31/08/2022 Ben Nevis

Ben Nevis Single Blend 43yo 1970/2013 (44.5%, Speciality Drinks, 300b): let us finish the month with another single blend. Nose: an onslaught of pine liqueur and candied aromatics; génépi, Gocce Pino, candied angelica. It has a rich, almost greasy smell. Oil would be the obvious, yet it is closer to margarine, all things considered, or congealed olive oil (think: Bertolli), borderline vegetable deep-frying fat. No fear to have, however: pine needles are not far away. Perhaps there is a bit of candied orange, or citrus foliage as well. Actually, yes: it turns much waxier than pine needles, after a couple of minutes' breathing, and is now closer to citrus foliage. In my mind, a combination of waxy Kaffir lime leaves and garden rubber hoses. The second nose brings about a more animal touch, without making it meaty or game-y. If anything, it is the shadow of a wild boar in a pine-tree clearing, or a light-footed fox in a citrus-tree plantation. Mouth: ooft! This is aromatherapy. Candied angelica is now the most obvious, but it also has lemon thyme, lovage seeds and clementine leaves. The texture is jelly-like, if not frankly waxy, and pine jelly soon seems to be the clear frontrunner, harking back to Gocce Pino. The second sip welcomes mentholated lime skins, unripe tangerines, juicy alright, but not overtly fruity yet. Each new sip appears increasingly acidic (citric acid) and bitter (kind of leafy), without either of those notes ever becoming unpleasant. Finish: there is a soft milk-chocolate nuance, at this stage, that surreptitiously vanishes to allow pine jelly and candied angelica to shine. It is a long finish, pine-y and mentholated, a finish that leaves the mouth as fresh as a mouthwash, the gums throbbing and revitalised. Repeated sipping adds unsweetened orange jellies, and mint-and-eucalyptus fruit jellies. The death is very much liqueur-like again, verging on toffee, and, if it is not cloying, it certainly coats every taste bud in something a lot sweeter than one might have predicted. Balanced, intriguing, and unique. 8/10 (Thanks for the dram, JS)

30/08/2022 Lochside

Lochside Single Blend 46yo 1965/2011 (52.3%, Adelphi Limited, Refill Harveys Bodega-Sherry Butt, C#6778, 499b): nose: woah! PS did not lie: this is, indeed, eaten alive by the sherry wood it was matured in. We have hairballs, grated lichen-covered tree bark, shiny cat fur, unlit blonde tobacco, but also a serious dose of fruit and confectionary -- red gummy bears, strawberry-flavoured chewy sweets, apple Sugus. It is all a bit chemical, really, yet enticing nonetheless. Deeper nosing welcomes chewy dried apricots and apricot-flavoured sweets (Sugus style again), talking loud and clear. There is also candied grapefruit segments, edible paper, and tangerine segments dusted with confectionary sugar. Amusingly, the initial sherry tones have left the room almost entirely, leaving but a heavy fruitiness that flirts with the chemical. We witness citrus peel left out to dry, pomelo and lime juices, augmented with crushed Aspirin, then ground cumin seeds -- black cumin seeds, to be precise. The second nose focuses on wood patina, with varnish, dark wax (that gives it a rustic feel), and old wood, rejuvenated by a lot of carpenter's care. Mouth: wood lacquer, mahogany-panelled cabinets, polished brass. Right. The fruit cavalcade is less, here. It is much woodier on the palate. Here is a drop of turpentine, carbonyl, wood glue of sorts, and an antique-furniture workshop. The second sip is more acidic than bitter; it brings back a (wooden) basket of darker citrus fruits (blush oranges, kumquats, stale pink grapefruits), alongside very-bold wood notes. Again, we have wood lacquer or varnish, perhaps wax, citrus pips, and even liqueur. It is still elegant and distinguished, but maybe slightly less immediate, due to the chewy wood. Finish: it is still precious woods, here, mildly drying and bitter, yet still oh! so elegant. Polished walnut dashboards (more Bentley than Jaguar, I would say), walnut stain, avocado stone, crushed bay leaves, lichen-covered Apple-tree branches, waxed furniture. It retains some vague bitterness, but that is really tame, now, limited to orange liqueur (Curaçao), rather than fresh-fruit peels. The second sip reveals shy passion fruits, so smothered by the afore-mentioned wood, that one would be forgiven for missing them altogether. Maybe there are very-dry mango slices and mulch simultaneously? What remains, in any case, is a strong chewy, woody, and vaguely-fruity impression. It is rather unusual, and I wonder if it comes from the maturation; Harvey, after all, is known for its cream sherry, rather than the sherry types we are more used to. This whisky is excellent in its own right, but, of course, it will always suffer from the comparison with The Whisky Exchange's single blend bottling, unfortunately. 8/10 (Thanks for the sample, PS)

