me, though I don’t know why. If any place (besides Louisiana or Venice) should capture me, you’d think it would be Ireland—being as I’m Irish, and yet, I don’t have a compelling desire to go there again. (I mean, I wouldn’t say no, if someone invited me to go with them—I’m not a lunatic!) Maybe the difference depends on my staying in Scotland as long as I have been—my affinity for the place has grown.

Achnambeithach

At the bottom of the glen, we stopped in Achnambeithach, a National Trust for Scotland heritage place. It’s really just a white cottage at the base of the ben (that’s Scottish for mountain!), and I’m not sure why it’s a heritage spot, but the views are spectacular. Now that I think about it, maybe it’s not the cottage that’s the historical site, maybe it’s the bridge…hmm. Anyway, you can look back up into the whole glen and be inundated with beauty. The rain had let up a little bit, and blue sky peeped through some of the heavy clouds, making the dull, rain-soaked green of the mountains flash veridian. The light gleamed off the loch, and the stream that fed it bubbled.

Returning to the road, we ate lunch at the Glencoe Visitor Center (I tried cock-a-lackie soup, which was not my favorite, not the least of which because it was a chicken soup, and I don’t eat chicken), then drove through more mountains until we got to our first ferry stop of the trip, the Lochaline Ferry Terminal which would bring us to Mull. The trip over the Sound of Mull to Fishnish took maybe 20 minutes, and Stewart encouraged us to get out of the bus if we wanted to, although it was raining and between rain and sea spray, I’d just as soon stay inside, cozy and dry. But others got out and apparently gawped at the many jellyfish in the water, which they were only too excited to talk about. For myself, I was eager to be going to an island less touristy than Skye had been two weeks before, and couldn’t wait to see what Mull would offer.

Seals that look like rocks to me

And Mull delivered! First, we saw some seals—I’d say they were sunning themselves, but actually there was no sun to be found, so they were merely lazing on a little islet. We stopped to take pictures, but the distance made the seals somewhat indistinguishable from the rocks. We stopped again at the site of three old wrecks, apparently hired by some wealthy gent in the early 1900s to sail around the world but they never left Mull, just sat there in the water and decayed for 100 years. We stopped to look at some Heilan coos, and a scenic overlook at Lochan na Guailne Duibhe. Then we drove up to Tobermory, where we would all be staying for the night.

Tobermory

The wrecks

Tobermory is a lovely fishing village, where fresh fish is on the menu at all the local restaurants. The buildings are each painted different colors, like Portree on Skye, and I was staying at the very end of the harbor, in a little red cottage apartment that was ghastly expensive. (Because Rabbies claimed they couldn’t find me a place to stay—even though I booked the tour two months in advance—I had to find my own accommodation, and this was what was available.) It was clean, with a comfortable bed and wonderful black-out curtains. The downside of Otter Apartment (besides the fee) was the doorlock situation—which is to say, I couldn’t figure out how to lock the door when I left the building. But fortunately, no one felt inclined to enter the apartment while I was out.

I would have liked to have eaten at the Mishnish Restaurant (the yellow building in the photo above), first opened in 1869 and a Mull institution, but silly me, I hadn’t made reservations. (I am not used to making reservations at restaurants, but that seems to be a thing you do here in Scotland.) So after being turned away by a concierge with a pitying look, I got a few items at the local Co-op grocery instead, and made a passable dinner of mint-yogurt potato salad, Doritos, and a Coke Zero. Then I crawled into bed, read a little, and went to sleep.

Old stone bridge

Stewart picked me up a little before 9 the next morning, the last person on the bus before another day of touring. We drove along the single-lane roads of Mull, thousands of foxglove plants purpling the hillsides—so lovely, and so deadly, making a photo stop at an old stone bridge dating from the 1800s. All the burns and waterfalls collected in a river that ran beneath the bridge. When we arrived in Fionnphort we took another Ferry to the Isle of Iona, but this time Stewart stayed behind with the bus, because only inhabitants of Iona can have vehicles on the island.

