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A magical location, a mysterious man called Marco, a HarleyDavidson and a sneaky sample of still-maturing whisky –

Tom Morton

reports from the new distillery on the Isle of Lewis

PHOTOGRAPHY: JOHN MacLEAN

THE SCOTCH MALT WHISKY SOCIETY

sun-kissed beach in theBahamas; the first runof the day on a crisp,new-laundered RockyMountain slope; catching theperfect reef break off Hawaii’s NorthShore... nothing compares to this.I’m standing next to a decayingcaravan on the Black Mount, sippingbad instant coffee and gazingout across Rannoch Moor infull, autumnal glory. A miasma of mist swirling in beams of goldenlight, the copper-and scarlet glintof leaves, and a tame stagmunching on someone’sabandoned vindaloo.Perfectionwould accompany this wondrousHighland morning with, perhaps, anaged Highland Park, teardroppedwith water from the burn. And aforgiving pony for transport, ratherthan a Citroen C4. Actually, Ishould have been progressing northaboard a restored, customisedSuzuki GS1000 motorcycle, butcircumstances (wives, weather,weakness) have conspired to insertme into a car.I am, however, in a search of amotorcycle adventure, even inNovember, even in a country askillingly cold. I am also on a whiskymission, to go, boldly, where no-one has been – to the western limitsofdistillation.Tomixthreelanguages, to the absolute ultimathule – the edge of the world –of uisge beatha.Somewhere on the Isle of Lewis,a mysterious gentleman called Mark (“call me Marco – everybody elsedoes”) Tayburn has built a distillery. Abhainn Dearg, translated as RedRiver, is in production. Little isknown about it. And so I am heading for Ullapool,there to catch the Stornoway ferry.It’s 15 years since my last trip to theWestern Isles, researching Britain’smost remote golf courses for a book.I was travelling then on a KawasakiZ650, with a set of clubs strappedto the rack. Abiding memoriesinclude a night drinking Islay Mist inSouth Uist with a man whose fatherhelped liberate the wrecked SSPolitican of its cargo. Whisky Galore,indeed.The Abhainn Dearg distillery is notthe only such project under way inthe Hebrides. Proposals are welladvanced for The Isle of BarraDistillery, which has detailedplanning permission and in whosecasks of the future you can alreadyinvest. Less-than-legal stills havealways existed in the Western Isles.Whisky is in many a place name,

AllQuietonthe

Western Front?

CONTINUED OVERLEAF

CARNISH, ISLE OF LEWIS

Tom Morton was photographed at10.50am on 6 November at Carnish, Uig looking out over the Atlantic coming in atUig Sands. In the distance are the villagesof Crowlista and Timsgarry.The hill in the distance is called Forsnaval

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from ‘Still Burn’ to the ‘Still Bar’aboard the Isle of Lewis, the ferryI find myself swaying gently on aswe leave Ullapool.The fine weather is holding as Iarrive in Stornoway, but darknessfalls quickly, and so there is littleto remind me of the weeks I spentscrabbling for stories here duringthe Bank of Credit and CommerceInternational crisis, when the localcouncil lost £23 million. How quaintthat sum seems now, given all that’shappened!But I do meet up with John, theonly photographer I know whodoesn’t drive a car. “I have thoughtof getting a motorbike,” he says. Ah yes, motorbikes. Might there, I venture, be any chance of obtaininga motorcycle temporarily for meto indulge my ‘Born to be Mild inthe Western Isles’ fantasies? “Would you prefer a Harley Davidson or aSuzuki?” he asks. As I already havea Suzuki, I plump for the Harley. Get your motor running! Head out onthe single track road equipped withpassing places!But first there is whisky to dealwith. I phone Marco. “Ach, Tom”comes a very island voice. “Yousound just like that fellow out of Eastenders. You know, that wideboy. That chancer. I can see how yougot into broadcasting!”I arrange that John and I (I willgive John a lift, though I’m temptedto see how he gets on bussing orhitching) out to the remote north-western part of Lewis, to Carnish,by Uig, which is where the distilleryhas been built on the site of anold salmon hatchery.Next day, I meet Dave Halliday,recently laid off from the localtweed mill, who allows me totrundle his Harley DavidsonSportster 1200 through some of the most spectacular coastalscenery in Europe. Tolsta is a beachof eye-wateringly golden hue.

ave’s is the rustiestHarley I have ever laideyes on. But it throbsand burbles in therequisite manner, and it is thrillingto play Easy Rider in the WesternIsles, stopping in passing placesand waving at pensioners in pick-up trucks.“Are you a biker? I used to havea Suzuki Katana, tuned. What abike that was!” The speaker is MarcoTayburn. An hour’s drive out of Stornoway, into increasingly-narrow roads and rugged scenery, has takenus to Uig, which has yet anotherbeach of jaw-dropping beauty. Thisis where the famous Lewischessmen, a chess set carved toresemble two Viking armies, werediscovered, and a massive woodenfacsimile of the King towers over asmall car park. It’s interesting justhow Viking these islands are.I’m here, at the most westerlydistillery in Scotland. The oldsalmon hatchery may look untidyand in some disarray, but once you get past the carved AbhainnDearg sign and the excise-sabotaged sma’ still used as agatepost, you enter a veryfunctional operation indeed.This is not the ﬁrst legal distilleryin Lewis. Stewart Mackenzie of Seaforth, owner of the Isle of Lewisbetween 1825 and 1844, built one inStornoway that staggered from onecrisis to the next. A hint as to thecauses of its demise may lie in the

term still use in Lewis for a too-liberal serving of whisky a ‘MacNeeDram’. Mr MacNee was the last headdistiller before the operation failed.

Marco, on the other hand,looks like a man to whom failureis not an option. Everyone in

It is thrilling toplay Easy Rider inthe Western Isles,stopping in passingplaces and wavingat pensioners.

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