June-July 2025 Arran, Skye, Western Isles (Part 10 -- Harris)

Day 10 -- Saturday, the 5th July

After the exhausting day yesterday, we have a late start and have just enough time to freshen up before breakfast (poached eggs for me, today, overcooked again).

Poached eggs on toast and smoked salmon (adc and me)

Scrambled eggs on toast and smoked salmon (JS)

Our host is as distant as ever; he is probably just shy and wants to be unintrusive, but the effect only feels unwelcoming. During our whole stay, we wonder if he realises that and why he chose this career.

As we check the condition of our boots to decide whether we will hike today or not (they got a proper rinsing, yesterday), he tells us, "we have boot driers." Indeed they do -- they have three programmes: 3h, 6h or 9h. Yeah, cheers! That's us not hiking today, then. Wish he had said that when we arrived.

We drive to Tarbert. On the beaches and in the hills, we see the milestones (mileflags?) for today's 5km race and the half-marathon. We joke about it, but I can sense JS is seriously considering signing up. There are spaces left and there is time. We stop at the distillery.

Isle of Harris distillery is another disappointing experience. It comes across as a visitor centre that also makes whisky. Of course, that is a sure way to bring in cashflow, but, in terms of authenticity, this might as well be the business-class departure lounge of an airline, when compared to what we saw yesterday at Abhainn Dearg. One of the two members of staff is English, which, once again, perplexes me: what of all those claims of bringing employment to the local community? Perhaps she lives on the island all year round and has for decades; I just find it striking how many non-natives we see work bars and visitor centres in general, and on this trip in particular (Russian at Arran, American at Torabhaig, East Coast Scotland at Raasay [link to come] and, now, English at Harris). Anyway, they have a bar with two whiskies to taste: a batch of The Hearach (46%, OB, ex-Bourbon + ex-Oloroso + ex-Fino Casks), a batch of The Hearach (46%, OB, ex-Oloroso Casks). Neither of those is available to purchase. In the shop, they have three different batches of The Hearach in ex-Bourbon+Oloroso+Fino casks, and at least two different batches of The Hearach in ex-Oloroso casks. I am certain most people visiting (or, indeed, working in) the shop would not see the difference, but I find it sloppy. We leave empty-handed.

From there, we drive north and take the B687 west. We pass the ruins Bunavoneader Whaling Station, the village of Bun Abhainn Eadarra and the remotest tennis court of Bunabhainneadar. Perhaps one day, the Hearachs will decide which spelling they like best. For now, it is a a free-for-all.

Bunavoneader Whaling Station

We continue and park the car to start our hike to the North Harris Eagle Observatory. The weather is not great. Fortunately, I am wearing my new waterproof hiking trousers, and we have our waterproof "overtrousers." Well, adc and I do. JS left hers to dry at the B&B. I lend her mine. Why would I need two pairs anyway, eh?

Despite a few boggy patches, the walk is fairly unchallenging. The rain starts. We reach the hide. It has huge windows that should make for extraordinary vistas sheltered from the elements.

Extraordinary vistas

Devil's prefers the view indoors

Today, all we can see are clouds and fog. A couple of flies inside. A soggy stonechat outside. Slow day. The Belgians we saw on the path join and have a picnic in the hide. When they leave, we have a dram of 163.1 6yo 2018/2024 Smokin'! (58.1%, SMWS Society Cask, 1st Fill ex-Bourbon Barrel, 240b), then decide to go too. The weather is not improving, nothing will happen here.

The walk back under the rain with headwind is not enjoyable. For one, my bladder is full. For two, it is that kind of rain only found in Scotland that feels partly like floating in a cloud of pulverised droplets, partly like walking at the bottom of a swimming pool. My so-called waterproof trousers really are not. My knees and my bum are dry-ish, but even my underwear is wet; the waterproof pouch for my binoculars is wet inside; my waterproof rucksack is closer to a fishbowl; my TSOB badge is starting to discolour; my notebook, which I keep in my waterproof trouser pocket, is starting to bend; my trainers, which I am wearing because my boots are drying at the B&B, are now wetter than them. What a country! :-D

On the way back to Tarbert, I point out the bridge under which I spent a night in July 2000, when a sheep woke me up and gave me a good fright.

