Fran Wilson, Whiskeria Producer

Friday 2nd June, Bunnahabhain

06:00 - Arrived at Glasgow Airport after an early rise to catch the plane to Islay for Feis Ile - it is also my first ever visit to the island.

08:00 - We take off on the smallest plane I've ever been on. I have a crippling fear of flying so I'm thankful for the swift 20-minute flight.

09:00 - Check in at the hotel, dump the bags, and hop a taxi over to Bunnahabhain. It's a scorching hot day with barely a cloud in sight.

10:00 - We arrive at Bunnahabhain Distillery. I start the day off with a classic dram - Bunnahabhain 12 Year Old - whilst taking in the mesmerising views of the Paps of Jura.

10:30 - It's time for the second dram of the day, the Bunnahabhain Feis Ile 2023 Canasta Cask. I enjoy this spicy, fruity expression alongside a couple of absolutely phenomenal Islay oysters (another first!).

11:00 - We head to the Master Distiller's Day Drams in the Filling Shed. The session is led by the knowledgeable and witty pairing of Master Blender Julieann Fernandez and Distillery Manager Andrew Brown. I have another go of the 12 Year Old and Canasta Cask, as well as sampling the other two Feis Ile releases - the 1998 Manzanilla Cask and the 17 Year Old Moine Triple Cask - and a distillery exclusive bottling which has been matured in a Banyuls wine cask. Without a word of a lie, this distillery bottling is the nicest whisky I have ever tasted. If seductively sweet whiskies are your thing, it is well worth a visit over to Islay just to pick up a bottle of this beauty.

12:00 - After finishing up the tasting with Julieann and Andrew, we hop onto a boat at Bunnahabhain's pier and set out to sea. Bottlers are cracked open, and I enjoy another serving of the Moine Triple Cask, my favourite of the festival releases (think barbecued meats and sweet pineapple salsa!). The view of the distillery from the sea is really a sight to behold, but unbelievably, this wasn't the most special scene from the boat trip. A pod of dolphins leapt alongside our boat for the final 15 minutes of our journey. In a day full of firsts for me, I'd have to say this was the most spectacular.

13:30 - We return to the distillery and source some pizza from the Scozzese stand. I enjoy a Stornoway black pudding and caramelised onion number whilst listening to Rollin' Drones - the band that had set up whilst we were gone - performing rousing, bagpipe-heavy renditions of Daft Punk's Get Lucky and George Michael's Faith.

15:00 - Our last event of the day is a walk through Warehouse 9, led by team member, Torran. Attendees were given the opportunity to re-gauge casks and get a bit of behind-the-scenes insight into what goes on at the distillery on a daily basis.

17:00 - I take a moment to stand by the sea to enjoy some of the best views in Scotland before heading back to the hotel.

19:00 - I'm treated to a gorgeous dinner of chicken liver pate, mussels, and chocolate mousse. My fellow attendees and I reflect on everything we've seen and done today, all feeling immensely grateful to have been a part of it.

22:00 - Full of whisky and food and ready to sleep, it's time for bed before another early rise to head home tomorrow. As I drift off to sleep, I am thankful for how fortunate I am - the perks of the job don't get much better than this.

Emlyn Firth, Whiskeria Art Director

Monday 29th May - Friday 2nd June; Laphroaig, Bowmore, Kilchoman, Ardbeg

I've lived in the west coast of Scotland for almost all of my life, but, I confess - I'm an Islay virgin.

When I was a boy, my father would frequently take me to the mountainous areas of the Highlands & Islands of Scotland, as his obsession with exploring all of the Munros [mountains over 3000ft] grew.

Islay does not really have hills. (Jura, next door, has Beinn an Oir [Gaelic: mountain of gold] but at 2,575 feet, it is just a Corbett, and of lesser interest to a Munro bagger). Why the height discrimination? And what has this go to do with a whisky festival? Well, let me explain...

A revered tome called Munro's Tables divides Scotland into distinct areas. Each area and mountain range has its sub-section, and each summit or 'top' (with its own collection of poetic Gaelic vowels and consonants) has an entry to underline in pen or pencil.

We would take long winding journeys - via car, train, and Cal Mac ferry, trudge through bogs and streams, tame scree paths up the Cuillin on Skye, or hike into remote valleys from overnight stays in youth hostels.

What was apparent to me very early on was that the grizzled, bearded, gore-texed men of the mountains we met along the way (and it was predominately, but not exclusively, middle-aged men) prized certain more remote, precariously knife-edged ridged hills than others. You were part of an exclusive club if you'd scaled these rarer peaks. Moreover, a mountain's real qualities could be dramatically affected by which time of year you visited, which route you took, or even who you encountered that day. Yes, something so simple as an immovable rock could ignite intense discussion, fierce debate, much sharing of wayfinding and hidden gems, and, of course, that deep desire some people have to collect. Gotta underline them all.

One other thing that always struck me, especially as we ventured to the more remote locations, was the higher proportion of camper vans and touring cars with Scandinavian and German number plates and stickers on. Weathered VW Westfalias and Volvo estates making passing-place pilgrimages to the remotest outposts of Western Europe - it seemed extreme and absurd to me, as a boy, that they would come all this way, especially when there were bigger, more spectacular mountains on their doorstep. Similarly, we'd often meet North Americans in guest houses or bothies, who were on some crazed whistle-stop 'Europe' tour and were 'doing' Scotland that lunchtime. What drew them here?

*

Fast forward to Feis Ile 2023. Here I am making conversation with middle-aged men from Scandinavia and Northern Europe, along with a smattering of excitable North Americans. The itineraries and pace of the exploration of all the island's distilleries, their separate tastings, tours, and exclusives, are mind-boggling. Designated drivers take their turn shuttling mini-buses full of whisky-head friends between events, and hangovers are set to snooze.

Drams are thrown back, personal bottlers are produced to share, and opinions are constantly offered and sought. There is a code of generosity, of good manners, egalitarianism... but also a steely eyes determination to find a rare or unique expression. A prized exclusive invite that will let you try the floor maltings at Bowmore. That one Bunnahabhain single cask on the menu in the Ballygrant Inn that my new Swedish friends insist I try. The Ardbeg special release that must be bought twice - one for the collection, the other for drinking.

One midnight around a table filled with cheeses, meats, and miniature bottles, I asked my new friends... what drew you here? And they almost always said, unprompted, it was storytelling. Specifically, these stories of the whisky making craft, and places.

So yes, I've dragged you all this way to make this parallel between Munro baggers and these whisky-obsessed festival-goers. Scotland - its landscape, its language, its craft, its people, its stories - has an enduring appeal for a certain type of person who is compelled to collect but also wants to share in the rarest of experiences and warmest rituals.

The original feature is from the Autumn 2023 edition of Whiskeria, delivered to the door of W Club subscribers and also free with any Whisky Shop purchase in-store or online.