Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
inaccurate, but still. Almost a shame they came up with more precise ways to measure
the proof strength. Though I'm sure that if this remained the way they tested the stuff in
the distilleries nowadays they still wouldn't let you take flash photos of the process. You
know; just in case.
This weekend is not about that, though. This weekend is about me attempting to re-
surrect the past and produce some blevies for the boys, some vapour explosions like the
BAM mushroom clouds of old. It's stuff for this nonsense the M5's boot is full of. Tech-
nically I should probably have one of those orange HazChem stickers on the boot. That
would look
so
cool. But I bet the bureaucracy's a nightmare.
(As it turns out I never do get to let this lot off because the weather's against us and
the midges are out.)
First stop is Blair Athol distillery. In Pitlochry. Blair Atholl is a completely different
town six miles away. The distillery which bears (most of) its name isn't even on the right
side of Pitlochry to be accidentally associated with it; it's on the south side. This wouldn't
even be the Blair Atholl Road in the old days, it would have been the Perth Road or the
Dunkeld Road. Exactly why this distillery situated quite firmly in Pitlochry is called Blair
Athol (somewhat bizarrely missing out the second 'I' that the town takes) seems to be a
bit of a mystery. Oh well.
They're in the throes of commissioning a newly refurbished Visitor Centre and shop
when I arrive on a rainy Friday in late May. The staff seem jolly despite the degree of
mild chaos that attends this and it's here the lady recommends Caol Ila as a good malt
with a cigar. The Visitor Centre is in the modern style, with lots of blonde wood and ex-
posed metal. Visitor Centre Vernacular is changing slowly with the times; there are more
frosted glass panels around than polished dark wood ones, and sleekly tapering steel posts
joined by tensioned wire ropes are replacing turned wood banisters and rails.
The distillery itself presents some visual treats, including a just-this-side-of-kitsch
little courtyard dripping with ivy, cozily proportioned buildings and trees turned black
with the same fungus that coats the warehouse walls both here and elsewhere. We're told
the trees aren't harmed by the fungus. My arboreal distress diagnostic skills are no better
than those of any other Joe M. Bloggs, but a close inspection of trees with the black stuff
on their limbs and comparison with those that don't would seem to bear out the assertion
the trees are quite happy with their spirit-fed camouflage.
At Blair Athol, as well as some of the place's own whisky, I buy a few bottles from
other Diageo distilleries I've been to and photographed without having done tours of or
made purchases at. I suppose proper whisky writers would call up the distillery or head
office and arrange a private tour of these not-normally-open-to-the-public places, but gen-
erally I'm trying to do this in a punter stylee - albeit a punter with deep pockets - and so
I'm denying myself such privileges.