A nunnery window

Nunnery walls

I ate lunch at the Argyll Hotel, whose dining room was decorated in pleasant seascape blue and gray—another nondescript cheese and chutney sandwich and a bowl of soup. But because I ate lunch instead of hot-footing it over to Iona Abbey (a poor choice, considering the quality of lunch), I didn’t get a chance to look at it, and I’m sorry about that, because it appeared lovely from the ferry, and it is a Christian pilgrimage site. Iona is where St. Columba established a monastery in the 6^th Century, when he came over from Ireland, and it’s the place from where Christianity spread in Scotland. Since I missed the Abbey, I went to the ruins of the Nunnery, took photos, and then called Mom to catch up with her. (She was fine.)

The big activity for the day was taking another ferry to the Isle of Staffa—really just a boatride in an old, dusty tub that took an hour. The Atlantic swells impressed me, tall as they were, but I was seated inside, so I didn’t feel them as much as others who were sitting at the back of the boat did. One guy mentioned to me that he loved the rolling so much, and the next time I looked at him, he was fast asleep. The ride was loud—the engines booming—but we saw some seals before we arrived at the Isle of Staffa, and it was beautiful.

Cliffside, Isle of Staffa

The rocks form natural steps (not that you’d take these steps, because you’d take your life into your hands) and long columns, almost as if someone chiseled the side of the island to look this way. The island name of Staffa is from the Norse meaning “pillar” which makes sense. What I didn’t know was that in order to see the puffins, which apparently settle here in the summer, I’d have to climb up this itty bitty, windy but very scary tall stairway to get to the top of the island, and all I could think was I’d get halfway up there and have a panic attack because I do not do heights well at all. So I stayed at the little boat launch and read or watched the tidal pools. The air was seafresh and salty and I saw some jellyfish congregating in the tidal pools. The wind was terrific, though (another reason I was scared to scale the wall), and so I pulled up my raincoat around me to keep the wind at bay. The other option was to go to Fingal’s Cave (which everyone said was amazing) but that also required walking on a very narrow step path right above the water, and I just imagined I would slip. (I had on my sneakers, but honestly, I am just clumsy, and I didn’t want to risk a fall.)

Fingal’s Cave

Our boat arrived after another hour, and I climbed onto a seat toward the back this time, where the Atlantic swells were huge. The ship bounced so much that sometimes it felt like I were on a rollercoaster, and the other passengers “whoooed” with every swell. But it was fun, and I saw several puffins flying in the air, so I didn’t feel too deprived about missing them on Staffa. They flew so quickly they just looked like stripes of orange and black.

By then it was late in the day, when we got back to Mull, and we drove up to Tobermory, but not until after we’d stopped again at the stone bridge, where a herd of Heilan coos were congregating in and by the river. With the sunlight hitting the water just so, the cows looked as if they had been painted there. But the smell was realistic enough: the path that took us to the cows was awash in cow paddies, so I was extremely careful where I stepped.

The nice weather of the day gave way to more rain, so when I got back to my apartment, I zipped out to a food truck for fish and chips, and slinked back, a little damper, with dinner.

The last day of the trip began early enough, and we had to make our way to yet another ferry, this one from Craignure to Oban, another rainy passage. Because the ferry had been overbooked the day before and was still backed up, Stewart couldn’t get our bus on the 11:00 ferry—he was shunted to th 2:00—but we went as passengers of the ferry. It was a huge ship, ginormous. I’m not sure I’ve ever been on a ship that big, with multiple decks, several coffee shops and a diner. I thought about getting something from the diner, but I didn’t really see anything I wanted (and I did not fancy another drab cheese and chutney sandwich), so I wandered the decks and got an iced latte in one of the coffee shops in the stern of the ship. Let’s be honest, this latte was basically a large glass of milk and a shot of espresso. And it was delicious. That’s the kind of latte I like—mostly milk! Once I added sugar to it, I was hard-pressed not to suck it down in two sips. (I’m mostly kidding.) After I’d finished, I decided to head out on deck (even though it was raining) and watch the water. I had hoped to see whales or dolphins, but I suspect they didn’t want to come out in the rain 😊. I enjoyed the air, wet as it was, and stayed outside till I grew cold.

