If you have been paying attention, you will recall that back in 2003 we visited Islay which resulted in the purchase of a cask of whisky at Bruichladdich. Having spent 14.5 years gently maturing, we had recently had it bottled and, having paid a lot of excise duty to the taxman, it was now time to collect 291 bottles and the cask.
We had already decided that the hire van full of rare single cask single malt would not be left unattended overnight, so this would be a pretty quick turnaround trip. To minimise the number of days hire, we picked up the van mid morning and set off. We had a shirt stop at Warwick then a tedious time of rain and traffic on the M6 before finally getting to Hamilton - our first stop over - in reasonably good time at 8pm.
Husband reckoned 291 bottles would be 49 boxes, and we weren't really sure where in the house they would go. Only the night before, I had admitted that we hadn't really thought it through.
We had dinner with obligatory haggis and whisky before going to bed. The bathroom light was triggered by standing on the floor outside the bathroom which could prove interesting if we needed to get up in the night.
Waking early, we went down for breakfast before setting off on the next leg of the journey. As we past through the outskirts of Glasgow there were signs of the former city that had been thick with industry. Fantastic Victorian warehouses, red bricked and interesting were liberally abandoned and gradually succumbing to the forces of nature. Others desperately tried to stay viable as trampolining arenas and climbing venues. The motorways hemming in the city merged into a mass 16 lane wide area of Tarmac but before long we were back out in the sticks.
It was cloudy and drizzly with the sun trying, unsuccessfully, to break through. Husband said he had thought the weather forecast was for a nice day - I suggested that this was a nice day for Scotland.
The road gently wound round Loch Lomond, loch long and Loch Fynne - with its farms of mussels and oysters. Signs warned of major roadworks - which was about 50 metres of single carriageway controlled by traffic lights, and the end of roadworks sign gave the warming sentiment Rest and by joyful.
Having circumnavigated the lochs, we arrived at Tarbert, where we had stayed 15 years ago. The hotel was still there, but closed. We enquired at a local pub and found out that it was under new management and in the process of being refurbished. This was pleasing to hear. The restaurant where we had got so spectacularly drunk was also there - but was now a bistro rather than the high end food and whisky joint that we had enjoyed.
We drove on to Kennacraig and - after an exciting moment where we had to go on the weigh bridge - joined the queue for hopefully getting onto an earlier crossing. The van was now empty, but would pack a bit more weight on the return trip. Soon after parking, the ferry appeared at the end of the inlet of water, and before long it arrived at the port. Happily we were able to board it, along with a Bruichladdich Lorry, which seemed fitting.
Then began the long trip to Port Askaig. But we killed time having a drink and some dinner. Husband perused a newspaper all about this weeks Feis Ile whisky festival. That would explain why booking a hotel in the island had been so troublesome. Everywhere was full. The place we had always used wasn't showing up on search sites, so we had called them directly and managed to get in.
It was still cloudy. As we came past Jura the shuttle mini bus we had used on our last trip came hurtling towards the jetty to meet the Islay-Jura ferry which was crossing the strait. It was obviously working this time, rather than being replaced by the small fishing boat which we had had to use. Our ferry turned to dock at the port. Only, he misjudged the turn and took it round too far so then we needed to turn a full 360 and started to sail back again, much to the amusement and bewilderment of the passengers - and indeed the crew - not to mention the queue of cars on shore waiting to board. We sailed back far enough for the ferry to be turned round so that it come back and try again. The second docking was far more successful, and the entire crew came out on deck to watch it.
On our way to Bowmore we stopped at the Ardnahoe shop in Bridgend - after spending a few frustrating minutes trying to find it. It was located inside a whitewashed building in what looked like a square of old stables and outbuildings belonging to the adjoining large and impressive Islay house. Our interest was Jim McEwen who had retaken the role of master distiller at Bruichladdich when it re-opened just prior to our cask purchase. So he had personally overseen my whisky for some years. What was more, to support the new 9th distillery on the island (which was still being built) he was selling private casks which would be filled when the distillery started. However, these ones cost £7000. 10 times more than than our Bruichladdich cask. For a whisky with no provenance and whose flavour was completely unknown. But it was Jim, and it was Islay. In one respect it seemed fortuitous. And also a risk. While at the shop Husband bought a jacket - their first sale of the Ardnahoe waterproof.
