Europe > United Kingdom > Hebrides > Skye > Cruise > Articles > Cruising the Waters of Life

Early evening stars twinkle amongst the towering mast lights of a cluster of yachts. The stark ruins of Dunyvaig castle silently guard our peaceful mooring in Lagavulin bay on the south-east coast of Islay. On the deck of our elegant vessel, we savour not-so-wee drams of whisky and gin. We are toasting a glorious day’s sailing that has brought us to our rocky anchorage beside one of the most celebrated names in Scotch whisky.

We’re on the final leg of the Classic Malts Cruise, which each July celebrates Scotland’s most famous export with a regatta through some of the most scenic waters of the Inner Hebrides. Starting from Oban distillery on the Argyll coast, yachts sail to two of the most sacred whisky shrines: Talisker on Skye and Lagavulin on the most revered whisky island of them all – Islay. The cruise brings together yachts from around the world, united in the celebration of sailing, camaraderie, untamed scenery and the finest malt whisky.

We began our odyssey in Oban with a guided tour, private tasting and lively party in the distillery hall. Formalities rapidly melted away as distillery manager Kenny Gray took us through an impressive line of malts, culminating with the rare 32-year-old. Some crews had sailed the earlier leg to Skye (a few taking a long diversion via the Outer Hebrides!) whereas others like us brimmed with excitement at just joining the regatta.

Next morning, we motored out of Oban harbour aboard Eda Frandsen, a beautiful traditional sailing cutter whose graceful lines, gleaming woodwork and huge rigging evoke the romantic days of sail. Modern yachts might be sleeker and faster, but it’s Eda that turns heads wherever she sails.

We were barely in our stride when the Caledonian MacBrayne ferry “Lord of the Isles” appeared as a small, but fast-approaching form on our stern. The ferry quickly caught us up and was looming large behind us when she steered away in a graceful arc towards Mull.

Now with the sea virtually to ourselves, we passed numerous tiny Hebridean islands, many still covered in morning mist. Tide and wind conspired to keep us motoring for much of the morning, our graceful sails hidden under wraps. Jamie Robinson is an expert skipper who, with the help of ship’s mate Toby, good-naturedly fuses guests into a surprisingly competent crew. When conditions finally permitted, it was all hands on deck as we formed teams heaving on a forest of ropes to hoist Eda’s huge sails.

With our massive wooden boom swung out purposefully, we sailed elegantly past the island of Seil, which once supported a thriving slate industry, and on to Scarba. The narrow strait between the isles of Scarba and Jura – the Gulf of Corryvreckan – is famous for its awe-inspiring whirlpool, which has accounted for many sailors’ lives. Caused by a tall underwater pinnacle, the effect is most evident when a strong westerly wind catches a flood or ebb tide. In such conditions, the Irish Sea collides head on with the incoming Atlantic tide, transforming the narrow strait into a whirling maelstrom with roaring water columns leaping over 20ft above the raging vortex. Happily, Corryvreckan slumbered as we approached, although many mysterious water patterns hinted at the turmoil simmering beneath the surface.

We anchored for lunch in a deserted bay surrounded by dense woodland on the north-east coast of Jura. Jura might be the “island of deer” but we didn’t see any on this occasion, only several seals playing in the bay, totally unmoved by our presence.

One of the pleasures of the Classic Malts Cruise is the freedom crews enjoy to plot their own course between the three distilleries. The distilleries provide the social focus for the regatta, throwing open their hallowed halls for private tours and tastings, buffets, music and dancing, but each crew decides when and by what course to arrive. Jamie perused the chart and decided it was pointless battling the tide. We crossed the Sound of Jura again and moored for the night deep into Loch Sween on the Argyll coast.

The next morning dawned bright and clear, but none of us could have guessed what was to follow. As the tide turned, we edged out of our sheltered anchorage back into the main channel. With sails raised proudly, we continued south carried by a tailwind on gentle swells. As the remaining clouds lifted and the sun shone, we made magnificent progress in peerless conditions. The Kintyre peninsula stretched away to our left while to our right rose the beautiful distinctive cones of the Paps of Jura. It was difficult to imagine how sailing could get any better, particularly after I was given the helm for a couple of hours.