Oban, with McCaig’s Tower (the Colosseum-looking structure) in the background

Oban, where we docked, was great. Yeah, it was raining like hell, but I really enjoyed what I saw of it. I walked the high street for quite a distance, and stopped into Oban distillery to see if I could take a distillery tour but the answer was no. (They only take 16 on a tour, and I was #17.) I ate at Nories Fish and Chips for lunch (established in the 1960s), and then wandered down toward the water where I found the Oban Chocolate Company. Its reasonable prices encouraged me to buy a small bag of truffles, and a bag of white and milk chocolate cats. I wandered some more and watched the harbor for a bit (hoping for dolphins, but alas), and got some icecream, then made my way to the other side of the harbor where I knew Stewart would pick us up. There was still an hour to go, but the rain was relentless, so I holed up in Costa Coffee, and waited out the rain.

When Stewart arrived, I said, “I went to Oban distillery, but they wouldn’t let me on the tour.”

Stewart said, “That’s no’ right. D’you go to the tastin’ bar and have a flight?”

“I would have,” I said, “if I’d known about it.”

He shook his head, as disappointed as I was.

(I’ve yet to try a dram of Oban whisky, but then I haven’t really stopped in any bars.)

Kilchurn Castle on Loch Awe

Pretty much after that, all that was left of my Mull and Iona tour was a stop at Inveraray (where I called Mom again), a stop at Kilchurn Castle ruins, and then the ride back into Glasgow, although we made a picture stop in Glen Croe, near Loch Lomond. At the base of the glen is an old military road, but we were on the “new” road at the side of the bens, where large metal nets ridge the mountains to catch boulders and falling objects.

As I was getting off the bus, Stewart told me that he hoped he’d see me next year, with my husband, on the Islay whisky tour, and I hope I can arrange that, because Stewart is a great tour guide, and even though I don’t like peated whiskies (which Islay is famous for), I’d be thrilled to get reintroduced to them with Stewart’s guidance. I’ll have to see if I can contact Rabbies next year to find out when he leads the tour, assuming that a) I teach in Scotland again, and b) I can arrange it. Even if I don’t think I’d enjoy the whisky, I’d enjoy seeing Stewart again. And if C could come with me, that would be even better. (Get your passport, C!!!)

More photos:

View from Nories Fish and Chips

Loch Fyne in Inveraray

Loch Fyne

The Vital Spark in Loch Fyne, Inveraray–I love the composition on this one.

Kilchurn Castle with lowhanging clouds

Sheep on Loch Awe

Loch Awe

A hotel on Loch Awe, to the left of the Kilchurn Castle ruins as you look at them

This looks like I took the picture in grayscale, but really, it was just how dark and dreich the day was.

Oban

The Inveraray Inn (could you guess?)

Oban

My fish & chips at Nories

Oban

The ferry to Oban

Me getting very wet on the ferry to Oban

A lighthouse on the ferry to Oban

Isle of Mull, when the sun came out for a bit

Funny clouds in Mull

Mull

View from the Stone bridge on Mull

View from the Stone Bridge

Heilan coos

View of the Stone bridge from cow-distance

A sudden squall over Mull

Heilan coos in the river

Coos!

Coo

Coos

The beach near the Lochline ferry stop

Isle of Staffa

Staffa

This flight of stairs doesn’t look that tall, but the picture is deceptive.

Tidal pool at Staffa

Ospreys (?) on Staffa

A better glimpse of the staircase on Staffa

I have no idea where I took this. It’s pretty though, innit?

Tobermory

A little cottage by the ferry

Glencoe

The wrecks

Tobermory–my Dad said he was going to try to paint this in watercolors

Tobermory

A Wee Dram: Speyside Whisky Tour

Posted on July 30, 2022 by JC Reilly

I decided to take a whisky distillery tour, not because I’m a whisky drinker—I’m not really—but because I thought I should see how the national drink of Scotland is made. I’ve spent my entire stay living next to the Holyrood gin distillery—somedays, you could really smell the mash—but I wasn’t that interested in visiting. But whisky intrigued me, so I signed up for Rabbie’s three-day tour of the Speyside area. Unlike the peated flavor of the Islay (pronounced “eye-la”) whiskies of the north-north of Scotland and the Hebrides, Speyside whiskies are more mellow, possibly sweeter, and lack any smokiness. This is a good thing, because peated whisky reminds me of Lapsang souchong tea, which I just hate.