Here.

Later on, we call at the Hebrides People Visitor Centre. Closed. We head back to Leverburgh and change into something a little less wet. JS and I then go to the nearby brewery. adc stays in, in a bid to dry up.

The brewery is a cool place with good beers (local and Belgian) and a relaxed vibe. They play great music too -- I trainspot a Simple Minds song and they have a QR code for their whole playlist.

Enjoying a tasting flight

After about an hour, we walk back to the B&B, a walk that humidifies our rare drier clothes -- yes: it is raining again, though less hard. Time to freshen up and enjoy an in-house dinner. New guests have arrived. They are friendly and we chat a lot. They are driving through the isles south to north, the opposite way we are. Dinner is good too. Annoyingly, the main dish is exactly what I had yesterday at The Boatshed, and slightly less impressive. On the other hand, the dessert, homemade shortbread, is fantastic.

Strathdon Blue, Oat Cakes, Leaves and Roast Vine Tomatoes

Grilled Salmon, Citrus sauce, Herb Baby Potatoes, Tenderstem Broccoli

Scottish Strawberries, Shortbread, Cream

We have a dram of 163.1 6yo 2018/2024 Smokin'! (58.1%, SMWS Society Cask, 1st Fill ex-Bourbon Barrel, 240b), then aff tae bed!

June-July 2025 Arran, Skye, Western Isles (Part 9 -- Lewis)

Day 9 -- Friday, the 4th July

Breakfast! What do we want to drink? (apple juice or orange juice, tea or coffee) How do we want our eggs? (scrambled, boiled, poached)

In the undying words of Magritte:
"This is not a cranachan"

My soft-boiled eggs and soldiers

JS's scrambled eggs on toast with smoked salmon

adc's scrambled eggs on toast with smoked salmon

We start with granola and yoghurt topped with berries. adc does not fancy it today, she will never be asked again, nor served it. She will also not ask for it, for clarity. My boiled eggs are boiled too hard for soldiers and I regret declining the smoked salmon. No drinks refill (perhaps if one asks), and water is self-service from the faucet. Meh. It tastes good, which is all that matters, surely.

Our host is very pessimistic about our excursion happening tomorrow (remember we received a text yesterday telling us it will not happen today). We shall see.

Today, we will head to Lewis: since it is Friday, we may even find things open that would be closed at the weekend.

The long drive through South, then North Harris is stunning. Turquoise waters, white beaches (or pale orange, for nit-pickers), then rugged mountains and lunar landscapes, with Tarbert as the sole sizeable human settlement in the middle. What a feast for the eyes. I immediately fell in love with it in 2000. Today, I can see why. The island is spellbinding.

Without a clear delineation such as a ridge, a loch, or a bridge, we move to Lewis. Strangely, despite the lack of physical boundary, the shift is fairly obvious: Lewis is rugged, yet we are in rocky moorlands, now, and it seems less-sparsely populated.

We make a left onto the A858 towards Callanish. The weather is not good, here. But surely, stone circles do not need sunshine.

The first and main site is where the visitor centre is. Annoyingly, it is closed and heavily under construction. We manage to park and walk up the hill to the stones. There is another car park there which we could have used. Bah.

Even the wind and the rain do not completely ruin our enjoyment of this solemn place. Not even the tourists do -- and there are more than I expected.

There is a shortish walk that takes on all eight stones circles (yes, eight), but the weather is too wet even for that: the fields they are in are very boggy, and we will not have a place to dry until very late in the evening. We drive to the second circle. From there, we walk across a field (the bog?) to the third.

Callanish II

Callanish III

Sacrificial chicken bones? Rabbit bones? Hare? Pigeon? Jellyfish? Minke whale?

The other five circles are not marked, or not so clearly. We also grow increasingly soaked and frustrated by the weather. We call it quits.

