Map 60 – In Heaven

Today was a day I had been looking forward to very much. I was going back to Islay. I have a very soft spot for this island, partly because it is a very lovely, peaceful, place; partly because it holds some fond memories for me; but maybe most of all because it is the source of (in my opinion) some of the very finest single malt whisky produced anywhere in the world. Add to that some highly picturesque locations for my favourite distilleries, and the chance to visit them and sample distillery exclusive whisky, and you begin to get a picture of why I love being here. Oh, and the cycling is great, too.

Somewhere in all of that there must be enough of interest to even the non-whisky lover (such as my wife, Jenni) because it turns out that non-whisky drinkers also come here. She chose to make this the first part of our time cycling together in the full knowledge (because it is not the first time) that we would be compelled to visit the likes of Ardbeg, Lagavulin, Laphroaig and taste whatever was on offer to whisky pilgrims like myself.

In a nutshell, I have just described several hours of our day today. It was a bright, breezy day; warm when you were in the sun and out of the wind; but cool the rest of the time. We took the 10am ferry from Kennacraig to lovely Port Ellen, with its ring of white houses spread right around its natural crescent shaped sandy bay. From here there are three world famous distilleries within walking distance, and all are not to be missed. But first, to see more of this stretch of coastline, we cycled up the tiny, quiet road beyond Ardbeg for another 4 miles until we reached the ruined church of Kildalton, surrounded by graves and the magnificent 1,300 year old Kildalton Cross. While there we happened upon a picnic table with a blackboard leaned against it, advertising Cakes at the Cross. It was an unmanned cake stall, with freshly baked and wrapped pieces of cake for sale via an honesty box. Where else could you confidently leave money and food outside for others to enjoy like this? It was a delight.

Suitably impressed by the remoteness of the location, its surrounding hills and the ancient churchyard, we arrived a little later at Ardbeg ready for a cup of tea. Which is exactly what I had as an accompaniment to the free drams they gave me. Not huge measures, luckily, but enough limited edition whisky to enjoy and savour, made right here, knowing that this might be the only place on earth where it will ever be drunk.

We repeated the ritual in Lagavulin, who worked us hard for our tasting, and then Laphroaig, who were positively giving away the contents of all kinds of unusual bottlings. Then we cycled north west for an hour into the wind, along the longest and straightest of roads, to pretty Bowmore, Islay’s tiny capital. Here we made no attempt to visit a fourth distillery in the same afternoon. That would, frankly, have been silly.

And then it was on for our final hour of really quite spectacularly delightful cycling around the broad sweep of Loch Indaal. We rode 12 miles in a huge arc past miles of sand dunes with just the odd solo camper van taking advantage of the solitude, and past Bruichladdich Distillery (see tomorrow) to a point beyond pretty whitewashed Port Charlotte, where we found our Airbnb. looking out across the water at Bowmore where we had been an hour ago, some four miles as the crow flies. Rarely can there have been a time when we could see exactly where we were going, or indeed had been, so very distant and yet so clearly visible. It is 10 miles in a straight line over the water to The Oa, the most southerly, wild tip of Islay, clearly visible and apparently much closer in the evening sunshine, which is still around well after 9pm in early August.

The only possible fly in the ointment would be food, or the scarcity of options to get it. We were organised enough to book our dinner at the community cafe that sits next to the campsite in Port Charlotte. It was busy, and got a lot busier after we arrived at 7pm. A large group of cyclists that we had seen earlier on the ferry, and again at Ardbeg distillery, had arrived in a state of desperation. The chef at the Port Charlotte Hotel had called in sick. It was this or nothing. Such are the challenges in these outlying corners of post pandemic Britain. Never pass an open cafe!