In which I start and end the day with good (for some definitions of good) wholesome food, visit the north coast of the country, and wave at a distillery.
Woke up at around 8:30, had a lazy shower and staggered down for a casual breakfast. First stop today was not until 11:00, and was a whopping 7mins away.
Breakfast was, of course a “traditional” Scottish breakfast: coffee, orange juice, pastry, and a plateful of fried dead animal parts! Ahem, I mean sausages, bacon, black puddling, eggs, and a fried tomato, which we put there to show that we haven’t forgotten about healthy food, we just don’t care because meat. Tasty stuff, and the poached eggs were almost as good as my wife’s fried eggs (but not quite). I sat around a while longer, reading and slurping coffee (riveting stuff, this, isn’t it?), before finally getting off my backside and setting off for the day.
First stop, the Old Pulteney Distillery. They’d lost my tour reservation, but at first it looked like there were only three of us, so no big deal. Then another couple joined us just as we were starting. And then the French arrived, all looking terribly cold in the 4C / 39F temperature. I, of course, was in a polo shirt and quite comfy. Ahh, my Minnesota training paying off once again.
The Pulteney distillery is unusually located in the middle of (an albeit small) town, surrounded by houses and a community center. But you can’t miss it, or miss the fact that there’s whisky aging in the area. All the brickwork of the distillery and neighbouring houses is black, courtesy of Baudoinia or “whisky mould”. It’s an odd little fungus that feeds off the angels’ share – the ethanol evaporating from the barrels in the aging sheds – which seems to make it particularly resilient. Locals aren’t often too keen on this side effect of the industry (except in France, where the same black stains on houses in the cognac regions are seen as a badge of honour).
The unusual aspects don’t end with the location. The mash tun is particularly deep, drains deliberately slowly (resulting in a clearer wort, for whatever that’s worth), and gets them four charges instead of the more common three (with the last two feeding the first charge of the next batch). The water is brought to the distillery from its source Loch Hempriggs, located three miles away, by means of a lade, or man made channel, constructed by Thomas Telford when the place was built in the 1800’s. And the stills… good grief. First, the wash still has no head or traditional lyne arm. Story goes that, despite meticulous measurements, when the still arrived at the distillery, it was too tall to fit through the doors. So they lobbed the top off and welded an arm to the side of the neck. And, given the impact that the shape of the still has on the character of the whisky, that will be forever replicated. Now, the spirit still is taller than the wash still and yet apparently fitted through the door. But it has the craziest lyne arm I’ve ever seen. It’s like a crazy straw. Up, over, down, along, up, over and out. I mean, the thing has a U-bend. Nuts. What the hell that thing’s doing to the heavy and light alcohols I have no idea. Honestly, I don’t see how some doesn’t just get trapped in the U-bend! Ah well, I’m no chemist or distiller. What do I know.
Unfortunately, Pulteney’s most commonly known claim to fame can no longer be claimed, as of just a few years ago. Until very recently, Old Pulteney was the northern-most distillery on the British mainland. Nowadays, that honour goes to Wolfburn, located on the west side of Thurso. Ah well, Pulteney had a good run, and is plenty unique in other ways.
The tour finished with a dram, naturally, and I opted for the extended tasting. Just their three main expressions: 12, 17, and 21 years. I have a soft spot for the 12 year. It was the first dram that really introduced me to whisky terroir, back in my early whisky years. The 60% of Pulteney stock that they keep for their single malt is all aged in warehouses right there on the coast, and you can taste it. The brine is a subtle, yet clear defining characteristic of the whisky. And it turns out that I still like it. It is aged all 12 years in a wide varietry of bourbon casks: Jack Daniels, Buffalo Trace and Heaven Hill are the preferred three for this expression. The 17 spends 13 years in bourbon with 4 years in sherry casks. And the 21 is a 17/4 split. The 21 was my favourite (sigh), followed closely by the 12. The 17 did a lot less for me. It’s apparently quite common for folks who like the 12 & 21 to find the 17 meh, and vice versa, according to the young lady who led the tour, who I chatted with afterwards.
By the way, about that. If you ever take a tour of a distillery, please be sure to engage the guide afterwards, even if just to say thanks, and certainly if you want to learn more. I’m often amazed at how some visitors forget that the guides exist the moment the tour is over. Today I heard several “I wonder how…” or “I wonder why…” after the tour was done, but they never thought to ask. I got great answers to questions and just had a nice chat with the lady (whose name I forget because I forget names), after I found myself sitting alone when the rest of the group finished slamming their drams and blew on out. Le sigh.
Right, tour over, but thee drams consumed. Can’t drive just yet. I hit up the cafe next door for a coffee and some millionaire shortbread, then headed north… to Thurso!
Okay, it’s not that exciting a place, but livlier than Wick, and right on the north shore of Scotland. I’ve never been to the north shore before, so I wanted to do that. And I did. It was a shore. Aaand done.
OK, not quite. I could see Orkney as I dined once again on pork pies (and yoghurt) in a car park overlooking the bay. Then I drove a mile down the road to wave at the Wolfburn distillery, because I said I would. They’re new enough that visits are by appointment only, and since I had been unable to find accommodation in Thurso for the trip, timing would have proved tricky. Next time, I hope!
So after I waved at the very warehousey Wolfburn distillery, I headed south again. Destination: the Mayfield B&B in Forres. I did make a quick stop at Dalmore just for a dram. Didn’t have time for a tour as my host for the evening was only available to welcome gurests for a short window of time in the early evening. I could certainly have checked-in later, but I prefer to meet and not put-out my B&B hosts. At Dalmore, I tried the Shackleton recreation (second time for me – thanks John!) because that happened to be what I was looking at when the nice lady who was pouring started chatting with me. The distillery itself is in a gorgeous location on the shore of the Cromarty Firth, and definitely on my list for a proper visit.
The Maayfield B&B is tucked down a wee lane that would scare the crap out of most American drivers. Sarah met me at the door and showed me to a lovely room, where a scone with jam and cream was sitting waiting, next to fixings for coffee and tea. Sarah had some great suggestions for dinner and things to do, and hid her disappointment well when I told her that all I really wanted was fish and chips, and a quiet night in to read and write. In fact, she recommended the best chippie in town, only a quarter mile away. I wandered on over, bought my fish supper, and enjoyed it sitting next to a pond in a nearby park. (Again riveting stuff).
Then it was back to the B&B for a quiet night in.
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