In which I meet a very nice man who shares my love of the lack of definitive answers in the world of whisky making; and I lerarn that I can still drive narrow winding coastal roads in Scotland because, well, needs must when the bladder drives.
Awoke at about 8:20 from a good night’s sleep, most of which was spent in bed proper (the pre-sleep crash took place above the covers). A quick breakfast with mum (faither was oot golfing), then on the road for 9:45. I had an appointment at 11:00 about an hour away and wasn’t sure how well the navigation was going to do, so wanted some “crap, wrong place!” recovery time. Which turned out to be a good idea. The nav did pretty well except for the part where it took me off the Stirling Straight on a “shortcut” along several miles of single-track road, with all the best bits: sharp turns, blind corners, blinder hills, cyclists, etc. All the while insisting that the speed limit was 60mph. I mean, I probably could have, but it would have been A Baaaad Idea ™.
Still, I arrived at my destination with a few minutes to spare. Part of my goal for this trip is “a distillery a day”. First up: Tullibardine (tullee-BAR-din ) (I didn’t really count the flying visit to Glengoyne yesterday, so this was really the first.)
I like a good number of their expressions, recently purchasing The Murray, and had driven past the distillery a few times in years gone by, so I thought, why not. They also had the virtue of being open for tours on a Sunday.
Being the first tour on a Sunday, I ended up with a personal tour, in the company of Gavin, who was a delight. Originating from South Africa, accent thick as you like, this was a man who talked of the distillery and product very much as if his own. He started with a little history – there has been alcohol made on the site since the 1200’s, though most of the time it was beer. The most recent owner, Picard, has great plans for the premises. Various shops in the same building comp!ex recently left and the whole lot is now part of Tullibrdine. Future plans include a cafe, whisky bar, and more. Should be a great place to stop and spend a few hours, even if you’re not a whisky drinker.
The tour was great. Gavin and I share the love of asking questions that really can’t be answered definitively, such as “When is a barrel considered at the end of its life, and how can you tell?”; or ” How exactly do the different areas of the warehouse , with their vastly different temperatures, affect the maturation process?” The difference is that he gets to ask the experts; the similarity is that answers vary depending on who you ask, and on what day.
I still remember the comment from a stillman at, I think, the Oban distillery. Paraphrasing: “You know, we talk about all the things that make our whisky unique, but we really don’t know. I mean, its the same three ingredients – barley, water and yeast – the rest is just wee bit of magic!” Probably the most honest answer we’ll ever get 🙂
One of the highlights of the tour for me – and this will tell you exactly what a whisky geek I am – was looking in all of the washbacks and seeing different stages of fermentation in each, from start to near end of the process. The start has the yeast in a thin, cake-like layer, with a little flow of bubbles from one side as the yeast starts chomping down. Next, a feeding frenzy as the yeast tucks in and churns the liquid to a foam. Then a coup!e with progressively taller “heads” of foam, and finally the finished product, yeast sated and liquid still.
The tour finished off with a taste of the Sovereign (base line expression), the 228 Burgundy finish (specifically pinot noir), their 20 year old, and finally The Murray. The 228 has such a distinct red wine mouth feel and finish, I found it the most interesting. But the 20 was really nice, with surprising hints of chocolate, which has to be down to the wood (because I know the base whisky it’s built from, and there ain’t no chocolate in that). Gavin and I had a great time chatting, but I had to get going, and he had another tour to lead.
I grabbed a quick car park lunch of mini pork pies and a Caramel Wafer, then hit the road. North. Waaay north. Basically I got back on the A9 and kept going for four plus hours.
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A side note about driving long-ish distances to remoter areas of the country, on a Sunday evening, the subsequent lack of “facilities”, and the inadvisability of maintaining a strategic pee reserve. Summary: I should’ve gone in Inverness. More detail: really, I 
should’ve gone in Inverness. Petrol stations along the A9 that far north were sparse and closed. And that sign in Lybster was a cruel, vicious LIE!! Interestingly, increased pressure in the bladder seems to increase pressure on the accelerator. I was leaving locals in the dust – even the idiotic teenagers backed off after that one spectacular corner. I’ll admit that I started eyeing the lay-bys, but there were a distinct shortage of trees. You see, these roads were lined for miles by densely packed, pretty yellow gorse bushes. So why not make use of them? Two reasons. First, they’re short; I’m taller than them, and the road was not empty (see above). Second, and more importantly, those bushes are full of tiny pricks ( if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking after that comment, you can damned well stop thinking it). In short (stop it!) I wasn’t going to risk… injury. Relief, if you’ll pardon the phrasing, finally came in the form of a supermarket literally 7 mins from my destination. Which was better because this way I could walk up to the hotel reception in full strides rather than just bending at the knees. They migh’ve thought I was strange.
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My destination for the evening was Wick, right up on the north east coast of Scotland. Formerly known for it’s herring fishing, until they fished the North Sea barren of herring, and formerly home to the north most distillery on the mainland, an honour now claimed by Thurso (but more about that tomorrow).
My accommodation for the night was Mackay’s Hotel. I’d asked the gent at the Old Pultney table at WhiskyFest for a hotel recommendation, and his immeditate response was “Ah, there’s only one!” Now I took his enthusiastic answer as ‘There’s only one place we even consider when staying in Wick…”, but when I arrived and processed the size of the town, it suddenly dawned on me that he might’ve meant “Actually, there is only one!”
Still, Mackay’s was a top notch hotel with a small but affy fancy restaurant. A little pricier than I’d been aiming for this trip, but local accommodation had been hard to find, so that was that. Food was good, bed was comfy, and the pre-sleep nap a bit shorter.
End of day two.
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