Let me gather the sheep

At a distance, I see a blue double-decker bus that seems entirely out of place.

Looking closer, I can read: 'café'. They might well have warm soup. Let us find out!

WTF!?

It is, in fact, the alpaca farm of Callanish. Yeah, me too. We are given a tour of the farm. For animal lovers, it is heaven. Alpacas (obviously), pigs, ducks, hens, geese and devil-looking sheep. Soothing place. I almost forget it is raining. The radiant good mood of our guide helps too. I ask him how his American accent ended up here; he is from Massachussetts and has been travelling the world for four years. He volunteers at the farm in exchange for a trailer on site.

They have fourteen types of ducks, many I do not recognise

Indian Runners never fail to amuse

Geese? This three-horned demon scares me more!
He (Leo) lost the fourth in a fight with his offspring.

This one (Raleigh) had his horns tailored.
It gives him yet another level of menace

Another four-horned Jacob sheep (Dewi)

The pigs too are something else (Humpty)

And, of course, alpacas. Or Shoreditch camelids, if their shaggy
mop-top is anything to go by

They also have a café and a small eating room. And, indeed, they serve soup.

Lentil Soup and Naan (JS)

Crème of Mushrooms and a pastie of sorts (adc)

I take Tomato and Red Pesto soup. Bad choice: it is good, but the other two are better.

We end with a Chocolate Brownie, which is okay

The ruminants with a hipster cut observe us with envy

Around that time, we receive another text: as feared, our planned excursion will also not take place tomorrow, due to the weather. Time to explain myself a little bit.

For twenty-five years and for several reasons, a dream of mine has been to visit St Kilda. It is not a place one rocks up to on a whim. One of the very few places in the world to have double UNESCO status (for natural and for cultural significance), it is a desirable destination for more people than it can accommodate. It is also pretty inaccessible. As a result, the few companies that organise excursions there require to book long in advance (seven months, in my case, which is almost last-minute, in this context) and give loads of disclaimers. The deal is: candidates pick a two-day window, in the hope that the weather on one of those days will permit the excursion. For us, that window has now elapsed without the weather clearing up enough. As our host put it, in very English terms, last night [paraphrasing a little]: "The boat will be fine. The swells pose a bigger risk for the cargo. You. They would make for a very uncomfortable journey."

Later on, I will talk further with the operator, say I understand it is out of his control and ask if there is any chance of going on Sunday instead. He says he normally would do that, but he has a full private charter this Sunday... that is also at high risk of being cancelled, due to the weather.

So, with the realisation that twenty-five years of dreaming it and a year of planning just faced a brick wall, it takes the hearty food, the cute animals and a lot of determination to not slip into a well of misery and further ruin this trip for my travel companions and myself. To put it more succinctly, I am not my usual chirpy self. That St Kilda excursion is the only reason we are staying at Leverburgh, by the way, which is otherwise an impractical homebase to explore Harris and Lewis.

Fortunately, we have a busy schedule, this afternoon.

Only delayed by heavy traffic

From the farm, we head west across rough terrain, rugged landscape and desolate roads (that should be singular, really) to Ardroil. There, we come head-to-head with the goal of our visit: Abhainn Dearg. We park the car.

A visitor centre at the forefront of technology and environmentalism.
Also known as: a shed.

"Tis the shop you're looking for, is it?" says a man eating a sandwich. "I'll be with you in a moment."

We walk into what I know to be an old fishing shed and embark on something "a little different," as some would say.

"Todays rain is tomorrows whisky"
We will easily excuse the lack of apostrophes
thanks to the ginormous Glencairn

The bloke with a sarnie is Mark "Marco" Tayburn, the founder of the distillery. He spends less than five minutes explaining how he makes his whisky and where he sources his ingredients from (spoiler alert: all from Lewis, bar the yeast and the casks), then finishes with: "Right, so what would you like to try?"

