Midges and the failcloths
Stylish cycling headgear shown not to bother native insect life
Months before leaving for Islay, Clutch warned me of the “wee biting beasties” of the Hebrides. He even went so far as to provide me with a special insect repellent cloth that when worn (or perhaps rubbed into the skin - I didn’t read the instructions) would protect me from the fearsome teeth of the Scottish midge.
We had one of these cloths each, and alternated between the rubbing and the wearing thereof. Nevertheless, we managed to be plagued by swarms of these flying pests.
Clutch was particularly bothered by them. Swearing and slapping at himself in a way that was suggestive of mental illness, rather than simply insect attack, he cursed the ineffectiveness of what came to be known as the failcloths. If anything, they seemed to attract their attention, rather than frighten away the midges.
Some interesting facts that may or may not be true about midges, courtesy of Clutch’s fanciful brain:
1) Midges only attack at dusk. They explode in direct sunlight.
2) Midges fly at 6 miles an hour, so you’re safe pedalling downhill, but in peril on the incline.
3) Only female midges bite. The male of the species does not require sustenance.
For the record, Clutch is nursing in excess of 20 midge bites. I don’t seem to have any. Perhaps my cloth worked…
Singing sands
One of my ‘things to do before I die’ has always been to visit one of the few beaches in the world that purport to have singing sands.
It’s a type of beach with special sand composition from specific rock (don’t ask me which) that when conditions are right, apparently produce tones when walked across or the wind blows through them.
So on our last day on Islay, after a fantastic outdoor tour of the Bunnahabhain and Caol Ila distilleries, which we didn’t manage to catch whilst open, we set out on our bikes to the Mull of Oa.
Jazzfail
One of the main reasons Clutch and I went to Islay when we did, was to make the most of the Islay Jazz Festival. Clutch is a musician and composer, and while jazz isn’t his usual idiom, he’s been known to dabble. I moonlight as a jazz radio broadcaster from time to time. So aside from the whisky, the interest was there.
We looked through the programme and discounted the ‘funky jazz night’. Even though Colin Steele was on trumpet (and I like his stuff), we weren’t up for anything that passes for funky grooves at a festival at which we were lowering the average age of the attendees.
We opted instead for the visiting American saxophonist, Jimmy Greene, who was a protege of Jackie McLean and was the central drawcard for the festival. It was held at Bruichladdich Hall, a large white beachfront building completely enveloped in a cloud of midges.
Locals
By and large the locals we encountered on our travels about Islay were all fine characters.
Some individuals in particular stuck in our minds though. They were mostly to be found in The Ardview Inn, which is an establishment located on the shorefront of Port Ellen.
It had been recommended to us by Ashley, the tour guide who worked at Laphroaig. We’d asked where there was a place with a bit of atmosphere and a good selection of malts behind the bar. There’d been a sharp intake of breath from the other staff when they realised where she was sending us.
Certainly a colourful place, with a choice of about two hundred whiskies to choose from, with the added entertainment of some friendly people who wanted to share their opinions with us.
Whisky snob FAIL
As seen on the whisky menu at the Harbour Inn Restaurant, Bowmore.