My second morning on Islay Rachel drove us to the west part of the island to Kilchoman distillery. This was to be my only official distillery tour although I called in at the gift shops of nearly all of them. I’m glad Kilchoman was to be the distillery I toured because I like their Scotch and I don’t see much of it in Seattle. Also Kilchoman is self-sustaining. Everything is created, used and recycled. They grow the barley, harvest and thresh it and feed the chaff to the cattle. They dry the barley, smoke it and make the mash. They extract the liquid and fertilize the fields with the mash.

Kilchoman

We began the tour with  jiggers hanging around our necks on lanyards so we could sample every step of the process from the early beery taste to the new make, which was just astonishing. I can still feel its intensity and my surprise at its finish. It was like absinthe: liquorice-flavored and very strong.

I was impressed by how immaculate the place was. All the distilleries, in fact, gleamed like expensive cruise ships.  Important to keep in mind when the water in the loo ran brown from all the peat in the earth.

While I was on my tour Rachel ate a bacon roll and read Advancing the Retreat, which I had given her. I brought one copy with me knowing I would meet at least one person I would want to give it to. Rachel has an MA in Scottish literature and a degree in pure architecture and in landscape architecture. Houses she designed dot the island. She has studied engineering, religion, and women’s studies. We talked books, literature, feminism and spirituality. We were our own little cross-discipline seminar as we bounced all over the island of Islay.

For a picnic on Machir Bay Rachel built a peat bonfire and gave me a tea in a bone china cup.  I’m still annoyed with myself that I didn’t go barefoot in the water. It was cool and overcast but that has never stopped me. Yet one more reason to return to Islay is to wade in Machir Bay.

Machir Bay

Islay is shaped like a crab claw. As we drove down the inside of the west pincer along Loch Indaal, we got glimpses of the other pincer, better known as the Mull of Oa, pronounced Oh. At the very end of the Oa is an American war monument, which thankfully we did not take the time to visit. I heard an awful lot about the monument when people learned I was American.

“Oh you’ll want to see the American monument on Oa, then.”

“Why would I come all this way to go look at an American phallic symbol?”

But nevertheless there it was, coming in and out of our line of vision as we drove. Rachel and I made a comment or two about it.

We called in at Bruchladdich distillery, sampled whatever wee dram was free (although I think Rachel finagled me something off the menu) and visited the village shop.

At the Laddie Shop, Bruchladdich

in the village shop at Bruchladdich

Rachel was on a hunt for some particular chocolate truffles to pair with whisky but we apparently were too late. It seems they go fast. The last place we looked was the kitchen of a little craft cottage where the truffles originate: An Gleann Tablet.

A glean is a glen. “Tablet” is a little harder to explain as Rachel found when she tried to explain it to me. The tablet at An Gleann  looked like penuche but that wasn’t a reference point for Rachel. I said penuche was a kind of fudge, it just wasn’t chocolate.

“Tablet isn’t fudge. It’s Tablet. It doesn’t even look like fudge.”

I gave her that. It didn’t look like fudge. It looked like toffee.

“The texture is grainy,” she said. “And it’s not chocolate. Fudge is chocolate and creamy.”

Now this was confusing. I bought what was labelled “Scottish fudge” at the Coop down the hill from The Grange. It was grainy and tasted of brown sugar but it was still called fudge. The stuff at An Gleann turned out to be world’s better than the stuff from the Coop but it was of the same species.

“It’s like brown sugar fudge,” I said at which comment I thought Rachel might drive away and leave me.

It was round about here that I pinpointed the feeling that though I was about 12 years her senior, Rachel felt like a big sister. Something about the easy way she was with me. Maybe it was her openness and her frankness. Maybe it was the way her accent worked on me. I was always a little behind her mentally because I was doing so much translating in my head. I had some difficulty understanding not just Rachel but much of Scottish speech yet I found it endearing. There’s music and laughter in the Scottish voice.

We were talking about people’s worlds being their cell phones and I said I wondered what would be the outcome down the road.

“I don’t wonder,” she said. “We’ll all be rowboats.”

Rowboats? I thought. Was this some kind of word play or metaphor? I played along. “Who would row the rowboats?”

She gave me another of those looks like she suddenly realized I was an escapee from a mental institution.

“Rowboats!” she insisted. “Rowboats, rowboats!” She tapped her head. “Think of the context, Elena! Rowboats.”

“Oh.” I suddenly got it. “Robots.”

“Yes, Rowboats. Think of the context of what I am saying.”

“Rachel, I’m getting 80% of it!”

It was gloomy that Sunday, not many people about, and of course many businesses were closed. A light rain came and went. I had hoped to see seals on the rocks at Portnahaven but there was only one who seemed interested. I sang to him and he bobbed up and down in the water, watching us.

After Portnahaven, we started up the west side of the island to Tormisdale Croft where Anne sat spinning and there was no internet access. The sound of the wheel in the quiet of the shop was mesmerizing. No wonder Anne was so calm and bright.

Ann carding at Tormisdale Croft

Anne had just acquired two piglets from a neighbor and she and Rachel had a natter about that. Everyone seems to know everyone on the island and more importantly, everyone’s business. Rachel, especially is a walking network of people and information about Islay, Jura and no doubt Colonsay where she was born and Oronsay, two little islands in this group in the southern Hebrides.

On up the road was Kilchiaran Chapel where we sat in the nave of the ruin and paired tablet with whiskey because we hadn’t found the truffles. I liked the tablet with Laphroaig although the combination of sugar and alcohol is not smart for me.

Kilchiraran, Islay

I learned that putting a drop of water in the Scotch to “open it up” is an old-fashioned idea that the Americans like because it brings out the sweet but leaves behind some of the complexity. Rachel suggested I close my eyes, put my nose in the glass and draw out the scent before letting a drop in my mouth. Then savor it and pay attention to its subtleties.

Another language puzzle: Rachel said that when I saw the prefix “kil” I should think of monks’ sales.

Sales, I thought. Like medicinal wine sales? Or sails. Was this another boat thing?

“Monks’ sales, Elena. Think of where monks live.”

“Oh, cells,” I exclaimed.

“Exactly. Sales.”

Kil, cella, the altar of a temple. I truly will never forget the mean of the prefix “kil.”

The next word game came up soon enough. Rachel asked me if I had any pates.

“Spell it,” I said.

“P-e-t-s.”

“Oh yes, I have a cat.”

The Hide

The day ended with a visit to the Hide at Loch Gruinart. I had never been in a hide before. It’s peculiarly suited to patient people, which I can be on occasion. But by then I was tired. My two days with Rachel had come to a close. I would miss her, her spirit, her generosity, her humor and intelligence.

But I’d be glad for some time on my own, which I had the next day.