24/08/2022 Glenallachie

Glenallachie 14yo 2000/2014 (57.3%, Chivas Brothers Cask Strength Edition, B#GA 14 006): a pre-Billy-Walker-era Glenallachie. Nose: thin, dry, heady to an extent, though not as in a heady wine, which I associate with heavy. Here are hay, straw bales, dried leaves, plane-tree bark or beech bark, dry and far from the rubbery mulch one sees in gardens. It is probably even a little smoky -- smoke from a twig-and-herb fire, perhaps with aromatics thrown in, such as thyme, sage, oregano, and subtle tarragon. The leaves shake off their dryness a bit, and get closer to dolmas, actually. Then, we have a drop of white-wine vinegar, mixed with a drop of nail-varnish remover. Hay is never too far, though! The second nose is drier, still, with horsehair, faded game bags, yet also turpentine, grape pips, deep-purple nail varnish, and the matching lipstick (which signifies a waxy touch). Hell! Even smoked cockles appear, as one tilts the glass -- how unexpected! Mouth: powerful, dry and desiccating, very acidic. I would equate this to lemon juice drops in a sip of cider vinegar, but really, it is likely closer to aqua regia. (Do not try aqua regia at home, kids!) I can feel the enamel of my teeth dissolving. It is not unpleasant, however. That dissolution impression dissipates and leaves this thinned-lemon-curd texture, still acidic, yet much more approachable. We also have a gentle wave of refined smoke, and old, lichen-eaten wood (beech again). The second sip mixes waxy plums with the dryness of horsehair. It is golden modelling wax, amusingly enough, and the plums are chewy. It has less smoke, now, a less-pronounced acidity too, and delivers more instant pleasure, as a result. Every sip seems sweeter than the previous, yet it retains a mild acidic side. Finish: a novelty, here: the finish has a distinct hazelnut-paste note that is as obvious as it is short-lived. Then, waxy fruits resume their fight with a dryness that is more horsehair than hay, by now. Chewy plum paste, dried grape flesh (not raisin, and no skin), dark-purple lipstick. The smoke seems to have vanished, yet repeated sipping suddenly leaves the gob covered in the same acrid veil that one experiences in the thick of an Italian New Year's Eve -- LOADS of fireworks, and the gunpowder smoke that comes with that. Another excellent, complex CSE! 8/10

Happy birthday, kruuk2!

22/08/2022 Secret Orkney

From an undisclosed distillery on Orkney that is almost certainly not Scapa. Mmmkay.

Orkney 15yo 2006/2022 (57.1%, Thompson Bros. bottled for Milroys of Soho, 280b): nose: fruit eau-de-vie (plum or apricot), a whiff of musk, and a dash of melted candlewax. Is this from Sutherland? Allegedly not, yet it seems to turn waxier with each sip, offering lavender-scented plasticine, after a minute or two. Then, it becomes more vegetal, although it is twigs, more than leaves, promising a certain bitterness. This feels hardly mature yet -- a tired cask, possibly. Old oilskins emerge. The second nose puts the emphasis on those oilskins, adding new sandals, with leather straps, and rubber outsoles. All the same, the fruity plasticine aroma comes through, in the end. Mouth: the provenance is a little more obvious, here, with a thin, earthy smoke that immediately assails the mouth's every square millimetre. We have lavender twigs and dried heather, hinting at a party on the moor, plum juice and chewy dried smoked apricot slices, some candlewax, and even a tiny note of spent wick. The second sip is juicier, the longer it stays in the mouth, a blend of apricot juice, lavender laundry detergent, fruit jellies, and a sprinkle of ash. It reads odd, but it works a treat. Finish: fruit, wax and smoke. The strength is robust, not overpowering, close to cracked black pepper on a plum paste, if such a thing came out of a tube. The second sip has a pinch of ash, and a certain bitterness alongside the clearly-fruity overtone. As that fruit fades out, it is the dryness of ash that lingers, then menthol-and-eucalyptus fruit jellies (y'know, the green ones). This is a good hiking dram for the hipflask. 7/10 (Thanks for the dram, JS)

Happy birthday, ruckus!

