First, I must regretfully say this to our English visitors: you are most unlikely to find real ale in Mull. With the best will in the world, landlords have tried introducing it, but the logistics of keeping cask-conditioned beers in this place are too difficult, given a demand which is highly seasonal, the lack of a local hard core of CAMRA members, the limited life of the ales and the long supply lines, all these factors combine to make it impossible. So regrettably, the choice is restricted to Scottish and Newcastle keg brews, popular lagers, and Irish stouts of various varieties. In England, the pubs are owned by the breweries; in Scotland they are all free houses, and there is only one big brewery which probably has a stranglehold on the distribution system.
But all is not lost; we can make up for lack of draught ale variety with a vast selection of whiskies, and some interesting bottled beers, such as those from the Arran Brewery. The standard order used to be "a half and a half-pint", the "half" being a "half-glass", a small whisky. A large whisky was a "glass", or "gless" if you're from Glasgow. As the rounds came thick and fast, the beer tended to get forgotten, and before you knew what was happening you would have a line of "halves" of whisky lined up in front of you.
But with the introduction of longer drinking hours in Scotland, habits have moderated. I remember when "eleven till eleven" first came in. There were bets as to who could first drink for a full 12-hour shift, but nobody made it. Sooner or later, the old 'combat drinking' habit crept back, and the combatant was dragged outside to sleep it off. Much though I regret the passing of some old ways, modern Scottish drinking habits are a great deal more civilised. Even pub fights are becoming a rarity.
English drinkers will notice a few differences from their home hostelries. The beer taps are raised above the bar counter. This is due to an old Scottish law ruling that the drinker should see his beer being poured, giving the barman no opportunity to tip ullage into the glass. Also, the beers' strengths were given as "sixty, seventy, or eighty shilling". This was originally the excise duty payable on a cask. So the drinker knew the strength of his brew, and how much his alcohol was costing him per unit. (Incidentally I worked out that a "unit" is 10 cc's by volume of pure ethyl alcohol, or ethanol to use the modern term).
Also, it is normal in Scottish pubs to have a fresh glass with every drink. If you don't mind another pint in your empty glass, say so to the barman, but he may give you a fresh one anyway if there are strangers present, possible snoopers from the Health and Safety. This reminds me of a pub down south where the landlord was a bolshie Yorkshireman. We had a Territorial Army unit in, from a rough mining area of the Kingdom of Fife. They kept going back for more drams, not bringing the empty glassses back, then complaining about it. "Right you boogers" says Harry the landlord, "if you want a Scottish pub you can keep Scottish hours", and threw the whole lot out at 9.30. Tough Scottish miners, they bought half-bottles and went like lambs.
My first serious drinking experience was up in the north-east, where there are three counties: Moray, Banff, and Nairn, all with different closing times. It was a race from one to the next to be thrown out of three pubs in a night. Then on Sundays, you had to be a "bona fide traveller" to get a drink. This meant travelling three miles. My friend Ian and I would pile into his van, he would reset the trip meter, and say "when that says 3 miles, we stop at the first one". Then we had to sign the book, and could drink all day. It was a total nonsense.
Anyway, the lack of real ale in Mull has one advantage: when you return to England you will appreciate it all the more. Once, heading south, I took my first pint in Macclesfield - Boddington's. I really did get a hint of raspberries from it - extraordinary. I had always thought that beer critics' talk was a load of twaddle till then.
Please do not be naive and think that you are so far from so-called civilisation that you can drink-drive with impunity in Mull. We have many natural hazards on the roads with which you may be unfamiliar.
So, having issued these warnings, it is time to get on with our tour of the North.
Turning right off the pier at Craignure, our only decent stretch of double-track road leads north-west along the coast towards Salen. After a short distance you will pass a turning to the right which leads to the Java housing estate, and the Isle of Mull hotel. This hotel has a public bar in the basement, which is now closed, but drinks may be had in the lounge bar. The hotel caters mainly for coach parties. The name 'Java' for this area has an interesting origin. The Maclaines of Lochbuie were generally very poor managers of their finances, but one of them went to Java and made a fortune as a planter. On returning to Mull, he built a big house, Java Lodge, on this site, which stood for many years. But in the late 20th century it fell into disrepair and was demolished. The housing estate was built on the site to accommodate Craignure's increasing population. Speaking of names, 'Craignure' is from the Gaelic 'Creag an Iubhair', the crag of the yew tree.