We left Friday morning, and I was thrilled when the tour guide, Stuart, told me that the tour only had five people registered. This made so much of a difference to my enjoyment. Suddenly, we could get to know each other intimately and really share in our whisky experience with each other. Since I was a nearly virgin whisky drinker (with the visit to Dalwhinnie a few weeks previous being my only experience with the drink), I was really open to trying everything. And the other members of the tour seemed really interested to know what I thought, just as I was interested in their thoughts too. I loved this tour for its camaraderie, and I thought Stuart was a wonderful guide. He is a true whisky afficionado, and everything he had to say I soaked up like a sponge.

Friday was a beautiful day to drive through the Cairngorms (east Highlands), because it was ridiculously clear and windy. Unlike the other visits I made to the Highlands to the west, full of mistiness and magic, the Cairngorms sat proudly to either side of us with nary a cloud rimming the top of the mountains to ruin the view. (Don’t get me wrong, there were clouds, just not clinging to the mountain tops.) The sun brought out the green of the Cairngorms and enlivened the purple of the newly-emerging heather, and the sheep we saw were like little clouds in the grass. And everywhere we looked was a photo opportunity, so it was nice of Stuart to stop the bus for a little while so we could get some pictures.

Lindores’ aqua vitae, and 1494.

Our first whisky stop was the Lindores Abbey Distillery (lowland single malt), which had been around since the medieval times, though there was a 500-year gap between when the place was a thriving abbey making “aqua vitae” and whisky for kings and now. It recently (say, the last 10 or so years) reopened, and our guide at the distillery took us through the process of making whisky in great detail. By the end of the day, we understood the three ingredients of whisky (barley, water, and yeast), how whisky is collected in a curly copper still, how it is separated into the head, heart, and tail (different alcohol contents, with the heart being the perfect percentage, and the head and tail having to go back and be reprocessed), how it is stored in oak bourbon or sherry casks, and how long it has to age before it can be called whisky (three years and a day). After our walk through the distillery, we tried some aqua vitae liqueur, which was a drink with many herbs and spicy flavors, although the main flavor I tasted was rosemary and juniper (though rosemary wasn’t in the mix, according to our guide; I didn’t care for it because it seemed medicinal), and their 1494 brand of whisky, which I really liked because it was smooth and didn’t burn your throat. I wanted to buy some to bring home, except I didn’t know how I’d get it on the plane. (And I had hopes I could buy from their website, but they don’t sell it in the U.S.)

Kindrochit Castle ruins

Braemar truffles

Our next stop was in Braemar, a lovely little hamlet, for lunch. I didn’t find much to eat, but I did stop in the Braemar Chocolate Shop and bought a six-pack of gorgeous truffle “jewels.” I accidentally threw out the list of candies I bought, but of the ones I remember, there were a mint truffle, a lemon truffle, a passionfruit truffle, and a weird blue cheese and chocolate flavor truffle that was really quite different. (The others might have been a strawberry and mixed berry.) I didn’t wind up eating the candy until much later in the day, so it kind of wound up being my dinner when I got to the bed-and-breakfast. 😊 Also in Braemar were the ruins of Kindrochit Castle (from around 1390), which were mostly just low walls people could climb on at this point. And there were children running and climbing all over it.

You can bottle your own… for 150 pounds!

Our next distillery stop was Royal Lochnagar Distillery, near the River Dee, which bordered Balmoral Castle, a Scottish royal home since Albert and Queen Victoria bought it in 1852. I didn’t get to see Balmoral Castle because it was deep in the woods, and I was a little sorry about that, but the distillery was interesting. We learned much the same as we had learned at Lindores Abbey, but it was nice to see another version of the same process, and to see the large bell stills. Additionally, we spent a goodly amount of time in the cask room, smelling whisky through the bung holes (that sounds dirty, doesn’t it?) so we could determine what kind of cask the whisky was ageing in. And we also got to see a cask of Diamond Jubilee whisky, and the tour guide had us guess how much a bottle of it cost. Pam (the other woman on our tour) guessed $3,000; I guessed $10,000. But the true answer was $100,000 per bottle, and I think there were only 60 bottles made. The money was raised for charity, so I guess that justifies the cost. But still…that’s a ton of money for a blended (yuck) whisky.