19/08/2022 An old blend

Five Sovereigns 8yo (70° Proof, J.W. Cameron & Co., b. ca 1970s): nose: it smells like an old blend, and probably like nothing being bottled these days. We have old medicine capsules made of gelatine, gentian, cough syrup, then ink, génépi, pine liqueur, or Becherovka. One might even say Jägermeister. There is something really mellow, on this nose, however -- something akin to Turkish delights or fruit jellies. That is soon overrun by the pine liqueur. In a way, this reminds me of Tullamore sans the nostril-stripping strength. A few minutes in, it is orange juice, sipped out of an orange plastic bottle, warmed by the summer sun (yes, I used to own one such bottle). The second nose has dusty metal, cast iron in need of a clean, old boiler rooms, and a whiff of discreet coffee in the next room. Mouth: tons of old-bottle effect, which means caramelised jam and metal aplenty. Melon jam stained by the tin cap, warm copper pots, a cauldron full of bubbling jam, cooling down out of the fire, and not a little bit of smoke. Smoke from a boiler, to be sure; none of that rural peat, here. The second sip adds copper coins to the mix, oxidised, yet still recognisable. Metallic jam becomes more obvious too, rose-petal jam, this time. Finish: fruity and a half, it also brings back the ink to augment dusty orange rinds and dried blush-orange segments. In the long run, the finish too takes on a metallic note, though it seems much newer, here: no Verdigris, no old coins, no corrosion, only knife blades, borderline razor blades, or pencil-sharpener blades. Yes, it is a little bitter, as a result. Excellent blend indeed. 8/10 (Thanks for the sample, WhiskyLovingPianist)

02/07/2022 Highland Park

When planning for the current holiday, I got in touch with Highland Park, in the hope that they would be able and willing to give us the special treatment -- a tour that would not be your generic thirty-minutes-and-a-dram experience. Much to my delight, they went quite a few steps further to build us a tour like no other*. Indeed, a couple of days ago, the distillery sent me the full programme for this three-and-a-half-hour tour, and my jaw dropped.

(*) There is a reason for that that I do not care to reveal -- let us just say they liked my haircut.

So, on this Saturday, the last day of our Orkney stay, and in poor weather conditions, we come-a knocking at the distillery's gate at 14:00 sharp, as per instructions. adc is probably surprised we are even here, after we spent such a good time at Scapa, yesterday, while JS is aware we are touring the distillery, but does not know what is in store. Oh! how I love surprising my friends.

We are let in by Rupert, one of the distillery guides, though he was expecting a different crowd and looks puzzled. I tell him my name, to which he replies he knows exactly who we are, and we are to join his colleague Keith. "In that case," I say, "your group is in a car, across the street, sheltering from the rain."

Keith is all smiles and courtesies, professional and slick. He has clearly studied our dossier, knows our names already and drops them a lot to start with. It certainly makes some people feel special, but to be honest, we do not need to be treated like celebrities to be at ease or feel welcome. He gives us a run-down of the afternoon's activities, perhaps divulging a little too much (I like surprises, remember), but it is all good stakeholder-management practice. He then explains that this is a tour that has never been done before, and that we are Guinea pigs of sorts: if it works, they may add it to their offer.

The first of those activities is the video in the visitor centre that explains how Orkney, the land and its people, made Highland Park, the whisky, and why it tastes like it does. Everything is filmed in slow-motion, and all the clichés are represented, to the point where JS bursts with laughter, and struggles to catch her breath ("Now comes the most difficult part... Waiting.")