Further on, we see on the right Craignure's nine-hole golf course. Players wishing to use it should apply at the Craignure Spar shop or the Inn. If there was ever to be a bridge to Mull, it would come to earth on about the fourth green; but the Mull golfing community has so much clout that they could probably stop it. Besides, we like the security offered by the ferry, despite its horrific expense. There are several rocks in the Sound of Mull which could support piers for a bridge, which would have to take off from the top of high cliffs on the mainland side, and a road would have to be built across miles of desolate moorland to join up with the mainland highways. So the bridge is probably not something we will see in our lifetimes. When it is pouring with rain and blowing a gale from the west, which does happen very occasionally, you can look across at the rivers flowing from the top of these mainland cliffs down onto the shore in spectacular cascades. The wind blows the water back up onto the clifftops where it accumulates in temporary ponds. Finally, the whole lot crashes down in an almighty splash.
After passing some farms, the next landmark that the visitor notes is the Mull Rugby Club ground on the left. The club house is licensed, but only opens during fixtures and for private functions that may be held there. The ground is also used for shinty, a game peculiar to the Highlands, which is a form of hockey without rules. In Gaelic the game is called 'camanachd', from the 'caman', the crooked stick used in play. It is closely related to the Irish game of 'hurling'. Anyone interested in this lethal sport should contact the Camanachd Association .
Passing through a forestry plantation, there is a turning to the right which leads to the Fishnish-Loch Aline ferry. There is a slipway and a tea-room there. This smaller (and cheaper) ferry is convenient for travel between Mull, the Central Highlands, and the north of Scotland. Some people, coming from the south, prefer to drive the extra miles to use this ferry.
The next landmark that we see is a wharf used for loading timber, which was built when it was deemed unsafe to have great stacks of timber on Craignure Pier for loading at the same time as hordes of ferry passengers. The last that I heard, the timber was being taken on barges towed by a tug down to Workington in Cumbria. A lot of the cargo was lost at sea due to extreme weather. Then after that we come to a large graveyard, behind which is an old roofless building. This is a pre-Reformation chapel, of considerable interest to students of ecclesiastical architecture. This building has been re-roofed a number of times, but the roof always blew off. An old Mull legend has it that the building incurred the wrath of the Lord after 'devilish rites' were performed there, so He never allowed a roof to stay on it. Curiously, there is another legend which has it that some Knights Templars were in Mull in the early 1300's, after the dissolution of their order by the King of France, and that they subsequently joined up with Robert the Bruce and were instrumental in bringing about his victory at the Battle of Bannockburn (1314). The knights had been accused of worshipping a terrifying idol called Baphomet. This may have given rise to the 'devilish rites' legend.
The road then crosses the Forsa river by two bridges, one for each direction of travel, and on the right behind trees we find the famed Glenforsa Hotel and the airfield. For details of the hotel, click on this airfeld link.
Continuing along this last stretch of dual carriageway, we come shortly to the village of Salen. This has always rather struck me as a dismal place, and it is popularly supposed that the village's name means 'bog', which would indeed be apposite, but my dictionary has 'sailean' as a willow tree. As regards the Gaelic spelling, there appears to be some difference of opinion, among the road signs anyway:
The village was founded by Lachlan McQuarie, owner of large estates in Mull in the early 19th century, after returning from his appointment as Governor of New South Wales. He named it Jarvisfield, from the surname of his first wife, but later it became Salen. His mausoleum is to be found a couple of miles down the road to Knock, an object of pilgrimage for many Australians.