At our tasting, we tried four different bottles: Royal Lochnagar 12 year, the Exclusive Bottling, the Selected Reserve, and the 17 year. Of course, I liked the 17 year best—and it figures that I would like the most expensive bottle, doesn’t it? It had quite a burn and it definitely put hair on your chest, but I liked it because it felt full-bodied. It helped that I added a few drops of water, which everyone said opens up the oils and make the whisky more florid. We were having such a good time talking about our tasting with each other that we had to be reminded to leave since the distillery was closing.

Brooklynn Guest Hosue

Then we drove to Grantown-on-Spey, where we were all staying for the night. My bed-and-breakfast was the Brooklynn Guest House, although the other group members were staying at hotels. My room offered a fancy bathroom and a comfortable double bed, a nice change from the single bed that I slept in in Inverness. I could have gone walking into town to find some dinner, but I was tired, and after all I had my Braeburn chocolates to eat, and a Hercule Poirot novel to read (Murder on the Links).

Glen Moray flight

Saturday, I enjoyed a breakfast of fancy topped yogurt, full of granola and fruit, and eggs and toast and Scottish breakfast tea, and Stuart and the group picked me up for another day of touring. This time, we just had a tasting at Glen Moray, in Elgin, with a Rabbie’s tour exclusive flight: the 10 year Fired Oak, the 12 year, and the Peated Classic. I also bought a delicious shortbread to pair with the whisky, and the sweetness of the shortbread made the whisky taste better if you ask me. Glen Moray is what you call a “supermarket whisky,” which means it’s good quality, but not as expensive as other brands—the kind you’d find for sale at a grocery store. I liked the three whiskies offered, even the peated one, although I didn’t care for that as much as the 12 year, which had a bit of a honey flavor to it. (Or that could have been the shortbread.) I bought a couple of whisky glasses in their gift shop; they were only £3 each. (They had some beautiful crystal whisky glasses, but they were £25 each, and I was afraid they might not make the trip home. Also, hello, expensive!!!)

Craigellachie (Crag-uh-lacky) Bridge

So after drinking whisky at 10 (!) a.m., Stuart drove us to Craigellachie Bridge (built in 1814 and restored in 1964), a lovely bridge that spans the River Spey. I walked the bridge and got some photos and then joined Parag and his brother for a walk to go to the river’s edge. They went on to get closer to the river, because Parag was all about making his TikTok videos, while I talked with Pam and her husband and found out that they live in Huntsville, AL, and she teaches nursing at the university. (Her husband works in the defense industry.) Then we all ambled back to the bus and drove to the Speyside Cooperage, which is where distilleries send barrels to be put together, refitted, or repaired. The Speyside Cooperage is one of only two cooperages in Scotland, and there’s nothing but barrels as far as the eye can see. Afterwards, we stopped at the Glenfiddich Distillery, more just to see it than anything, since it’s the biggest and most-recognized whisky brand, and then the Glen Allachie Distillery. At neither place did we try any whisky, but it was good to stop and nose around the gift shops; the Glenfiddich gift shop was particularly high-end and fancy. (They had shoehorns—which I actually am in need of—made of real horn… for £54 each!)

Our tour guide Stuart in front of the MT.

This Heilan Coo needs his bangs trimmed.

We had lunch at the Mash Tun bar and pub, and while I didn’t love my cranberry jelly and brie sandwich all that much, again it was nice to sit and dish with my fellow travelers in a “spirited” discussion. Plus I got to walk by the Spey and watch a fisherman not have much luck. After lunch, we headed to the Cardhu Distillery (“The Speyside Home of Johnny Walker”) in Archiestown, for another distillery tour, though first there was an informative video about the origins of the distillery and the fact that it was founded by a woman, Helen Cumming, in 1824. This time they were cooking so it was crazy hot in the distillation room. But our guide was very nice and knowledgeable, and also let us smell some bung holes to determine what kind of casks

Look at that face!

The Cardhu flight choices

the whisky was being held in. Our tasting included the Cardhu Gold Reserve, Amber Rock, and just plain Single Malt. I thought the Cardhu whiskies were alright; I wasn’t bowled over, but the other folks seemed to like them. I found I added a bit of water to each one, and that helped. Cardhu whisky makes up a big part of Johnnie Walker blended whiskies, and even if I didn’t have a snobby bias against blended whiskies, I think I would not be interested in Johnnie Walker because I just didn’t love the Cardhu (even though Stuart likes it). I do, however, love that a woman started the company (and the video does a great job of showing how influential Helen Cumming and her daughter-in-law were as they began their empire). The other thing I liked about Cardhu were the “Hielan’ Coos” that lived in an adjacent paddock. And you could buy oat cakes to give to them. (I would have done this, but the flies were so bad out by the cows that I didn’t want to stay nearby after I took pictures.)

