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.
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| "Swallows back 4/5/22 :)" |
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| "The swallows are back," they said... |
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| Peat for the kiln |
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| 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!
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| Malted barley comes through this pipe |
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| The mesh; oft talked about, rarely seen |
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| This device turns the malted barley while it is being dried |
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| 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.
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| The current spirit safe |
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| The original spirit safe |
Time for the warehouse, where we are given our second dram of the day, valinched from the cask.
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| 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)
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| 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.
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