I have seldom read such a wonderful account of illicit whisky distilling in the old days and it's fantastic that such stories are remembered and (sometimes) written down. Over time these stories will fade away and die together with the people that knew them. That's why I have to thank Lilly MacDougall, late Dougies wife, and Christine Logan, his daughter, for granting me permission to publish these stories online. They give a lovely insight into the recent history of Islay. I wish you pleasure in reading this great story.
Dougie MacDougall: Retracting my thoughts back to the days of Illicit whisky distilling on Islay, there is no doubt that the island was the perfect place with its numerous caves and hideouts in the deep valleys of the surrounding hills. I have heard many a story regarding the illicit brewing of whisky – in fact traces can be seen yet where they had their stills and worked them for many years till the law got too hot for them.
I remember my late mother telling of how her two brothers left the house in the early morning to walk to the west coast of Islay on a poaching expedition with their muzzle loader guns on their shoulders. It is a good three hours walk from the house to the west coast and the return journey would be something similar. They shot a few wild duck when walking along the seashore and quite a lot of wild pigeons from the caves fell to their guns. The time elapsed and as the bags were full and heavy they thought that a little exploring among the caves would meet with their craving for adventure. They hid the guns and game bags in a place where they knew that they could spot on the way back to pick them up. They wandered from one cave to another, commenting at times on how far in they penetrated, for some of them were huge and very dark at the further ends.
The roar and surge of the breakers on the ragged reefs descended with rebounding echoes from the cliffs and open caves which sent messages of orchestral rhapsodies to their musical minds. They wandered along the wild shoreline with cliffs rising sheer to three hundred feet in places. Those shores were constantly battered by gales and heavy seas straight in from the Atlantic, especially in winter time’s high tides. Continue reading.......
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When I wrote about Proaig and McArthur's Head Lighthouse this week I was reminded again and again of the old days in this area. In the story about McArthur's Head lighthouse I already mentioned Dougie MacDougall and his booklet "As Long as Water Flows" and quoted a paragraph from the old days. When I recieved an email this morning from Christine Logan, his daughter, I decided to post another one of his stories on this blog about bygone days along the shores of the Sound of Islay. I don't know about you but I can't get enough of these old nostalgic stories. It must have been hard times back then but judging from Dougies stories, it must have been fantastic as well.
Dougie MacDougall: When Archie, Donald and myself came out of the bar we sat on the old sea wall and conversed for a while about happenings of bygone days. Archie says to Donald, "You are bound to know all the coastline from here to McArthur's Head and with most of all the old stories attached to it." "Indeed I do, Archie, for many a time I have explored the shore, old ruins of houses, caves and landing places where they ferried their livestock across the Sound to Jura en route for the mainland markets." Donald said that the folklore of the Islay and Jura coast was a history in itself and would go down well in book form. Continue reading.....
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