Nobody wanted that day’s sailing to end but eventually the twin white pagodas of Ardbeg distillery came into view, soon followed by Lagavulin’s dazzling white walls. Submerged rocks guard the narrow entrance to Lagavulin bay. As we approached, it was time for the professionals to take over. Toby climbed to the top of the mast to sight rocks while Jamie carefully steered us in.

And so here we are at Lagavulin, exhilarated by our journey and safely anchored with drinks in hand. In the gathering gloom, the large distillery name painted on the whitewashed warehouse reflects perfectly against the still surface of the bay. Within its proud stonework, thousands of barrels of some of the most sought-after whisky slumber unhurriedly whilst connoisseurs around the world eagerly await its coming of age.

Evenings on the cruise are long and sociable. We board neighbouring yachts and other crews visit us, including a group of young Norwegians about to sail around the world. Alastair Robertson, Talisker distillery manager, flits between yachts giving informal onboard tastings, his mobile cabinet including the very rare Talisker 20-year-old and Lagavulin 25-year-old. Our cook Rona somehow conjures up gourmet meals from a galley no bigger than a telephone box. After dinner, we retire on deck where Jamie entertains us with sea shanties and stories late into the star-filled night.

Despite being able to sail to each of Islay’s seven distilleries, it’s worth exploring the island by road, if for no other reason than to witness the charming habit Islay drivers have of waving to each other, even to total strangers. Forgoing the neighbouring attractions of Ardbeg and Laphroaig (like Lagavulin, also peaty giants of the whisky world), we drive to Caol Ila on the isolated north coast. Seated at individual whisky barrels, we are treated to a private tasting where we argue the merits of the 18-year-old (good) against the 12-year-old (even better, and cheaper too!).

The tasting is the highlight of most distillery visits. Not so at Caol Ila where the distillery tour is even more impressive. The huge windows of Caol Ila’s still room frame the most spectacular view over the Sound of Islay to the Paps of Jura beyond. Although the distillery is undergoing its annual “silent” period when we visit (when production ceases to allow essential maintenance), we spend an age in the still room, transfixed by the unbelievable view and wondering how anybody can ever get any work done here.

It’s hard to drag ourselves away from Caol Ila, but we’re fortunate in having yet another highlight to help soften the blow – the legendary Lagavulin buffet and ceilidh. Back on our yachts, scruffy mariners transform into smart, sometimes kilted partygoers. Shoes are polished and musical instruments checked. A local RIB serves as a water taxi bringing crews ashore.

Once again, drink flows aplenty as we share our regatta stories. The buffet is a mountainous feast of crab, salmon, prawns and beef. Best of all are the sublime local oysters (of course flavoured with Lagavulin rather than lemon juice) that the servers can barely open quickly enough to keep up with the rate at which we are devouring them.

The ceilidh brings together local residents as well as visiting crews. Distillery staff mingle too, once they have checked that all is well in the still room. Even the police provide an impromptu taxi service, ferrying crews between the distillery and Port Ellen where many of the yachts are anchored. When the band strikes up, we twirl and skip our way through some of the better-known ceilidh dances.

The one downside of the Lagavulin ceilidh is that it marks the end of the regatta. All too soon, the music and dancing have to stop and we must let the great spirit once again mature in peace. We say farewell to the many new friends we have made and await our turn for the RIB to take us back to Eda for one final night. On deck again, armed with yet more drams, we contemplate the past few days. Looking up at the sky, I search for the high point of the cruise, but there are simply too many.

Yes, the cruise is a marketing ruse by Diageo, which owns all of the participating distilleries. Yes, it can be liver threatening. But, it’s also unique, superbly enjoyable and an indescribably stylish way of bringing together so much of what makes Scotland, and the Hebrides in particular, such a magical destination. Sail on!

• More from Martin Li
• More on the same theme