Skailg: A wee livener with...Tom Morton

Appeasing the Swilchies

View over Arnisdale

Nigel Brown CC BY-SA 2.0

I have a friend, a keen connoisseur of whisky. His name is David and it was he who introduced me to the, on the face of it outlandish, notion of combining single malt whiskies with sweetmeats.

It was a memorable occasion in St Andrews when he ordered, as pudding in an expensive restaurant, plain ice cream, vanilla, made by local company Janetta’s, and a hugely dear 25-year-old Macallan. Which he then poured on top of the ice cream. I made do with vanilla ice cream and a Highland Park 12-year-old, as I was less well funded than he. It was delicious. I took David’s word that the Macallan version was even better.

The thing is, David is a keen kayaker, who once stood on the back of a basking shark. It was lazily sucking plankton into its huge mouth, floating on the surface of the sea as David paddled off Arnisdale in the West Highlands. He managed only a few precarious seconds, admittedly, before he was thrown into the sea, and the great, harmless beast dived.

Connel Bridge

Kognos CC BY-SA 4.0

David had canoe surfed the standing wave formed during certain tides at the Falls of Lora, beneath the Connel Bridge near Oban. But he had never tackled the legendary whirlpool called Corryvreckan, north of Jura, the tidal race named The Gray Dog off Lunga, and most fearsome of all, the destructive, raging Pentland Firth between Orkney and Caithness, where it forms the infamous Swilchie.

This ship-swallowing whirlpool, one of the most severe in the world, occurs when the waters of the Atlantic and the North Sea collide, squeezed between the two landmasses in Scotland’s far north. But the Norse story is that two giantesses are to blame, sitting at the bottom the firth, grinding out salt to render the sea saline, using massive hand-operated mills. They are the Swilchies.

The Corryvreckan Whirlpool

Walter Baxter CC BY-SA 2.0

There is a story that the only way for any mariner to appease these giantesses is to drink a toast to them, and this is most effective in what is clearly a magical mixture, a cocktail of the goddesses.

And here is where I admit that, inspired by that night in St Andrews, I dreamed - some would say concocted - this story during a particularly rough crossing from Scrabster to Stromness in Orkney. I sought solace in this. All I can tell you is that it worked, or appeared to.

Old Pulteney cask

Erik Charlton, Menlo Park, USA CC BY 2.0

You take a generous measure of whisky, made locally, in this case Old Pulteney from Wick, not far away, though Wolfburn, also made in Caithness would work too, I think. Scapa or Highland Park from Orkney are other possibilities.

Add another magical ingredient, the Scottish confectionary known as tablet. This is the single sweetest substance on the planet, and it is made by boiling sugar, butter and condensed milk, then letting the mix solidify. Every country has its version of tablet - Sucre de la Creme in Quebec, Confiture du Lait in France, Dulce De Leche in Spain. Even fudge, and there is an Orkney Fudge which is tablet by another name. Scottish tablet is sweeter than all foreign competitors. And it is the only substance which will appease the Swilchie giantesses.You can place a one-centimetre cube in the whisky glass and wait for it to dissolve, but I would not advise this as, from experience, it takes too long.

Wolfburn whisky warehouse

Instead, take the cube of tablet, place it in the mouth, and chew it into a paste. Take one measure of whisky, and hold it in your mouth with the melted tablet, swilling, mixing and masticating until it is one compound. Pour a pinch of salt onto your hand, and add it to the mix, the salt a tribute to the saline environment those giantesses inhabit. Then swallow.

The result is immediate, gratifying and somewhat disturbing. Magical.

This is the Swilchie. Not so much a cocktail, more a whirlpool of the senses, a tidal race of the soul, And having drunk it, you can, after a suitable period of reflection, safely set sail along the Pentland Firth, even in a kayak or on the back of a basking shark, in the sure and certain knowledge that you will arrive safely at your destination, unravaged by submerged giantesses.

Or you could just mix yourself another Swilchie, and remain, comfortably, on dry land.

Thurso

Reinhard Dietrich PD

Leaving aside the question of cocktails, ghostly undersea giantesses and the sweetness of tablet, it’s worth having a wee swallie (“a small libation”) of the basic whiskies to be found in Caithness.

Old Pulteney is distilled and aged in Wick (Pulteneytown, to be precise, the area of Wick built as a ‘new town’ by Thomas Telford for the British Fisheries Society in the 19th Century), and the basic 10-year-old dram is one of the great bargains of the whisky world, widely available at very reasonable prices.

The more esoteric Pulteney bottlings can be wonderful (and expensive), and the distillery itself is well worth a visit should you ever visit what is one of the most underrated, architecturally attractive and friendly towns in Scotland.

Ebenezer Place

Noudbijvoet CC BY 3.0

One whiff and suddenly, I’m back at the excellent Mackays Hotel in Wick, sited on what is officially the world’’s shortest street, the 6 foot nine inch Ebenezer Place. You can stay in a room which takes up its entire length.

Wolfburn is distilled in Wick’s rival for Caithnessian supremacy, Thurso, which for many decades was dominated by the nearby Dounreay nuclear plant, and has always for that reason been more developed and industrial than Wick. Also, Scrabster, with the ferry to Orkney, and John o’Groats are both nearby.

Wolfburn has retaken the honour of being the UK’s most northerly mainland whisky from Pulteney, having been revived in 2016 after closure and indeed erasure from the landscape for nigh on 160 years.

Tasting notes Old Pulteney 10-year-Old

NOSE: It has all the aromas of a coastal town in summer: salt, ozone, old stone harbour b reakwaters drying in the sun.

MOUTH: It has a taste reminiscent of a windswept, dry, hot beach.

FINISH and BREATHE: After the initial flavours it fades to an after taste finish of dark chocolate and a nettle-like astringency.

OVERALL: Pulteney is almost a style of whisky in its own right, similar to, if anything, Springbank and the other Campbelltown malts in its ascetic saltiness. It is, even at this basic level, one of the world’s great whiskies, terrible underrated and available cheaply for around £30.

Tasting notes Wolfburn Aurora

NOSE: First nasal whiff is all the pungent, burnt rubber aroma of an old fashioned chemist or dental surgery. Sulphur, and that’s probably to do with the casks used for ageing. A small, new distillery’s supply of oak will always be problematic, and working out the relationship between the spirit from the still and the oak that’s available can take, well, time.

MOUTH: It’s better in the mouth, with a slightly rusty, leaf mould taste, but with cinnamon and vanilla coming through strongly.

FINISH and BREATHE: Finish is burnt cork and stewed tea.

OVERALL: Wolfburn Aurora is a very young whisky indeed. Now, age is no guarantee of quality, and a brand-new distillery is understandably keen to get its product to market after that compulsory three-year wait in oak before a spirit can be called Scotch Whisky. So buying a bottle of Aurora for £44 or thereabouts is really about curiosity combined with geographical loyalty. Because to be frank, this is a whisky which needs more time in the wood.

NOTE:

Both of these whiskies were nosed and tasted at their bottled alcoholic strength, which is 40 per cent for Pulteney and 46 for Wolfburn. No added water, in other words. I think you can see which my choice would be. However, add some tablet and the Swilchies will doubtless be appeased by Wolfburn Aurora. Give it time. And maybe some ice cream.