Ardnamurchan AD/04:16 CK.411 & CK.413 | 55% ABV
Score: 8/10
Something Special.
TL;DR
Good luck reading this to the end…
The Year That Was
The year end trickles closer, hour by hour, day by day. The winter months, a panic of presents and plans, supersedes memories of a year of glowing amber and regret; of not doing enough, of doing too much, of seeing a world presented in vivid technicolour through muted glass. Melancholy tints each December, tickling the very fringes of festive fun; the ever-present gnawing torment of moving one step further along the rainbow road.
Let loose into the frigid January bloom from bow of finest oak, the arrow of opportunity flew true, soaring into the brightening sky. Sharpened to a mortal tip, fletching finessed to perfection and moving at such speed as to be unaffected by anything struck along its path, the arrow pitched upwards with purpose.
For 39 years an arrow has been committed to the heavens at increasingly quickening speeds; each time more accurate, more confident, more elegant and more deadly. In recent years the bowstring was drawn back in earnest and released, but sent the arrow to an Earth struggling to survive. With renewed tension the bowstring accepted the nock of the arrow more securely stretching, in a fizz of exhilaration, a body constricted over three stricken years: the straightened arrow sliced through the air at supersonic speed.
Approaching the target in the twilight gloaming of the year that was, the arrow looks dead-set to strike the very centre on December 31st, but for a rogue crosswind or iron door shall it not be so. Standing at the target, looking back to observe the trajectory the arrow has taken, only now do I fully understand what a flight of fantasy it truly was.
A Beginning
It began in sparkling wintery frost in the East Neuk of Fife, invited to attend as a plus-one, the Kingsbarns Founders’ Evening. It was a special night, spending time with the chaps of Kinnaird Head Whiskies and enjoying such delicacies as the Founders’ Bottles, a smorgasbord of Wemyss Malts and the first cask of whisky laid down at Kingsbarns, cask number 1: the very same copper-capped cask visible through glazed doocot door. Resting in the higher temperatures of the visitor centre, this cask had matured at a pace much more expedited than that of the others maturing off-site. It was said to be unpalatable mere weeks before the event, but on the night it was sensational. I won a bottle of Distillery Reserve 2020, for the best photo, although I suspect it was an entry pool of one…
Spring welcomed the Fife Whisky Festival – my first – and the meeting of more whisky pals: the TAIBS boys. Composed of a multinational conglomerate of whisky exciters, the Taps Aff International Bottle Split is a group of lovely folk who come together throughout the year and open a bottle of quite remarkable spirit for which they’ve all chipped in. I was invited, once more through the KHW chaps, to their wood cabin in the hills outside Cupar, pre-festival. The bottle they were splitting was a Berry Bros. Glen Garioch, 34 years of age and, at a point when I was deep inside Glen Garioch, something I found quite serendipitous – a pour was offered with generosity found only inside whisky. We bussed into Cupar, passed noisily through the Glasgow Crew of distinction and enjoyed a festival that some have regarded as the best on the circuit; small, intimate.
Next our yearly crusade with the fam to the most westerly peninsula and an obligatory visit to the nearby Glenbeg. A warehouse tour at speed, a hand-fill of fun and finally faces to names – my love of Ardnamurchan whisky was quickly solidifying, compounded by a bottle of whisky released shortly after in honour of a man who fought Motor Neuron Disease with astonishing compassion and selflessness.
A Middle
Summer began with an AD/Venturer Day of Thrills and Spills, enjoying Maclean’s Nose and post-launch chat with The Grail girls, then onward to an evening spent with a bunch of single cask Ardnamurchan and Adelphi whiskies betwix peers and pros alike. Reaching the natural midpoint of the year, it was in mid-June that would see me travel shotgun on a voyage back to Glenbeg, this time with purpose: to choose a single cask of whisky to bottle for the Aqvavitae Barflies. Observing and soaking in the sights, sounds, smells and tastes was my only self-imposed task. That and not embarrassing myself. It is from this experience that I gather my thoughts around today, but not yet.