Entering the village by a broad street, there is a shop and Post Office on the right, then a turning down to the old pier and the doctor's surgery if you need it, and then the Salen Hotel. I have always found this place damp and dismal, though there is sometimes good crack to be had in the public bar. But I tend to follow the advice of a Dutchman, who had a snack lunch there and put on his web site, "don't do it!". The Salen Hotel does not appear to have its own web site yet, but a brief description of it and other pubs of which I shall give a personal view can be found here. Opposite is the bog, and the field used by the Rugby Club before the new facilities were built. A turning to the left leads to Knock and Mull's west coast, while straight on the road narrows to single track and continues towards Tobermory. After a short, bumpy but picturesque stretch, we come to Aros with the old castle across the estuary of the Aros river and a left turn up through Glen Bellart to Dervaig. But continuing towards Tobermory, the road climbs with fine views over the Sound up to the Guillean Dubh ("Gully Goo") at about 500 ft. altitude, where, wonder of wonders, the A848, "the worst A road in Britain", suddenly becomes dual carriageway again for the last few miles into the capital city. A lot of the old single-track road is slowly sinking into the boggy ground, and all that the Council does is to pour more tarmac into the hollows. There is a lot of very heavy traffic: my good friend Gordon Harper has a haulage business in Tobermory with enormous low-loaders and other trucks, and you may encounter a vast, unmarked road tanker - this is the whisky going away from the distillery. Whatever they tell you when you visit the distillery, none of it is aged in Tobermory, but goes away to Glasgow and elsewhere as soon as it comes out of the stills. The old bonded warehouse has been converted into flats.
After a small but growing industrial estate on the left - try the fish farm shop there - you come to a badly-laid-out mini-roundabout with a left turn to Glengorm and the upper part of the town, and a right down a steep ravine to the Tobermory waterfront:
The main feature of the town is the joint effort made by the residents to paint their houses in bright colours, a cheering sight when you come down the hill on a dreich winter's day. This is one of Martin Guppy's postcards, which I'm sure he won't mind me using here. The middle building is the Mishnish Hotel, appropriately coloured like the sulphur and brimstone of the hell to which the Minister weekly condemns its patrons. Life can get quite exciting in there at weekend nights. Sometimes when crewing on a boat and in Tob. for the evening, I go back to the vessel and my bunk by 9 p.m. when things are starting to hot up a little. Needless to say, the Kirk has not joined the colour scheme, nor the Clydesdale Bank (which has the only hole in the wall in the island, by the way). But I'm sure that we would still entrust the bank with our money even if they did paint the place up like the other buildings.
More to my taste pub-wise, now that I am older and possibly wiser, is the MacDonald Arms, near the bottom of the hill after the Hydro Board showrooms and residential hotels. Genial host Bert Hall, an Aberdonian and sense of humour to match, keeps a convivial atmosphere in the bar and serves excellent meals. I hope that the old parrot in the back part of the bar is still with us.
But with the immediate object of parking, you should turn right immediately at the bottom of the hill where there is a new car park opposite the distillery, and the recently-opened MacGochan's pub.
It was shortly after the opening that I returned to Tobermory late one night on a boat. We found our mooring, tied up to it, and after going to our bunks, hearing a rumbling noise, thought nothing of it. Next morning, we saw a scar on the hillside above MacGochan's - a landslide had engulfed the rear part of the building! Later, we heard the story. Old man MacGochan, it seemed, had been a Wee Free - a member of a very strict church. "It's over my dead body that ye'll open a bar in my house!" he shouted to his family before his death. All the same, they went ahead and did it; the landslide was the "Curse of MacGochan"! Mind you, they had dug away a lot of ground at the back of the place which I suspect was the real cause.
MacGochan's is tastefully done out in modern nautical style, and I'm told that the food is not bad. The décor reminds me of places that I have seen on the south coast of England, frequented by braying gin-palace owners rather than real yachtsmen.
Returning to the above photograph, at the top right you can see the conservatory of the Western Isles Hotel, which is reached by a steep road to the right of the red building. This is an Edwardian gem of a place, with the only revolving door in Mull. It has recently come under new ownership, Michael and Sue Fink having retired, and I have not been up there since. But my wife sometimes goes there with her ladies who lunch, and I will expect a report the next time. The Western Isles is certainly not a pub; it is a posh hotel. It has a Cocktail Bar, which used to be called the American Bar. For the benefit of the younger generation, I should explain the reason for this. In Edwardian and earlier times, the gentry did not stand at bars and buy rounds. They sat at tables and were served by waiters. Then, in the 1920's and onwards, those uncouth American colonials, fleeing Prohibition at home, demanded bars in London hotels where they could stand and drink. Hence the introduction of the American Bar, which rapidly spread to the rest of the country. At one time there was a human skull nailed up over the bar's doorway. Nobody seemed to know anything about it, but it came to be believed that it brought much bad luck. Somebody took it out in a boat and dropped it into the bay. Then, a story started circulating that it was a Japanese skull, and the next thing we knew there was a TV team from Tokyo making a film about it. Of course, not wishing them to be disappointed, the local imaginations soon produced stories of the Japanese connection to satisfy them.
