Whisky

It's a tale that harks back to ancient days of moonshine and smuggling. Dave Broom, one of the world's foremost whisky writers, recounts the tale of a recent whisky pillaging expedition.Jura lies in the Atlantic, a silver glittering teardrop of quartzite angled towards the Scottish mainland. This is a hard land, a place of raised beach, bald-headed mountains, deergrass and peat. Just over 200 people live their singular life here: one road, going up one side of the island, one village, one post office, one shop, one pub/hotel and one distillery, which is where our story starts, as Mickey Heads, the distillery's manager pours 40 litres of his whisky - malty, clean, reminiscent of dry bracken - into an empty cask.

The boat is untied and the rowers start the long pull towards Islay. The tide has turned, running with them, helping them race up the sound, north to Bunnahabhain. The wreck of the Wyre Majestic on the rocks by the distillery is testimony to how tricky the currents are here. Bad for a trawler maybe, but they are in the Kathleen, built for Jim MacFarlane in Ireland. Who can tell how old her design is? Men have been fishing in these waters in boats like these for centuries.

They are close to Islay's northernmost point, a coastline with few tracks and, fewer roads, a place of old moonshiners' caves, guarded by nesting seabirds and, in the middle, a huge distillery whose bulk, warmth and rich, gentle, gingery whisky is in contrast to this landscape. Manager John MacLellan adds his 40 litres and they head south once more.

It would be easy to miss their next stop-off. From the sea, Caol Ila seems secreted in a rocky shell, yet stand inside its stillhouse and the view is huge, expansive, your eyes drawn across the tidal race, upwards to the scree-topped Paps of Jura. Caol Ila's large stills seem to distil this side of the island: the wet pasture grass alongside discarded crab shells on the pier, smoked fish - even cooking bacon. It's now Billy Stitchell's turn to pour his whisky in.

It's clear this is no ordinary tour of these whisky islands. Given you can drive, cycle, even sail, why bother to row? Charity. The idea originated in 2003 when Kevin Campbell, distiller at Lagavulin, decided to raise money by assembling crews from Islay's seven stills and then rowing around Islay, 'pillaging' malt from each distillery. The subsequent bottling was then auctioned. Now the feat was being repeated, but this time Campbell, always wanting to up the ante, included not just Jura but Bushmills in Ireland as well. Each of the nine distilleries on the three islands was donating 40 litres of 12-year-old whisky. This time the bottling of "Pillage" would raise money for the Children's Hospice Associations of Scotland and Northern Ireland.
It's a long row southwards before they turn past the lighthouse on Eilean a'Chuirn and the jagged shelter of the Ardmore 'islands', a series of skerries, reefs and islets which act as viewing platforms for wide-eyed seals and wing-drying cormorants. The landscape has changed to one of domed hills, fractured rock and tiny, secluded bays. Behind the low hills is the Kildalton churchyard in which stands the oldest complete Celtic high cross in Scotland. This is an island settled by monks, raided by Vikings, ruled by Lords, landowners and now distillers. The only thing that has stayed constant is the land and the quizzical, warm islanders.

They like smoke in their drams on the Kildalton coast. First up is Ardbeg, looking like a large white-painted shoreline farm. Peaty malt run through its stills comes out sooty but with a sweet tingle of lime. Manager Stuart Thomson adds his contribution. It's only a short hop now through the rocks into Lagavulin Bay. Above the Kathleen the ruined ramparts of Dunyvaig Castle. It's like a homecoming. Fleets of boats like her would once have been moored in this bay, warships, ready to fight for the Lords of the Isles whose floating kingdom stretched from here to the tip of Lewis. Islay was its power base, Dunyvaig their citadel.

It's possible that the first distiller in Scotland came ashore here. Padraig MacBeatha [Patrick Beaton] - physician to the house of O'Cathain [O'Kane], rulers of Coleraine - was part of the retinue of Aine O'Cathain when she married Angus MacDonald, Lord of the Isles in 1300. Beaton knew the secrets of the Arabs, the weird alchemy which transformed a weak solution of medicinal herbs into potent medicine. In time its use would change. It would become whisky.