We went to the B and B to check in. It had now changed hands and it seemed that the former owners had been a little economical with the true state of affairs of the property in terms of damp, lead pipes and rot. So it was very much still in a state of repair and they hadn't actually planned to be open, but had been getting increasing demand and, frankly, they needed the money.
Once settled, we wandered into town for a drink and to arrange our dinner plans. We did our obligatory wander down to the harbour before returning to the hotel for a quick nap before dinner. This time we finally went to Peatzaria having not made it there in previous visits. It was in a fabulous, high ceilings, tall windowed old building which wouldn't have looked out of place as a church.
The food was very speedy - lobster pizza for me, scallop and black pudding for Husband. Apparently it was all Islay fish, but was certainly extremely delicious. We admired the spectacular red sunset before heading back to the B and B where it was important to get a good night's sleep.
We woke the following day to blue sky and sunshine. It was a beautiful day and I was getting excited.
We had breakfast and then headed over to Bruichladdich. Camper vans and tents lined the shores of Loch Indaal, some people swimming in the water for their morning bath. Grazing cows and sheep were also having a morning paddle in the loch waters. We arrived at the distillery and hunted down Jenna. Everyone was very friendly. Everyone who passed us said good morning.
We got the pallet loaded - the van dropping a few inches under the weight. Then the cask was loaded in and a handful of wedges were located to keep it from rolling about.
Before leaving we had our first ever taste. Up until now, we had only had it cask strength. This was the moment of truth. It was good. Very good. Like the 15 year old we had tried back in 2003. We shared a taster with Jenna - who said we were the first people to offer her a sample in all the years she had worked there.
As we had time before the ferry back we went to Laphroaig to collect our ground rent. We realised that this was where it had all started - the secret Santa Laphroaig gift to me resulting in our getting together, then coming to Islay to claim our plot.
But visiting other distilleries while we were there, we discovered the recently reopened Bruichladdich. It seemed fitting to end at Laphroaig. So it started and ended there as it was possible we would not return. Then we went to Port Ellen to queue up for the ferry, and start the long drive home.
It was a calm sail through warm, hazy air, and we docked at Kennacraig without missing the harbour at 3.30pm. There was now just the small matter of 585 non stop miles back home. Husband kept going until the light - and heavy rain - ended. Although we had had to make occasional stops to re-secure the cask which kept working its way loose.
Now in darkness we made our first proper stop to get food. We had made it to Keele where all the food outlets were closed. It was only 10pm. But that day the Visa card system had failed. We took it in turns to go in and use the facilities, and pressed on through the horror of the M6 roadworks - which were pretty much along the length of the motorway. It was the middle of the night, but there was a lot of traffic, and we crawled boringly along, proceeding slowly along to protect the no men at work whatsoever.
To add insult to injury, when the roadworks ended we were then slowed down because of, according to the signs, pedestrians in the road. Well if there were, we never saw them.
After losing time from the never ending roadworks and other spurious reasons for slow us down, we had a good run down the M40 and A34. Needing to top up with fuel, we pulled off at a service station. Annoyingly, the slip road back onto the A34 was closed for resurfacing. So, frustratingly we had to go north for 3 miles to turn around. It was far, but it was the early hours of the morning and we had had enough of delays.
But it was clear running from then on and we finally arrived home at 3am, tired. The next day we unloaded the boxes and cask. I knew the cask had my name on it but in cleaning it, was impressed to find that the ends were white, which black printing so it looked even more impressive than I had imagined. And our epic journey, which in reality had started 15 years earlier, had finished in spectacular and memorable style.
