The Whisky Trail
by John Stuart Clark
Freedom and whisky gang
thegither,
Tak aff your dram.
Robert Burns
This is a jolly through Speyside, from the Grampians to the Moray Firth, where
more than half of Scotland's whisky distilleries are located. Fittingly it is
a journey that follows the course of the River Spey and three of its tributaries.
From its source on the Feithmusach watershed, Gulraggie Burn flows into the
River Livet then into the Avon (pronounced A'tan), merging into the Spey at
Ballindalloch. Fitting because water joins with earth, air and fire in the mysterious
alchemy of the four elements that conspire together to produce visge beatha
- the water of life.
It was the Irish who gave whisky its name. There it is called whiskey,
a corruption introduced by the English. They claim the distillation process
was first applied to grains by St Patrick, though contradictory evidence from
the East suggest grains and spirits were long considered essential foods for
a healthy life. Almost certainly the Scottish Celts learned the process from
the Irish Celts, but where the Irish use a combination of grains in their mash,
Scotch whisky is distilled exclusively from barley.
Beyond the hills, Speyside is rich farming country. The lowlands still provide
the bulk of the grain used by the many distilleries that crowd into the corners
of highland glens. Traditionally 'aguavitae' was produced by farmers and crofters
for their personal delectation, any surplus bartered for goods or sold for cash.
In the 1570s so much local barley was being malted, the area came close to famine,
at which point the English stepped in and passed an Act of Parliament forbidding
anybody from producing whisky. Anybody except 'Earls, Lords, Barons and Gentlemen,
for their use'.
So began the long conflict between Sassenach and Scot over the drink. It continues
today, with the Excise Tax on Scotch nearly double that on the equivalent alcohol
content of any other beverage. Whisky has become the most legislated against
product in the UK and Scotland's greatest export. Perhaps what really rankles
the English is that whisky reserves in bonded wharehouses are worth more than
the total gold reserves of Great Britain plc.
The hills we ride are splattered with the blood of smugglers and 'guagers' (Excise
men). More than a few of the distilleries we encounter began operation in a
cowshed. Located in a discreet fold of Mannoch Hill, Cardow is known as the
'queen of whiskies', partly for its delicate spicy flavour, partly in recognition
of the strong line of Cumming women who conjoured up liquid gold while their
husbands tended the farm. Their skill at deceiving the guagers reads like a
novel by Sir Walter Scot.
The Glenlivet was the first in the area to become legit, a move that wasn't
popular with farmer George Smith's neighbours. The local laird, the Duke of
Gordon, encouraged Smith to go overground, and furnished him "with a pair
of hair triggered pistols" that were "never out of my belt for years".
Fortunately contraband Glenlivet had become highly prized in court circles,
and it wasn't long before many of the 200 other illicit stills in the area followed
Smith's example and became licensed.
But we begin our ride at 1,160 ft in the beautiful village of Tomintoul. Built
entirely from local materials, it was founded in 1779 by the laird (an earlier
Duke of Gordon) and is one of two claiming to be the highest in the Highlands.
Before that date, settlement in this isolated spot was inconceivable. In 1754
the government built a supply line (labelled 'Old Military Road' on the OS,
now the A939) through the Lecht pass, and where it bisected pack horse trails
up Avonside and over Feithmusach, Tomintoul was established.
Three years ago, the self-proclaimed laird brought welcomed notoriety to this
quiet community. Much to the resident's delight, Lord Williams was a munificent
chap. He invested over a million to renovate the delapidated Gordon Arms Hotel
and convert Cambell's Corner Shop into the stylish Clockhouse restaurant. Lord
Williams, Tony to his colleagues, was in fact the £32,000 a year assistant financial
director to the Metropolitan Police overseeing the Fraud Squad's accounts. Tony
is currently serving seven years for his part in a £4 million swindle of the
Met.
The first 16 miles (25K) contour round the broad unblemished slopes that sweep
up to Carn Laith and Ben Rinnes, whose run-off provides the source liquid for
so many distilleries. Cemented in their side, heavily padlocked steel caps guard
each company's fountain head. So many whiskies have the suffix Glenlivet, it
is surprising to find just two within the eponymous glen. George Smith's product
had become the benchmark for fine malts and, as others became legitimate, they
adopted the name, regardless of where they were located. In 1880 his son took
legal action against the pretenders, establishing that there was only one Glenlivet,
now called The Glenlivet.
