Bravest hearts

So why would you take a trip to a remote part of Scotland in the middle of winter?

Not a rhetorical question – a very real one, in fact, asked by more than one bemused friend to whom I mentioned we were planning this trip north.

Coincidentally, it is the very same question that I find myself muttering some weeks later as I cower beneath an old stone archway upon an ancient Scottish hill, trying to shelter from the scything rain which whips across the cloud-smothered landscape like sodden razor wire.

We arrived in Oban late last night, and the rain simply has not stopped pouring – if “pouring” is indeed the right word for something which travels sideways in great sweeping sheets at 40mph or more.

My girlfriend is looking at me accusingly from beneath her sodden anorak. She looks cold. Why indeed?

Fortunately for me, the glorious answer reveals itself moments later. Suddenly the winds drop as if some heavenly switch has been flicked, and the cloud lifts in unfeasibly biblical fashion to reveal the glorious panorama below.

Those dim and misty shapes across the bay which only moments ago we were peering at in vain through the dank and the gloom, instantly explode into the vivid greens and reds of the Isle of Kerrera. Beyond, the snow-capped peaks of Mull loom into view like great ships upon the horizon.

Two more minutes pass. Now the sky is a piercing winter blue, the air mild and utterly still, the splendour of Oban’s waterside setting laid out before us. Not a soul is around with whom we have to share the view.

We are standing at McCaig’s Tower, a century-old folly which perches atop the hillside stretching up behind Oban like a clifftop coliseum, by some margin the town’s most impressive building.

From up here it is easy to see why this little fishing town was chosen for a port, situated as it is upon the most natural harbour imaginable; the steep hills rolling down toward a bay sheltered perfectly by the islands just across the water.

Clearly, the weather is changeable. In fact, to say the weather is changeable is a bit like saying the mountains are “pretty”. One moment the sky is heavy and bleak, filling the scenery with a heavy drama. The next the heavens are electric blue, the sun bouncing off the multi-coloured mountains beyond. Then the clouds and the wind and the rain come rolling in with such enormous power that we are sent scampering for warmth and, inevitably, whisky.

The distillery is justly world-famous and pre-dates much of the rest of the town, harking back as far as 1794. It remains in a sense the real heart of Oban, a grand old stone edifice with huge red brick chimney soaring up out of the town centre.

Our guide is a retired town police sergeant, his face as craggy as the local hills. He tells us in the thickest of accents how he has tried and tested some 2,500 different whiskies over a seemingly epic drinking career. The distillery itself is small and charming, the handful of wee drams which are included with the tour well-earned after a day of being blown around by the weather. We toast our good health in Scottish Gaelic – slàintemhath, since you ask – and totter out in search of sustenance.

We are in the right place. Oban sells itself as “Scotland’s seafood capital”, which sounds suspiciously like a glib sales pitch, but in fact turns out to be a reasonable claim.

While the multitude of seafood stalls along the seafront remain closed for the winter, there are an impressive array of fine-looking restaurants dotted around with adjective-laden menus pinned outside. One, the Seafood Temple, sits up on a hillside overlooking the bay and is housed inside a pre-war public convenience, there being space enough for no more than a scattering of chairs and a tiny kitchen cooking the freshest of fish. Another, Ee-Usk, is all glass-fronted modernity, perched out on the pier head with sea views from every table and tables quickly filled with sumptuous mussels, smoked haddock with creamy potato, freshly-caught and battered sea bream. From here we can relax with a glass of wine and watch the ships pull in and out of the harbour – Oban being the starting point for those looking to explore the western isles.

So why would you go to Scotland at this time of year? Simply because it is an experience. First of all, some of the weather might just be glorious. But even when the clouds are dark and the sea is rough, there is something magnificent in the air. Something magnificent, too, in a warming malt whisky by a roaring hearth; the freshest of battered fishes beside a foaming sea.

There are no crowds of Americans; no crowds of irritating English either. And certainly no midges. Just Scotland, at its most rugged and its most beautiful. Just don’t forget your waterproofs.

Getting there

Jack Blanchard was a guest of The Caledonian Hotel in Oban, a landmark 19th century hotel in the heart of the town overlooking the bay. Standard bed-and-breakfast for two starts at £59 per night, and a variety of offers and rooms are available.

For information and reservations, visit www.obancaledonian.com, or call 01631 563 133.