Official Limited Release | 48.6% ABV
Score: 6/10
Good stuff.
TL;DR
A solid, maritime dram that surprises most when enjoyed outside.
The Surprising Side of Skye
Looking through salty west coast windows at the astonishingly beautiful sunset, casting its rich amber glow across the craggy, lumpy landscape and registering that it’s almost 6:05pm, brings with it a sense of relief so palpable that we recognise we’ve both been harbouring some feelings.
Talking about what has transpired in our first six months living on the Misty Isle, we recount the myriad things that are unique, and special, to where we live now. These things have contributed, unexpectedly, to a feeling of disquiet, of disconnect that has surprised us. A slump. A downwards leaning face, of shoulders low and feet scuffing off the floor. Things that are specific to this geographical location in the world and that we must recognise and file away, so that next year we know to expect it.
The first ‘thing’ is that it’s quiet. Precisely the reason that we moved here – peace and beautiful quiet. No more Slow and Angry yoofs horsing it along the main street at 11pm, sending their Honda Civic rasps reverberating around the red brick maze of ramshackle buildings. No more taxis idling outside our window for twenty minutes waiting for the heeled and dutch steeled to click their way into WKD oblivion. No more unruly dogs, endlessly barking their dismay at being abandoned in the icy rain, watching through the open window as their ignorant masters entertain their equally ignorant guests. Who have parked across our driveway. No more!
It is very quiet here, though. So quiet that for vast swathes of time the only sounds available to eager eardrums are the white noise of the nearby river, and the gaggle of little tennis ball birds that flap about the place. So quiet that Mrs Crystal’s funny clicking knee sounds like a Larnell Lewis rimshot.
The second thing is it’s dark. Walking outside the house when the sun has long since departed reveals a pitch darkness so deep and encompassing that, if there wasn’t a meek glow coming from the lights inside the house, I’d keel over thinking I’d stepped off the edge of the universe. In the depths of winter the lack of available light is so pervasive that it creeps into our skin and amplifies the feeling of isolation. The streetlamps and houses and voices walking down pavements outside mere metres away in our old house were, in hindsight, comforting. They illuminated the darkness and reassured us that people were there, even if they were stealing our cars or watching on as their dogs defiled our driveway.
“There’s nothing in the dark that isn’t there in the light” we say to Mini Crystal, when she’s suffering a bout of scaredy cats. Well, I’d challenge anyone to come over here and say that when you’re halfway back from the garage and find yourself floating in an infinite black sea of nothingness, and something starts barking or rustling over there somewhere. The exhaust valve of Dougie Crystal’s pressure release system sounds the alarm every time.
What did we expect, moving from the hustle and bustle of autumnal central belt Scotland to an incoming winter on the edge of the world? We expected silence, and we expected darkness. But this much silence and darkness? It’s probably why we kept our feelings to ourselves. Until tonight, when we both looked at each other and knew that the sun setting after 6pm is our signal to release the oppression of darkness behind.
It surprised us that the two wintry elements combined to highlight the things that used to give us comfort: irritating noises and light were a weird form of safety blanket.
Now, let’s not get all Leeds United. The peace of the island has been the single most cathartic part of our move out here. My shoulders are at least 12 cm lower than they were before we arrived, and every single day I’ll sit or stand outside in the sunshine for ages, listening to the world flowing by. And of those nights when the moon is new and the milky way is glowing to the naked eye? Or when the moon is full and illuminates the world around us with such radiance you’d be fooled into thinking the sun had reappeared?
It’s utterly, emotionally spellbinding. It’s transfixing and magnificent. But despite those grounding, nigh-on-spiritual experiences, over time and with enough of it the persistence of darkness and isolation etches grooves into even the most stone faced smile.
As we approach Spring and the lighter nights, we are acutely aware of how happy we all are. Mini springs out of bed in the morning and her first thoughts are of going outside to play. We are venturing out every weekend to explore the island and all that she offers. Picnics are back on the schedule. The warmer days bring sunny lunchtime walks and a feeling of renewal so potent that I swear we’ve been born again. The balancing opposite.
Light brings life, connection, placement. It’s invigorating. It’s life affirming. We’ll soon welcome the heat of Summer and be off to the Outer Hebrides wearing t-shirts and shorts, or over to Mallaig and Silversands of Paul Launois fame, to reenact those memories. I genuinely can’t wait.
Review
Talisker X Parley, Wilder Seas, Limited Edition NAS finished in French oak XO Cognac Casks, 48.6% ABV
£45 paid – £75-80 RRP
With the elongated days comes the chance to venture further and for longer. I’m looking forward to finally visiting some of our local distilleries, of which there are two on our island, one on the Isle of Raasay and one on the Isle of Harris.