Review
Two ex-Scotch whisky casks of unknown provenance, 55% ABV
£85 – Sold out
I spoke briefly of our time at Glenbeg in the PX783 Hand Fill review, but that’s not even half the story. It was an experience filled with little moments; more than the sum of many wonderful parts. Chatting to Roy in the car on the way up from where we converged – Tyndrum of all places – and realising the many shared human experiences that inextricably link everyone. Beating a bus full of tourists to the Corran Ferry toilet. Wolfing down the iconic sausage roll from Salen Jetty Shop then getting it tight because we didn’t bring any for the others. Meeting the bright pink buoy himself, and watching agog at the back and forth shorthand bants between colleagues unleashed at a pace never before seen. Walking into a warehouse I’d stood in not two months prior, but with a completely different purpose and all the time in the world. Losing our collective composure when we stumbled upon a rack of unmarked casks and realising what it could mean.
The lochside. Sitting on a wobbly jetty as the sun struggled to poke through the clouds, chatting and drinking and thinking and…all the rest. Carving my toes to ribbons on the jetty and making a fool of myself trying and failing to convince Connal Mackenzie – Sales Director and Play Maker for Adelphi and Ardnamurchan – why I think he’s brilliant. Skittering a delicious dinner down my favourite jumper and falling asleep in an armchair at the very moment that things were getting really interesting: the negotiation for casks to bottle. It was all a bit much for me. This was something I’d never before experienced – warehouse wandering and Sunart swimming, Daftmill rinsing, fajita spilling, cupboard opening, Alex Bruce admiring, bunk bed sweltering blitz of magic upon magic upon magic. It’ll never happen again. Especially when they find out I nicked a bung from the warehouse.
It was secret for a long time, but soon the rumblings began – not just one, but two casks were to be bottled for the Barflies. I wish I’d had my wits about me to know how it came to be two. I recall, just as I nodded off, the beginnings of a sentence: “Ok hear me out…what if…” and I was under.
I remember the chat clearly when we discovered the casks in the warehouse. We’d only just begun, trying a nip of something randomly picked out. Then we turned, about face, to see a top stow of unmarked casks. “What are those ones?” No provenance marked on the casks themselves, and Connal offering no further confirmation other than these might be ex-Adelphi casks. We started tentatively. First cask was impressive. Eyebrows shot upwards. There was a particular cask type and profile the main man was looking for here, and literally two casks into the day he’d likely already found it. Not to be outdone, we carried on down that one stow – cask after cask the whiskies changed in colour, texture, flavour. It was remarkable how one distillate can change so much between casks filled in sequence.
After that stow was discovered and marked with high-potential, we continued on, picking and choosing sparsely until we decided it was swim time. Then dinner, then sleepy time. A night baking under the ceiling of the bunkhouse with sore toes, morning arrived in a start and litres of water were inhaled. A walk up to the water source and another hand-fill procured, soon we were on our way back homewards, decompressing from a day extracted from genuine whisky lore.
I’ve been quiet about my involvement, by which I mean I was in peripheral attendance, when these casks were picked. I didn’t chip in with any meaningful insight, or hold court to sway hands towards this or that. If you saw my grisled visage that day you might have thought I was mid-stroke, because I was so utterly blown away by the unlikelihood of it all; of how I had managed to wangle my way into this position and how unworthy I was to be there. I often feel undeserving of kindness or luck, it’s inbuilt into my soul; I just do what I do and that’s that. I can tell you that the imposter syndrome flags were waving faster than a sail in force 10 gales.
A fly on the wall observing. Ingesting all that the eyes and ears and mouth were fed. Logging it diligently so that I could recall to the mind’s eye at a moment’s notice the memories formed from one day out of a lifetime of days. Sitting with Connal, Carl, Alex and Roy chatting whisky and listening, for that’s all I could do – I don’t have nearly enough whisky under the belt to contribute to any whisky chat comprised of folk like that, unless it’s “what colour do you think this is?” Huge leaps of learning occur surrounded by those brains, I just had to let it happen.
Alex Bruce! I can’t form the words adequate enough in scope to convey what he’s doing for whisky and what he means to us, the exciters – yet a more humble and generous man you shant meet. Connal Mackenzie, the guy with the most laser focused integrity lead approach to his craft as I’ve ever seen. Speaking of Craft…Carl Crafts: for all that I’ve ruined his reputation through foamy jests and surfboard digs, he’s one of the most genuine and affable folk around. Massively tall though – too tall, some might say.