We are seasoned distillery visitors, however, and, if this type of videos has now become a staple in so many of them, we appreciate that it is because it works on so many occasional whisky tourists. We try to remain composed. It is made all the easier by the dram we have in front of us to sip alongside.

Annoyingly enough, I am driving, by the way, so this whole experience is (almost) teetotal, as far as I am concerned. The visit includes empty samples for me, so I can take the whiskies home and enjoy them in my own time, which will allow me to make detailed notes (see below). Yay! I nose them all and take a drop of each on the day, though. Quality assurance, you understand.

Keith asks us what we thought of the video. I tell him roughly the above, hoping it does not make for too awkward a rest of afternoon. Instead, he was probably trying to gauge where we are on our whisky journey: although he will remain flawlessly professional throughout, the corporate façade fades out soon enough.

From there, Keith takes us to the malting floor, where we meet the other group. No blending in, mind: they are simply on the same stage of their tour, but in a different area of the malting floor.

Disclaimer first: the distillery is currently in its silent season. It is earlier than usual, due to "a recent incident," as I was told by email, the other day. Before we can ask about said incident, Keith points at the scaffolding that envelops several of the buildings, and tells us a lorry-mounted crane was driving to Kirkwall, and passed by the distillery. A pipe runs over the road, from the spirit receiver to the filling room, in the warehouses. It is high enough that those lorries can comfortably pass underneath it, but the crane on this particular vehicle had not been folded properly. It was therefore too tall and caught the pipe, tore it off the wall of the distillery, causing considerable damage. As we widen our eyes in disbelief, Keith adds that it happened on a Sunday, when no-one was around to stop the lorry. That was fortunate, in a way: it meant the pipe was not full of (highly-flammable) spirit. Parallel to the spirit pipe run another one, carrying fuel, and electric cables. A dangerous mix that could very well have ignited, and have had much more dire consequences.

As it dawns on me that we could have easily been robbed of this very tour by the distillery being made permanently out of commission, I note that the driver is likely to be in all sorts of troubles. Judging by our guide's reaction, it is very much the case.

Once past that preamble, we are given a plethora of technical detail about the production, as one would expect, and, if some aspects remain woolly (no spontaneous mention of how much of the distillery's needs the malting floor covers, for example), our guide is open and honest when challenged; in that particular case, the malting floor does not provide enough malt for the distillery, of course, who imports the rest from Bairds, in Inverness -- I forget the proportion.

From there, we go to the kiln. We see the oven part, we discover the use for openings above the furnace (to let in more or less air and generate more or less smoke), are told how coke is burnt, as well as peat, and shown that summer in Highland Park starts with the return of the swallows.

"Swallows back 4/5/22 :)"

"The swallows are back," they said...

Peat for the kiln

Palettes to kickstart the fire.
No-one ever takes the initiative to talk about that (neither here nor elsewhere)

Here comes the meaty part: Keith leads us up the steep stairs into the pagoda of the kiln. Here is something I had never seen, in thirty years of touring distilleries!

Malted barley comes through this pipe

The mesh; oft talked about, rarely seen

This device turns the malted barley while it is being dried

Dried malted barley escapes this way

From there, we take a stroll around the roofs. Sadly, the weather is too miserable to spend much time up there.

Next stop: the mash tun, which is made of stainless steel.

"What is your view on stainless-steel washbacks, tOMoH? asks our guide? I explain I believe that, as every other parameter, steel washbacks, as opposed to wooden ones, make a difference to the taste of the final product. Whether that difference is positive, negative, or even perceptible, is a very different question. He tells me Highland Park used to insist on the importance of having wooden washbacks, but is slowly toning down its message on that subject. Stay tuned.

Next are the stills. They each have two colours, and one can easily see that they have all been mended, and the copper has aged differently above and below the waistline.

The current spirit safe

The original spirit safe

Time for the warehouse, where we are given our second dram of the day, valinched from the cask.

Keith points at a cask in a corner, and tell us to make a note about it.

Then, we see various trophy casks, signed by such-and-such. From afar, though: no strolling through the warehouse, unfortunately.

With that done, our final stop is the Magnus Eunson tasting room, where we will finish in style.

