‘DC Faversham, I am presuming,’ Hamish McNab said, striding forward to shake her hand. ‘Welcome to Abhainn Dhonn. I’m Hamish McNab and this is Keith Finlay, my head distiller.’
Penny shook both their hands, noting that Hamish McNab’s expression was deadpan whereas Keith Finlay had dimpled cheeks, as if he always smiled. ‘This is good of you to see me. I need a very quick lesson in making whisky and my inspector said that your distillery is the ideal place to go for information.’
Hamish waved a hand. ‘No problem at all. We’re all deeply concerned for Vicky Spiers and Catriona McDonald and utterly devastated at the death of young Jamie Mackintosh.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s not looking good though, is it? I received one of Calum Steele’s West Uist Chronicle emails that said you’ve found a trainer. Let’s hope that leads somewhere. But we must do what we can to help you, so just have a good sniff of the air. That will give you an idea of what goes into our whisky. Peat, malted barley and good clean sea air.’ He waved at the surrounding fields with their yellowing crop. ‘We grow as much of our own barley here as we can, although as we increase production we are having to buy in more. I’m trying to buy more land, which isn’t easy, so fingers crossed.’
‘Before today I didn’t know that whisky was made from barley,’ Penny confessed.
Hamish nodded matter-of-factly. ‘If you are a city type then there is no reason why you should know. But the type of barley is important, too. You see there are several different varieties. We use two types, Bere and Concerto. They are both early maturing and they have a low moisture content so they are good for malting.’
‘And maybe just as important, we have the abhainn dhonn, which means the “brown river” on our doorstep,’ said Keith Finlay. ‘It comes down from the Corlins, through ancient peatbogs and over quartzite. We pump it into our holding tanks at the back of the distillery. There’s no finer base for uisge beatha than that, in my humble opinion.’
Hamish McNab glanced at his watch and then pointed to the door. ‘Come in and I’ll give you a brief overview. I have to be somewhere else very soon, so I’ll then leave you in Keith’s capable hands. He’s been in the whisky distilling business all his life, so he’ll be able to answer all your questions.’
They entered a spartanly furnished room with walls covered in framed pictures of the original farm steading and its apparent transition over the years from sepia tint photographs of a small croft, into a thriving steading and then gradually into a distillery.
Hamish pointed to an old photograph of a man in front of the building they were in, working a scythe blade on a wheel sharpening stone. ‘My family have lived here for four generations now. That’s my great grandfather Hector McNab working this croft back at the end of the nineteenth century. You can see his boat in the distance. Back then folk eked out a living on the land and the sea.’
One by one he picked out other pictures of men and women, through the generations. Gradually, as the photographs became newer and in colour Penny could see the family resemblance and in particular the ginger hair.
‘My father had built the place up and acquired other crofts so that we had a sizable farmstead. But when he died and I took it over I had plans, big plans, to diversify with a small distillery. It was not an easy matter, mind you. So many hoops to leap through, not to mention a very considerable investment. Over the years I have ploughed about two million pounds into this place, but its proving worth it these last few years.’
‘When did you start, Mr McNab?’
‘Eight years ago now. We’re starting to build a reputation and the orders are coming in from all over the world for the Abhainn Dhonn peated single malt whisky.’ He glanced at his watch again. ‘But I’ll need to go, so Keith will show you through the various processes now and answer any questions you have.’
‘Oh, there is just one question before you go,’ said Penny. ‘What experience of whisky distilling did you have?’
For the first time the ghost of a smile crossed his lips. ‘I maybe shouldn’t admit it, but the family had always operated a wee still, just for the family’s consumption. That was my forebears, mind you. No illicit whisky has ever been produced on this land as long as I have been in charge.’
Once he had gone Keith led Penny to the next long room in the centre of which stood a large round tub surmounted by a metal dome with various pipes attached. Beyond that, was another large vessel connected to the first by a large pipe.
‘The first thing you need to know, DC Faversham, is that whisky is essentially just distilled malted barley beer. The malting of the barley is done in the old barn. You see, barley is just starch, so we have to make it turn into sugar that we can ferment. We lay it all out and turn it and turn it, and then moisten it and heat it to really trick it into thinking it is spring. It then turns its starch into sugar.’
He pointed to the large tub. ‘This is the very first process, which we call mashing and this is the mash tun. We put the ground grain into the tun and mix it with hot water, which turns this into a sort of cereal tea, that we call the “wort”. See that big pipe? It’s called an underback. The wort goes through that into the collecting vessel, that is called the washback. Its gently heated and yeast is added to make it ferment.’
Penny had started to make notes. ‘Fascinating. And how long does that take?’
‘It is there for precisely seventy-two hours. That is our time at Abhainn Dhonn, but other distilleries might be as quick as forty-eight or as long as one hundred and twenty. This is now beer and it can go on to be distilled. And that takes place next door.’
As they walked past the mash tun and the collecting vessel, Penny asked: ‘How long have you worked here, Keith? I understand from my inspector that you used to work at the big distillery.’
At the door Keith turned with a knitted brow. ‘I’ve been with Hamish McNab for seven years. It’s a sore point with the Corlin-Macleods, because I was their head distiller. I don’t think they ever forgave me.’ His natural smile bounced back. ‘Put it this way, they scored me off their Christmas card list and I barely get a nod from either of them when I’m out and about.’
‘So Mr McNab wanted your expertise?’
Keith nodded. ‘Aye, he did. And they were understandably concerned that I might be giving away their secrets.’
Penny nodded. ‘Understandably.’
‘But the truth is that the Glen Corlin range of whiskies are well established and the water they use has an entirely different character. They make both peated and unpeated whisky, whereas we concentrate on peated. At least for now. Later, who knows.’
‘Were the Corlin-Macleods difficult to work for?’
This brought a hearty laugh. ‘Goodness me, no. The truth is that they were easier than Hamish McNab. He has a short temper and to speak frankly, he’s a bit of a potty-mouth. But he’s good to us, all four of us. He also hired Jerry McColl who worked for them. Between Hamish and the four we work the farm, do the malting, distilling, warehousing and supplying. That’s why I wanted to come here when Hamish offered me the chance, apart from the money, it is more of a challenge than the almost automatic whisky production at a larger distillery like Glen Corlin.’
He opened the door and led the way through to the still room in which were two huge copper stills, shaped like giant retorts, with copper tubes coming out of them and going into large cylinders. Another man of the same age and dressed in the same way was checking gauges and peering through a porthole window in one of the stills. The nearest one was larger than the other.