And Roy. Oor Roy. Commander in Chief. Whisky botherer, exciter, leader, brainiac, peacekeeper, trend swinger, everyman incarnate with his finger on the whisky pulse. I have and will always try to sit, observe and listen to what he has to say. I couldn’t want for anything from Roy other than maybe a fleeting mention on the Thursday vPub, and I’d be chuffed to bits. I was and am still, when it happens. To be invited into the fray on his journey into the hazy hills of Glenbeg to bear witness to magic playing out in real time will always be something that sticks with me. It’s enough for me to have done it; a lifetime more than enough.
At the point when the two bottles launched through Royal Mile Whiskies in a frenzy of excitement, I was drowning in tears. I had let my family down. I would be the sole reason that our move to the west would be cancelled, and I couldn’t deal with it. After a day of punching the sofa and shouting into the wall, a frank mood descended: such is life. I had to suck it up and break the news and hearts of two excited ladies that we’d be remaining Lowlanders for the time being. Then a hail mary appeared, opening the smallest of windows through which I dived faster than the International Space Station moves around this Earth, and we were on our way. Not ideal conditions granted, but moving became the only matter of importance. During that time, walking the thinnest of ropes, consolidating all our funds to make it work, the bottles from our time at Glenbeg were released and buying whisky was completely off the table.
How fitting though, knowing that I’d been lucky enough to be there when they were picked, and that the experience was enough – I will miss out on holding and opening any of those bottles, but the thrill of knowing the inside story made up for it and then some. I already had both the EIS guys demanding to send me samples, and to see and read and hear others enjoying what we enjoyed that day was magnificent to me; I felt a genuine sense of pride. We did that. Well…they did that and I made an arse of myself.
Opening the box that arrived from Roy, I unsheathed the wavy cardboard to reveal two blue bottles: Ardnamurchan AD/04:16 CK. 411 and CK.413 – the casks we all stood next to in June and shouted into the shimmering air that this is what we live for. I looked at the labels, one blue Barfly, one gold Barfly and, with trepidation and no small sense of awkwardness, realised that the bottle that represented what Roy had wanted to rediscover since his trip with one of the Bottlechaser crew, Seve, in 2021, the gold one, was serial number 001. A message of utmost gratitude and thanks later with an awkward question of whether he had intended to send me the very first bottle.
Through complete serendipity two bottles were picked off a crate in Royal Mile Whiskies, boxed and sent to the Bon Accord in Glasgow for folk to collect. It was picked up by Roy from the Bon Accord and sat in his uber whisky library for weeks. It was carried around in a sealed box to the Glasgow Whisky Festival, and then to the Barfly event the day after. It was carried home with curses for forgetting to hand it to me, and then sent via courier to the Misty Isle. At no point did Roy open that box, or ever did he ask for numbered bottles, for himself or others; digging around a randomised crate of over 600 numbered bottles to find a specific number was unfathomable to him – a logistical and selfish nightmare to which he’d play no part.
So it was just pure luck then, that I’d hold bottle 001 in my hand. That or fate. Which makes even more unsettling sense when it was revealed that the other bottle, the Blue Barfly purchased by Oor Jackie, the webbie mechanic of background superskills, plying his ceaseless work in getting Dramface and the OSWAs to the place they’re at today, was also bottle 001. Again completely by chance.
We had a moment of head implosion in the WhatsApp group chat realising how unlikely, and how magical, it all was. Sometimes the universe speaks to us. We just have to know when to listen.
Nose – CK.413 (Gold Barfly – Lighter colour)
A bit looser than the 411 but still ticht. Time brings bright yellow – tropicals of pineapple and holy Christmas I’ve just had a vision of a holiday in Devon when I was a wee boy – an air freshener in the digs?! I’m seeing pastel blue seaside houses, sun lotion on an overcast day. Minty coconut. Viscous sweetness. Big boiled sweeties. Merest hint of dunnage, then salty sandbox of Ardnamurchan joy.
Hitting stride now – 1hr 43 mins later. Sour cream and chives. Beautiful silky caramel wrapped wafer biscuit. Big cedar blaster. Magic in a glass.
