Islay and the World O’Whisky
By Melanie A. Katzman, Ph.D.
"We turn water into whisky," claims Gus, our boat captain. Gus is also Islay’s Yamaha Motors rep, head of the coast guard, a modular glamping developer, a lobster fisherman, a diver, and of course, a bagpipe player. He’s not the first person we’ve met to tell us that most everyone on Islay (pop. 3300) has at least two jobs. There's plenty of rain here on Islay and the whisky is absolutely flowing. It's a three-hour drive from Glasgow to the western coast port of Kennacraig, where you catch a two-hour ferry to Islay (pronounced EYE-lah), ultimately alighting in Port Ellen, the gateway to this 25-mile-long island in the western Hebrides.
Islay is a mecca for malt whisky lovers, home to nine distilleries, with at least one more on the way. I have dreamt for years of seeing the water, terrain, and people that manufacture liquid magic. Islay is known for the intoxicating (some say overwhelming) peaty aroma and flavor of its whiskies. Peat was initially used as fuel to dry the barley and stop the fermentation. While other Scottish regions have modernized their heating methods, Islay has retained peat as its defining “nose” and flavor, and the peatiness of a particular whisky is measured in parts per million of smoke or PPM. Peat is such a part of the island that one pizza restaurant on the island is called the "Peatzeria.”
Caol Ila Distillery (pronounced kull-EE-lah, rhymes with tequila), the largest on Islay, was the primary malted whisky contributor to Johnny Walker blended whisky until the 1980's, when single malt (unblended scotch whisky) found its way to the market, and Caol Ila and its island siblings could claim independent fame. The nine distilleries on the island are: Laphroaig, Lagavulin, Caol Ila, Bruichladdich, Ardbeg, Bunnahabhain, Kilchoman, Bowmore, and Ardnahoe. Each boasts its own special balancing of local ingredients and seems to oscillate between investing in state-of-the-art stills and rediscovering their artisanal routes to secure a unique market slice and generate more local jobs. Initially seen as a distraction, whisky tourists are now a welcome part of the economy. Most tours include a tasting and signature glass. If you are the designated driver, an adorable miniature takeaway bottle is distributed before the fun begins so you can relax into delayed gratification.
We learned about the different casks—sherry, bourbon, and wine—and various methods of maturing and managing flavors. Most importantly, my belief that age doesn't matter (in malt, and beyond) was validated as each venue affirmed that it's the barrel and the process that determines taste and value. Once a whisky batch passes the minimum legal requisite of three years, it’s all about marketing. Companies are experimenting with limited releases, festival bottlings, whacky names, and new label designs. Everyone we meet works at, or has a family member working at, or at least knows someone working at, a distillery. There's limited unemployment in town and jobs at the distilleries are in high demand. Whisky was easy to get. Lunch? Not so simple. There just aren't enough people available to work in restaurants and hotels.
Speaking of hotels, we settled into the Islay Hotel, steps from the ferry terminal in Port Ellen. It's essentially a bunch of nice rooms over the main town restaurant and bar. Much to our surprise, our plan to hang in the local pub and meet the peeps was foiled by the industriousness of the populace. Not a lot of hanging out. Most people we met, like Gus and our driver David, were overemployed. Don't get me wrong, we shared many a dram and conversation, on the boat, on the side of the road, etc. What the locals don't do is go to a pub and pay for a dram. A pour is 25ml (about half a shot in the U.S.) and at seven British pounds (about $11) for the cheapest, it quickly adds up.
Although we didn't find many new pals at the pub, we felt enormously well cared for. David watched out his window to spot us on the sea when we went out with Gus, and worried about the weather when we had to fly back to Glasgow. Fog and ferry schedules meant I couldn't get to my beloved second whisky island—Jura David eased the pain with a surprise mid-morning dram. At a local restaurant, we struck up a conversation with two sisters, one of whom had visited Islay several years before to spread her dad's ashes and was returning to further track their roots. The women found their great grandmother's headstone at the church cemetery after our hotel proprietor connected them to a lady who knew their family. We simply offered them a ride and were treated to many great stories, not to mention more whisky shots.
Islay residents seemed to delight in asking the trick question, "which is your favorite whisky?" to which they generally offer a polite, “well, you know, it’s really a matter of individual taste.” Several hints to act like a local: Don't put an “E” in your “whisky;” it’s called malt (or whisky) but never Scotch, and don’t show favoritism. It's a small island. Everyone knows everyone and waves and/or honks as they pass in their vehicles. People are very practical, and they don't besmudge other brands regardless of where they work. There's a recognition that it's a delicate economy, dependent on the spirits. Everyone wins when the industry flourishes.
With all the agreeableness, one could get lulled into missing the fact that this quaint, remote island hosts a flourishing BIG global business. Although the distillery tours feel homey, there's huge international investment backing production and distribution. And here's what's really ironic—Lately, Suntory whisky has been introducing Japanese whisky as an alternative to Scotch malts, yet it owns Laphroaig and Bowmore. Kilchoman is a single farm, family-run distillery, committed to sourcing everything locally, yet to grow it needed a venture capital investment—which it got from Domino's Pizza (yes, pizza not Peatza).
Here's a further snapshot:
British Diageo owns Caol Ila and Lagavulin
French Remy Cointreau owns Bruichladdich
French LVMH owns Ardbeg
South African Distell owns Bunnahabhain
When I asked if all this overseas money was of concern, again, the practical inhabitants of Islay were happy there was continuing interest in their products and jobs for the families. Islay, the peated jewel, 17 miles from Ireland on its southern coast with nothing between it and America to the west, is a rugged, beautiful oasis serving up whisky for the world and modeling that hard work and strong drams can happily co-exist.