Islay Whisky Academy Kinship Host, Neill Murphy, looks back on his first visit to the island and considers the lasting effect of the trip.

Something about Islay appealed to me long before I ever went there. I think growing up in the shadow of Scotland’s largest city encouraged an interest in small communities in out-of-the-way places, but there’s more to it than that. I’ve always been drawn to the extreme. In all my interests, whether it be music, film or flavour, the bold approach has always been a hook, and when I began to explore whisky, it was only a matter of time before I was enticed by the spirit of this tiny island off the west coast.

My whisky epiphany came through a dram of Highland Park, and the famous Orkney dram was followed by bottles of Jura and Glenlivet, but the whisky of Islay is never far from any conversation on the subject, and I kept hearing how unique and distinctive it was. Soon enough, I had acquired a bottle of Laphroaig, and with one sip, my mind was well and truly blown. I had never tasted anything like it in my life, and I became determined to delve deeper.

Soon, I had arranged a trip to the island with my wife and four of our friends. We had done our homework in terms of distilleries, but the realities of island life came as something of a culture shock. None of us drove at the time, and we had decided to fly to avoid a lengthy journey by bus and ferry. The internet vaguely advised that a local bus service passed the airport just after our flight arrived, so we hurried from the small terminal building and made for the roadside, where we waited in the bone-deep wind for our transport to show up.

After what seemed an age, a Royal Mail van came trundling along the road and pulled up beside us. The woman driving asked where we were going, then told us to hop in. “No!” I said confidently, “Thank you very much, but we’ll wait for the bus”. Somehow, I knew what she was going to say before she said it. “This is the bus”. I climbed aboard and tried not to look like a clueless tourist, but that ship had long since sailed. Fortunately, there was little time to sulk, because we were soon pulling into Bowmore. After dropping our bags at the accommodation, a lovely house near the famous round church, we made straight for Bowmore Distillery, just in time to join their 11 am tour.

Bowmore was our first stop, largely out of convenience, but as the oldest distillery on the island, it was a logical first port of call. It’s also one of the few left in Scotland with an active malt-floor, making it an essential stop on any whisky pilgrimage. The tour concluded with a few samples, all of which were excellent and a bottle of the 15-year-old was purchased so that we could share a dram back at the house.

Looking back now, we were remarkably disorganised that weekend. We had only three days on the island, one of which was a Sunday when very little was open, yet we had nothing concrete planned for the Friday afternoon. We fancied making the trip over to Jura, but soon found out that it would be near impossible without some transport. Since we already had trips to the south of the island arranged for the following day, we resolved to plan our next move over lunch at the Harbour Inn.

After much discussion, we decided to give Bruichladdich a call, but we were met with the unfortunate news that the distillery was currently out of commission due to maintenance work. They did, however, extend an invitation to come and have a look around their warehouse, after which they would pour us a dram or two at the shop. It seemed an offer too good to refuse, so we arranged a taxi and were soon heading to the Rhinns peninsula on the western side of the island.

Bruichladdich was a whisky I had only fleetingly come across before, but whilst I recognised its quality, it seemed, to my novice mind, somehow not befitting of the island because of its (mostly) unpeated style. However, I soon found out that there was much more to this distillery than I first thought. The warmth of the welcome we received that day, coupled with the magnificent whisky we sampled, changed my opinion completely.

We tried an array of exceptional drams, including my first-ever taste of Octomore, poured by the late Duncan McGillivray. When it came time to depart, we enquired which way to Port Charlotte, but Duncan wouldn’t hear of us walking in the rain, so we found ourselves riding in a Bruichladdich minibus to the Port Charlotte Hotel, where we spent the next few hours discussing the events of the day with anyone who would engage with us. Since that turned out to be just about everyone in the bar, our taxi back to Bowmore had to be rescheduled on three separate occasions.

Bowmore’s central location and small selection of dining options make it the perfect place to stay when visiting Islay. That night, we enjoyed dinner in the Indian Restaurant, which, to our dismay, turned out to be BYOB, something we later agreed was a blessing after the day’s consumption. The rest of the evening was spent in the Lochside Hotel, drinking and singing the night away in the best of company.

Saturday morning brought a round of tender heads, but there was no time to feel sorry for ourselves because another taxi was already on its way, bound for the Kildalton coast. Our first stop was Laphroaig, home of the first Islay whisky I ever tasted. There we would enjoy a selection of drams paired with blue cheese, orange slices and chocolate-covered coffee beans.

After a visit to the shop, we left, with one of our party clutching a doggy bag of the aforementioned coffee beans. We made our way to the main road on foot and headed towards Lagavulin. A quick lining of our bellies with sandwiches hurriedly bought from the co-op that morning, and we were ready for tasting number 2, a line-up that featured new-make spirit followed by 16-year-old, Distiller’s Edition, Distillery Exclusive and 12-year-old cask strength malts. At one point, the bag of coffee beans reappeared, to be shared among the whole group, and we were soon having a whale of a time once more.

By sheer luck, it turned out that a bus was due as we readied to depart, and we made for Port Ellen, where an excellent meal was to be had at the Islay Hotel. Another taxi and we were back home, freshening up and preparing ourselves to head out once more to sample the delights of a Saturday night in Bowmore.

Mercifully, Sunday morning brought a change of pace, though admittedly that was because it took some of us, myself included, the whole morning to get out of bed. An afternoon stroll along the sand blew away the cobwebs, and we made for dinner at the Bowmore Hotel only to discover the bar in full swing. Apparently, there had been a football match that day between Bowmore and Port Ellen. We didn’t ask who won. There didn’t seem to be any need if the celebrations were anything to go by. I remember telling one Gentleman that we had visited Port Ellen the day before, to which he replied, “Ach, the only good thing about Port Ellen is the road to Bowmore!”

And so our visit to the whisky island drew to a close. The next day, we were back at the airport and onwards to the mainland. It was a beautiful day, and my window seat on the plane gave stunning views of the west coast of Scotland, visible in such detail, it was as though I were looking at a map. I did my best to enjoy it whilst trying really hard to stop my head from disintegrating from all the whisky I had enjoyed over the course of the weekend. Always drink responsibly, people.

Sometimes you leave a place, and your mind turns immediately to your next destination, your next adventure, but there some places are harder to shake off. Islay is one of them. It takes up residence within you and creates a yearning that can only be quietened by setting foot on the island again. It took my wife and I two years to make it back, but make it back we did, this time with four-month-old baby Isla in tow. It’s become a regular family holiday destination in the years since.

Islay never fails to astonish me with its beauty. The light is astounding, the coastline magnificent, the weather… um… interesting. The people are among the warmest you will encounter, and the whisky, oh the whisky…

Great whisky can be made anywhere in the world, nowadays, but nowhere else is there a convergence of such magnificent spirit in such a small geographical area. Islay feels about as close to heaven as it’s possible to get in this world, and every day spent away from it is a day planning a return.