Nose – CK.411 (Blue Barfly – Darker colour)
Tight. Very tight. Very light. Grapefruit and melon. Sugary woods now – cedar obvs, light oaks. Tropicals start to appear – mango for sure, pineapple definitely. Lilt. NOW the reds start appearing in bright bursts – red laces and strawberry popcorn. Leeks?!
Oh man – 1hr 43 mins later massive jammy digestive biscuits. Some tartness, some sourness. Wood is there. Salt is there. Rocks are there. Earthiness is there.
Palate – CK.413 (Gold Barfly – Lighter colour)
Tight to begin with and frankly quite inert! Oh no. But wait! A good 30 mins in and popcorn – sweet n salty. Peppery and spicy – red spices. Bit of sunbeat plastic jerry can. Mineralic Ardna spirit abound – sweet, salty, coastal, salty, coastal. Richness of subtle redness – toffee apple.
Palate – CK.411 (Blue Barfly – Darker colour)
Tight to begin with and frankly quite inert what the hell is going on here? Another healthy length of time and now the big, oily, saucy notes appear. Honey glazed ham, boiled toffee centre sweets. Highland toffee with crisp sea salt on top. Thick. Juicy. Buttery. Buttered shortbread with a lemon drizzle. It’s all bright yellow and gold.
1hr 43mins later – the coastal appears through the thick fog of toffee and lemons – creels and harbours. Jammy beach. Flying a kite at Silversands sipping the Arisaig Highland Games bottle. Rich. Red and sandy white.
The Dregs
Am I transported back to that stow of casks in the cool climes of Warehouse One, when I sip these whiskies? Does a vivid vision of the crystal shores of Glenbeg’s jetty appear in a blaze of remembrance? Does Connal’s confused face staring at mine in search of sense from the garble that I was spewing at speed, pop into the frontal cortex? No, not in the slightest.
The anchor of whisky to jog memories isn’t working this time, because the memory of those days is already front and centre. As soon as I think back through my year of whisky fun, automatically the vision of Connal and Carl standing on stows of casks is there. The hazy film replays of the whisky from an octave that was the colour of obsidian that, when flung back onto the cask, stained a thick amber coating inside the empty glass. This whisky before me now doesn’t remind me of any of those things at all, because in many ways I’m still there.
It highlights how much Ardnamurchan has played into my year of whisky, and explains why it has been a focus of much of my Dramface content this year – I’ve really connected to the place. I’ve reviewed 10 Ardnamurchan whiskies this year on Dramface, from a total of 10 Ardnamurchan reviews on Dramface. In two years of Dramface we’ve reviewed 17 Ardnamurchan whiskies. 14 of those reviews are mine. I’m deep into Ardnamurchan, there’s no denying it. It just works. I’m really sorry about that. I’ve reviewed lots of whisky this year from all different parts of Scotland and the world, and I love all whisky, but something about the whisky from Ardnamurchan appeals to me, more often than not.
How does this work then? Given I was there when these casks were picked and, through mere presence, surely I introduce conflict of interest? To answer that we should consider what my part was in the creation of these two bottles – absolute zero. You might struggle to accept that, but I was just a barfly on the wall, honestly. I took some photos and laughed at the jokes and when asked, proffered an opinion that was loosely something like “isn’t whisky great?” As such I’m able to assess these two whiskies as independently as you might, without undue bias…or certainly no more than usual. I can assess them beside other Ardnamurchan, Loch Lomond, North British, Raasay, Hazelburn, Millburn, Bruichladdich, Glen Scotia and many other whiskies that I’m drinking as I write this.
Is this the best whisky I’ve ever tried in my short whisky life? No, it isn’t. Do I think Ardnamurchan is the best whisky in the world, bar none? I have no idea, because I’ve not tried enough to know the answer to that question. Is it the best whisky I’ve tried this year? Maybe it is – I have so many that I’ve loved, especially that Glen Garioch 11yo or the Ardmore 14yo from Fragrant Drops, but my face does get upwardly tighter when I drink Ardnamurchan whisky because I’m seeking that exact characteristic – coastal, rich sweetness with direct connection to the salty spirit.