I really appreciated the honest tour, here. Sure, there was a share of corporate marketing bull, but when teased or challenged about it, our guide gave us straight answers, without the excessive romanticism dreamt up by experts in the psychology of selling. Now, proprietors Edrington obviously want Highland Park to become the new Macallan, and are all about premiumisation of the brand and status symbol. Of course, that pains me: it means another whisky I enjoy drinking will soon become inaccessible to me. Yet I have to admit that their product is usually excellent. Although the move irritates me, I can understand it.

Anyway, back to the tasting room, then.

Four drams await each of us, in this very-swish room. As said previously, I will only nose and "quality-check" them today, and take samples of each home. The below notes are not from the 2nd July, but from August, and the samples were tasted at tOMoH Central, not at the distillery.

First, the introductory drams we got on the day.

Highland Park 18yo b.2019 (55.8% OB Distillery Exclusive, 1st Fill Bourbon Hogshead, C#4212, 272b): nose: a punchy, boozy pear compote tickles the nostrils from the get-go, with faded leather in its wake. Hot on their heels are dry earth and squashed blackberry, as well as a drop of acetone, faint, but present. Then, it is dark cherries, smashed onto rye crackers. This does not know whether to be dry or juicy, so it presents both -- yay! It has some spices too, namely ground cardamom and powdered ginger, yet they too are faint. Raisin stems, maybe? Oh, yes. Cracked black pepper? Check. The second nose is sweeter and softer, with plasticine showing its head, tame smoke, and a pinch of pepper to complement the alcohol slap (it is not a shy whisky). Water makes the nose leafier, more vegetal; a walk in the Scottish countryside. Mouth: it goes from mellow to fruity (in a juicy way), to bold and acidic in the space of a second and a half. The spices are well pronounced, here (ginger powder, pepper, ground cardamom, still), yet they are balanced by a dry-fruit juiciness; we have raisins, dried dates and figs, sweet prunes and dried apricots... and all of them are mildly smoked! Yes, the distillery's trademark refined smoke is in full display, with honey simmering in a pot on a heather fire. The second sip feels more compact, more concentrated, with the same dried fruits all squashed together, about to burst out of the glass. It is more chewy too, what with its putting on the texture of toothpaste. I add too much water to it, unfortunately, yet it allows honey, hazelnut oil and distant furniture wax to emerge. Finish: perfectly in keeping with the nose and palate, the finish sees the dried fruits, stewed, this time, spices sprinkled onto them (ground cardamom, ground cloves, sumac), and a whisper of smoke that might even be traces of burnt wood. This finish is long, and, after a while, becomes a little bitter -- it is closer to nigella seeds than rubber, but still bitter to a degree. The second sip coats the palate with a fruity toothpaste, just as it did on the mouth. Excellent. Water seems to add honey-glazed apricots on rye crackers. Lovely! 8/10 (I finally try this on 03/08/2022)

Highland Park d.2004 (63%, Cask Sample, C#6282): nose: a drop spilled on the hand emits a wonderful toffee, imparted by the Bourbon cask (I am guessing, based on the size of the cask). In the glass, it is a rather different story: stronger, drier, teeming with crusty earth, and hiking-boot sole, after a day of walking through the mud, and an evening spent drying by the fireplace. There is toffee in the background alright, yet it is very much there -- in the background, -- initially, at least. Over time, a sweet tone develops, with dark chocolate and praline overtaking toffee without as much as a look back. Underneath is toasted sourdough rye bread, with a thin lick of dark spreading honey. The second nose has Madeira wine, old oilskins, and juicy roast beef. A strange combination, perhaps. Dried shoe polish and the dirty brushes that go with it. If there is heather in this, it is mashed into a ball of tarry putty. With water, it suddenly turns a little maritime -- oh! it is no Kilkerran or Pulteney, yet it has some sea breeze, iodine, and even distant kippers. Discreet embers appear too. Mouth: big. Bold. Dry. Drying. Here are warm cured meats, warm chestnut-tree wood, crusty earth, beaten by a southern sun. The second sip is oilier, greasier. Black cumin seeds and cubebs in petroleum jelly, shallow-fried nigella seeds and dark-cherry stems. One could maybe identify some kind of cinnamon paste, if looking for it, with a dollop of ginger, squashed into a pulp, added for good measure. Later yet, a white fortified wine shows up, fruity, syrupy and potent, white Port or Fino Sherry. Much more approachable with water, of course, it has honey-glazed pears, barely ripe (or is it quince?), and hazel bark, via retro-nasal olfaction, some of it burnt. Finish: unexpectedly sweet, as if coated in dark honey, it soon radiates and turns warmer and warmer, until it glows with a comforting warmth. There is dry wood in this, and the walls of the mouth are left throbbing and desiccated, as if the finish was a mix of Verdigris and cork. Further sips only retain the sweetness, which is good. That suggests that the high ABV is more of an initial barrier than I first thought. Now, it mimics a minty-gingery paste doing the rounds, even if it ends on that earthy-sweet note, reminiscent of certain fortified wines. It does not benefit from the addition of water, and seemingly loses structure and character. We are left with with a few faded dead leaves and a general autumnal feel, but that is very much diluted. Pity. Neat, it is very good, yet the 18yo is more to my taste. 8/10 (I finally try this on 04/08/2022)