At the extreme right of the photograph, near the white pier building, is a real curiosity: one of the only three pillar boxes in Britain with the insignia of King Edward VIII, the one who married the divorced Mrs. Simpson and abdicated the throne before being crowned.
The ferry to the southern outer islands used to call in at Tobermory at this pier, but recently the service was discontinued as there is no link-span. Despite considerable outcry, there is still no promise that the pier might be upgraded. The isles of Tiree and Coll used to get their milk from the Sgriob Ruadh dairy, near Tobermory, but this is now no longer possible. The dairy is owned by a Somerset cheese-making family - watch out for their Mull Cheese in the shops.
To the left, out of the picture, is the old pier with its clock tower, now used by small boats and fishing vessels. There is also a new marina round at the distillery. On less important topics, Tobermory has a good selection of shops. My wife is amazed at the recent improvement in the Co-Op supermarket, and a visit to Archd. Brown & Son, Licensed Victuallers, Ironmongers, Ships' Chandlers, you name it, they've got it, is a must. Tackle and Books has a good selection of reading matter and fishing tackle, but regrettably no longer guns or cartridges. Due to ever-more-restrictive Health and Safety regulations, ammunition can no longer be sent over on the ferry - they would have to collect it themselves and make elaborate arrangements as regards the ferry. I have just been told by the well-known firm Screwfix that they cannot consign builders' mastic to the islands - a hazardous substance! Maybe some official saw the 'cartridges' in which it comes, and thought that they were sticks of dynamite. Idiotic restrictions like this make a difficult island life no easier.
To leave Tobermory, you can either return the way you came in up the hill and right at the mini-roundabout, or else go on along the seafront and left up the steep hill past the bank and shops. This takes you through the upper part of the town, back to the mini-roundabout by a succession of narrow roads. After a quarter-mile there is a road on to Glengorm Castle and estate, but there are no licensed premises there to my knowledge.
Instead, bear left for Dervaig, which climbs up to the Mishnish Lochs. I believe that permts to fish in them are available in Tobermory - ask in Brown's. You then come down a steep, twisty road into Dervaig - a road which has claimed many victims in the Mull Rally held every October. Dervaig amounts to a single street, with the Bellchroy Hotel. There are several attractions in and near Dervaig: the church with its Irish pencil-shaped tower, said to be the only one in Scotland; the Mull Litle Theatrewith associated restaurant; and the Old Byre Heritage Centre. When I hear the word "heritage" I reach for my non-existent revolver. If you are at all like me, you will pack the family off in the car to these places and settle in for a few quiet pints in the Bellachroy.
Leaving Dervaig, you have two choices: either you turn inland at the church and take the Glen Bellart road back to Aros and Salen, passing by the Drumnacroish Hotel [is it still functioning?]. This is a straightforward route, but not over-exciting.
Or else you can go straight on to be faced by another choice very shortly: either left over the top of Mull's north-west peninsula, or straight on round the peninsula via Calgary. The over-the-top road has some very steep and twisty bits, so much so that you think you might meet yourself coming the other way. This is another road to sort the men from the boys in the Mull Rally. Going straight on brings you to Calgary, a small village with Mull's only example of machair. There is a beach of blinding white shell sand, as opposed to the grey sand derived from rock which forms most of Mull's beaches; and behind the beach there are dunes of the sand: this is the machair. The soil being of sea shells, effectively limestone, it is alkaline and supports a distinctive flora.
No pub in Calgary I regret - perhaps it is too isolated to attract
enough of a clientèle to make one viable. Then thereafter
the road continues on round north of Ulva, and to the crossroads
at Gruline. If thirst is getting the better of you at this point,
turn left towards Salen and Glenforsa at this point; or if you
can manage a few more miles, hang a right along the south side of
Loch na Keal, round under the cliffs of Gribun, to the junction
at Kinlochscridain, where another right will bring you very shortly
to the Kinloch Hotel, which has been covered in the South Mull Pubs
section.
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