There are only two expressions at the moment. A Bourbon-matured ten-year-old at 46% and a Sherry-cask matured at cask strength (63.!%? It is hard to read). We try both. To say they are the best whiskies in the world would objectively be an exaggeration. Yet, at this time, in this place at the end of the world, it feels logical and self-evident.

The current Bourbon cask at 46%

The current Sherry cask at 63.1(?)%

It is important to note that all bottlings of Abhainn Dearg are single cask. The distillery bottles on site, and does not have the equipment to vat casks. Cask numbers are difficult to decipher, as are the ABV: they are written by hand on each label. After so many labels, the hand is less steady. :-)

There is no visit per se: the harvest was bad, owing to the weather, so there is no grain to distill. The plant is currently not in operation.

I pour the man a sample of 163.1 6yo 2018/2024 Smokin'! (58.1%, SMWS Society Cask, 1st Fill ex-Bourbon Barrel, 240b). He is driving to Stornoway tonight to watch the rugby and says he will enjoy it very much. I flick through the pages of the guestbook. Incredibly enough, the latest visitors who left a message were Belgian. They visited today.

Under the watchful eye of this creature

I use the loo then thank Marco. He shakes my hand and tells me he enjoyed our visit and was glad to meet us ("you and your cailleach" are his exact words). Time to go.

Nature is taking over the car park

This has been one of, if the not the best distillery experience I have had, because the most authentic. In that regard, I would compare it to our first tour of StilL 630. No-nonsense taken to a welcome extreme. Whatever I may write here does not faithfully translate it; Marco oozes dedication and communicative enthusiasm. It really has to be experienced to be understood.

To quote two people who have said it better than me:

Jacob Ayling-Ellis: "The tour felt more like a casual chat with an old friend than a rehearsed scripted mass produced money grab."

WhiskyLovingPianist: "In many ways, being here is the pinnacle of my whisky journey."

We undertake the long drive to Stornoway ourselves, hoping to be there before everything folds for the night. After our adventure in Ardroil, it is a return to civilisation of sorts.

A bustling metropolis

Some are keen to display their convictions
(it helps to know Trump's mother was from this very island)

We book a table for later, then head to Lews Castle (no 'i'). It is closed, but the castle grounds and some signs provide some interest.

Especially this one

The castle ground are inhabited by black rabbits

We pop into The Island Spirit and find a much better selection than anywhere on Skye (including their last bottle of Poit Dhubh 21yo, which, we discovered recently, is now discontinued). They let us try things, but politely decline my offer to try something I brought. They should know better.

From there, we drive to the Butt of Lewis, which is not close by. En route, we pass The Wee Studio, the recording home of Peat & Diesel.

The Butt is a windswept, rain-beaten giant lighthouse perched atop impressive sharp cliffs. There is also an old man (or a stack, at the very least) and a beautiful, natural infinity pool.

Butt of Lewis lighthouse

The stack in question

The "infinity" pool on the right, a couple of metres higher than the ocean

It is all stupendously beautiful. It is also wet. We try to find an RSPB hide near Loch Stiapabhat, but quickly decide it is too wet and late to watch three soggy ducks. We drive back to Stornoway for dinner at The Boatshed. We are early: I somehow remembered our reservation to be thirty minutes earlier than the actual time. Bah!

Chargrilled Hebridean Scallops (JS)

Charles Macleod Haggis & Black Pudding Tower (adc)

Hebridean Seafood Platter (me)

Scottish Salmon Fillet (me)

White Fish of the Day (Monkfish) (adc)

Hebridean Mixed Seafood Pot (JS)

The food is excellent. I choose poorly once more: adc's starter is much more to my liking than mine.

A Belfast bloke at the table next to us asks me if I have eaten langoustine before and tries to teach me the right technique. I tell him that I have and thank him; my unorthodox technique avoids lacerated hands.

The drive back to Leverburgh is very long. In total darkness, with thick fog in the hills of Harris (especially in the south), it is quite the experience. Fortunately and astonishingly, we do not see a single car for the whole length of Harris, which is over fifty kilometres. We reach Leverburgh around midnight.