October 2024 Islay (Part 4 -- Jura)

 Day 4 -- Tuesday, the 15th October

Early start, today. We head out in the darkness and drive to Port Askaig, which we reach before sunrise. Indeed, we are aiming for (and make) the 7:35 ferry across the Sound of Islay -- to Jura. It is exciting indeed. JS and I have not been since 2008. adc has never been.

The crossing is fairly straightforward for the crew, perhaps less so for us. The first car in, we are stuck behind the drawbridge, with little visibility, but close enough to the water that we see every wave up close. It literally splashes the car a few times. Because of the limited visibility, we do not immediately realise that the ferry is progressing sideways, like a crab: the current is so strong that the propellers are used mostly to stay on a straight line.

Anyway, ten minutes after boarding, we disembark in Feolin, then drive up the A846 -- virtually the only road on the island. There is a huge articulated lorry behind us, and I am keen to not let it catch up. It is a pity, in a way, because there is much to see: dotted in the breath-taking scenery are deer. Everywhere. We stop often to take pictures.

This is their land

Their house

We drive by Craighouse, where we lose the lorry, and continue all the way past Ardlussa (and past the Lussa Gin distillery), where a sign reads: "End of public road in 3 miles." We press on, and, after a while on a single-track, desolate road, come across a car. A few manoeuvres to let it pass, then I flag it down:

tOMoH: "Is there much further to go?"
Driver: "SoRRy?"
tOMoH: "Vous êtes Français?"
Driver: "Oui."
tOMoH: "C'est encore loin?"
Driver: "C'est la fin de la route à 200-300m."

The Arona on the Jura speedway

We push onwards to the end of the Ardlussa estate, where the road terminates indeed. Further on is a mere track, totally unsuitable for vehicles other than four-by-four. There, we find a parking spot and a plaque. I fancy the hike to Barnhill and Corryvreckan, one day, but not today: a twenty-two-kilometre round-trip, it would take the rest of the day. We take a few pictures and turn around, satisfied that we have been standing close to the edge of the world.

Back southwest, we stop in Tarbert and park. A hike awaits us: the coast to coast. At this point, where the Ardlussa and Tarbert estates meet, the island is but a couple of kilometres wide. 'Estates,' by the way, says it all: the island is divided into seven private properties -- like a lot of Scotland.

The walk is simple and beautiful. Sea birds and deer abound. Low tide in Loch Tarbert makes for a gloomy sight. We enjoy a sip of Isle of Jura d.1976 (57.5%, Harleyford Manor for Geoffrey Folley, b.1980s) by the loch , and it has never tasted better. Here, it just makes sense, its imperfections blending in with the ruggedness of the surrounding landscape.

Loch Tarbert at low tide

We retrace our steps to the road, then continue to the east coast. We take a detour through a field to see the Tarbert Standing Stone, before driving off to Craighouse for lunch.

Tarbert Standing Stone

Covered in moss and lichen

The other side

Once there, we are turned away: the Jura Hotel, once home to the best chips in all the land, no longer serves lunch. Bah!

The Antler's it is, then, where seafood is in short supply, today. JS has a Tomato and Veg Quiche, adc has Fish & Chips (the best fish in a fish & chips she has had, she reminds us for the rest of our stay), and I have (fairly-mediocre-but-oh!-so-comforting) Mac and Cheese. We vote against dessert.

Woke Brigade, look elsewhere!

Fish & Chips (adc)

Tomato and Veg Quiche (JS)

Mac and Cheese (tOMoH)

It is time to hit the distillery. [notes to follow]

We are out of there fairly swiftly, and slip into hiking boots again. The Craighouse view walk is short and sweet, with a beautiful view east onto Kintyre and even Arran. There is a view of the north panorama, but it is inaccessible, owing to overgrowth.

With the window in the frame, one gets a better
appreciation of just how far they are on the horizon

It is soon time to head back to Feolin ferry, though, and we will probably have to squeeze it to make it on time too. En route, we come stuck behind a car, stopped in the middle of the road. WTF? Ah! Deer to the right. We stop for pictures ourselves, as they drive away. A couple of hundred metres later, we catch up to them as they get out of the car for more snaps. I stop behind them: it is the French from this morning. We chat a bit.

Frenchman: "Did you see some deer?"
tOMoH: "Deer? No."
Frenchmen: "Ha! Ha!"

They have been in Scotland for a couple of weeks. It is their fifth stay on the island.

tOMoH: "Did you catch the northern lights, last week?"
Frenchman: "Not from here. We were on Arran."
Out come the phones and the jaw-dropping pictures. We are jealous.

I share a dram of Isle of Jura d.1976 (57.5%, Harleyford Manor for Geoffrey Folley, b.1980s), then we leave for the ferry. We are there with twenty minutes to spare, which makes us first in line, and gives us time to decide where to dine: just across the water.

We board the ship, recognise the sailor from this morning, and remark he has long shifts. "I'm still here until 22:00," he says. "And at 8:30 tomorrow, it starts again."

We disembark after a pleasant crossing, park straight off the boat, and enter Port Askaig Hotel's restaurant.

We receive a frosty welcome, to say the least. Apparently, we came through the wrong door (the other one reads "Snug Pub", and I have not been here in sixteen years, which means I do not remember protocol) and are made to go out and back in. The landlady does not hide her disappointment when I ask for a jug of water (she rolls her eyes), but she brings us food menus too. Happily, things improve from then onward.

adc is looking for seafood. Not everything is available, and some things she has had already during this stay. She orders scampi. The landlady explains that they are good, but frozen and not local, unlike everything else on the menu. A nice touch. She puts music on, which lifts the mood too.

As we settle in, it becomes obvious this is a locals' pub, and said locals seem used to being amongst themselves; some talk in grunts, some watch videos on speaker, and the whole can perhaps feel intimidating. To ease up the sitch, the food is excellent.

JS and adc have the Cullen Skink

I have a Cream of Broccoli

Salmon in Basmati Rice (JS)

Venison Burger with Chips (adc and me)

As we make our way through the food and the evening, the landlady becomes friendlier and chattier. I go to the bar to order whiskies. I ask about the music: it is the second time this particular track (a Scottish version of About You Now) plays tonight, and we have been hearing it everywhere, on this trip. She has loads to say about it -- obviously a fave. It is sung by Skipinnish or Tide Lines, who share the singer Robert Robertson. Alongside Runrig, that is all she will play in the pub. She tells us about her favourite song of theirs, a cover of Mark Knopfler's Piper To The End, and how they sang it in this very pub during a private session for her. It is a moving story. While she tells me, it dawns on me that I may recognise this voice from somewhere.

It is an easy drive back to Bowmore, where we enjoy our last doughnut (Pumpkin Dulce de Leche) and a dram of Laphroaig 28yo b.2018 (44.4%, OB Limited Edition, Quarter Casks + Bourbon Barrels + Sherry Butts).

At the pub, I wondered if Tide Lines might be the band who sing the song I became obsessed with on our previous trip, and have still not been able to identify, two years later. Tonight, thanks to an Internet search from the cottage, I find out they are indeed. The song I am after has never had a physical release, however: it is an acoustic version of a stadium banger, so different from the original that, had one played the OG to me, I would not have flinched.

It is difficult to describe how happy I am to have identified that one. It is the perfect ending to a wonderful day. To think that, with the welcome we got in Port Askaig, I almost told the ladies we would take our appetite elsewhere!...