by The world outside my sleeper-train compartment was black and white: trees with feather-like branches silhouetted against snowy fields; the gray stretch of the A9 and then the narrow steel of the river; white candy-floss clouds against a brighter sky.
By the time I was in my hire car, driving east from Inverness, color was slowly returning to the landscape, although the hills beneath the milky sun were still covered in snow. I was going to Moraysideside, with the edge of the Moor in the south and the Moray Basin in the north. During my weekend, the water of those last ones went in and out of sight, and the mountains remained in the distance.
The region is famous for its whiskey and it is justifiable. There are more than 50 distilleries in Moray Speyside, more than a third of Scotland’s total. Despite knowing that, I was surprised by the number of brown distiller’s signs that greeted me – I’d no sooner pass one pagoda arrow than see another.
It seemed that my first stop should be whiskey, so I headed seven miles south of the small town of Forres, winding through quiet single-track roads with muddy snow-tracks, to the Dunphal Distillery.
This is the newest kid on the whiskey block, although it doesn’t look like it, set as it is in 160 year old farm sources. The most interesting thing about Dunphail at the moment is not the whisky, which has only just begun to be produced and must be matured for three years to be considered scotch. That’s because its owners have decided to strip the processes back immediately, away from the computers and off-site maltings that are now common across Scottish distilleries.
Mike, our friendly guide, led our group into a low-ceilinged room where a perfect rectangle of barley lay on the floor, germinating. We took turns raking it with a contraption one of the distillers made out of a giant rake and a few hammers to replicate a traditional hand tool. In the main distillery room, where we were surrounded by the smell of yeast, the master’s fruits, the spirit (usually locked) was left open so that the distillers could interact with the spirit being produced – the new make – rather than relying on computer readings. .
In the absence of its own single malt, the tasting session at the end tried this new production which, at 63.5% ABV, is much stronger than what will be sold in bottles. “It makes me think of standing in a baker’s door,” said Mike as I dipped my finger into my glass (I was driving, after all) and saw what he meant – first fruits before the low, delicious barley note. came in, he had all the sensory hits of that experience, along with the anticipation of what was to come in a few years.
The path was thick with ice, and I spent most of the walk crunching through the inch-deep snow on its sides to avoid a fall.
This distillery visit business is a bit of a hassle when you’re driving. Fortunately, this was quickly rectified at my hotel, The Dowans, a stately Victorian pile that overlooks the Spey valley from just outside the village of Aberlour. After dinner, I holed up in The Still, their slim whiskey bar – but, with more than 500 bottles on the walls, it felt more like a library than a bar. In truth, I’d come to the region unsure of the whiskey’s merits (I’m a die-hard Islay fan), but with the help of receptionist-turned-bartender Courtney I was introduced to two very different local brews that ‘turned out I was wrong quickly. .
The Spey which is 107 miles around the north-west edge of the Rhone National Park flows into the Moray Basin. I had caught a glimpse of it shimmering in the valleys below me the day before, but it was in Aberlour that I actually saw it – as dark as well-ripened scotch. At the suggestion of Steph Murray, who owns and runs The Dowans with her younger sister and her parents, I walked the Spa Way two and a half miles east to the small village of Craigellachie next door; just a smidgen of the 65 mile footpath that follows the river from Buckeye, on the coast, to Aviemore. The path was thick with ice, and I spent most of the walk crunching through the inch-deep snow at the side of it to avoid a funny fall. Although the main road kept me company most of the way, I was hardly aware of it, my eyes instead on the broad river, and the sheep that were staring at me from the floodplains. It was an easy, fairly flat route that wouldn’t feel like enough walking on a normal day, but by the time I reached The Highlander Inn in Craigellachie the ice had given my calves enough exercise and I was grateful. being able to stop for half a pint in the cozy bar.
Related: Highland Sanctuary: Scotland’s tranquil, conscious hideaway
On my last day, with my back to the now almost snow-free hills, I headed north, determined to make it to the coast, which had so often drifted away in my travels. I drove out to Findhorn, a small seaside village of low houses, which was tightly packed, where I climbed over the dunes and then screamed to the white sand, which seemed even in the half eye of the evening. I walked around the hook of the headland, constantly adjusting my hood to the incessant rain, and took a seat by the large window at the Captain’s Table, festooned inside with fairy tales. While I was waiting for my food, I watched a solitary boat in the bay, the seagulls swooping low, and the clouds constantly shifting in their dance between rain and sun.
“People don’t realize how much there is to do here,” Steph told me this morning, “so they keep coming back.” This was also true of my trip: every road I drove meant passing several others with signs pointing to a hike, or a distillery, or a village I’d never heard of. When I finally pulled myself back to Inverness, the landscape gradually softening around me, I did so knowing it wouldn’t be too long before I returned.
Transportation to Scotland was provided by Caledonian Sleeper. Accommodation was provided by The Dowans hotel (doubles from £234 per night B&B). For more information, see Visit Moray Speyside