Highland Park 30yo (45.2%, OB Spring 2019 Release, 2667b): nose: this is a fruity one, with ripening grapefruit, ripening melon, and nectarines, at once perceptible. The second sniff has a more Highland Parkian allure, with faded leather, a minute smoke, and warm dry earth. Fruits soon come back, however, and it is a joy to follow their evolution. Dark grapes arrive, prune syrup, unripe pineapple, cantaloupe skins, pomegranate. Suddenly, a dollop of shoe-polish-minty-toothpaste mixture appears, out of nowhere. Along with it is a pinch of ground bramble. After that (yes, it goes on), a strong grenadine syrup takes over, complemented by a dash of lime squash. Incredibly, that all fits together elegantly, yet playfully. Smoke comes a little bolder at second nosing, offering dried heather, then a torched honey-glazed doughnut. In the long run, purple plasticine seems to appear in the background too. Then, it all goes back to sweet grapefruit. Mouth: it starts off with the lively and slightly bitter brashness of a young'n, which is remarkable, at this age. In no time at all, fruits appear, citrus peels the most obvious (grapefruit, to be precise), then hardly-ripe melon and watermelon. Here, it has an undeniable touch of smoke, which brings acridity, if not bitterness. It is very tame, but there nonetheless, the product of a bramble fire. The texture is thinnish, yet it lacks nothing. It is a good fruit juice, with no pulp and little sugar. The second sip puts the emphasis on the smoke a little more, and it comes from burning citrus bushes, this time, bergamot orange tree, mandarine tree, and honeysuckle too, even if that is no citrus. A tiny spoonful of manuka honey adds to the glory of this, as does a proportion of squashed purple passion fruit. Finish: the controlled ABV makes this a definite breakfast dram, and with its grapefruit peel, it certainly excels in that role. Add a veil of refined smoke, burnt wood, and cucumber peel for a light bitter touch, and here is a complex dram that shines in all circumstances. Further sips seem more custard-y, akin to a fruit turnover, with a delicious, lush and acidic spoonful of passion-fruit jam. Oh! it is subtle and delicate, like the rest of this whisky, but there it is. The bitter note grows in presence, yet the more it grows, the more it is cloaked in lovely honey, which restores the balance. Fantastic drop, and JS's favourite, on the day. 9/10 (I finally try this on 05/08/2022)

