This can't be it.

Surely. Where are the quaint buildings nestled among rolling hills? I can't see the pagoda roof - every traditional distillery has a pagoda roof.

As I cross the River Teith and turn right, just as my satnav ordered, all I can see is a huge, dirty, brick box of a building - the kind of place some Bruce Willis-type cop would go for the final showdown with his arch-nemesis.

Usually, distilleries have a feeling of peace, tradition and history and my spirits lift every time I first visit one. But this place? "Surely not," is all I can say to myself.

I'd decided to drop in on Deanston Distillery simply because it was so close. Take the road to Stirling, turn left towards Doune and you are there, less than an hour from both Glasgow and Edinburgh.

I had heard it was a little special, established by converting an Industrial Revolution mill, but nothing could prepare me for this. It's just so - odd. But I'm here now so I might as well pay my money and take my chance. Within minutes I realise there is more to this place than first impressions.

Even though the actual distillery is barely 50 years old, there is more of a story to this place than any of the venerable big boys in the north or out west. It's got a heritage stretching back more than 200 years, has starred in its own movie, it was and still is a leader in sustainable power - heck, it's even got its own currency.

The building, designed by Richard Arkwright, started life as a cotton mill in 1785, and with the mill grew a neighbouring village to house the workforce. The children were sent to the local school, which had close ties to the mill and educated the next generation of workers.

There were a number of shops in the village, and the mill literally minted its own currency so that money spent by the workers stayed within the area. The mill used old Spanish and French coins, countermarked them and issued them to workers and suppliers as pay. Although the shops are gone, a form of the local currency is still here, ready to be used by visitors to gain discounts in the distillery shop.

This is like a mini-New Lanark, where the owners nurtured their workforce for generations. However, by the mid-20th century, it was becoming impossible to keep the old tradition of cotton milling alive.

In 1965 the mill finally fell silent and the village would have gone the way of so many other victims of the march of time had it not been for the decision to groom this place for a new industry. Within nine months, Deanston was reborn as a distillery, sustained by the river that brought the mill here in the first place.

Back in the main complex, my first port of call is to its beating heart. Deanston is the only distillery in Scotland self-sufficient in electricity, with power generated by an on-site hydro-energy facility. Yet the connection to the past is plain to see. Projected on to the wall of the generator room is an image of Hercules, the 36ft-wide waterwheel that used to power the machinery in the mill. When it was installed in the early 1800s it was the largest in Europe and second largest in the world.

As I enter the distillery itself, the ghosts of the past are everywhere, from the still room, where four floors were ripped out to create space for the giant copper stills that make the spirit, to the craftsmanship of the people who work here.

Despite its relative youth, the distillery shuns computers, relying instead on the judgment of its staff. The milled malted barley is graded by hand, while the quality of the virgin spirit is solely the decision of the stillman, who uses his years of experience to judge the exact moment to siphon it off into oak barrels, ready for maturation.

I am most struck by the warehouse where the whisky is taken to mature. The giant building is a monument to the miracle that turns spirit into malt, with hundreds of barrels stacked in the cold and dark, waiting until they are ready to be bottled. This vaulted wonder of a space used to be the weaving shed, and the contrast between today's stillness and what must have been a deafening industry then is palpable. I can almost see the shuddering and spinning of the looms among the shadows of the barrels.

As I return to the tasting room to sample the fruits of Deanston's labours, I give voice to a feeling that has been niggling at me all the way around. "It's like I've been here before," I say to the guide. "I almost knew what the still room would look like even before I saw it."

The answer I was given surprised me almost as much as the hidden delights of Deanston itself. The distillery was the backdrop to the film, The Angels' Share. Finally, after one of the most enriching and informative, yet strangest, distillery visits I have ever experienced, there is one last surprise in store - the whisky itself.

The sweet, aromatic malt is beautiful, and from now on, whenever I taste it, I will be whisked back to this wonderful old dirty box of a place, just up the road, that hides a secret story everyone should hear.

Andy Clark took part in the Heritage Tour at Deanston Distillery, a 75-minute experience that includes a tour of Deanston Village and the distillery's water source as well the distillery. A tasting of three Deanston malts is included in the £30 price. Distillery visits range in price from £8 to £40. www.deanstonmalt.com