The second release in the now legendary Black Art series. Even we don’t know how Jim McEwan has conjured-up this bewitching dram – this is something he alone has crafted (in dead of night?) in the stygian darkness of Warehouse No. 12. A dark, sensuous spirit, very fine, incredibly elegant, decadently-hued, perplexingly complex, mishievously-prepared and subtly provocative. Beguiling, other-worldly, sublime, inspired.
“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before…” – Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven
Character – The spirit is hedonistic and a magical cultivation of the senses. The texture, like velvet, has weight, warmth and the balance of a ballerina.
Colour – Cornelian flame.
Nose – An opening bouquet of cherry blossom and deep red rose gives way to a rainbow of soft ripe red fruits; redcurrant, loganberry, damson, apricot and blackberry crystallised with soft brown sugar. A sensational opening for the toasted oak and sweet malted barley, which give structure and strength.
Palate – As the spirit aerates a wave of delectable red fruits rise and pass through the oak like a summer breeze, lifting the taste experience to a level of pleasure beyond belief. The harmony of flavours merge both on the nose and the palate and deliver a totally unique malt experience like no other.
Finish – A manifestation of single malt joy!
Mood – Totally selfish. Decadent, late night, brooding dram. This one is not for sharing. Pure, physical pleasure, indulge yourself!
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It started with our friend ‘Demolition Dave’ helping Duncan McGillivray and his gang to demolish the old Inverleven distillery – buying up all the old equipment for scrap and loading it onto barges on the Clyde. All so Duncan had some spares to keep Bruichladdich running in the days of No Money.
As this odd flotilla was being towed round the Mull of Kintyre and up to Islay, Laddie MD Mark Reynier received an email from the Defence Threat Reduction Agency (DTRA) in the USA who had been monitoring distillery webcams on the grounds that our processes could have been ‘tweaked’ to produce the dreaded WMD. ‘Weapons of Mass Destruction’.
Never one to allow the opportunity for a good story to pass him by, or to get his beloved distillery in the news, Reynier embellished the tale, which soon grew to involve spies and the CIA and visits by weapons inspectors. All of which made great headline-grabbing copy in the febrile media atmosphere then prevailing around WMD.
One of the stills from Inverleven was dutifully set up outside the old Victorian buildings, and became an iconic sight, with a pair of Duncan’s old wellie boots sticking out of the top to represent those weapons inspectors searching for dangerous chemicals deep in its copper bottomed interior.
A special bottling was commissioned (of course) and dubbed the ‘Whisky of Mass Distinction’ (geddit?) and much hilarity ensued. At least among the Laddies, the rest of the whisky industry having long since given up on the noisily irreverent rebels.
Things were about to get even more eccentric because, shortly afterwards, Islay fisherman John Baker was heading home to Port Ellen when he spotted something awash in the sea off the bow of his boat. Being a resourceful man, he attached a rope to said object and towed it into the pier where Gordon Currie lifted it out of the water. It proved to be a very beautiful yellow submarine.
Very conveniently, the yellow vessel had ‘Ministry of Defence’ and a telephone number stencilled on it, which was of course immediately called. What happened next was to become the stuff of legend. He was connected to the Royal Navy. “I have found your yellow submarine” said John. “We haven’t lost a yellow submarine” said the Navy. Which was an odd response as the evidence to the contrary was overwhelming.
John and Gordon then loaded the submarine onto a lorry and took it to a secret location in Port Ellen (actually fellow fisherman Harold Hastie’s back garden). The local newspaper was called, then the nationals, and the following day the red-tops were full of pictures of the two friends astride the lethal-looking machine, carrying fishing rods, and asking: “Has anybody lost a yellow submarine?”
Hilarious… unless you were the Royal Navy – who did eventually admit to it being theirs. HMS Blyth, the minesweeper that lost it, eventually came to pick it up, slipping into the pier at dawn to winch it aboard. By that time, Bruichladdich had (of course) commissioned another bottling, WMD2: The Yellow Submarine, and a box of lovely liquid was graciously offered, and accepted by the captain as a goodwill gesture.