Highland Park 40yo (43.2%, OB, Spring 2019 Release): nose we have toffee and pineapple cubes, liqueur-laced mandarine segments and liqueur pralines. Fruit really does take off, with orange and carambola, ripe apricot and pineapple turning brown, yet that is not all: something creamier also shows its head -- some kind of paste... It comes across as pine-y toothpaste and shoe polish, at first, but swiftly morphs into crushed apples, a bit more coarse in texture than a compote. A faded leather bag rocks up, and there is even something vaguely medicinal floating about, akin to old pills that have long passed their best-by date. Suddenly, it is fruit again; lemon drops, grapefruit drops, citrus-flavoured candy canes, and a growing waxy side that gives propolis, physalis, and engine grease, all at once. Woah! Set honey closes this twister, maybe with soft smoke. The second nose is juicier, and seems more unashamedly fruity. Kumquat, satsuma, mirabelle plum, grapes. It dives deeper and darker with each sniff, turning into a plum tart, after a while, caramelised, with a dusting of confectionary sugar. I swear there is a drop of sweet fortified wine too, somewhere. Mouth: the attack is fleetingly bitter, yet that only signals a similar waxiness to the nose's. Here are propolis, engine grease, unripe-orange peels, and a lick of rubber (in a pleasant way). Interesting. The fruity acidity of it all tingles, though calling it lively may paint an inaccurate picture. It has a pinch of grass, notions of remote smoke, and lots of citrus. Blush orange seems to emerge from the lot. The second sip cranks up the citrus, now showcasing grapefruits, pink and green (that would be pomelo), but also discreet watermelon. Here too, fortified wine may be found, if looking hard enough. It is less sweet, now, closer to Madeira, probably. Finish: well, the balance is nothing short of amazing. This interweaves acidity, bitterness and sweetness masterfully. Blush-orange peels skim peach nectar; soft rubber mingles with physalis; smoky cut grass sweeps petroleum jelly; decaying pineapple cubes buzz past spreading honey. The second sip brings in chewy tree bark, mulch style, which is as welcome as it is unexpected: it gives an additional nuttiness that complements the fruits. This is mighty fine! adc's favourite on the day. 9/10 (I finally try this on 08/08/2022)

Highland Park 46yo d.1968 (40.1%, Cask Sample): this one is only available to try as part of this particular experience; it cannot be bought. Nose: a deep nose, with clay floors, dusty wood, and a dash of fruity red wine. A fruity red wine that flirts with pickled red onions, at times, yet never goes too far that way. In fact, that turns into wild strawberries, after a short while. And then, the vaguely-smoky-plasticine profile that I remembered from that time in the Magnus Eunson room comes up. It is bouncy and plump, loaded with bright berries (raspberries, lingonberries, gooseberries), and is quite waxy too, in a plum or crayon-shaving way. Myrtle jam, smoked brambles, squashed blueberries, and a drop of thin red ink on a a sheet of glossy paper. Only a remote note of wood could make one acknowledge that this has spent so many years in a cask. The initial red onions have now all but disappeared, replaced by fragrant, silky flower petals (dark-orange-corona narcissus, orange tulip, yellow iris), or velvety fruit skin (peach, plum, yellow apricot). The second nose is sweeter and makes me think of fruit-flavoured squash, for a second. Suddenly, it changes radically, and it is pine trees that take over: cedar needles, redwood bark, thuja resin. What a pleasant turn this is taking! Mouth: mellow, but full, it has the texture of apricot nectar, mixed in with flower sap (dandelion), which is to say there is a minor bitterness amidst the acidic sweetness. On the palate, gentle wood is more present, with desiccated ginger shavings coming to the fore, and brambles -- the bush, more than the fruit. The second sip returns to plasticine, chewy, with a soft rubbery bitterness. Oh! fruit is still present, but it is dried apricot and dried plum slices, rather than juicy and fresh fruit. Further sips crank up that plasticine, and even turn it into modelling clay, incredibly chewy, and related to earth, rather than to rubber -- which is the major difference between clay and plasticine, I guess. Finish: pleasant and mellow here too, it goes down elegantly, blowing dried berries (raspberries, goji berries, dried cranberries, currants), and a trail of fine smoke, which makes for a dry death, Chenin-blanc style. Some of the plasticine makes it this far, but it is less prominent, now. That said, repeated sipping helps that very plasticine grow bolder and propels smoked blueberries into the second role. Nevertheless, dry white wine and the mild acridity of refined smoke are what remain after all. Excellent. It is complex and stands the test of a careful dissection, yet could easily be sipped without a second thought on an evening with friends (assuming one has friends worthy of a forty-six-year-old Highland Park, that is!) 9/10 (I finally try this on 10/08/2022)

