Batch 127

One of those Bowmores which speak (initially at least) of mineral salts rather than peat, or flowers, or fruit. There’s hot sea shells, and a dry, almost sandy quality with hints of seaweed/lettuce, then some light lemon, before green pear comes in and a glancing nod to smokiness. The sweetness is sufficient to maintain the balance. Water shows how distillate-driven things are, while a note of fennel seed takes it off into another area. There’s now slightly more smoke, and a hint of Brasso.

A sweet start, with a herbal, wildflower quality. It seems quite frothy, but pay attention and you realise that there’s a full belly here – more substance than the nose suggests. The smoke is light, while the mineral edge only emerges relatively late. Adding water transforms it totally, adding much more fleshy fruits, while that anise accent becomes more forceful. The zing from the alcohol adds another element, so don’t overwater.

Sweet pear, then salinity. Manzanilla-esque.

A refreshing and rewarding dram from this shape-shifter of a distillery.

Walking along the shore, wind blowing sand in the face.

Big, wooded, with autumnal leaf mulch and a mix of dark chocolate, black cherry and, to start with, wood embers. Then it seems as if the act of inhaling has brought the peat fire back to life. The embers glow, smoke (and flame) returns. There’s now a decidedly maritime edge to things, with treacley phenols. The fruits bully their way through, more concentrated now, with a red and black mix: blackberry and hawthorn jam, rosehip syrup. There’s also a hit of meatiness. It’s complex and slightly wood-driven, but also much smokier than you expect from a Bowmore of this age. Water brings out mossier elements and char.

When neat, it’s very rich, thick and liquorous, with mature wood notes, with smoke running through the length of the palate. There’s some leather and then, on the back palate, a light grip, sootiness and the mixed fruits seen on the nose. While water initially softens and sweetens things, in time there’s more acidity and tannin coming into play, which just slightly knocks the overall balance. The wood certainly shows more of itself as it develops – but I’m being super picky.

Ashes and then fresh fruit, more wood and ash.

Aged for 13 years in ex-Bourbon, then the same time in red wine barriques, this is Bowmore at its boldest, but with signs on the finish that it is (or was) moving into the third stage of its evolution.

Chestnuts roasting by an open fire (honestly!). Take it away, Nat.

Amazing concentration of fruit. So ludicrous, in fact, that you have to laugh. There’s mango, guava, papaya, lots of kiwi, a hint of rose, some ripe peach, then banana and fragrant quince. Compressed, sweet and explosive. It seems to be whisky, but actually occupies a different space in the world of pure aroma. If the 26-year-old was all about crepuscular, smoke-filled mysteries, this is about sunlight and brightness. It’s open, with a lack of guile or contrivance. It just is what it is. As it develops, there’s this tiny touch of salinity and a mild indication of fade. The bleached oak also begins to nudge its way in on the sides, while the fruits pick up a little more brightness, become more yellow, sharp. Just amazing.

A burst of fruits, but what else were you expecting? It’s almost Cognac-like, but without the headiness; this is fruits reduced to an essence, but not caramelised or in any way losing their individual identities. That acidity seen on the developed nose is here as well, while there’s a slight sour green mango edge that’s needed to add balance and an extra layer of complexity, as well as an anise note.

Fades, leaving flavours of caraway and apple shrub.

A sip is enough (a sip is all most people could afford). A farewell – or maybe a precursor of what will once again emerge? The price is utterly ludicrous, however. Is there a solution to this?

On some faraway beach. Slipping away.

Gentle, complex and almost understated. Softly fruity, with a waxy maturity, yet subtle, layered and enigmatic, it seems to flit between the fruit, a kind of silky creaminess, some smoke – even a mineral note – soft citrus, old cedar wood, dried raspberry leaf and agave syrup. Totally relaxed, and comfortable in its skin but, unlike the Bowmore, this is somehow veiled, hard to pin down and, as a result, there’s an intrigue to its development. Initially it seems fresh and sweet, but then you notice the evidence of maturity. There’s a patina to it, the aromas less driven by oak and more by air and time. Fresh white fruits, with a blast of cold spring air, birch sap and banana skin and, in time, fragrant smoke, light camphor, then tangerine marmalade. You keep coming back for more. Each time it shifts further away.

Thick and mouth-clinging, it’s like drinking silk. There’s some jellied fruits then, just as they seem to be rising to take the upper hand, in come the marine notes. Subtle, layered and with finesse. A little water pushes things in the middle and back palate without losing any of the textural qualities. If anything, it amplifies them, making you realise that this is as much about feel as flavour. In the same way as the nose never quite reveals itself fully, you get the blandness of poached pear, heathery smoke, and then a sweet spot in the middle where fruits and syrups rest. A slight acidity gives a Bellini-like sparkle before it shifts again and the beeswax returns, clinging and unctuous with this floral, Viognier-like quality.

Long and – dare I say – haunting.

This is about movement and time, flashes like memories rising then receding as others take their place. You can only get this effect by blending. In fact, it is what blending is about, and this is a masterpiece of that art.

Slow, ever-changing, hard to pin down. It’s the liquid equivalent of The Necks.

Pale onion skin colour, indicative of the red wine cask finish, which also comes through in the aromas of fresh raspberry. There’s a hint of smoke to start with, but it’s more about light green pear, sherbet dabs and candied fruit. There’s some light citrus and some creaminess, then the smoke steadily becomes more overt. Water brings out a slight youthful edginess, with the smoke now like your clothes the morning after a bonfire.

A new, lightly nutty (almond/panforte) element, some more red fruits and plenty of smoke from the off. Each element – fruit, peat, oak – has its own say, but there’s decent balance. Water is beneficial, bringing out some more mature elements, while the fruits are allowed to spread across the tongue. In time, the smoke comes back with an appetising, smoky bacon quality.

Light spice and some smoke.

If it could benefit from slightly more integration, it’s a fun dram and indicative of the possibilities of the Raasay approach.

A blaze at the ‘pick-your-own’ berry farm.

Mature and elegant, with some spiced honey, freshly applied varnish, chocolate ganache, cherry brandy and cedar oil. It lightens slightly in time, with elements of peach and sugared almond giving a lift before it plunges once more into a mix of dried fruit, sweet date and black, berry fruits. Immediate and quite intense. Water brings out creamy, minty toffee (Murray Mints), some cinnamon, nutmeg and chocolate.

A sweet start, with fresh fruits (apricot especially), which then become more syrupy and mingle with the gentle caramel toffee in the mid-palate, before a darker, slightly earthier depth reveals itself: raisin, fig, bitter chocolate. The bite from the alcohol adds a certain frisson. All of those elements roll into each other beautifully. Water brings up the grain, adding a fat, slightly rummy element with melting milk chocolate. You lose the sense of a journey, but gain a sweeter impact – take your choice.

Juicy fruits. Long.

Is it me, or does there seem to be one too many Ds in Tweeddale? That aside, this is great blending, creating a story on the palate. Recommended.

We’re going on a bear hunt…