The sound arrives first.

 

It cuts across the open fields of Mystic Farm and Distillery in a steady, pulsing rhythm, with bagpipes carrying over the low murmur of a growing crowd. Every so often, cheers rise from the back side of the 22-acre property as a caber tilts, wobbles and crashes into the grass.

 

By midmorning Saturday, March 28th, the sixth annual Mystic Highland Games were fully underway. Scottish clan tents lined the perimeter of the field, each marked by tartans, flags, maps and family crests. 

 

Athletes adjusted belts, chalked their hands and moved between competitions that tested strength, balance and precision. Families drifted between food vendors and craft booths, some stopping to watch the games, others pulled in by the sound before they even reached the main field.

 

A caber is a large, tapered wooden pole, typically more than 15 feet long and weighing upward of 100 pounds, that athletes hurl end over end in one of Highland games’ most recognizable events. Clans, meanwhile, are Scottish family groups bound by shared ancestry, a common surname and a distinctive tartan pattern. Far from the sinister connotations the word sometimes carries in American contexts, clans are fundamentally about kinship, heritage and community. 

 

For many, the event was less about competition and more about connection.

 

“We all love what we do,” said a bartender at Mystic Farm and Distillery. “It is also a really inviting atmosphere.”

 

The employee said they had been to Mystic as a customer before working there, and this event captures what keeps people returning to the property. Their father started as a volunteer before becoming one of the distillery’s staff members.

 

Familial-like relationships were visible across the grounds. Volunteers directed visitors, bartenders moved between tasting stations and longtime supporters stopped to talk with staff as if they were greeting old friends. For Mystic, the Highland Games have grown into more than a themed event; they have become one of the distillery’s largest gatherings of the year.

 

By early afternoon, that was easy to see. Lines formed at vendor tents, spectators clustered around the competition areas and families spread out across the grass with food, drinks and folding chairs. The wind pushed at tent corners and lifted tartan banners, but it did not slow anyone down.

 

Several clans, including Bell, MacKay, Elliott, Munro and Scott, were represented at the event, each bringing not only history but personal stories shaped by ancestry, migration and memory. Visitors stepped into tents asking about last names, family origins and possible Scottish ties. 

 

Many stayed longer than they expected.

 

At the clan tents, history did not feel distant. It sat in framed maps, handwritten notes, shields, swords, tartans and conversations between strangers trying to understand where their families may have come from.

 

Chris Bell, a Clan Bell representative, said he and his wife first became involved after attending another festival. Now, they travel to events across North Carolina, including Wilmington, Hillsborough and the Grandfather Mountain Highland Games.

 

Clan Bell, he explained, came from the border region between England and Scotland, an area known for fighting clans and raiding families.

 

“We were deemed unholy by the king of Scotland and the king of England,” Chris said, laughing as he described the clan’s reputation for horse thieving, cattle thieving and general lawlessness.

 

At the Clan Elliott tent, representatives told a similar story of border clans known as Reivers, or “land pirates.” Their table included maps, a clan crest and a miniature castle.

 

One representative described the borderlands as a place where family alliances mattered as much as national borders.

 

The stories drew visitors in because they were both serious and playful, historical and personal. They offered a window into the past that did not feel like a textbook. At Mystic, heritage was carried through humor, explanation and the small thrill of recognizing a surname on a clan chart.

 

For Andrea MacKay, a Clan MacKay representative and kiltmaker, the event was also about keeping traditional Scottish arts alive. She hand-sews kilts, a process she said can take more than 40 hours for a single piece. Her connection to Highland culture began with dance, and over time, it expanded into clothing, clan history and community events.

 

She said gatherings like Mystic’s give people a place to ask questions and find connections they may not have known they had.

 

In the center of the field, the games themselves remained the focal point.

 

The caber toss regularly drew some of the largest crowds. Athletes lifted a long wooden pole vertically, balancing it upright before driving forward in an attempt to flip it end over end. Each attempt froze the crowd, followed by a collective reaction as the caber turned, slipped or landed heavily in the grass.

 

Nearby, competitors rotated through stone put, hammer throw and weight tosses. Some athletes moved through multiple events, pacing themselves between rounds while spectators followed along from the ropes. The games looked ancient from a distance, but up close, they were physical and precise. 

 

Between competitions, the energy spread across the rest of the grounds. Piping and drumming performances filled the property with sound. A clan tug-of-war brought people close to the ropes. A haggis eating contest drew a dense crowd, with visitors lifting their phones to record the moment.

 

The event’s origins trace back to Mystic Farm co-owner Mike Sinclair, who was inspired by trips to Scotland and larger Highland gatherings such as the Grandfather Mountain Highland Games. Sinclair’s interest in Scottish heritage was shaped in part by a trip to Scotland with Clan Sinclair more than 20 years ago.

 

What began as a local adaptation has grown into a full-day gathering for the Triangle, blending athletics, food, music, distilling and cultural preservation.

 

During the pandemic, Mystic shifted to making hand sanitizer, and volunteers helped bottle it and distribute it. Sinclair and other volunteers remembered sanitizer being placed in whiskey bottles during a time when containers were hard to find.

 

“They are family now,” another volunteer said.

 

That word, family, came up often throughout the day. It applied to the people working the event, the clan members meeting one another, the volunteers helping the distillery run smoothly and the visitors who returned year after year.

 

For food vendor and award-winning chef Michelle Briggs, that feeling is part of why she keeps coming back.

 

Briggs owns Absolutely Yummy Catering, a Scottish food business based in Waynesville, and travels to about 10 Highland games a year. She and her husband bought the business roughly 10 years ago from a Scottish couple who had started and operated it for more than two decades. Despite the change in ownership, they kept the original recipes.

 

At her tent, visitors ordered meat pies, Scotch eggs and other Scottish foods as steam rose from trays and the smell of warm pastry carried through the air. Michelle said the machine used to press the pies was brought over from Scotland decades ago.

 

She said Mystic’s Highland Games are among her favorite events because people remember the food and come looking for her tent each year.

 

“Everybody is just neighborly,” Briggs said. “They look for us, and that makes me feel really good.”

 

Many vendors sold traditional Scottish dishes alongside Southern staples, giving the food a taste that felt specific to North Carolina. At Mystic’s tasting areas, visitors sampled bourbon, whiskey and liqueurs, where the distillery’s own products gave the gathering a local connection.

 

As the afternoon wore on, the light shifted across the grass. Long shadows stretched behind athletes preparing for final rounds. The crowd thinned slightly, but those who stayed remained engaged.

 

The event’s success came from more than attendance. It came from the willingness of people to participate: to ask about names, to try unfamiliar foods and to stop at a tent and listen to a family story that reached back centuries.

 

By the time closing ceremonies approached, the field had quieted, but not completely. The bagpipes returned, steady and familiar, carrying across the field one more time.

 

For a day in Durham, heritage was not distant or abstract. It was something people could hear, watch, taste and step into, one conversation at a time.

 

See photo package from the day at Mystic Farm and Distillery here.

 

Edited by Jake Williams

Edited by Karen Zhu

Edited by Ali Grau

Edited by Brooke Davis