This cask we saw in the warehouse was the cask of that 46yo

Highland Park 50yo b.2018 (42.5%, OB, 2 Spanish Oak Sherry-Seasoned, Hogsheads, 274b): when I took a sniff of this in the Magnus Eunson room, my irrepressible reaction was:  "Oh! my God!" It was that deep and distinguished, almost too good for mere mortals. Let us see if that impression is confirmed today. Nose: yup. Even if I know what to expect, this time, it is still a slap in the face, to some degree. Precious-wood panels in a library, or in the smoking room of a gentlemen's club, dark earthen floors in a damp-ish dunnage warehouse, rancio, dark pipe tobacco (Semois-like, yet fruitier), the darkest cherries, old ploughs, still muddy from a day in the field... That latest one signals a much more farm-y profile than is usually associated with this distillery, even if it is less muck, and more ploughed fields of greasy earth and soil. There are traces of muddy rubber boots too, though they are just that: traces. Perhaps I should say 'prints' (ho! ho! ho!) It does not stop there, however: swirling it in the glass puts the emphasis back on fruits; prunes, elderberries, candied gooseberries... and -- would you know it? -- a whiff of plasticine surfaces too, reminiscent of what happened in the 46yo. A waxy touch that is actually quite persistent too, oscillating between dried apricots, dried mango slices, and metal polish (engine grease or car-body wax, not WD-40). Stupendous. We also have brioche bread (kramiek, to be precise), baked a little longer than I prefer it, which makes for a dark-yet-still-fluffy crust, and caramelised Corinth raisins. Blackcurrant jam is spread on that brioche bread. The second nose is more cake-like, or crustier than the afore-mentioned brioche, at least. It is the crispy bits of cake that have stuck to the tin mould, and caramelised accordingly. Naturally, that cake is served with a glass of sherry -- a sweet one, yet not as in-your-face as PX can be. Perhaps it is a Port, after all. Later yet, it changes again, and Turkish delights come-a knocking, then dead leaves and vase water, or depleted peat bogs. I swear there is a whisper of smoke, very far in the sinuses. Mouth: at 42.5%, the attack achieves an optimal balance between strength and flavour. With little surprise, we see a mix of tastes that revolve around wood; cinnamon-and-ginger paste, wood lacquer, wood polish for antique mahogany furniture, teak oil. There is bitterness, of course, yet it is the intimidating elegance and extreme nobility that are most striking. Mind you, it is also confusingly approachable -- a bit like starting a conversation with someone at the very highest echelon of society, and realising that they are very pleasant to talk to, if you will. The second sip feels drier, earthier. We now have earthen floor and half-baked modelling clay in the oven. This still has a certain sweetness, certainly some kind of (vaguely-smoky) jam or relish, maybe even tutti frutti, but also an almost-minty freshness. Instead, I would say crushed Kaffir lime leaves, menthol paste and crushed pine needles. Oh! all that is very subtle, mind. Tutti frutti becomes clearer and clearer with each sip -- and it is tutti frutti, not (solely) candied angelica. Finish: the earthy notes are back, at this point, as are the dark fruits. Prunes are the most obvious by far, sweet and earthy at the same time, raisins are next, and fig relish is not far behind. Madeira-wine-infused peaches support them. To the finish too, the second sip brings a softly-mentholated touch, or a pine nuance. We are far from Gocce Pino or Suc des Vosges, in terms of intensity, yet it points in that general direction, in terms of taste. Caramelised pine honey, maybe. One would not expect a dram of this calibre and class to have a short finish, and this does not disappoint on that front: it clings to the roof of the mouth for ever and a day, so as to not let the taster forget its remarkable woody freshness. The death even has candied lime or pomelo cubes, which is frankly an incredible touch to this staggeringly complex drop. Let us leave it at that. Blogspot are calling: they are running out of pixels. This whisky is humbling. Today, I tried to make the experience as neutral as possible to avoid dramatisation, but in other circumstances, I can see more than one soul becoming emotional, when confronting such a masterpiece. 11/10 (I finally try this on 11/08/2022)

Well, a grand day it was! Even adc, who was so glad we had gone to Scapa instead of Highland Park, now says it is the best tour/tasting she has ever been to (except for tOMoH's tastings, I am glad to hear). Mind you, she says that often. ;-)

As for our Guinea-pig status, Edrington must have thought it was a successful experience, because three weeks later (late July 2022), the tour is available to book.