At the deserted sheep market of Ballindalloch we join the Spey Way, and follow
it for most of the rest of our jaunt. Established in 1981, this is a three day
walk, largely on the back of the old Speyside Railway. Once an off-shoot of
the Great North of Scotland Railway, it was closed by the dreaded Dr. Beeching
in 1971, despite a steady freight traffic of grain, whisky, timber and farm
products. From Ballindalloch the walk can be cycled, and having done both, it
is definately more a cyclist's joy than a rambler's.
From McFarlane's girder bridge we finally look down on the sparkling clear Spey,
100 hundred miles long and the fastest flowing river in Great Britain. It drains
a catchment of 1,153 square miles, including the Cairngorm Mountains, but is
unusually tame in its upper reaches. In its maturity, which we shadow, the Spey
becomes a glistening torrent of flumes and eddies raging between rapids. After
the Tay and Tweed, it is the country's third most important salmon river.
Ever aware of it, riders will catch few glimpses of the river along the railway
path from Ballindalloch to Craigelachie. Through the trees, fly fishermen and
women might be sighted, crutch deep in the Spey, flicking their lines across
its waters. After Fachabers we pedal the levee passed the gillies huts. Here
you could encounter a table or two groaning with champagne. It can cost hundreds
of pounds for a day ticket to fish, and the gillies ensure that not only their
client's lines are tight.
The centre of the huntin' and fishin' set is Charlestown of Aberlour. Establishing
new Speyside settlements was a popular passtime at the turn of the Nineteenth
Century. This one was set up by Charles Grant of Western Elchies to satisfy
every laird's need to 'collect a number of Mechaniks and other industrious people
into some centricall spot'. It is still the business centre of the area, home
to the manufacturers of the best shortbread in the world. As something of a
snub however, locals just call the place Aberlour, the name of the original
hamlet before GrantÕs egotistic scheme.
Exceptional for its wide tree-lined high street, Aberlour is worth a stop. The
Village Store certainly merits a visit. From 1922 to 1978 Affie MacIntyre meticulously
minded his store. When he died, 60 years of stock and ledgers were still in
place on their original Victorian counters and shelves. The new owners decided
Affie's time capsule had to be shared, and have thrown open the doors for the
public to poke around. It is free to go in but the place is poorly publicised,
allowing plenty of space for the dribble of visitors to open drawers and discover,
amongst other things, sparkling new cycle lamps from the 1940s.
Since climbing into the saddle we have been riding through Crown Estates. The
Glenlivet and Fochabers Estates total 71,000 acres of Sovereign property, not
the Queen's personal, but hers as a hereditary possession 'in right of Crown'.
Two of seven Estates in Scotland, surplus revenues from each go to the Exchequer
to pay for the Civil List. Like the legislation against whisky, the timber rich
Crown Estates are a source of friction between the English and Scots. Before
the Crown Commissioners sequested it in lieu of death penalties, Speymouth Forest
was part of the extensive lands of the Dukes of Gordon.
Strapped for cash, the fourth Dukes sold the standing timber to shipbuilder
William Osbourbe in 1785. For a short period, the forest provided the planking
for hulls being built at Garmouth. Transporting the lumber was a matter of sliding
logs into the Spey and relying on the skills of an extraordinary group of Ballindalloch
men called 'floaters'. It must have been quite a sight to watch as many as eighty
floaters coaxing a fleet of 20,000 logs down this turbulent river, especially
since part of their payment was free whisky.
As with the timber, our journey's end is at the sea, at the constantly shifting
shinglebar in Spey Bay. Check the OS map. Between the tides and the river current,
it squirms and contorts, and is studied closely by academics. To protect Kingston
from flooding, an artificial channel frequently has to be dredged for the main
torrent. When the Spey is in full spring flood it can rise as much as 17 ft,
drowning much of the route we have just covered.
But Spey Bay is the most entrancing of places to end a long ride. Behind you
are the mountains and Tomintoul, but in the foreground it is the ospreys that
catch your eye, hovering above the river, selecting their salmon dinner. Before
you the North Sea, and on a clear day, the distant coast of Caithness. Suddenly
black shapes with flashing fins go arching through the waves.
What better way to conclude a liquid journey than to chill out before a glorious
seascape, beneath a spectacular orange and purple sunset, watching dolphins
leap and frolick in the brine. Here's to hedonism!
© John Stuart Clark