Down to brass tacks then. Is it as good as the Doddie Cask? I think they both fall just short of that through the lack of the light smoky sweetness that the Doddie Cask had – it brought just a hint more depth to the table and shares the classic Ardnamurchan DNA with the core range. I wish I could reference it but I rinsed it through my face and sending samples. But let’s not stand on ceremony here, this is fantastic whisky – high 8s for sure. As good as the CK.339 and definitely more engaging to me than both the Tyndrum CK. 1302 and the revered Good Spirits Co CK.181. The flavour stage is a bit wider than the Aberdeen CK. 675 and certainly as interesting as the Nickolls and Perks CK. 1308.
Versus other whiskies? Well it depends on what resonates with you, but this is defacto coastal whisky for me. I have a few wins to collect from the auction house over Christmas, one of them an Old Pulteney SMWS; maybe that will reshape what I think is coastal. Compared to the dark, thick, heavy cherry bomb of Glen Scotia Callander Drinks Co, the Ardnamurchan CK.413 is liquid gold. Compared to the Horlicks savoury winter warmer of the Tomatin Cask Strength, the Ardnamurchan CK.413 is all sweets and icing sugar. Compared to the Loch Lomond XL Fermentation Distillery Exclusive it’s wildly different: where LL has bold green and yeasty orchard fruits, the Ardnamurchan’s are salty sweet sparkling rose gold. Versus a Hazelburn Cage Bottle, the CK.411 is bright red liquid confection to the dark maroon salty prune of the HB. These are whiskies to enjoy beside an open window or even better when walking around a coastline. They’re bright, vivid, endearing. Don’t just take my word for it – here’s Drummond with his thoughts too:
An End.
A year in retrospect is always going to have holes in it. Between the moments mentioned there were countless other moments left out. Chats on WhatsApp with the EIS chaps, working ourselves into an excited whisky frenzy leading up to the Glasgow Whisky Festival of such ridiculousness that if our wives caught wind of it, we’d be facing some serious questions. The numerous Dramface team zoomers, Podcast episode recordings and face to face catch-ups that have all filled in the gaps between big milestone events. It’s been a year of vital friendship, connection, experience, disappointment, success, consideration, anxiety, release and change that has accumulated into one of the most memorable years of my life.
I will stand on January 1st 2024 with my bowstring pulled taut and release another arrow into the sky, and it’ll be a special arrow – next year I turn 40. A big round number. Next year Ardnamurchan turns 10. A big round number , not that whisky suddenly comes of age at 10, but it’s a number heralded as the start of the ‘proper’ mature whisky. I’ll be found at the Fife and Glasgow Whisky Festivals. I’ll be found touring around the Misty Isle in search of whisky and I’ll be found hopping on the ferry from Armadale to Mallaig for the Arisaig Highland Games. We’ll be found on another ferry heading for the outer Hebrides and along the way the Isle of Harris Distillery. We’ll be found dropping back to the Lowlands now and again to see family alongside a flypast to the auction house, no doubt. It’ll be another quick year, another set of memories generated and another step further along the rainbow road. But it’ll take something special to beat this year, that’s for sure.
I’d like to indulge myself with parting thanks: to Roy, Aqvavitae, Wally himsel, Jackie, Clyde, Hamish, Drummond, Broddy, Earie, Ogilvie, Ramsay, Aengus, Tyree, Gregor and all of the Dramface massif. Gaz and Matthew of Kinnaird Head Whiskies, Ryan Distillery Manager of 8 Doors Distillery, Stuart, Bart and Mark that make up the team of TAIBS, Doug of Kingsbarns Founder Fame, Justine, Jen, Rachel, Julie, Jeff, Drew and Tom from Arizona, Peter, Robert, Seve, Beautiful Graeme of Bruichladdich, Mike of Fat Englishman Fame, Master Michael Henry, Dan, Guy, Richard Brian and everyone who has generously sent me samples this year. Uncle D for all that he gives me in time, space, advice and perspective. The team at Glenbeg – Alex, Connal, Graeme, Jenny, Antonia, DJ, Carl, Karen, Bob and everyone who has made me feel so welcome at the field of dreams.
And finally, to you Dramface readers, subscribers, commenters and critics – to you I owe the greatest of thanks, for sticking with and giving us all the reasons to write openly and excitedly about whisky from an independent and unique perspective – that of humans trying to work out what the hell is happening in this world whilst sipping fine, fine Uisge Beatha.
Slainte Mhath. A guid New Year to ane an’ a’ and mony may ye see.
Score: 8/10