Sunday morning after breakfast, I opened the door to go out and wait for the bus to get me, and who should run in but a handsome black cat. He ran into the dining room, and I was nervous that I had just let a strange cat in, but the server said that Louis belonged to the B-and-B. I got to pet him, and would have snapped a photo except that the server shook his bag of crunchies, and Louis high-tailed it back into the kitchen to get his breakfast. I said goodbye to the Brooklynn, and got picked up. Our first stop was Dalwhinnie.

Dalwhinnie flight choices

While I had been here before and tried their flight of three whiskies, again, because I was with our group, I had a much better time. The whiskies were paired with chocolates, as before, which brought a pleasant sweetness to the four drams: the 15 year, the Winter’s Gold, the Distiller’s Edition, and the Distillery Exclusive Bottling. I was still partial to the 15 year, but the Distillery Exclusive Bottling was also very nice (and only available for purchase at the distillery proper). Additionally, because now I had more knowledge about whisky in general, I could appreciate them a little better then the first time I had tried them two weeks before. The other group members were quite in love with the Winter’s Gold, but to me, that version had an unpleasant earthiness to it. Not a peaty taste, but a heaviness that I guess might be nice in the middle of winter when you’re freezing your bezonkus off. Still I didn’t care for it.

Edradour Distillery wasn’t open to the public.

The Mash Tun bar inside Blair Athol.

We stopped in Pitlochry first to look at Edradour Distillery, “Scotland’s Little Gem,” which has been closed since Covid, but the grounds were lovely. Then we drove back into town for lunch (the third time I had been there), and I went to McKay’s fish and chip house and drank a Lemon Fanta and enjoyed chocolate orange ice cream for dessert. Pitlochry is apparently a bit of a retirement community; it has a busy high street with lots of tourists, but the town itself is sleepy and charming. Before we left town, we stopped at the Blair Athol Distillery, which had a Mash Tun bar (I guess it’s a chain) inside, with the bar itself resembling a big mash container. We all tried the “flavour flight,” which was composed of four whiskies, the Cragganmore Distillers (sweet), the Singleton 12 year (fruity), the Blair Athol 12 year (spicy), and the Caol Ila 12 (smokey). I liked the Blair Athol the best, but the others were fine… maybe not the Caol Ila which was really peaty, but it wasn’t bad, just not to my taste.

The Blair Athol Distillery is overgrown with ivy

Blair Athol Distillery was our last stop before coming back to Edinburgh. The ride home was pretty quiet—all of us whiskied out for sure—and I mostly chose to reflect on what a good time I had, even though I wasn’t expecting anything in particular. Not being a practiced whisky drinker, with a special developed palate, I just tried everything with an open mind, learning what I could. I can definitely see now how people collect whiskies—Stuart told us about his collection, for instance—because they are like wine in that each one is different and even among the same distillers, the whiskies are different depending on how long they’ve aged, and in what. But unlike wine, you can open a whisky, and it won’t go bad in a few days—you can just have it until it’s gone. I asked Stuart how he decides which dram to drink on any given day, and he said it absolutely has to do with his mood (and how cold or hot it is). That makes sense; but from what he told us, he has a number of bottles (maybe 30-50, I can’t quite recall), so that’s quite an arsenal to choose from. I’m still wondering how he decides what to pick when he has all those choices.

As for myself, I will start my collection small, because I don’t imagine that I’ll be drinking too many drams any time soon: I’ve gotten Glenmorangie, Grangestone, and if Total Wine ever gets it, I’ll get a Dalwhinnie 15 year, and be happy with those. And I look forward to trying a flight of whiskies with C. and demonstrating all my new knowledge.

Of all the tours I took, this one was my favorite. While I didn’t see as many beautiful places to take pictures of, I got something better: the opportunity to hang with five other people all very present in the moment and all enjoying many wee drams of whisky. It was definitely worth every penny I spent on the trip.

More pics!