Yet, for the one that should hold a special place in my heart, recalling vivid memories from 12 years ago, when we first visited the Isle of Skye on our honeymoon and took a tour of Talisker Distillery; I haven’t thought twice about going there. Talisker Distillery is the closest in proximity, 25 minutes car journey on smooth roads or via a myriad of transport options at my disposal, yet the will to go hasn’t manifested.
It’s not that we had a bad experience there; choked with the cold and reminding myself that whisky still wasn’t for me, we just wanted something to do that day in the off-season November shutdown. We drowned our post-tour drams with way too much water and then bought a 20cl bottle to pour into hot toddies. Sacrilege no doubt, but there we go.
Since that day in 2012 the Official Talisker range has been steadily growing in price and, as a result, growing in distance for whisky exciters. That said, their 10yo core range can often be found on Chez Bezos for £29, a price which I’ll happily pay for a decent salty session dram. But outside of discounts, Talisker is a chasm of darkness on my glowing amber radar.
Which is a shame given that it’s so close to me. Right now on many online retailers Talisker 10 is almost £50. Port Ruighe is £60. Their ‘Dark Storm’ is £80, albeit a litre bottle. Their 18yo is £190 and the 25yo is a balmy £410. All of those bottlings are delivered at a very uniform 45.8%, coloured with e150a and chill-filtered, for that crystal clear presentation when served with ice. The two bottlings that deliver in exciter specs are the ‘Special Release’ from the Diageo Drams of Despair range, sitting at £90 for the 2021 edition, and £105 for the 2022, both non chill-filtered and cask strength. Both still sitting on shelves unwanted.
Price gouging and aesthetics fiddling are irrevocably conjoined to Talisker and I’m just not that interested in it, which again is a shame given that their whisky character is something that completely aligns with my tastes – maritime smoky magic. I have enjoyed the 10yo for its simple, approachable nature, but feel if it was all just a little bit more reasonably priced, I’d be more inclined to try other things in their range.
2023 welcomed a new bottling to the Talisker stable, one released in conjunction with a company called Parley, an organisation tasked with bringing awareness to the destruction of the world’s oceans through microplastics, plastic waste and marine-life devastation by human pollutant ignorance. They attempt this awareness through collaboration with brands, like Adidas who use marine plastics repurposed into thread for some of their footwear, or Clean Waves, who repurpose marine plastics into trendy sunglasses.
Talisker have partnered with Parley on their “Forests of the Sea” initiative, seeking to protect and reestablish the world’s kelp forests, which stabilise and nourish the marine world in the same way as coral reefs do. Given their motto is “Made by the Sea”, it makes sense as to why they’d support this. As Parley’s website states:
Forests of the Sea is leading a holistic approach to the protection of kelp forests around the world that prioritizes and supports the development of local, Indigenous and global knowledge – using exploration, science, community involvement, policy change and media as powerful tools to shift narratives.
Talisker have called this limited edition bottling “Wilder Seas” and on any normal day it would demand £80 to support this worthy cause, whilst also enjoying the wonder of whisky at the same time. Given their track record of hiking and fiddling, I never even knew this expression existed, such is the speed at which I flick past anything Talisker shaped.
Talisker have made a lot of noise around their shipping of this ‘limited’ release in light-green bottles, the first time ever Talisker have used recycled glass. Fair play – one point to Talisker. Here’s hoping they transition all their bottles to use recycled glass. They’ve also decided to use cognac casks to finish their NAS whisky, the first time ever Talisker have used cognac casks for finishing. Point to Talisker…stick with me.
They’ve also, for reasons, decided to deliver this bottle of Wilder Seas Talisker Cognac Finished ‘Limited’ Extra special whisky at a mould-defying 48.6%. An over-emphasised point to Talisker – does this mean it’s been saved from the big chilly machine of madness?
An 18,000 bottle outturn makes this a pretty significant release for a “Limited Edition”, but let’s not stand on ceremony here, it remains £80 for NAS fiddled whisky regardless of eco-glass, new casks or higher ABV. Talisker still inject colour into it, even if there’s no indication of chill-filtration on website or label, and it’s still very expensive compared to other similarly placed drams on the market. You’ll be wondering why I’ve decided to try it then?
Well it’s one of those things where, one day you’re minding your own business, and the Chez Bezos ping of super spring deals alerts you to the news that Talisker Wilder Seas is available right now for just £45.
Given their proximity to me, the higher ABV, the Parley initiative, the nice looking bottle and the Amazon Prime shipping to the Misty Isle, I decided it was worth a punt. It’s a shame the bottle had to travel 521 miles to the Amazon central hub in Leicestershire, only to return almost all the way to where it was made, but such is modern life.
