The natural beauty of Islay will change you for the better

“Light in the eye and it’s goodbye to care”

One of my favourite ever afternoons began with the air-raid wail of seals howling into a gale as the furious Atlantic threw itself against sea-worn rocks.

The rain was of the traditional Scottish variety, bulleting in horizontally across the harbour and under badly clamped-down hoods and up wildly-flapping trousers legs.

There were five of us. The only souls to be seen down by the sea at Portnahaven, on the far southern tip of Islay.

Just five damp idiots and a handful of noisy sea creatures shouting pointlessly at the salty spray.

We braved the October storm until, after 10 minutes, we had to concede defeat.

Caught on a calmer day Portnahaven is a beautiful, peaceful postcard of a place, with a harbour full of playful and quieter seals and a stirring view out to the North Atlantic (next stop, Canada, the US or Ireland, depending on which direction you’re facing). But this was not one of those days.

We were about to make a mad dash for the car when an eagle-eyed beer-lover among us spotted a sign above a door along the way.

The house it belonged to looked like all the other little terraced homes in the row, but the sign gave it away. A pub. Hallelujah!

It looked closed, but a cosy glow leaking out into the grey afternoon suggested otherwise. We piled in.

Inside it was a warm hug of a place. A fire roared in the grate, wooden chairs and benches were scattered with soft cushions.

Pints of Islay Ale were ordered. Bowls of haggis with warm whisky cream sauce (made with nips from a bottle on the shelf) and homemade brown bread were gobbled down and for two blissful hours we listened to the distant crash of waves and banshee-call of the seals as we laughed and chatted.

That’s Islay for you. It can be wild and windy and the drizzle can seep into parts of your body you didn’t know you had. But that never diminishes the enchanting charm of the place. In fact it makes the magic moments even more special.

And if you’re blessed with a glorious spell of Hebridean sun, well, there are few places you’d rather be. I love Islay. Can you tell?

There’s something about leaving the mainland on a ferry that psychologically separates you from everyday life.

Unlike the stress and hassle of jetting off somewhere, it’s slow and (in calm weather) utterly relaxing pitching and yawing you over the sea from Kennacraig on the Kintyre peninsula to either Port Ellen or Port Askaig. (My advice is to aim for the Askaig journey if possible it’s the prettier of the two routes, sailing up the Sound of Islay with Jura to your right and Islay to your left).

And get this there are no traffic lights on the island. Not one set.

The only traffic jams you’re likely to encounter are those caused by gallus sheep staring you out as they refuse to budge from the middle of the road.

My wife’s family are Ileachs so we’re no strangers to the island.

We tend to go mob-handed, like a live-action version of the Broons, and stay in the island’s capital, Bowmore.

It’s the perfect central location for exploring all over Islay. All the distilleries are within striking distance (not least Bowmore) and it’s the best served of all the villages for shops, pubs and restaurants, with the Lochside Inn and Harbour Inn being two favourites.

For those seeking a more secluded break, there are plenty of options in the smaller settlements like Bridgend, Port Ellen and Port Charlotte, not to mention countless standalone houses and farms that offer self-catering or guest house accommodation away from the villages.

There’s plenty to do as well even if sinking a few drams isn’t your cup of whisky from playing on the vast sandy beach of the Big Strand south of Laggan to birdwatching at Loch Gruinart to soaking up the ancient atmosphere at Kildalton Cross.

I’d recommend a trip to Finlaggan, the seat of the Lords of the Isles, at early morn. I was lucky enough to be there when it was completely silent and a great bird of prey swooped out of the mist. Proper shivers-up-the-spine stuff.

Also make time to catch the little ferry over to Jura from Port Askaig.

There are a lot worse ways to spend the day than hanging out in Craighouse or, for the more adventurous, ditching the car and heading to the north of the island to see the house where George Orwell wrote 1984 and gaze out across the notorious Corryvreckan whirpool.

Yes, you could easily pack lots into your Islay odyssey.

Or you could do what we do and simply unwind, blether, daunder, eat, drink and let all thoughts of the mainland drift out to sea.

The song Westering Home a love letter to the island contains the line “light in the eye and it’s goodbye to care”.

Never has a truer lyric been written.