Donald Renwick pours in Lagavulin: big, complex, smoked scents of lapsang souchong and bonfires on the beach. Campbell's cask now to be smouldering. Then, around the last headland of the day to Laphroaig. It's John Campbell's turn to donate a malt whose aroma mingles with that of the sea, of caulked timbers, the iodine scent of seaweed, a concentrated muscularity. Time to camp.

Day two starts with a tough pull around the Oa, the circular barbican of Dalriadan rocks which marks Islay's southernmost point. On its lee, the pale sands of the Big Strand. The island has flattened, its colours changed from green to dun. From shore to the low hills in the distance is peat moss. This is where the smoke comes from. The aroma of Islay's peat is different. Scientists don't know why, but our noses immediately suggest an answer: seaweed, compressed and fermented with salt water for millenia.

That peat is being fired in the kilns of Bowmore's distillery. The town sits at the geographical centre of Islay and the whisky added by 'Percy' MacPherson is neatly enough balanced between the robust and the fragrant. Now it's but a short haul across the loch to Bruichladdich, recently rescued from disuse by a consortium of local investors. There's no peat here. Rather, Duncan MacGillivray's contribution adds a fragrant note to proceedings. The Laddie is as fresh as a light breeze in the face. Knowing it is a shoreline whisky makes you search for marine notes: hot sand? drying scallop shells? Whisky is allusive ... and elusive.

The coast of Ireland had been clearly seen from Lagavulin. Now though the weather has closed in but still with the North Channel to cross - 20 miles of open sea in an open boat in a Force 8 is a serious test.

It was a bedraggled crew which arrived at the largest distillery of the pillage. Bushmills is also significantly different. It is triple distilled (like most Irish whiskeys) but a single malt (in alignment with its Scottish cousins). One foot in both camps… or out on its own? Strangely, the light, sweet grassy whiskey donated by Colum Eagan chimed slightly with Bruichladdich. A Celtic connection had been made and the next morning the crews set off for Lagavulin where the whiskies were to marry in cask.

Tasting it now, all these months after the event, you cannot help but think of how whisky can be like the sea. The flavours roll in - a juicy bright start with hints of citrus fruits, cereal, and honey before the swell of oily, marine notes floods over the tongue leaving lingering hints of oil, seaweed and smoked fish; then it calms once more, the smoke receding and creamy vanilla runs down the throat. A distillation of its environment, of a community of souls and their expertise.
Info:

To find out more details about the one-off bottling of Pillage, either download a form from www.visit-islay.com/pillage/auction.htm or write direct to:

Kevin Campbell
1 Distillery Cottages
Lagavulin
Islay PA42 7DX
UK

Vatting and blending

The issue of vatting single malts together has been a controversial one in Scotch circles recently, not because of the technique which dates back to the early 19th century, but regarding what to call the resulting liquid.

The trouble started when sales of Diageo's single malt, Cardhu, topped the 200 000 case mark in Spain. The firm predicted that it had a potential global brand on its hands. The only problem was that the distillery could only make 250 000 cases a year. Diageo's solution was to make a new vatted 'Cardhu', from the eponymous distillery and other Speyside malts. Trouble was they decided not to change the brand name. The only thing indicating this wasn't a single malt was the descriptor 'pure malt'. Not surprisingly, the industry took a dim view of this. Not only was it confusing, it was potentially misleading. Diageo eventually bowed to pressure and withdrew Cardhu Pure and restricted sales of Cardhu Single to the Iberian, Greek and French markets.

The saga wasn't over, as the industry realised how bewildering whisky labelling was. Although most vatted malts on the market were called 'pure', the term was by no means exclusive. Glenlivet single malt, for example, called itself a 'pure single', Glenfiddich single malt was 'pure', as were many others. Pure, in other words, meant zilch.

After a period of consultation, the Scotch Whisky Association [SWA] came up with a new set of clear legal guidelines to try and stop any future confusion. Its main conclusions were as follows:

- single malt: product of a single distillery
- blended whisky: a blend of grain and malt whiskies
- and a new term for vatted malt: blended malt. Rather than solving the problem this term creates a new one by blurring the difference between blends and malts - already a major area of confusion for consumers. Why there couldn't simply have been 'single malt' and 'malt' is, beyond me. Blended malt it is. You have been warned…