Nose
Fresh sea breeze. Light, smoke on the wind – wood burner more than bonfires. Hot apple crumble. Fish and chips around the corner. Salty vinegar poke. A fleeting hint of oil paint. Chip buttie. Fried salmon fresh from the fish van. Farmy in a stiff breeze.
Palate
Outside – Minty, chocolatey, bright and vivid aquamarines. There’s smoke there and a coastal salinity that’s really engaging. Malted bread. Soreen. Horlicks soaked in raisins. A farmy, soily underpinning.
Inside – More spicy, more sweets and caramel. There’s a soft wood there and definitely a maltiness. It has a nice warming spice that carries with it a barley note that tapers to a synthetic sweet note. A few minutes later a date sponge laced with runny salted caramel. A little metallic wisp. Fishy creels. Harbours. Low tide revealing a sandy surface. Orange cream chocolates or oils.
The Dregs
First off, the bottle is beautiful to both look at, and photograph. It arrived on a sunny Saturday afternoon and, after the postie handed it over to me silhouetted against the azure sky, I couldn’t help but immediately run and get the camera.
It might be coloured, but blimey charlie, does it not look sensational! Amber prism of joy. I like the tiny label at the bottom, letting the tall bottle exhibit the uisge beatha in all its refractive glory. I wish they’d do this with all their bottles instead of the giant, noisy metallic trimmed label of their standard packaging. Just using printed ink on glass makes this look 10x more premium by default…I’m surprised they didn’t already realise this and raise the price in suit.
In glass the neck pour is immediately salty and smoky. I take the pour outside and let it sit while I throw a rubber ball against the garage so that Mini Crystal can catch it before it bounces twice. Life’s simple pleasures. When she misses the ball and it rolls down the driveway I steal a sip and holy Christmas, if that’s not minty chocolate!? Wow. Smoke chases up behind and then a salty whisper leaves me standing in my tracks. This is pretty interesting stuff!
“Daddy, come on! *tut* Always drinking his whisky…”
Over an hour I work my way through the glass and refill inside the house to see what happens when it’s warm and not being influenced by the unfathomably clean air we suck down in giant gulps. Between the clean air and cleaner water…just those two things are enough to never leave this place ever again. Anyway, inside the whisky offers a lot more toffee and rich sweet spice, dropping a lot of that sweeter minty note in favour of a touch more smoke. It’s a fine sipper but, maybe it’s confirmation bias, that higher ABV does feel like it’s giving the whisky a boost.
What effect the cognac casks are having on this maritime spirit is unknown to me, for I’m not a cognac drinker nor am I experienced in cognac finished whiskies. I have the Glasgow Cognac finished triple distilled lovely thing, but that’s all pineapples and light. This is not that. It makes me think of the 10yo but with a bit more going on. As with most finishes or distillery expressions, I’d really need a flight of multiple Talisker whiskies to seek the difference.
Four days later though and I’m looking askance at the Parley wondering why it feels more alive outside than in. What about the fresh air swirling around the glass brings engaging flavours like minty chocolate or dense malted breads? Inside the whisky is really nice to sit and think with, as little pips of smoke or salt or sweet peek in and out. There’s even a hint of oil paint. After most sips the spice and tingle dies to reveal a strange synthetic sweetness. The tin-foil hat in me aligns this with e150a but who knows.
Outside though, it’s magic. It does have moments of farmy new-make vibrancy, which might point to youthful spirit that might make up the bulk of this NAS, but I adore that character anyway.
Recently I stood outside watching the sun setting with a travel cup and a bottle of Flora & Fauna Dailuaine 16yo, and I thought to myself – this is the perfect rambling whisky. Something to have in a hip flask to sip as you wander about the hills. A wee dram to raise a toast to the majesty of the rugged landscape within which I stand, breathlessly in awe.
Well this wee sucker is the perfect rambling whisky to have when you’re wandering along the coral beach, or standing at Duntulm looking out at the sun setting over the Outer Hebrides and wondering how many more mysteries Peter May can wring from her magnificent isolation. It’s a whisky to sip looking over a harbour and its many bobbing boats, shrouds whistling in the steady breeze, picturing myself as a fisherman returning from a hard but bountiful voyage to the perilous high seas of the North Atlantic.
Perfect, that is, except for the asking price. If this was always available at £45 I’d have no hesitation to say this is a very worthwhile prospect if you want a maritime, salty dog of a rambling dram – a solid 7/10. But at £75? Gah, it’s just not worth that asking price, even if it can give an extra special sensory elevation to an already staggering scene.
A worthy buy at the Bezos Special. A sad totem of Diageo’s greed at RRP. Regardless, I’m now a bit more interested in what Talisker is offering. I just need to pick my moments to dip into their funny fiddled catalogue.
Score: 6/10
